waddaya say?"
"Translate," I suggested.
"No. Get at the
meaning
. You know?"
We both thought about it. "Interpret," I suggested.
"That's it," he said, and slapped his knee. "I had to interpret what she says, so when she says, 'I love Barry so much, and I wish he was still around so we could be together and I could tell him how much I love him,' I interpret that, you see, that it means I should say, 'She loves you and misses you and wishes you could be together.' "
"Me, too," I said.
"I told her that," Arturo assured me. "I told her, 'Wherever he is, Lola, I'm sure Barry feels the exact same way."
"Thank you, Arturo. Did she say anything about the insurance?"
"She give all the stuff to the insurance man, and it don't look like a problem. It looks like a week or two, and then they send the check."
"That's great. It's time for me to get my passport."
"Sure. When?"
"I gotta drive Maria to the plane Monday," I said, "so I'll be right there in San Cristobal, dressed up in my chauffeur suit, with the tie and all. How about then?"
"Easy," he said.
I grinned at him. "Every day in every way, Arturo," I said, "I'm getting less and less dead."
20
Monday, after lunch, I put on my chauffeur suit and drove Maria to the airport. She sat in back, explaining it. looked better that way, and the fact that she felt the need to offer the explanation took the sting out of it.
But it also confirmed the realization I'd come to after the cool way she'd dealt with Carlos's show of jealousy at lunch. There was no invitation for me in that woman. She was self-contained to a remarkable degree. She'd brought Carlos into her life, for whatever reason, but she mostly inhabited her world by herself. I needn't feel I was letting an opportunity slide; there was nothing there.
So as we drove I spent more attention on the beautiful day outside than on the beautiful woman behind me, and when I thought about beautiful women at all, it was mostly Lola. How close we were to being together again.
We were a quarter hour out of Rancio, amid the usual traffic, when Maria said, "You're very quiet today, Ernesto."
I looked at her in the rearview mirror, and her ironic smile was aimed at the back of my head. "Well," I said, "I am a deaf mute."
"Even for a deaf mute," she said, "you're being very quiet. I believe you miss Lola."
"A whole lot," I said.
She nodded. "You know, when you first came to stay, I wondered if you were going to be difficult. You understand what I'm saying."
"Yes," I said.
"My response was all prepared," she told me, and met my eyes in the mirror, and smiled again. "I was going to be flattered but distant."
"And just a little contemptuous," I said.
The smile became a laugh. "Just a very little," she agreed. "It would have been amusing for both of us. Poor Ernesto, you're a faithful husband."
"I am," I said.
"There are very few faithful husbands in this part of the world," she said. "It is not a trait that is particularly valued."
"I think that's true everywhere," I said. "But Lola and me… it isn't that I'm being faithful to her. It's that I don't have any other way to live. To go do something else would be like breaking a bone."
"Yes, of course," she said, and switched to look at the back of my head again, speculatively. "It seems like a contradiction, but it isn't," she decided. "You aren't the faithful type, actually, you're a rogue."
"Thank you — I think," I said.
"Oh, I know you like being a rogue," she assured me. "What the English call a chancer. You're unfaithful to the entire world, so why are you faithful to your wife?"
"Maybe that's why," I said, and met her eyes in the mirror. "Maybe I need one little island in a sea of untrustworthy water. And so does Lola."
"You're each other's island."
"We
are
the island," I said, "and I need to be with her again."
"Poor Barry," she said, which was the first time she'd used my former name, and without the usual mockery.
I didn't think I could stand sympathy.
"Translate," I suggested.
"No. Get at the
meaning
. You know?"
We both thought about it. "Interpret," I suggested.
"That's it," he said, and slapped his knee. "I had to interpret what she says, so when she says, 'I love Barry so much, and I wish he was still around so we could be together and I could tell him how much I love him,' I interpret that, you see, that it means I should say, 'She loves you and misses you and wishes you could be together.' "
"Me, too," I said.
"I told her that," Arturo assured me. "I told her, 'Wherever he is, Lola, I'm sure Barry feels the exact same way."
"Thank you, Arturo. Did she say anything about the insurance?"
"She give all the stuff to the insurance man, and it don't look like a problem. It looks like a week or two, and then they send the check."
"That's great. It's time for me to get my passport."
"Sure. When?"
"I gotta drive Maria to the plane Monday," I said, "so I'll be right there in San Cristobal, dressed up in my chauffeur suit, with the tie and all. How about then?"
"Easy," he said.
I grinned at him. "Every day in every way, Arturo," I said, "I'm getting less and less dead."
20
Monday, after lunch, I put on my chauffeur suit and drove Maria to the airport. She sat in back, explaining it. looked better that way, and the fact that she felt the need to offer the explanation took the sting out of it.
But it also confirmed the realization I'd come to after the cool way she'd dealt with Carlos's show of jealousy at lunch. There was no invitation for me in that woman. She was self-contained to a remarkable degree. She'd brought Carlos into her life, for whatever reason, but she mostly inhabited her world by herself. I needn't feel I was letting an opportunity slide; there was nothing there.
So as we drove I spent more attention on the beautiful day outside than on the beautiful woman behind me, and when I thought about beautiful women at all, it was mostly Lola. How close we were to being together again.
We were a quarter hour out of Rancio, amid the usual traffic, when Maria said, "You're very quiet today, Ernesto."
I looked at her in the rearview mirror, and her ironic smile was aimed at the back of my head. "Well," I said, "I am a deaf mute."
"Even for a deaf mute," she said, "you're being very quiet. I believe you miss Lola."
"A whole lot," I said.
She nodded. "You know, when you first came to stay, I wondered if you were going to be difficult. You understand what I'm saying."
"Yes," I said.
"My response was all prepared," she told me, and met my eyes in the mirror, and smiled again. "I was going to be flattered but distant."
"And just a little contemptuous," I said.
The smile became a laugh. "Just a very little," she agreed. "It would have been amusing for both of us. Poor Ernesto, you're a faithful husband."
"I am," I said.
"There are very few faithful husbands in this part of the world," she said. "It is not a trait that is particularly valued."
"I think that's true everywhere," I said. "But Lola and me… it isn't that I'm being faithful to her. It's that I don't have any other way to live. To go do something else would be like breaking a bone."
"Yes, of course," she said, and switched to look at the back of my head again, speculatively. "It seems like a contradiction, but it isn't," she decided. "You aren't the faithful type, actually, you're a rogue."
"Thank you — I think," I said.
"Oh, I know you like being a rogue," she assured me. "What the English call a chancer. You're unfaithful to the entire world, so why are you faithful to your wife?"
"Maybe that's why," I said, and met her eyes in the mirror. "Maybe I need one little island in a sea of untrustworthy water. And so does Lola."
"You're each other's island."
"We
are
the island," I said, "and I need to be with her again."
"Poor Barry," she said, which was the first time she'd used my former name, and without the usual mockery.
I didn't think I could stand sympathy.
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