CHAPTER 20

AT TíA CELIA’S, THERE’S A FEAST for Pauli and Rosa. Tía has outdone herself: ropa vieja, maduros, rice ‘and creamy black beans, arroz con leche, hot Cuban bread, and Chilean red wine for everybody. Everything smells of garlic and sweet onions; everything’s warm. The salad is fresh and massive, with little mandarin orange slices and a tangy, lemony dressing. I swear Tía Celia’s doing this just to keep Tío Pepe away. Not even his ghost could get near it without having an allergic reaction.

Pauli looks fantastic. She’s tanned and fit and her eyes are sparkling once more. Before she left for Mexico again, she’d seemed depressed and gangly but now she moves with her usual grace, her long arms reaching across the table for food or encasing each of us in tight, hearty hugs.

“I’m so glad to be home,” she says, walking around her mother’s house, touching the Spanish lace draped on Tía Celia’s furniture, the framed photos on the wall. It’s as if she’s reclaiming them.

“I have some things that are coming via DHL—some textiles and paintings,” she says to no one in particular. “Maybe we could find room somewhere—although, god, I like everything here just the way it is.” She’s so open, there’s nothing about her now that would suggest the Fortress of Solitude.

“We’ll find room, of course,” says Tía Celia, delighted. Every time she walks by Rosa on her way to or from the kitchen, she leans down and kisses her or squeezes her little body. Rosa giggles. She’s a happy baby—laughing and grabbing at everything, sitting upright in our arms, drooling all over each of us in turn. She’s too excited for sleep so Pauli’s not even trying to get her to bed yet.

I’m sitting at the dining room table, stuffing myself as usual at Tía Celia’s, and drinking a Very Fine. Cari’s here too but she’s not eating.

“How about this one?” she says while pointing to a classified ad. She’s got the paper all spread out on the table, bumping right up against Tía Celia’s buffet. She’s got long sleeves on to hide last night’s bruises from her mother and sister. “GEO ‘92 Metro LSI Convertible Auto, AC & New Top. Exceptional $6,995 dealer 800-PRICE-l2.”

Since Tía Celia and Pauli won’t let her smoke in the house now that Rosa’s here, Cari fingers a cigarette now and then. She brings it up to her nose for a quick, meaningless fix.

“Sounds cool,” I say. But she’s not talking to me. It’s clear that this morning’s events have erased me from her screen.

“Jimmy, what do you think?” she calls out to him. He’s in the living room, his face in a huge pile of food, watching the Bears on Monday Night Football.

“I think a dealer’s gonna charge you more for less,” he answers. His voice seems to come out of the wall. “Try just a person who’s trying to sell a car—you might get a better deal that way.”

I know what this is: This is payback, the unspoken apology. After he beats the hell out of Caridad, Jimmy usually gives her something, or gives in to something, depending on what she wants and how badly their fight went. It’s his form of repentance—it’s his way of never having to really say he’s sorry. Unfortunately, Caridad knows this pattern a bit too well and she’s learned to work it. Instead of leaving the bastard, she’s going to get a car out of him this time.

“How about this one then: GEO ‘89 Metro. This Week’s Special, $1,995, AUTOBARN, 312-372-7900?” she asks. She’s practically pushing the cigarette up her nose. Pauli and I look at each other; this is so inane, neither one of us can believe it.

“That’s a dealer, Cari, try an individual,” Jimmy says again.

His patience is exaggerated, patronizing. But he’s pretty sedate right now. When they got back from O’Hare, he checked his losing Little Lotto number by phone then plopped down in front of the TV. The Bears rarely do well on Monday nights, but he’s out there grunting with every play. He didn’t even say hello to me when I came in. Pauli says he barely said a word to her either, just acted real shy and bounced Rosa around in his arms a little bit at the airport gate.

“But, Jimmy, look how cheap it is,” Caridad says, not looking up from the paper.

Behind Cari’s back, Pauli points out her scratches by pantomiming clawing on her own hands. I turn away, say nothing, but I can sense Tía Celia’s anger and disgust. Her gestures are sharp all of a sudden. She grabs her empty plate a little angrily, swipes the silverware off the table in one movement before heading for the kitchen. Cari continues reading the ads, ignoring us, ignoring the food, yelling from one room to another.

“Okay, how about this one: GEO ‘93 Metro LSI Convertible, White, Auto, AIC, Full Power. Only 15,000 miles, $7,745?”

“Caridad, if you’re going to be yelling at Jimmy in the living room, why don’t you just go in there and talk to him at a normal volume?” Tía Celia asks as she steps back into the dining room. Her eyes are like gleaming steel.

“What’s the big deal?” Can asks. “I want to be in here.” She’s distracted, consumed with her ads. She’s also irritable, crazed for nicotine.

“Cari, just go in the living room—don’t yell, okay?” Pauli says, backing up her mother. “We want to talk too. And to put Rosa to bed at a reasonable hour.”

“Uh…okay,” Cari says, gathering up the newspaper and going into the living room. As she walks, she pats her pockets for a lighter—it’s clear she’s going to step out for a smoke. I think, What a relief, maybe she’ll calm down some.

Tía Celia shakes her head sadly, takes Rosa from Pauli’s arms, and disappears into the kitchen again.

“God, what the fuck is going on?” asks Pauli, taking a seat next to me at the dining-room table. She pulls her legs up under her, like Nena did during our big talk in Miami.

I shrug. “Same ol’ thing,” I say.

“No. not same ol’ thing,” says Pauli. “Since when does Caridad talk back to Mami?”

“Huh?”

“That ‘What’s the big deal?’—what’s that about?” Pauli asks, whispering.

I shrug again. “I don’t know,” I say. “Misplaced anger.”

Pauli laughs, slaps my shoulder. “Whoa—that psychobabble sounds like Patricia,” she says. “You’ve been hanging around her too much! It’s rubbing off!”

I smile at her but it’s weak. I’ve got a headache, my temples feel tight.

“Tell me what’s going on with you now,” Pauli says, genuinely interested.

“Nothing,” I say. I don’t want to discuss the career counselor and I can’t say anything about what happened with Jimmy and Caridad at the laundromat while they’re in the next room.

“C’mon, really,” she insists, her hand on my arm, just like Nena. “Do you ever hear from Gina?”

I shake my head. It’s so strange to have Pauli ask about her like this—as if Gina might simply pick up the phone or drop by, as if we could just stroll down the street and run into each other and decide to have a cup of coffee together.

Pauli squeezes my arm. “I guess…I guess I just couldn’t believe that you’d decide not to see her,” Pauli says. She’s so serious, her forehead’s wrinkled. “When Cari told me you cut her off because you didn’t like the idea of being a target of that kind of political violence, well, honestly, it just didn’t sound like you—especially because, Juani, I mean, I know how much you loved her…”

She stares at me so hard and so close, I can barely meet her gaze.

“It’s a lot of different stuff,” I say, pulling my arm away. “It wasn’t just the attack. We had problems before that.” (I tell myself there’s a lot of truth to this.)

Pauli nods. “Still…”

“And you?”

“Me?”

“What are you gonna do now?”

“Go to art school, raise Rosa.” She’s smiling and it’s real—she’s absolutely glowing. “I’ve got some money from Papi’s insurance and my own savings. I actually made good money in Mexico. With some financial aid, I can pay my tuition and help out here.”

I think back to Tía Celia’s vision of the future, how she imagined Pauli and Rosa living with her. And now here they are, in her house, under her roof. I remember too that Tía said her business with Caridad is still unfinished.

I look around the room, searching for spies the way my mother does when she wants to talk confidentially. “I gotta admit, Pauli, you seem really different than when you left,” I say in a low voice. “What happened?”

She laughs. “I worked some things out in my head, that’s all.” She’s still smiling, amused. Whatever’s going on with her, she’s not going to share it with me.

“And Rosa’s father?” I ask, but Pauli laughs, gets up, and vanishes into the kitchen with her mother and her daughter, leaving me alone.

There’s chattering in there, baby gurgles and the sounds of pots and pans being moved; in the living room, the TV announcers blare, Caridad’s squeaky voice bounces above them and Jimmy snorts. Here, where I am, there’s a strange, constant humming.

All night long, I keep waiting for Tía Celia to say something to me about her shift at the Wash-N-Dry. I look at my watch so often that Pauli teases me.

“You got a big date or something?” she asks at one point, eyes twinkling with mischief.

I blush, inexplicably. “No, no, no…”

Pauli laughs. “Okay, okay—you’ll tell me when you’re ready to.”

“No, really, I’m just gonna go home,” I say, but she’s not convinced. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

I don’t want to tell her I obviously misread the schedule—I mean, it’s way past nine o’clock and Tía Celia’s still puttering and playing with Rosa. I’m embarrassed to let Pauli see I’m so scattered. In a way I’m glad it all worked out this way, though. I got to spend time with Pauli and Rosa and so did Tía Celia. Nobody missed anything. And the fact is that I’m still exhausted from my visit with Nena in Miami. I’m still sifting through everything that happened there, still trying to figure out how I’m going to face my parents, and especially my mother, whom I’ve managed to put off since I got back.

“Hey…” It’s Caridad, Jimmy’s empty plate in hand. “Whatcha’ doin’ just sitting there?” she asks.

Her cheeks are pink; obviously the cold air bit at her while she sucked on her cigarette outside. It’s the first time she’s talked directly to me all night.

“Aw, nothing,” I say, getting up from the dining-room table, grabbing Jimmy’s plate from her and dropping it on mine. “Just thinking, I guess.”

As I walk into the kitchen, Tía Celia and Pauli tiptoe out with a sleepy Rosa on Tía Celia’s shoulder. Caridad turns away from me and follows them down the hall to Pauli and Rosa’s bedroom. I think, It’s just as well. We don’t really have anything to say to each other anymore.

I toss the plate in the kitchen sink, which is frothing with suds, and pick a piece of maduro off a pan waiting its turn to be dunked in the steaming, cleansing water. I drop the maduro in my mouth and savor its singed sweetness. I’m just pulling the trash out from under the sink when Pauli walks back in.

“Hey, will you stay?” she asks. “I think everybody’s leaving and then we can talk, you know, just the two of us.”

I look at my watch: It’s about a quarter to ten. “For a little while, I guess, yeah,” I say.

“C’mon,” says Pauli, “I’ll make you a cafesito.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, wrapping up the garbage.

Tía Celia re-appears, her arms stretching into her coat as she walks. “You sure you’ll take care of everything?” she asks Pauli, surveying the dirty dishes and pots, the food that’s still to be put away.

“Absolutely,” Pauli says, helping her with her coat and kissing her cheek.

I’m confused. “Tía, where are you going?” I point to my watch. “It’s almost ten o’clock.”

Tía Celia leans my way and kisses me good-bye. “The laundromat, to help close.”

“The laundromat?” I think, What the hell’s going on?

“Zenaida took my shift for me tonight so I could be with Pauli—”

I hadn’t misread the schedule after all!

“—on the condition I help her close out.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” I say, reaching out to unbutton Tía Celia’s coat. “You stay here, I’ll go.” She resists, but in a friendly way. Nonetheless, I start for the living room, where my jacket’s draped across the couch.

“No, Juani, c’mon, I thought we were gonna talk,” Pauli says.

“But I’m happy to help Tía Zenaida,” I say, “and that way Tía Celia can hang out with you and Rosa longer.”

Tía Celia waves me away. “Rosa’s in bed,” she says. “Now you stay here, talk to Pauli. You two haven’t had any time to talk. You know, they live here now—I can talk to them whenever I want.” She winks at me and wanders out of the room.

“So you’ll stay?” Pauli asks.

“Sure,” I say, “of course.”

But I can hardly hear my own words: Now the room’s like a mass of bees, humming and buzzing. I can’t believe nobody even consults me anymore. It’s as if I don’t even exist.

They’re supposed to leave together—Tía Celia, Caridad and Jimmy—so Cari and Jimmy, who live just upstairs from the laundromat, can accompany Tía Celia the block or so to the Wash-N-Dry. Tía and Cari are ready, all buttoned up and wrapped in scarves, but Jimmy’s having a hard time. He’s got his coat in his hands but he’s not paying attention—his eyes are glued to the television set, where the Bears have unexpectedly gotten into field-goal position to go into overtime. The announcers are all excited, hooting and screaming. Jimmy’s body leans over at an angle. When the Bears miraculously kick the ball through the posts, he jerks, pumps the air with his fist, and yelps.

“Okay, they won, we can leave now,” Cari says. She’s impatient and Tia’s already by the door, her hand on the knob.

Jimmy laughs and explains it’s a tie, it’s overtime, and the game’s going to keep going. “It’ll be just a few minutes,” he says, smiling broadly and relaxed. “Really, honest,” he says, “let’s just wait a few minutes.”

Tía Celia protests. “Zenaida’s waiting,” she says. “Look, you two stay, I’ll walk over alone. I do it all the time.”

Jimmy objects, insisting it’ll be quick. As he talks, his eyes dart back and forth between Tía Celia and the TV. The Bears have the ball. But Cari’s exasperated—she says the Bears always lose and he doesn’t have to stay to find that out. She tells him football’s so stupid anyway. Tía Celia, Pauli and I all watch, amazed at her audacity, but Jimmy’s too into the game to be concerned. He makes a face as the Bears go to second down already.

“Look, I can’t wait, it’s Zenaida,” says Tía Celia. “She’s doing me a favor. I can’t do this to her.” She turns the knob and starts out. “I’ve got to go.”

“Well, then, I’ll go with you,” Cari says, practically daring Jimmy, but he really doesn’t care. Pauli and I look at each other, a little surprised.

“Cool, cool,” he says, relieved, dropping his coat on the arm of the chair and throwing himself back down. He glances up at Pauli and me for a second: “Cool with you guys if I stay for a few?”

Pauli speaks for both of us. “Yeah, fine.” But I’m not so sure.

Tía Celia darts out, saying buenas noches over her shoulder, and Cari follows. Jimmy sits in the bluish TV light intent on the game, his monstrous face aglow, leaning up, his elbows on his thighs, foot tapping restlessly, vein vibrating.

“Jimmy Frankenstein,” Pauli whispers to me with a giggle and pulls on my sleeve to follow her into the kitchen, where she starts the process of making us a pair of cafesitos. I look back to make sure Jimmy didn’t hear—to make sure we don’t have a problem—but he’s lost in the game. The Bears punt, it’s miserable, and he groans loudly.

Pauli unscrews the cafetera, snaps her fingers against the hardened old coffee, which crumbles into the fresh new trash bag I’ve put under the sink, and washes out each individual mechanical part as she talks. “Listen, how’s your time these days?” she asks as her hands work under the faucet.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Why?”

“Well, I’ve got this huge list of things to do—everything from ‘finish portfolio’ to ‘get a haircut’—and I thought some things—like ‘buy new jeans, get a gym membership’—might befun in to do with someone else,” she says, spooning Bustelo into the now clean cafetera. “With you, actually.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say. “I’ve probably got a few things I need to do myself. I could get Jimmy’s car—”

“No, no, no,” Pauli says, resting the cafetera over a flame. “I don’t want to owe any favors. I was thinking we’d just take the train, hang out, hang loose, be pals.”

I shake my head a little and laugh. “It’s not a big deal, Pauli,” I say. “He lends me the car all the time.” Or most of the time, I think to myself.

“Yeah,” she says, not convinced, “and what do you have to do for it?”

I check out the kitchen door, making sure there’s no movement in our direction from Jimmy. I know he can’t hear us—the TV’s on loud enough and there’s plenty going on here to blur Pauli’s words, but I’m uncomfortable anyway.

“Nothing,” I finally say. But the truth is that my mind has spun back to that first time I met Jimmy, when he was sitting in the same living room he’s in now, leaning back, massaging his huge dick.

“Something,” says Pauli, dropping her voice down to a whisper now. “Jimmy Frankenstein’s not the type that does favors for free. He’ll collect at some point, mark my words.”

I don’t say anything. What can I say?

As I reach across Tía Celia’s counter and start rolling the edge of a paper towel, I realize I don’t have much to say about anything lately. I can’t talk to Nena, to my mother, to Patricia, to Cari, and now, apparently, to Pauli. Strangely enough, sometimes Jimmy’s the only person with whom I have real conversations—tense and offensive as they are.

I wish I hadn’t stayed. I wish I were on my way to my apartment, walking out in the crisp, cold air, taking long strides, feeling my body free out on the streets. My breast and arm have hardly hurt today—I’m practically back to normal. I want to go shoot hoops, dance at the Red Dog, play Lethal Enforcer, make love with a beautiful woman whose body is slick, pungent and dark.

I’m brought out of my head when Pauli pours us our cafesitos. The stuff is black, intoxicating. She’s leaning against the counter and talking about the color pink—she knows from her nightly visualization exercises that it’s the best, most calming color, and so she wants to give that serenity to Rosa by painting their room pink, but she doesn’t want to fall into the trap of gender-stereotyping.

I sip the cafesito, trying hard to pay attention. In my head, I’m singing: “Ay Mamá Iné’/ ay Mamá Iné’/ todo’ lo’ negros tomamos café.” I probably haven’t heard that song since I was a kid being rocked to sleep. I know I’m not interested in discussing the color pink, I’m not even sure how interested I am in discussing anything at all right now. I’m tired and horny.

Then we both hear a noise—although Pauli keeps talking, not missing a beat, I see her eyes jump to the back door and scan the window for shadows behind the little lace curtain Tía Celia has there. There are footsteps in the backyard. A dog barks nearby. Pauli and I both tense up but we pretend it’s not important. I look out in the direction of the living room, considering for a moment the absolute worst—that Jimmy might be stalking us, might be out there, circling the house, his body bent over, hiding something heinous in his hands, waiting for just the right moment to pounce…

“Hey!” It’s Jimmy, out of his chair, in the kitchen doorway with the remote between his fingers. I’m ashamed to admit I immediately look down at his crotch but it’s flat, calm. I don’t know if he notices because he’s clearly preoccupied with something else. “Did you hear something?” His face is strained and for a second I consider he heard us talking about him, but his attention is directed outside.

“Yeah, but it’s probably a cat,” says Pauli. “Cari left some food for them. You know her…” I chuckle.

But Jimmy’s not buying it. And I realize he’s seriously worried—the game’s not over, there’s not even a commercial break. I can hear the announcers barking out a play on the TV.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s sharp and urgent and repetitive, as though the doorbell were an inconvenience. Jimmy turns on his heels, snaps the TV off with the remote and goes to the door. “Expecting anybody?” he asks Pauli and she shakes her head. I peek at my watch: It’s almost ten-thirty. This is no casual call.

“It’s some guy,” Jimmy says, looking through the peephole. We’re right behind him, our cafesitos idling back in the kitchen. “He looks pretty impossible,” he says sarcastically, turning quickly back to Pauli.

“I’m not expecting anybody,” she says, but her voice is trembling. I reach my hand to hers, squeeze it.

The knocking continues, hard and rapid. A voice calls Pauli’s name. “I know you’re in there,” he says. He has a slight, unrecognizable accent. “Pauli, please…” The voice fades.

“Let me get rid of him,” Jimmy says, waving us away.

He takes a deep breath, puffs his chest out. His vein is quivering. We step back a bit but not much. Jimmy opens the door. The brisk air rushes in, the smell of new snow fills the room. Pauli gasps. The man at the door is dark-skinned and young. He’s shielding his eyes from the light above the door with his arm.

“Pauli…?” he pleads.

Jimmy and I glance at each other, unsure what to do. And this is what I mean: Our communication is instant, silent, totally natural.

Pauli’s arms quickly fold across her chest. The man at the door brings his own arm down slowly, revealing his beautiful face. It’s Ali Ahuja.

As if on cue, Rosa wails from the bedroom—it’s a long, yearning sound, like blood calling to blood. Pauli loses all her color.

Ali’s head snaps in Rosa’s direction, his mouth drops open. “Is that…?”

Pauli drops her arms and squeezes my hand hard. As she steps forward, blocking Ali (who has made no move to come in the house), I bolt for the bedroom, gather Rosa in my arms and rock her in hopes she’ll calm down.

Through the walls and wails, I hear Ali—he’s nervous but very controlled. I can’t make out his words but he sounds like he’s trying to explain something, to reason. Pauli responds now and again, her voice also muffled, but maintaining a cool, business-like tone.

In spite of my efforts to soothe her, Rosa continues to sob. My shoulder is soaked through from her tears and spit. I stroke her little head, her long black curls. I kiss the soft, brown skin of her face and shoulders. I whisper reassurances she can’t possibly understand, trying to sound calm and strong, hoping to scare away whatever has upset her so suddenly and dramatically. She’s warm against me, her heart like a drum.

“Mamá la negrita/ se le salen los pie’ la cunital y la negra mese/ ya no sabe que hace’,” I whisper-sing to Rosa.

Through the walls, through the constant humming in my head, I hear rusding sounds at the front door, then the door itself shutting softly. I hear footsteps down the hall—nervous, hard steps—and a towering black shadow drapes itself over the door. Instinctively, I turn my body, protecting Rosa with my shoulder. She quiets down immediately.

“Juani?” It’s Jimmy.

“Where’s Pauli?” I ask.

He’s a wreck, his eyes flying all over the place—to me, to Rosa, around the dark bedroom and out the window between the drapes. “She went with that guy,” Jimmy says. “They’re outside, look.” I see the sweat shining on his upper lip.

When he pulls the drapes over a bit, I see Pauli, her arms stretched tight across her chest, leaning against Ali’s cab on the curb. She’s got my jacket thrown over her shoulders. They don’t seem to be talking, just standing there. Ali paces a little, rubs his chin.

“She wouldn’t let him in,” Jimmy says. He’s holding the drapes apart. I’m standing right under the crook of his arm with Rosa. I can smell his sweat. “I mean, I can understand that but what the fuck’s she doing out there talking to him?”

“He’s Rosa’s father,” I say. And as soon as I utter the words, I realize I’ve betrayed Pauli. Telling Nena is one thing, telling Jimmy is quite another. I bite my lips. There’s nothing I can do now to undo it. My eyes start to water and I’m secretly relieved it’s so dark in here.

Jimmy’s stunned. “You’re shitting me!” He pulls the drapes over a little more. “I thought it was somebody in Mexico.” His hand grabs at his crotch, pulls on it.

I shake my head. Rosa takes a deep breath.

“How do you know?” Jimmy asks.

“It’s a long story,” I say, rocking Rosa gently in my arms. She smells sweet, like violet water.

“You think he’s gonna cause trouble?” Jimmy asks, his forehead all crunched up. His hand is still on his cock.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I know very little about him.”

When Rosa’s body finally goes limp, I put her back down in her crib. I signal quiet to Jimmy and we tiptoe out of the room.

In the hallway, he sighs. “Man, this is weird,” he says.

I nod. In the light I can see he doesn’t have an erection, regardless of all his fidgeting in Pauli and Rosa’s room.

“So what do we do now?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m gonna hang out, make sure somebody’s here for Rosa while Pauli’s out there. In any case, Pauli will want to talk after Ali leaves.”

Jimmy nods. “Yeah,” he says. “You know, I’m gonna call Cari, tell her to keep Celia busy. I don’t think it’d be good if she came home while Pauli’s out there talking to that guy.”

He goes off to the kitchen. I hear him dial and whisper to Caridad. I trot out to the living room where I part Tía Celia’s blinds with my fingers and check up on Pauli and Ali. Now they’re both leaning against the cab, their heads turned toward each other. Pauli’s still got her arms crossed but I can tell from the angle of her shoulders that she’s more relaxed. I’m thinking this might work out after all.

It’s snowing while Pauli and Ali negotiate. Now and then Jimmy or I peek out through the blinds and check up on them. Neither one has lost their temper, neither one seems inclined toward harsh, quick moves. Their silhouettes fall on the freshly fallen snow, sometimes creating long shadows that remind me of Bernie’s African sculptures.

I’ve emptied the cafetera but I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. I keep thinking I should be worried about Pauli and Ali, hoping that kind of nervous energy will keep me alert and awake, but I’m struggling. My lids are dropping, my head’s still humming.

Jimmy, on the other hand, hasn’t needed caffeine the whole time. He’s pacing back and forth between the living room and the kitchen, scratching his head, scratching his balls, eyeballing the two of them out in the front yard.

Now and then, Rosa cries out and I get up from the couch or the chair or wherever the hell I’m sitting and go sing to her: “Tú drume negrita…/ que yo voy a comprar nueva cunital que tendrá ca’cabel…” I rock her and stroke her, kiss her and hold her. I listen to the insistence of her breathing and watch until I’m sure she’s asleep again.

It’s been about an hour now that Pauli and Ali have been out there. I’m getting worried Tía Celia’s going to be coming home any minute, no matter how Cari tries to keep her at the Wash-N-Dry or at her place. Caridad’s not that imaginative; I can’t see her being successful for very long.

Rosa starts again, a long siren-like sound that lifts me off the couch and sends me flying into her room. “…Si tú drume yo te traigo un mamey muy colora’o…’” I keep thinking I should just stretch out here, on Pauli’s bed, but I’m afraid I won’t hear Pauli—I won’t know when she comes back in, or if something happens.

After Rosa falls asleep again, I wander back out to the living room. I’m stiff and slow as I walk. Jimmy’s turned the TV on but with no sound—he’s reading the closed captions running along the bottom of the image. Both his hands are at his crotch but they’re spread out, as if he’s covering it instead of stroking it. He looks up at me and shakes his head.

“You look like hell,” he whispers.

I sit down on the couch. I decide to ignore him. “It’s so strange, it’s like Rosa knows what’s going on or something,” I say.

“At least one of us does,” he says, then he turns his attention back to the TV.

I drop my head back, stare off at the ceiling. With the overhead light turned off, Tía Celia’s flat white ceiling looks like an empty canvass. I imagine Pauli painting a mural up there—Pauli upside down like Michelangelo. She splashes pink paint, soothing and smooth, little Rosa handing her brushes like an assistant. They are joyful and beautiful, dancing about until all the white is covered over, then the pink turns to yellow, and finally to black. When I hear Rosa calling again, another voice answers—it’s deep and hoarse. It’s not mine, but that’s okay.

As I try to wake up, I realize I’ve seen that strange face on Rosa before. She’s falling through my arms. I’m struggling to open my eyes but they feel glued shut. My lids push up, but it’s as if I’ve been asleep so long that spiders have spun webs between my eyelashes. Rosa’s falling through my arms like a slippery fish. I’m standing right there the whole time, watching her descend, not moving. There’s a hideous drone, a vacuum, a fluttering and crash like a bird ramming into the grill of a high-speed automobile.

I open my eyes and the scene is clear, as clear as anything I’ve ever witnessed in my life: Jimmy’s sitting in the chair in front of the television set, its ghostly light casting shadows on his gruesome face. There are no sounds at all. His head is back, ecstatic, lips red and shiny. One hand is on the back of Rosa’s puny head, pushing her down; the other is on his cock, inflamed and purplish, its glossy tip disappearing into her tiny, tiny mouth.

I leap across the room, yank Rosa up from his lap so hard I’m afraid I’ve dislocated bones. He tumbles, his cock bopping up and down, spewing semen all over the carpet. I scream and yell, all of our limbs flailing.