Mai at the Predators' Ball (12 page)

he’s had his fill, hey does he really come from an old family of musicians and showbiz people in
Puerto Rico, who knows, all lying bitches, mythomaniacs, talkers, mind you that’s what the customers like don’t they, ’specially this Robbie of yours, she was always partying with Fatalité, cannabis, hash, coke non-stop, do you really think just ’cause you’re young you won’t get what’s coming to you for all this evil eh, living for the moment, tangoing on the edge of a cliff, you think there’s no bill coming in for all this don’t you, that Yinn and My Captain too, no consequences no sir, Petites Cendres finally yelled at him that Yinn was beyond reproach, brave and blameless, sure he arranged with Andrés to withdraw money to pay for things in the house, mostly before Robbie could snort it all up in powder the old man admitted, Petites Cendres could see by his allure of a gentleman farmer all slicked up to come into the bar that the old guy was fragile like Petites Cendres’ old man, just a hand on those hunched shoulders and his fingers would have felt every single bone, I’ll go out and get you a taxi he said, thinking about his father and the stack of Bibles he had for sale, scattering bread crumbs for the hens and chicks out on the sidewalk along Esmeralda, they both seemed pitiable to him, maybe even a little touching, Reverend Ézéchielle had pardoned Petites Cendres so many times maybe he ought to do the same, forgive those who have trespassed against us my friend, still it is not for a father to raise his hand against his son, it remains to be seen if God in his charity will forgive a father for hating and cursing his son and raising his hand against him, this we will see when the time comes she said, I’m getting you a taxi Petites Cendres said again, listen to me just a bit more said the old man, they’re all mythomaniacs, yarn-spinning, bullshitting girls, fakers, and that actor Herman, the one that played Beckett in New York, says he got hurt tripping on one of Yinn’s sets, not even true, worse even, still he doesn’t say a word ’cause he doesn’t want to get fired and how’s he gonna get another job eh, dreams and make-believe all of it, but that’s gonna come around too, your immune systems are so shot you guys could catch anything, yeah listen to me, malaria, the killer fever, a fly or any insect can do you in, maybe that’s how Herman’ll go if he doesn’t stop going around yelling on that tricycle of his at night, he knows he’s going to get hammered so he gets a thick skin, had a heartbreak they said, well who hasn’t eh, Petites Cendres, liars and cheats all of them I’m telling you, here, your taxi Petites Cendres announced, but the old guy fell back on his seat and disappeared from sight and Petites Cendres was alone in the silence of the bar again, then the street racket started up and a shaft of light lit up the red sofa, thirsty and shivering, Petites Cendres once more held out his hand to the memory of Yinn dancing oh so close to him, the vestibule was aglow in the reddish tinge of the night light and a hermaphrodite mannequin held out its hand to Petites Cendres, the silky wig made it look a bit like Robbie or the Adonis called Vanquished Heart, half-boy, half-girl, mourning his mother who had recently died of alcoholism at fifty, tears still pouring out from under his long lashes through the whole performance, this much sorrow on earth and yet a father has to hate his son, why, that night though the mannequin wasn’t wearing a thing, not even its wig, bare naked under a flag and looking as defeated as little Vanquished Heart was, sobbing backstage and saying I’ve got no mother, no one, it’s all over, like in a coma, yet this was the mannequin that held out its plaster hand to Petites Cendres and said come to me and I will console you, at least that’s what the lifeless lips seemed to say with no small irony, look Petites Cendres, this place in all its smokiness has not known only tears, there’s been laughter as well, alcohol sliding itself into glasses, cascades of laughter, night and day, listen to me, as the Old Man would say, we’ve all had our heartbreaks in love, a person undefeated is a person who hasn’t lived, that’s just the way the heart is, the skin at least can keep healing itself all the way to death, Vanquished Heart had to change into Triumphant Heart, one night when he wended his sad way through the crowd, bucket in hand, he found himself face to face with a boy in a cap who said every night I’ve come and admired you Vanquished Heart, and that brought him right back, from now on the boy in the cap, sometimes backwards, sometimes not, would be there by his side for good, Vanquished Heart said it was my mother who sent you wasn’t it, she’s always loved me so very much, after that they were never apart, yes he said, but I don’t have anyone like that thought Petites Cendres as he looked out the window at the sunrise and imagined he still heard the old guy saying over and over traitresses all of them, plotters and liars and fakers, I’m telling you Petites Cendres, well okay Yinn’s still in the arms of Jason and they’re living together, right, but you, Petites Cendres, you’re alone, it was then he saw the huge white horse onstage where Jason sang soprano as he always did on dance night when they were all in the chorus, led by that calming and beautiful voice of his, newcomers and regulars alike amidst the smokiness and alcohol, the cascading laughter and whistles Petites Cendres heard from the voices on those nights, Jason’s voice rising and floating above them all, enchanting Yinn standing but discreet in his red vest, hair untied and falling over his shoulders, not distracting at all from Jason singing so beautifully, Yinn no longer standing out for a change, just one of the crowd, transformed into an ordinary boy keeping time with his sandalled feet, at that instant Petites Cendres looked at him and thought just a little boy all of a sudden, the huge papier-mâché horse, something Yinn and Herman had thrown together without too much artifice, was up there as silent as the mannequin under its flag in the red glow of the night light that never went out and the yellow blinking lights on the stairs leading to the cabaret, motionless on its rollers, the white horse seemed to be waiting to be hauled out for the spring and summer parties with its bridle dragging on the ground, the same one Herman would use to yank it through the streets yelling last show is at midnight, only five minutes to go, five minutes, adults only, explicit language, and on the horse’s rump would sit Herman and Robbie entangled in an embrace and laughing, back when Herman’s smile was a little less sad thought Petites Cendres, his words a little less brusque, his voice a little less hoarse, what was it in him so toxic and all-devouring, suddenly there he was astride the horse, bridle in hand, in his costume for the second show, a sort of white fringed culottes over beige boots, hair curled amid the smoky air like drooping, ragged wings, and he was telling Petites Cendres you absolutely must not miss my most stunning, rip-roaring number where I appear as a woman and bit by bit I disrobe into manhood, showing the power that we all have to be in harmony, so what do you say Petites Cendres, you coming to see it, his eyelashes, like Yinn’s at times, seemed misty and flat, which gave him an exquisite air, my parents are intellectuals and they get what it is I do, they let me be just what I always wanted to be, not everyone’s that lucky Herman said, you going to come see my routine Petites Cendres, I wasted enough days and nights drinking in this place because the boy I wanted turned me down and he didn’t want me contaminated, and I cried, hugging the emptiness for nothing, just like you hold on to that ethereal Yinn, my friend, now don’t you think it’s about time to get out our horse and have some fun on him with Robbie, surely we’ve had enough of weeping over Fatalité, parading down to the quay, enough parades and processions of all kinds, isn’t that so Petites Cendres, and Petites Cendres pictured his parents getting out their Bibles down in the alleyways of the port, trotting around the streets declaring the word of God as they called it, and when the owners of shops and restaurants chased them away, yelling after them we don’t want peddlers and loafers hanging around here so get lost, and if you don’t we’ll get the mounted police to chase you off, horses,
horses
, that was the word that terrified them as if they had found themselves bent beneath the unholy masters’ whips like in the olden days, laid low in shame and slavery, so no soliciting and no hanging around was what they yelled at them, trotting, always trotting down the alleys by the sea, alleyways for whites, this is the way they got to their steamers and yachts, there was this man, who was he, selling iced tea from a little electric car, he took pity on them in this dry heat, here this is for your dad and mom, they must be thirsty Petites Cendres, go on, give it to them, it’s cruel times, and tell them not all men are alike and steeped in evil, the cool of the drink on their cracked lips, yes Petites Cendres remembered it, the consoling, comforting drink spreading through them, horses, horses they muttered as they trotted, trotted all the way to Esmeralda, maybe it was time to pardon his old, mixed-blood parents pathetically trying in vain to spread the word of God and being chased off by merchants and restaurant owners with shouts of peddlers, loafers, what enchantment in these Schubert sonatas marvelled Mère, just then she saw her daughter approaching with a tray and she said to Mélanie, you really mustn’t be getting up in the middle of the night for me, but Mama it isn’t nighttime yet Mélanie answered, you are always saying your feet are burning at the end of the day, she held out a bowl filled with ice cubes, here let me cool off your feet slowly, and she wrapped some of the ice in her scarf to chill her mother’s feet, remember when I was small and I did this, oh sweetheart said Mère, what a delight it was on those burning hot days, do you remember that, then suddenly changing tack she asked where’s Julio, couldn’t he come back home so Marie-Sylvie can get a break, I know what a burden I must be to all of you, yes yes I know, oh Mama doesn’t this feel better Mélanie asked as she rubbed her mother’s numbed feet, Julio’s busy with his political refugees, he’ll come though, I promise you Mama, you know Julio, Marie-Sylvie, and Jenny are also my children Mère mused, still she could not repress a shiver at the mention of Marie-Sylvie, now tell me asked Mélanie, why oh why don’t you just come live with us, that way Daniel and I can be nearby day and night, all you have to do is agree to sleep in Samuel’s room, but Mère replied oh the time will come for that soon enough but not just yet, I do so love the joy of listening to Schubert’s sonatas, there will come a time when I’m no longer with you, my child you know I’ve always been a free spirit, been running my own life ever since your father left us, yes Mélanie, do ask Julio to try to visit me, you how I’ve loved every single one of them, each one my own child, ah how beautiful this music is she said again, Mélanie replied there now, doesn’t the ice help a bit, see you’re moving your feet, now Mama you’d better rest and I’ll look in on you in an hour, and no it isn’t nighttime yet Mama, the fire in her feet now extinguished, she dozed off, was this true sleep or, if not, what else could this tumultuous torpor of a life be that drowned out the music and made it irritating to her, the birth of her composer, the story that Franz had told about him over evening cocktails in the garden, son of a servant, born into a family of thirteen of whom only five survived, Schubert, fierce, star-led child, wasn’t long for poverty and privation, that music, where did it come from Mère had asked Franz, one of his works says it so well came the answer, Schubert was the song of the water sprites, though the sprites of the great German poets he set to music were the songs of disgrace from syphilis, the waters were the physical and mental torment out of which the composer’s spirit emerged to serenity but only reached that ineffable joy at death’s door, indeed that must be what Franz had said, the ineffable gift of joy, that’s where the music comes from, the depths of desolation my dear, and in this bustling torpor of life that was neither sleep nor rest, Mère saw Caroline calling to her, come Esther she said, all dressed up for the evening, come my dear I must show you where I am, and where was it, this hermetic world that was now her home, follow me said Caroline to Mère, just follow me Esther, that’s all, and they went into a darkened house with unlit corridors, God thought Mère, not these frightening dark-coloured walls and halls again, and here’s the room I share with strangers Caroline said as a diffuse light dawned in the room and Mère saw a fairly young man and a motionless woman of some distinction, both of them seated in armchairs and appearing to notice no one but themselves, I don’t know why I have to be assailed by these people Caroline, they can neither see nor hear me, they are pathetically absorbed in one another, obviously well off and never having done without, bound up in their sterile passion for money, look at the luxury they surround themselves with, oddly now it was Mère who was explaining things to Caroline, things she noticed in this couple, I know what they’ve always venerated and idolized, they are not flesh and bone, only the money they always wanted, look Caroline they are all malleable white metal, barely able to move and breathe, held in its vise-grip, Caroline wondered why am I condemned to be with them, they can neither see nor hear me, Esther tell me why, but Mère didn’t know what to say, no this is not sleep, no it’s an overwhelming bustle of life amid torpor, whether with Caroline or by herself, in which she no longer heard Schubert’s music and seemed to have forgotten everything Franz had said about him except that only five out of thirteen in the family survived, he was a predestined offering to the gods, a sacrifice Franz said, that was what he said wasn’t it, as he turned toward the sign over the entrance to the cabaret, Petites Cendres read under the yellow light bulbs leading to the stairs:
COME SEE WORLD-RENOWNED YINN DANCE FOR YOUR DELIGHT
, and a drawing of his eyes stared out at him, lashes black and lush, not unlike Herman’s, who also straddled the white papier-mâché horse saying it’s time, yes it’s time to drop all the processions and parades by the sea and let Fatalité rest in peace, yes rest under the waters that welled over and dissolved the most charming features of his body, nothing, no there was nothing to be done about that said Herman, that was the saddest part, dissolution, and as Herman spoke Petites Cendres thought of all the arguments and quarrels Herman had had with Yinn right there in front of their comically conceived horse, the Spring-Break Horse as Herman called it, soon to be trotted out onto the sidewalk and into the street, and it was right next to this rather clunky-looking pseudo-equine that Herman told Yinn I’ll love whoever I please and even if Fabian is plague-infested, isn’t that just one more reason to love him, this world’s riddled with plagues and no one seems to care, seen any worldwide campaigns against hunger lately, no, ’course you haven’t, not a word right, thirst, how about thirst in all those dried-out countries pockmarked with war, nothing, nope, and as for the serious cases under a doctor’s care like Fatalité and Fabian, Fabian, brown-skinned and handsomer than Robbie with that virile hip action he’s got, Fatalité didn’t go see Dr. Dieudonné till it was too late anyway, too bad, they might as well truly get some splashy sex ’cause God knows it’s all they’ve got left isn’t it, that’s right Yinn, I’ll love whoever I feel like and not you or anyone else is going to stop me, so, Yinn said, take Fabian to Dieudonné’s clinic then, he needs help and a place to live more than anything, and especially Dieudonné, more than all your wild desires he said with a firm voice, besides Fabian’s right, he could infect you and I’m not letting that happen, look that’s just the way it is said Herman, what can you do, it’s just our time, you have to love whatever conditions you’re in, take the risks or just stop living for real, believe me Yinn, I’m going to love him and not chicken out and I don’t need your permission to live out my splashy life, you want to put Fabian in quarantine with all those others exiled to some remote part of the island, are you really that inhuman Yinn that you’d forbid loving a young man in a time of pestilence, and who’s going to forbid it, not you, heartless Mother Yinn, no not you, no said Yinn, I mean no you’re not having Fabian, or him you, he’d be up in flames like straw, I know you Herman and I’m not letting you die in unspeakable agony like Fatalité for a stray embrace, no I’m not Yinn repeated, his eyes rimmed with tears, too much Herman, it would be too much, Yinn at that moment felt the overwhelming precariousness of all their lives, every one of those close to him, are we just going to take this yelled Herman, this earth that one day soon will have no one left on it to love, millions detained at border crossings and held in quarantine, shipped off out of sheer hatred and mistrust, are we going to let them ban love, though even now Herman was realizing he really would give up Fabian, yet his words shook Yinn, who was already in tears, Yinn, wanting to save him, loving him, with Herman always so on edge and despairing, constitutionally indomitable, he thought this himself, Herman would have liked to take Fabian to Dieudonné’s clinic the very next day, one more sick kid to work on is how he’d put it to the doctor, touching his fingers to Fabian’s eyelids and round cheeks as if saying farewell to a precious friend forever, I’ll be back and I know you’re going to get better Fabian, see, you’ve stopped coughing now, I’ll come see you tomorrow, Herman went off somewhere to contain his rage, drinking non-stop in the bar for seven days, avoiding Yinn, the alcohol gradually drawing the toxins out of his wretchedness, and asking himself do we really have to accept that it’s now forbidden to love, then back to work, only this time creating a truly astonishing number of a lady with an eye for the men and vice versa, a real hit with the customers though Herman never really had much use for that lot, thinking them stupid, insatiably vulgar, and drowning in prejudice instead of laughing it out of their systems, the brutal superiority of the public was what caused so many fights with Yinn, who said you have to respect the people who pay to see us dance and sing, they deserve a little consideration and deference Yinn said, I know they have us eating out of their hands Herman said, and without them we’d be out of a job, but don’t forget, Yinn, it’s just crumbs, we’re onstage all night long every night and not one of us is ever going to get rich, you think they can still be reached I know, and one day they’ll realize we’re true artists, but they just see us as sort of homosexuals in disguise, oddballs, oddities that shock and excite them when we stretch their inhibitions to the limit, finally they get to the point where they come up on the stage undressed and realize wow, they have a body too, then make some dumb-ass lewd move to get over their prudishness, I tell them to turn left, then turn right and they do it, they get off on my hands groping them all over, but it’s an illusion, the only touching that goes on is in their heads, my hands just disappear for a second, if it’s a woman I tell her she’s got nice breasts or I tease a man about his manhood, a man and any other damn thing, same as you Yinn, I make ’em feel better by getting down in the dirt with them, I share it all right down to their rotten taste, hey I say, look here I can make a coin materialize out of your puritan ass, gold nuggets why not, and they love it, it’s their favourite number, I am the embodiment of vulgarity, now that’s something you can never do Yinn, an artist who vicariously brings out the lowest thing inside you, that’s what I am, and I only get on my high horse when it’s over and I get to sing or dance with Cobra, Geisha, or you Yinn, in all your night-bird glory, inaccessible princehood, and you Yinn, you tell me to respect them and show some consideration, but Yinn’s answer was still yes, you owe them everything, it shows on you Herman, you had a golden childhood, overindulged, then Herman’s tenderness for Yinn and his art suddenly showed, for the inner strength that seemed to guide his entire life in flawless purity, yet showing none of the feelings, this was his way, as Herman said with irritation and annoyance, no Yinn, no, you’re not going to stop me being who I am, that, Yinn, is one thing you’re not going to do, and the steel heels of his boots clicked across the wooden floor all the way out into the street, you could hear them as well as his hoarse laughter for a long way, and he yelled five minutes to midnight showtime, five minutes you indifferent, aimless pedestrians, come, don’t come, you all just piss me off, seriously, come or don’t come, five minutes to the midnight show. Mère watched as Julio opened every window in the room so she could hear the night sounds and, not far from Daniel and Mélanie’s house and hidden by the fog of several days, the barely audible sound of the sea, thanks Julio for coming so far Mère said, but why are your eyes bandaged, have you been attacked by thugs on the beach again, he undid it and said but this time I’ve learned to defend myself Esther, it’s been a while, I was younger then, still vulnerable and grieving for my family, it didn’t take much to get my goat, I gave as well as got, and without you bringing me into your home Esther, I might not even be alive today, let alone setting up and running a bunch of houses of refuge for Cubans, Jamaicans, and Haitians in the big cities, would I, when my mom was begging God she forgot to ask for life jackets, and if I hadn’t taken one off a drowned man I wouldn’t have survived long enough for the helicopter to pick me up, can you hear the sea now Esther, I hear my mother Edna’s voice and my brother Oreste, my sister Nina too, that helicopter was so close we could hear the roar of its engines just overhead, so close, but the swell took them anyway, they all swam for the lights onshore, Ramon too, but Edna’s prayers weren’t answered and none of them made it to the land of milk and honey as she called it, not one, no new country for them, just the shores of the beyond, a long, slow death out on the water, and here I am saved by a dead man’s life jacket while they’re on a raft going down to a long sleep on the dark ocean floor, Edna, Nina, Oreste, Ramon, you know what we found, one of Oreste’s white shoes, Edna’s shawl, and Nina’s doll intact, can you hear them in the night Esther, their sad lament at being betrayed, that’s what I feel so violently, fooled and betrayed by my mother’s prayers and her dreams of a land of milk and honey, they were lied to you know, the owners of those rafts and boats to whom my mother sold her soul, knowing all the same that the wood was rotted and they’d all drown, listen to their voices, can you hear them Esther, the betrayed and tricked and lied-to, land of milk and honey, right, no such thing, can you hear them calling out for justice, for truth, for their own bodies and lives back again, no blue glow of the shoreline for them, Mère said all I hear are the murmurs in the trees, come closer Julio, a bit closer, Mélanie told me you’ll be in New York in a few days, so Julio, would you hug Samuel for me, Augustino doesn’t seem to have time to write me and I miss them all so much in this monastic homebody life I’m leading here, listen to their voices, my mother, Ramon, Oreste, Nina, listen Esther said Julio, come closer Julio, come closer was all Mère said from where she sat on the edge of the bed, but when he did she realized it wasn’t Julio but Marie-Sylvie de la Toussaint, you called me, and she placed a carafe of cool water on the bedside table, when Mère saw this large form suddenly looming over her, and despite the sombre colour of the room, further deepened by shadows, she noticed stains rather like ashes on Marie-Sylvie’s face, her voice took on a particular sharpness, and the ashen marks on her dark face, oh no I was reading, resting and reading said Mère, I’m sure I didn’t call you, it’s just that people keep coming and going here said Marie-Sylvie, sounding irritated, all your friends keep bothering me with their knocking she went on, but I’m not expecting anyone said Mère, as though apologizing for all the chaos around her, see, here comes another one, Adrien, God he looks so priggish in that blue blazer and white pants of his, says he just finished playing tennis, there said Marie-Sylvie, slamming the door behind her, my dearest Esther hailed Adrien, sweet friend, your old pal the poet and blasé literary critic is here once again, Daniel said you’d like me to drop in, I must admit I’m not the best of company now I’m alone without indispensable Suzanne by my side, oh the love of a lifetime, Suzanne he whispered hoarsely, hiding his tears with his hands, do come closer Mère said, here, come sit on the bed, oh we’ve been friends for such a long time, you will read me some of your poems won’t you, I think “Humility” is my favourite or perhaps “Settling Accounts,” oh I can do that by heart but its real title is “Day of Justice” he corrected her, one morning after a night of drunkenness, too much wine and whisky, a man sees in a flash every single thing he’s ever done in his life and decides not one day of it has any value whatsoever, just a series of gaping holes in the tapestry of his days, he feels guilty and, looking at himself in the mirror, he realizes he’s even red with embarrassment although he’s alone, artifice, that’s all he is, artifice, you should be ashamed of yourself, of course this self-condemnation doesn’t last long, the sun has simply moved on and shifted its gaze elsewhere Adrien said, I beg Suzanne to come back to me, at least in my dreams, I don’t know why she hardly ever comes into them, when she does, she always seems put out about something, no longer the woman I loved, I can never reach her no matter how hard I try, every door is firmly shut, oh Suzanne we loved one another so very much, our bright golden youth, our books, our work, do you know what she holds against me the most in my nightmares, my wife, my beloved regrets having written so little when she was with me, she doesn’t blame the children, just me, I wish, I wish I had written more when we were together Adrien, what are you going to do with my posthumous work, have you found my notebooks, all my poetry, you my poet, world-renowned critic, what do you have to say to me, but these are only dreams said Mère, you mustn’t let such things upset you Adrien, the truth is you were both splendid and always supported one another, didn’t you Adrien, that’s the truth, isn’t it, day of justice, day of justice repeated Adrien, humility was never my strong suit Esther, if pride can be considered a quality, well I had plenty of that didn’t I, even to the detriment of my wife, plenty of it no doubt, and it didn’t get any better over the years either, remember how tight-lipped I was about Daniel’s