The Transmigration of Bodies by Yuri Herrera Page B
Authors: Yuri Herrera
Tags: Drama, spanish, Fiction, Mexico, Hard-Boiled, translation, Love Story, Urban, Novel, Dystopia, gangs, Plague, hispanic, disease, Romeo, blonde, Translated fiction, Yuri Herrera, Trabajos del Reino, Señales que precederán al fin del mundo, Signs Preceding the End of the World, La transmigración de los cuerpos, The Transmigration of Bodies, Latino, Vicky, Three Times Blond, Neyanderthal, the Dolphin, Anemic Student, valeria luiselli, mexico city, The Redeemer, daniel alarcón, mediation, narco-literature, gang violence, la Nora, francisco goldman, herrera, redeemer, the Unruly, the Castros, narcoliteratura, maya jaggi, Ganglands, dead bodies, Transmigration of the Bodies
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The truth is, the Redeemer said, maybe we’re damned from the start.
What truth? Three Times Blonde looked at him like he was an idiot. I don’t buy that crap, that Look but don’t touch stuff. Tell me, what truth? Maybe someone out there knows, but it’s not me, so I call it like I see it.
And she poked a dieresis into his chest.
The Redeemer placed a hand on her back and ran it all the way down and over the curve of her ass.
Plus, she went on, they said on TV people are getting better now, that they really know what it is and there’s no reason to die.
They pressed up against the wall and the Redeemer kissed her a bit of his blood. Suddenly Three Times Blonde cocked her head and said Listen.
A wavering windstorm was blowing outside the Big House. Maybe the clouds are gone, she said, and let go of the Redeemer.
The Redeemer observed her profile, so luscious and tuned-in to the sounds on the street. Talk and cock is all I got, he thought. And sometimes fear.
I’m tired of being cooped up, Three Times Blonde said.
She walked out into the hall and then onto the street and the Redeemer followed, but before he caught up to her at the front door, la Ñora’s opened.
Are your visitors gone?
They are, señora, thank you for your discretion.
Young man, said la Ñora. You knew, didn’t you?
The Redeemer had known, but he also knew sometimes it was best not to say. So he said nothing.
He got mad and left, la Ñora went on. And I thought I’d never hear from him again, that’s the way it is these days, people just disappear, but someone called from the courts, a young lady he told to phone me. I don’t know why they’re holding him. He says he’s black and blue but they’ve stopped beating him now.
La Ñora paused to allow the Redeemer to intervene and he hoped against hope that she wasn’t asking what she seemed to be asking.
I’m going to go get him, la Ñora said. Do you know where the place is?
Fuckit, she was, she was asking. For a moment he considered the possibility of letting the little sonofabitch spend the night in the hoosegow but he couldn’t do it. Perhaps Gustavo was right: these days we walk past a body on the street, and we have to stop pretending we can’t see it.
Aren’t you afraid you might get whatever this is? he asked her.
Me? I don’t get anything anymore, not even tired.
Best not to go out, señora, I’ll get him and bring him back to you, I just have to do one thing first.
Thank you, young man.
He headed for the door.
Young man, said la Ñora.
The Redeemer turned.
I didn’t ask for this.
The Redeemer nodded.
He turned. Be right back, he said to himself. And he opened the Big House door and went out to look at the stars once again.
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The truth is, the Redeemer said, maybe we’re damned from the start.
What truth? Three Times Blonde looked at him like he was an idiot. I don’t buy that crap, that Look but don’t touch stuff. Tell me, what truth? Maybe someone out there knows, but it’s not me, so I call it like I see it.
And she poked a dieresis into his chest.
The Redeemer placed a hand on her back and ran it all the way down and over the curve of her ass.
Plus, she went on, they said on TV people are getting better now, that they really know what it is and there’s no reason to die.
They pressed up against the wall and the Redeemer kissed her a bit of his blood. Suddenly Three Times Blonde cocked her head and said Listen.
A wavering windstorm was blowing outside the Big House. Maybe the clouds are gone, she said, and let go of the Redeemer.
The Redeemer observed her profile, so luscious and tuned-in to the sounds on the street. Talk and cock is all I got, he thought. And sometimes fear.
I’m tired of being cooped up, Three Times Blonde said.
She walked out into the hall and then onto the street and the Redeemer followed, but before he caught up to her at the front door, la Ñora’s opened.
Are your visitors gone?
They are, señora, thank you for your discretion.
Young man, said la Ñora. You knew, didn’t you?
The Redeemer had known, but he also knew sometimes it was best not to say. So he said nothing.
He got mad and left, la Ñora went on. And I thought I’d never hear from him again, that’s the way it is these days, people just disappear, but someone called from the courts, a young lady he told to phone me. I don’t know why they’re holding him. He says he’s black and blue but they’ve stopped beating him now.
La Ñora paused to allow the Redeemer to intervene and he hoped against hope that she wasn’t asking what she seemed to be asking.
I’m going to go get him, la Ñora said. Do you know where the place is?
Fuckit, she was, she was asking. For a moment he considered the possibility of letting the little sonofabitch spend the night in the hoosegow but he couldn’t do it. Perhaps Gustavo was right: these days we walk past a body on the street, and we have to stop pretending we can’t see it.
Aren’t you afraid you might get whatever this is? he asked her.
Me? I don’t get anything anymore, not even tired.
Best not to go out, señora, I’ll get him and bring him back to you, I just have to do one thing first.
Thank you, young man.
He headed for the door.
Young man, said la Ñora.
The Redeemer turned.
I didn’t ask for this.
The Redeemer nodded.
He turned. Be right back, he said to himself. And he opened the Big House door and went out to look at the stars once again.
Dear readers,
We rely on subscriptions from people like you to tell these other stories—the types of stories most publishers consider too risky to take on.
Our subscribers don’t just make the books physically happen. They also help us approach booksellers, because we can demonstrate that our books already have readers and fans. And they give us the security to publish in line with our values, which are collaborative, imaginative and ‘shamelessly literary’.
All of our subscribers:
receive a first-edition copy of each of the books they subscribe to
are thanked by name at the end of our subscriber - supported books
receive little extras from us by way of thank you, for example : postcards created by our authors
Become a subscriber, or give a subscription
to a friend
Visit andotherstories.org/subscribe to become part of an alternative approach to publishing.
Subscriptions are:
£ 20 for two books per year
£ 35 for four books per year
£ 50 for six books per year
This book was made possible thanks to the support of:
Aaron McEnery · Abigail Dawson · Abigail Miller · Ada Gokay · Adam Butler · Adam Lenson · Aino Efraimsson · Ajay Sharma · Alan Ramsey · Alana Marquis-Farncombe · Alannah Hopkin ·
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