Miriam Toews - Irma Voth

How’d you learn this dance? I said.

Then slowly grind down to the floor by moving your hips like this, he said. He demonstrated.

But where’d you learn to dance like this? I said.

Like a rotor, he said, and while you’re doing that, I’ll stand behind you with my hands on your hips like this and I’ll grind down too. Okay, go. Slowly.

I tried to remember the instructions. I knew the objective was to get down to the floor in a squatting position.

No, he said, you’re dropping way too fast, like you’re dodging a punch or something. You have to make small, slow circles with your hips, like gradually, until you’re down. I tried again.

Irma, he said, it’s not that hard. What’s your problem? Look. He showed me what to do.

See? he said. Stop laughing. Try again.

I stood up and shook my head. I can’t, I said. I’m sorry, but—

Take your dress off, he said. Okay?

I don’t have a top on under, I said.

Yeah, I know, he said. That’s okay, it’s nice. It’ll be nice. I took my dress off and stood there topless in my new stiff jeans and sunglasses.

Yeah, he said, you look good. That’s nice. Okay, let’s try it again. He stood behind me and put his hands on my hips and we began to grind. He whispered in my ear. Slowly, Irma, he said. Even slower. He slid his hands up to my breasts and played with my nipples. In circles, Irma, he said. Move your hips in circles. Yeah. Do you feel me? I could hear him breathing. Okay, and down now, Irma, but slowly, really — Fuck! Irma. What the hell is your rush? Look, I’m up here still and you’re down there crouching like you’re taking a dump.

I don’t know, I said. I don’t get the move. I’m sorry. It feels weird.

Jorge sat down at the table and rubbed his eyes and sighed.

Irma, he said, I’m trying to improve our lives.

I know, I said. I’m sorry. Can we try it again?

I’m so tired, he said. He took my hand and kissed it.

I’m sorry, I said again.

I’m sorry too, he said.

I miss you, I said.

Irma, I’m so tired now, he said. But I can’t sleep anymore.

Why don’t you try sleeping now? I said. I could lie down with you until you fall asleep.

I’m not a little kid, he said. He put his head down on the table and I rubbed his back and kissed his hair.

Are you tired of being a man? I asked him.

Why would you say that? he said. That’s so messed up. Are you tired of being a girl?

Yeah, sometimes, I said.

Well, why would you even think that? said Jorge. Irma, you have to stop talking that shit. Do you want to become a man?

No, I said. It’s not that. I’m just asking if—

Fuck it, he said. Never mind.

I told you I was sorry, Jorge, I said. I can’t do that dance. These jeans are—

Just stop talking, he said. I don’t give a shit about the dance, okay?

Why should I stop talking? I said. How can I explain things if I don’t talk? I can’t move in these stupid pants and—

Why don’t you just go sit in the corner and breathe, he said.

What? I said. That’s kind of a dumb thing to say when—

There was a knock at the door and I grabbed my dress and put it back on and whipped off the sunglasses and went to see who was there. It was Miguel. He was leaning against the door frame, smiling and shy in his skinny black jeans and giant white sneakers.

Crap! I said. I forgot about cooking. I saw this fire in my yard and had to … I’m sorry. I’ll be right there. Is Aggie still at the house?

No, no, I’m the one who’s sorry, Irma, said Miguel. I don’t mean to bother you. He looked around me and into the house.

No, no, it’s fine, I said. But is Aggie still there?

Diego asked me to come, he said. Aggie is there, yes, she’s fine. She’s learning how to juggle devil sticks.

Jorge came to the door and I introduced him to Miguel in Spanish. Then Miguel left and Jorge closed the door and said. So, Irma, who the hell is that and what the hell is going on?

As questions go, they were good ones. Jorge took off. Jorge’s gone again. I tried to tell him that my father was threatening to sell the house and I’d need to have a place to live, preferably with him, he was my husband, maybe we could live with his mom in Chihuahua city, I could sell cheese, I could get a job, I could learn to dance, but Jorge said those were just words.

Well, then this is just a situation, I said. And you’re just a man.

You don’t even know how to argue properly, said Jorge.

Well, I think your age is starting to show, I said. You didn’t even fix the generator.

What do you mean by that? he said. We’re the same fucking age. You’re just saying stupid things to keep me here.

Why would stupid things keep you here? I said. I want you to stay. You’re my husband. You’re supposed to stay here. I’m probably stronger than you are.

What is that supposed to mean? he said. I was running along beside the car now. He was leaving.

I was yelling. Why do you want to know what everything means? I said.

Take your hand off the wheel, he said. Irma. Please.

I ran for a long time, like a dog, like Oveja. Stupid. I was stupid. But not stupid enough to keep Jorge from leaving. I had options. I could have stood perfectly still like the Tarahumaras, and waited. But all I wanted was to run. I fell a few times and ripped my new jeans, stovepipes the label said, no wonder they were so stiff, and scraped my legs and got back up to run some more. When I stopped to catch my breath I realized I was on the road in front of my parents’ house and the lights were on and I could see my mom in the kitchen and it looked like she was cutting something with a knife and she kept looking down and then up and then down again and I guessed she was giving some bits of food to my little brothers. But they were too short for me to see them in the window and she was talking to them too. She was out of bed. I wondered if she was okay. Then I turned around and passed my house, mine and Jorge’s, and there was nobody in the kitchen, nobody handing anybody anything. I finally made it to the filmmakers’ house and walked right up to the front door and knocked my head against one of those plastic bags filled with water to keep the flies away and I punched it hard and broke it and the water sprayed out of it and drenched me and I didn’t care, I opened the front door and walked in. Everybody, including Aggie, was watching TV and didn’t really notice me but I said hello in a few different languages and then walked into the kitchen and yanked a pot out of the cupboard and slammed it onto the stovetop and hauled some food out of the fridge and turned on the tap to boil water and grabbed the sharpest, biggest knife I could find and cut up the vegetables and the meat and flung all the pieces into the pot to cook. Then I took some other pieces of meat and went outside and flung them at Oveja so he wouldn’t forget that we were friends and then went back to my cauldron.

Irma, said Diego. He was calling me from the living room. He was shouting over the TV.

Sí, I said.

More rain is forecast for tomorrow, he said.

Hallelujah.

I heard Elias talking about some girl’s rock-hard ass. He said it was so hard he could play “Wipeout” on it. He made some strange sounds. I heard Diego call Elias an idiot. They insulted each other’s mothers, playfully. Then Elias started impersonating a woman. I threw more stuff into the pot and stirred so hard it slopped over the sides and onto the stove and made little hissing noises.

I could hear Aggie laughing, pretending to know what was going on. Go home, I said. Too quietly for anyone to hear. You should go home. Diego came to the kitchen to talk to me.

Oh my God, he said. Irma, I cannot believe this.