Irma Voth (20 page)

I miss Oveja, said Aggie. We were waiting for Noehmi’s sister’s husband’s brother to return to work from his lunch break. His name was Hubertus. We were tired and hungry, the usual problems of waking life. I gave Aggie some money and sent her off to buy some tacos and juice from a stand nearby. Different types of people walked past me and I stared at them and tried to hear what they were saying to each other. I heard one woman gently tease her boyfriend about his pants. They were too short. But honey, she said, I understand. You can’t worry about the mathematical permutations of the ringing of the church bells
and
the length of your pants at the same time. It’s true, said the guy, something had to give. Then she laughed and they disappeared like dreams. An English-speaking couple walked past me and all I heard was: the quote artistic community close quotes … I watched them fade into the distance also. I took out my notebook to write some of these things down. I didn’t know what these fragments meant. I wanted to talk like them. I wanted to talk like other people. And then Aggie came back with the tacos and we ate together sitting on the bench with Ximena lying between us. Aggie passed me a taco and some of the stuff fell onto Ximena’s bare stomach and she pursed her lips like she
wanted to kiss someone but her eyes were panicky and Aggie quickly licked it off her stomach before it could burn her.

Good hustle, I said.

What? she said.

That’s what my old volleyball coach in Canada used to say after a good dig.

What? said Aggie.

That’s what my old volleyball coach in Canada used to say after a good dig.

What are you—

I said that’s what my old volleyball coach in Canada used to say after a good dig!

Yeah, but—

Just never mind, I said.

We waited. We watched people and didn’t speak. Little bugs landed on Ximena and I blew them away. Then I asked Aggie what she was thinking about. She didn’t answer. I asked her again and she folded her arms across her chest and stared at something way off in the distance. Home? I said. She didn’t speak. I bet you’re missing that kid, Isaac, that boy with the blood disease. Didn’t you tell me that if he cut himself he’d bleed to death? Ximena wriggled in the sunshine and Aggie kept her mouth shut. That’s why you had a crush on him, right? I said. Because every little thing he did was like risking his life? I got a diaper out of the
farmacia
bag and put it on Ximena before she peed all over the bench. Aggie’s eyes were closed. Isn’t that what you said about him? Aggie?
Didn’t he let you wear his MedicAlert bracelet for a couple of days?

Nothing, she said.

What’s nothing? I said.

You asked me what I was thinking about, she said. Stop talking to me. We waited some more. I thought about ways to cheer her up. Finally I saw Hubertus walking up the sidewalk and jingling a set of keys. He unlocked the front gate of the bed and breakfast. I told Aggie to watch Ximena and stay exactly where she was.

Seriously, Aggie, please, I said. I understand that your opinion of my words is that they are just words, and in so many ways but not in every way you are absolutely correct. I understand precisely how you would enjoy wielding your power in this situation by saying fuck that, fuck Irma and her bossiness, fuck this obedient little sister business, fuck all these cheesy little rules and regulations and getting up and wandering off and making me crazy with worry but I’m begging you now, like I have before, and like I will again, to stay put, to stay out of trouble and to not get lost. Your safety means everything to me, Aggie. Nothing is as important to me as your safety. Nothing. Please. I love you more than anything in this world, Aggie, and I can’t bear to lose you. I just can’t. The world would end. My world would end. Aggie, I’m begging you.

My words aren’t only words. They’re pictures and tears and imperfect offerings of love and self-inflicted shots to my brain. Please? Will you steadfastly remain on this very bench and not sell Ximena or in any way jeopardize your safety or hers? Will you promise to pull your knife on anyone
wishing to mess with you or purchase your sister? Yes or no.

Tiny movements at the corners of Aggie’s mouth. She was an Olympian in self-control.

Aggie, I said. This is so important. I’m going now to find myself a job. This job, which I will find, will ensure that you and I have food to eat and a roof to protect us from the rain and the sun and walls to keep away bugs and kidnappers. If I don’t go right now I’ll miss my chance and all our hopes will die in the street and the rain will wash them into the gutter and then down into the sewer and then out into the ocean miles and miles and miles beneath the surface where there is not enough oxygen to spend any time retrieving them. They will be gone for—

Will you just go already? said Aggie. You could have had a job by now and already been paid like twice.

Okay, but will you? I said.

Will I what? she said.

Stay right here and don’t move?

Maybe, said Aggie.

Aggie! I said. For—

Yes! she said. Irma. God. Go already. You’re like Tante Greita.

Tante Greita was the name we’d given to our slowest cow, the one we loved the most but that needed to be smacked on the ass a lot.

Okay, but will you tie her to your body? I said.

Ximena? said Aggie.

Just in case you fall asleep or something, I said.

Aggie didn’t say anything. She got my old dress out of the
farmacia
bag and draped it around her shoulders. Then
she picked up Ximena and held her to her chest with one hand and expertly wrapped the two ends of the dress around Ximena with her other hand. I smiled and thanked her and she nodded once, very dignified. Ximena’s head was up high, close to Aggie’s, and they were both looking off towards the park. I walked off towards the bed and breakfast and turned around to look at them. From a distance they looked like a two-headed monster. I waved, not expecting Aggie to notice, but she waved back. She was watching me too and my heart was overwhelmed with love.

Irma Voth, I said.

And you’ve just moved to Mexico City? said Hubertus. We had already established that it was because of Noehmi that I was there asking him for a job. We were sitting at a wrought iron table in a little courtyard belonging to the bed and breakfast. White curtains billowed out of open windows all around us and it felt like we were on a tall ship. There were bunches of flowers everywhere, white lilies that appeared to be opening as we spoke, and a few small trees and a thick green hose that snaked around and almost tripped me. My first instinct was to slice it in half with a machete. There was a narrow cement staircase that led up to a room with a red door and a balcony. I wanted to live there, in that room. A woman in high heels walked around sweeping up petals and two older men spoke German to each other in a corner. One of them told the other that to his knowledge there was no word for kindness in the German language and the other man laughed loudly and banged his hand on the table.

Yes, I said. My sister and I are here to study.

Study what? said Hubertus.

Art, I said.

Art, said Hubertus. He nodded slowly and smiled. I heard my father whispering in my ear. Art is a lie, he said. I smiled nervously back at Hubertus and braced myself. I felt my mother moving her hand in a slow circle around my back the way the earth orbits the sun. Love is not selfish, she said. When life is a shit storm your best umbrella is art, said Hubertus. He laughed. I heard that in a movie or something, he said. I’m sorry.

That’s pretty funny, I said. I tried to laugh.

Have you seen any good movies lately? he said.

I’ve never seen a movie, I said. But I worked on one recently.

Well, he said. Whatever. So you’re interested in working here in La Condesa. Where do you live?

We don’t have a place yet, I said.

And your school?

After I’ve found a job and an apartment I’ll start to look for schools, I said.

Would you like a cup of coffee? said Hubertus. That’s a start. First things first. He laughed again and apologized. He asked the woman in high heels if she would mind bringing us two cups of coffee and when she came back she put her arms around his head and kissed the top of it and said not at all,
cachondo
, cream and sugar? And Hubertus closed his eyes and said
sí, baby, eres muy simpática.
The woman’s name was Natalie.

This is Irma, said Hubertus. She and her sister are here in Mexico City to study art.

Ah, said Natalie. Lovely! You’ve come to the right place. Will you be focusing on a particular medium?

Yes, I said. Things began to happen to me, then, involuntarily. My foot began to tap the ground and my throat made a crude noise.

Yes? said Natalie. Do you mind me asking what it is?

I was silent, waiting for the world to end. I smiled and looked at her and she smiled back at me, kindly, with pity or patience or amusement or disbelief that this cave woman had managed to teleport herself into the future straight into her and Hubertus’ courtyard.

Well, she said. It’s not an easy thing to articulate, is it? I understand.

Thanks, I said.

But I’m fascinated with artists, she said. I love reading about their lives. You know how they say that so many artists are melancholic?

I nodded, clueless, and sipped my coffee.

Apparently, said Natalie, the part of the brain that can obsess over dark things like death and pain and nothingness, which is depression more or less, is the same part of the brain that allows a person to obsess over the infinite challenges of art which produces something like stamina. I don’t know. Or focus. The focus required to complete one long query. Am I making sense?

Hubertus started laughing again and questioned her use of the word
query
, suggesting that
project
might be a better one, and I said yes. Natalie started laughing then too, and told me not to take things so seriously. If I’m not making sense, she said, then I’m not making sense. So what?

We drank our coffee and talked a little bit more about practical things. Natalie came over and asked me if I knew what the trees were called. I said no. She told me they were jacarandas. She said that one March two years ago she was feeling suicidal. She had planned to step in front of a bus. Then she looked at the jacaranda tree and changed her mind.

You decided to hang yourself from it instead? I said.

No! said Natalie. It was the exquisite patience of the tree. She described the way the jacaranda tree waited and waited and waited, barren, ignored, unexceptional, until a certain day in spring when it would erupt joyfully and comically into life. Purple flowers everywhere! she said. Small children are lost every spring, hidden in the purple flowers, cars crash into cars because they can’t see anything but purple flowers, people plunge fully dressed into ponds because the water is carpeted with purple flowers and invisible! If the tree could wait all year for a relatively brief moment of beauty, said Natalie, and continue to stay alive for centuries, then so could I.

You’ll stay alive for centuries? I said.

I’ll stay alive, said Natalie. I’m a pupil of the jacaranda tree. It has taught me that it’s okay to lay low most of the time, to nest in the shadows … and then … explode!

Hubertus laughed and laughed. Shit goes DOWN! he said. Natalie smacked him on the head and then she picked up the green garden hose and wrapped it around his neck while she kissed him and he pretended to die.

At the end of this encounter I had a job as a maid. I hadn’t managed to work the existence of Ximena into the equation.
I didn’t want to ruin my chance at employment by insisting that while on the job I carry a misanthropic infant around on my back. Maybe she could appear on the scene like a jacaranda tree, out of nowhere, and she would inspire Natalie to live.

I walked out onto the street and heard the whistles of the knife sharpeners and the cries of gas and water men. I wondered if in Mexico City it worked the other way around too so that I could walk up and down the streets shouting out the names of things I needed as opposed to the names of things I had for sale.

Aggie and Ximena weren’t on the bench. At first I thought maybe I had gone to the wrong bench but I saw taco filling all over it and little bugs eating it so I knew it was the right one. I wondered why it happened so often in life that just as you secured one corner of the tent another one would flap loose in the wind. I stared at the little bugs and tried to think. A one-man trumpet, tambourine and drum band walked past me. I know, I thought, we have to do everything ourselves if we want it to get done. I told myself to inhabit the mind and body of Aggie. I’m Aggie, I said. I’m sitting on the bench bored to death, restless as hell and poised to bolt. Where do I go? I saw a large statue, a sculpture of a woman, and I walked towards it. It was a buxom nude holding two jugs of spouting water. I stood next to her and looked around for Aggie and Ximena. In Chihuahua I couldn’t shake Aggie and in Mexico City I couldn’t keep her from taking off. I kept walking. A guy
sat on the ground with books spread all around him. I stopped and stared at them.

Hay algún libro de Simone de Beauvoir?
I said.

No, no tenemos,
he said.

Me puede recomendar algún libro?
I said.

Sí,
he said.
Te gusta …?

No sé,
I said.

Que tipo de libros lees?
he said.

No sé,
I said.

Has leído
Nuestra arma es nuestra palabra
?

I had bought my first book.
Our Word is Our Weapon
. Selected writings of Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos. Actually I hadn’t paid for it because Aggie had the
farmacia
bag with Ximena’s stuff and all our money but the guy sitting on the ground told me I could have it for nothing if I came back and bought something another time.

Will you? he said.

Yes, I said.