Felisberto Hernandez - Piano Stories

The next day, at lunchtime, Mary was waiting for him with an arm around Daisy’s waist. After kissing his wife, he took the doll in his arms, and for a moment her soft warm body gave him the happiness he had been hoping for, although when he pressed his lips to hers, she seemed feverish. But he soon grew accustomed to this new sensation and found it comforting.

That same night, over dinner, he wondered: “Why must the transmigration of souls take place only between people and animals? Aren’t there cases of people on their deathbed who have handed their souls over to some beloved object? And why assume it’s a mistake when a spirit hides in a doll who looks like a beautiful woman? Couldn’t it be that, looking for a new body to inhabit, it guided the hands that made the doll? When someone pursues an idea, doesn’t he come up with unexpected discoveries, as if someone else were helping him?” Then he thought of Daisy and wondered whose spirit could be living in her body.

Mary had been in a vile mood since early evening. She had scolded Daisy while dressing her, because she would not hold still but kept tipping forward — and now that she was full of water, she was a lot heavier than before. Horace thought of the relationship between his wife and the doll and of the strange shades of enmity he had noticed between women who were such close friends that they could not get along without one another. He remembered observing that the same thing often happened between mother and daughter. . A minute later, he raised his eyes from his plate and said:

“Tell me something, Mary. What was your mother like?”

“May I ask the reason for your question? Do you want to trace my defects to her?”

“Of course not, darling. I wouldn’t think of it!”

He had spoken in a soothing voice, and she said:

“Well, I’ll tell you. She was my complete opposite. Calm as a clear day. She could spend hours just sitting in a chair, staring into space.”

“Perfect,” he said to himself. Although, after pouring himself a glass of wine, he thought: “On the other hand, I can’t very well have an affair with the spirit of my mother-in-law in Daisy’s body.”

“And what were her ideas on love?”

“Do you find mine inadequate?”

“Mary, please!”

“She had none, lucky for her. Which was why she was able to marry my father to please my grandparents. He was wealthy. And she made him a fine wife.”

Horace, relieved, thought: “Well, that’s that. One thing less to worry about.”

Although it was spring, the night turned cold. Mary refilled Daisy, dressed her in a silk nightie and took her to bed with them, like a hot water bottle. As he dropped off to sleep, Horace felt himself sinking into a warm pond where all their legs tangled, like the roots of trees planted so close together he was too lazy to find out which ones belonged to him.

III

Horace and Mary were planning a birthday party for Daisy. She was going to be two years old. Horace wanted to present her on a tricycle. He told Mary he had seen one at the Transportation Day fair and he was sure they would let him have it. He did not tell her the reason for using this particular device was that he had seen a bride elope with her lover on a tricycle in a film years ago. The rehearsals were a success. At first he had trouble getting the tricycle going, but as soon as the big front wheel turned it grew wings.

The party opened with a buffet dinner. Soon the sounds from human throats and necks of bottles mixed in an increasingly loud murmur. When it was time to present Daisy, Horace rang a school bell in the courtyard and the guests went out holding their glasses. They saw him come tearing down a long carpeted hallway, struggling with the front wheel. At first the tricycle was almost invisible beneath him. Of Daisy, mounted behind him, only her flowing white dress showed. He seemed to be riding the air, on a cloud. Daisy was propped over the axle that joined the small back wheels, with her arms thrust forward and her hands in his trouser pockets. The tricycle came to a stop in the center of the courtyard, and, acknowledging the cheers and applause, he reached over with one hand and stroked her hair. Then he began pedaling hard again, and as the tricycle sailed back up the carpeted hallway, gathering speed, everyone watched in breathless silence, as if it were about to take flight. The performance was such a success that Horace tried to repeat it, and the laughter and applause were starting up again when suddenly, just as he reached the yard, he lost a back wheel. There were cries of alarm, but when he showed he was not hurt there was more laughter and applause. He had fallen on his back, on top of Daisy, and was kicking his legs in the air like an insect. The guests laughed until they cried. Frank gasped and spluttered:

“Boy, you looked like one of those wind-up toys that go on walking upside down!”

Then they all went back into the dining room. The men who arranged the scenes in the glass cases surrounded Horace, asking to borrow Daisy and the tricycle to make up a story with them. He turned them down, but he was so pleased with himself that he invited everybody into the show room for a glass of wine from France.

“If you wouldn’t mind telling us what you feel watching the scenes,” said one of the boys, “I think we could all learn something.”

He had started to rock back and forth on his heels, staring at his guests’ shoes. Finally he made up his mind and said:

“It’s very difficult to put into words, but I’ll try. . if you promise meantime to ask no more questions and to be satisfied with anything I care to say.”

“Promised!” said one who was a bit hard of hearing, cupping a hand to his ear.

Still, Horace took his time, clasping and unclasping his hands. To quiet the hands, he crossed his arms and began:

“When I look at a scene. .” Here he stopped, then took up the speech again, with a digression: “(It’s very important to see the dolls through a glass, because that gives them the quality of memories. Before, when I could stand mirrors — now they’re bad for me, but it would take too long to explain why — I liked to see the rooms that appeared in them.) So. . when I look at a scene, it’s like catching a woman in the act of remembering an important moment in her life, a bit — if you’ll forgive the expression — as if I were opening a crack in her skull. When I get hold of the memory, it’s like stealing one of her undergarments: I can use it to imagine the most intimate things and I might even say it feels like a defilement. In a way, it’s as if the memory were in a dead person and I were picking a corpse, hoping the memory will stir in it. .” He let his voice trail off, not daring to describe the weird stirrings he had seen.

The boys were also silent. One of them thought of emptying his glass of wine at a swallow and the others imitated him. Then another said:

“Tell us something more about yourself — your personal tastes, habits, whatever.”

“Ah, as for that,” said Horace, “I don’t think it would be of any help to you in making up your scenes. For instance, I like to walk on a wooden floor sprinkled with sugar. It’s that neat little sound. .”

Just then Mary came in to ask them all out into the garden. It was a dark night and the guests were requested to form couples and carry torches. Mary took Horace’s arm and together they showed the way. At the door that led into the garden, each guest picked a small torch from a table and lit it at a flaming bowl on another table. The torchlight attracted the neighbors, who gathered at the low hedge, their faces like shiny fruit with watchful eyes among the bushes, glinting with distrust. Suddenly Mary crossed a flowerbed, flicked a switch, and Daisy appeared, lit up in the high branches of a tall tree. It was one of Mary’s surprises and was greeted with cheers and exclamations. Daisy was holding a white fan spread on her breast. A light behind the fan gave her face a theatrical glow. Horace kissed Mary and thanked her for the surprise. Then, as the guests scattered, he saw Daisy staring out toward the street he took on his way home every day. Mary was leading him along the hedge when they heard one of the neighbors shout at others still some distance away, “Hurry! The dead woman’s appeared in a tree!” They staggered back to the house, where everyone was toasting the surprise. Mary had the twins — her maids, who were sisters — get Daisy down from the tree and change her water for bed.