prepare your death, dear wife. I’ll separate you from death by prolonging your pain. I’ll prepare your death. You won’t be my phantom. You’ll be my wife. Do you realize that I survive only to make you suffer?
WHEN I DARED to tell him
—Reforma,
Adriana Pérez Cañedo—that the secretary had done the opposite of what Álvaro told me he told him he should have done, he ripped the paper, kicked the TV, and began to isolate himself, to not go out, to look at me reproachfully: I knew his secret, I paid no attention to him, his airs were pure smoke, I condemned myself, if he no longer had power outside, he would show me he had it in the house.
AT THE LAST DINNER the two of them—Álvaro and Cordelia—attended together, they heard the honorable secretary say in a very low but exceedingly ill-intentioned voice:
Álvaro Meneses is a
lethal
bureaucrat. He’s becoming redundant.
YOU HAVE LESS fizz than a Coca-Cola that’s been open for a month . . .
I have an enormous empty space. That’s what I have.
He said this and stumbled, falling on his face over the rug that still smelled of urine, and at that moment the dog was exiled to live tied up, howling with melancholy, in the courtyard.
HE BEGAN DISPUTING TERRITORIES WITH ME . He began extending his control over the closet, the bed, the bathroom, the TV, and I kept telling him your seclusion doesn’t free you from the big cold world Álvaro (but really tell him that Cordelia) you’re a child (don’t be afraid of him Cordelia) you let yourself be judged too easily (you pick up the sections of the paper tossed to the floor and put them in order so you can feel victorious) you go around imagining what they’re saying about you (tell him) what they think of you (think about it).
I’M AT A LOSS FOR WORDS .
You talk a great deal.
Inside, I’m silent.
HE MADE A POINT of masturbating in front of her. He laughed. He said, pleasures known to Onan unknown to Don Juan.
Did you think convention would control me? he said when he was finished.
No. What an idea. Not even love subjugates you, Álvaro.
I told him many things.
Will you let me tell you the truth?
No.
Excuse me. You’re too weak for me.
Ah, you bitch. I’ll show you . . .
I can endure only one tyrant. Myself. My own tyrant, Álvaro.
Shall I tell you something? Why you’re so twisted? Why you never travel a straight path?
I’ll ruminate on that, Álvaro.
This drove him crazy. He began to shout, tear his hair, ruminate, ruminate, he shouted, that’s what cows say, why do you use those highfalutin words? why do you always talk like a well-bred girl? why do you constantly want to prove your superiority to me? because I was just a promising young man and you took charge of locking me away here . . . ?
You locked yourself away . . .
I locked myself away with you . . .
Nonsense.
You frustrated my ambition.
Just realize it, that’s all.
I didn’t become what I wanted to be.
You locked yourself away, I’m telling you . . .
I could have been somebody . . .
You are somebody. You’re my husband. Isn’t that enough?
It’s your fault I’m a nobody.
What would you have done without me?
Become what I could have been.
Ah yes! The things I didn’t do to please you . . .
Without you, Cordelia . . .
DIRTY CLOTHES dropped and forgotten. Floors slippery with forgotten filth. Toilets overflowing with shit. Sheets stained with blood. Rats conspiring in the corners. Spiders keeping watch from the ceilings. Cockroaches smoking marijuana in the kitchen. The sweet stink of abandonment. Without you. Without me.
I DREAMED I met you as a young man at a dance. A far-off dance long ago. Strauss waltzes. Tails. Crinolines. Cordelia Ortiz and her dance card. The line of suitors. A continental summer dance. Warm, distant, perfumed. Cordelia Ortiz and her blond curls arranged like tassels of wheat. Ah, how I desire her. Ah, how she charms me. I’m not even on her card. But I’m in her sight. She
WHEN I DARED to tell him
—Reforma,
Adriana Pérez Cañedo—that the secretary had done the opposite of what Álvaro told me he told him he should have done, he ripped the paper, kicked the TV, and began to isolate himself, to not go out, to look at me reproachfully: I knew his secret, I paid no attention to him, his airs were pure smoke, I condemned myself, if he no longer had power outside, he would show me he had it in the house.
AT THE LAST DINNER the two of them—Álvaro and Cordelia—attended together, they heard the honorable secretary say in a very low but exceedingly ill-intentioned voice:
Álvaro Meneses is a
lethal
bureaucrat. He’s becoming redundant.
YOU HAVE LESS fizz than a Coca-Cola that’s been open for a month . . .
I have an enormous empty space. That’s what I have.
He said this and stumbled, falling on his face over the rug that still smelled of urine, and at that moment the dog was exiled to live tied up, howling with melancholy, in the courtyard.
HE BEGAN DISPUTING TERRITORIES WITH ME . He began extending his control over the closet, the bed, the bathroom, the TV, and I kept telling him your seclusion doesn’t free you from the big cold world Álvaro (but really tell him that Cordelia) you’re a child (don’t be afraid of him Cordelia) you let yourself be judged too easily (you pick up the sections of the paper tossed to the floor and put them in order so you can feel victorious) you go around imagining what they’re saying about you (tell him) what they think of you (think about it).
I’M AT A LOSS FOR WORDS .
You talk a great deal.
Inside, I’m silent.
HE MADE A POINT of masturbating in front of her. He laughed. He said, pleasures known to Onan unknown to Don Juan.
Did you think convention would control me? he said when he was finished.
No. What an idea. Not even love subjugates you, Álvaro.
I told him many things.
Will you let me tell you the truth?
No.
Excuse me. You’re too weak for me.
Ah, you bitch. I’ll show you . . .
I can endure only one tyrant. Myself. My own tyrant, Álvaro.
Shall I tell you something? Why you’re so twisted? Why you never travel a straight path?
I’ll ruminate on that, Álvaro.
This drove him crazy. He began to shout, tear his hair, ruminate, ruminate, he shouted, that’s what cows say, why do you use those highfalutin words? why do you always talk like a well-bred girl? why do you constantly want to prove your superiority to me? because I was just a promising young man and you took charge of locking me away here . . . ?
You locked yourself away . . .
I locked myself away with you . . .
Nonsense.
You frustrated my ambition.
Just realize it, that’s all.
I didn’t become what I wanted to be.
You locked yourself away, I’m telling you . . .
I could have been somebody . . .
You are somebody. You’re my husband. Isn’t that enough?
It’s your fault I’m a nobody.
What would you have done without me?
Become what I could have been.
Ah yes! The things I didn’t do to please you . . .
Without you, Cordelia . . .
DIRTY CLOTHES dropped and forgotten. Floors slippery with forgotten filth. Toilets overflowing with shit. Sheets stained with blood. Rats conspiring in the corners. Spiders keeping watch from the ceilings. Cockroaches smoking marijuana in the kitchen. The sweet stink of abandonment. Without you. Without me.
I DREAMED I met you as a young man at a dance. A far-off dance long ago. Strauss waltzes. Tails. Crinolines. Cordelia Ortiz and her dance card. The line of suitors. A continental summer dance. Warm, distant, perfumed. Cordelia Ortiz and her blond curls arranged like tassels of wheat. Ah, how I desire her. Ah, how she charms me. I’m not even on her card. But I’m in her sight. She
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