naked mannequins. None of the dummies in the window was wearing clothes. I said to myself, this is the day that they change their outfits. Like living bodies, a dummy without clothes loses its personality. It is a piece of flesh, I mean, of wood. Women with painted faces and marcelled waves, men with painted mustaches and long sideburns. Fixed eyes, colored eyelashes, cheeks like candy glazes, faces like screens. Below those faces with their eyes forever open are bodies of wood, varnished, uniform, lacking a sex, lacking hair, lacking navels. Though they didnât drip blood, they were exactly like chunks of meat in a butcherâs shop. Yes, they were pieces of flesh.
Then, looking more closely, I examined the window my friend had indicated. Only one of the women had real hair, not painted on wood, but a black wig, a little matted down but high and old-fashioned, with curls. That, I decided, was she. And besides, her eyes could not have been sadder.
Bernardo
When Toño entered with La Desdichada in his arms, I couldnât bring myself to thank him. That woman of wood embraced the body of my friend the way they say the Christ of Velázquez hangs from his cross: much too comfortably. Toño, who is a typical man of the north, tall and strong, could easily hold her with one arm. La Desdichadaâs backside rested on one of Toñoâs hands; his other hand was around her waist. Her legs hung down and her head was on his shoulders, her eyes open, her hair disheveled.
He entered with his trophy and I wanted to show him I wasnât angry, just vexed. Who had asked him to bring her home? I had asked him only to go look at her in the window.
âPut her wherever you like.
He stood her up, her back to us, as if to demonstrate that she was our statue now, our Venus Callipygia of the shapely ass. Statues rest on their feet, like trees (like horses that sleep on their feet?). She looked indecent. A naked mannequin.
âWe have to get her some clothes.
Toño
The store on Tacuba Street had already sold the brideâs gown. Bernardo didnât want to believe me. What did you expect, I said to him, that the dummy would wait for us forever in that display window, dressed as a bride? The purpose of a mannequin is to display clothes to passersby, so that they buy themâthe clothes, mind you, not the mannequins. It was pure chance that she was dressed as a bride when you walked by. She might have been showing off a bathing suit for a month without your noticing. Besides, nobody cares about the dummy. What theyâre interested in is the outfit, and it has already been sold. The dummy is wood, nobody wants her, look, itâs what in law classes they call a fungible object, oneâs as good as another, itâs all the same ⦠Besides, look, sheâs missing a finger, the ring finger of her left hand. If she was married, she isnât anymore.
He wanted to see her dressed as a bride again, and if he couldnât, at least he wanted to see her dressed. La Desdichadaâs nudity bothered him (it also attracted him). Nonetheless, I set her at the head of our humble table, the sort youâd expect of students of âlimited resources,â as one said euphemistically in Mexico City in the year 1936.
I gave her a sideways glance, and then I threw over her a Chinese robe that an uncle of mine, an old pederast from Monterrey, had given me when I was fifteen, with these premonitory words: âSome clothes anyone can wear. All of us girls want to look cute.
Covered by a blaze of paralyzed dragonsâgold, scarlet, and blackâLa Desdichada half-closed her eyes, lowering her eyelids a fraction of a centimeter. I looked at Bernardo. He wasnât looking at her, now that she was dressed again.
Bernardo
What I like best about this poor forsaken place where we live is the patio. Every neighborhood in the capital has a place to wash clothes, but our own house has a fountain. You leave
Then, looking more closely, I examined the window my friend had indicated. Only one of the women had real hair, not painted on wood, but a black wig, a little matted down but high and old-fashioned, with curls. That, I decided, was she. And besides, her eyes could not have been sadder.
Bernardo
When Toño entered with La Desdichada in his arms, I couldnât bring myself to thank him. That woman of wood embraced the body of my friend the way they say the Christ of Velázquez hangs from his cross: much too comfortably. Toño, who is a typical man of the north, tall and strong, could easily hold her with one arm. La Desdichadaâs backside rested on one of Toñoâs hands; his other hand was around her waist. Her legs hung down and her head was on his shoulders, her eyes open, her hair disheveled.
He entered with his trophy and I wanted to show him I wasnât angry, just vexed. Who had asked him to bring her home? I had asked him only to go look at her in the window.
âPut her wherever you like.
He stood her up, her back to us, as if to demonstrate that she was our statue now, our Venus Callipygia of the shapely ass. Statues rest on their feet, like trees (like horses that sleep on their feet?). She looked indecent. A naked mannequin.
âWe have to get her some clothes.
Toño
The store on Tacuba Street had already sold the brideâs gown. Bernardo didnât want to believe me. What did you expect, I said to him, that the dummy would wait for us forever in that display window, dressed as a bride? The purpose of a mannequin is to display clothes to passersby, so that they buy themâthe clothes, mind you, not the mannequins. It was pure chance that she was dressed as a bride when you walked by. She might have been showing off a bathing suit for a month without your noticing. Besides, nobody cares about the dummy. What theyâre interested in is the outfit, and it has already been sold. The dummy is wood, nobody wants her, look, itâs what in law classes they call a fungible object, oneâs as good as another, itâs all the same ⦠Besides, look, sheâs missing a finger, the ring finger of her left hand. If she was married, she isnât anymore.
He wanted to see her dressed as a bride again, and if he couldnât, at least he wanted to see her dressed. La Desdichadaâs nudity bothered him (it also attracted him). Nonetheless, I set her at the head of our humble table, the sort youâd expect of students of âlimited resources,â as one said euphemistically in Mexico City in the year 1936.
I gave her a sideways glance, and then I threw over her a Chinese robe that an uncle of mine, an old pederast from Monterrey, had given me when I was fifteen, with these premonitory words: âSome clothes anyone can wear. All of us girls want to look cute.
Covered by a blaze of paralyzed dragonsâgold, scarlet, and blackâLa Desdichada half-closed her eyes, lowering her eyelids a fraction of a centimeter. I looked at Bernardo. He wasnât looking at her, now that she was dressed again.
Bernardo
What I like best about this poor forsaken place where we live is the patio. Every neighborhood in the capital has a place to wash clothes, but our own house has a fountain. You leave
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