Cesar Aira - Shantytown

With that, he left her. He didn’t think she’d be able to provide him with any useful information, though given the curious routes by which information circulates, who could tell? And anyhow, he was really after something else. He was happy with the way the conversation had gone. Next time, he’d be able to take it a bit further, and maybe he could even seduce her, while he was at it. Clearly, he was ignoring the old adage: “He who sleeps with children wakes up in a wet bed.”

Vanessa was dazed and not exactly sure where she was, as if she’d been magically transported to a foreign city and didn’t even know its name. Her little world was tottering. She started walking automatically, while her brain went into overdrive. But it was useless; she couldn’t think about anything. Or rather, there was just one thing she could think about; and she thought about it so intensely that it left no room for anything else: she had to find help. She was the kind of person who needs help all the time, for everything. And now more than ever before. Except that now her need, it seemed, had exceeded the bounds of the possible: she needed more help than heaven and earth could provide. And yet — so strange are the workings of the mind — the ideal person occurred to her immediately, someone who, five minutes earlier, could not have been further from her thoughts.

This providential person was a maid who worked in the building directly opposite her apartment. Although they had never spoken, Vanessa knew that the girl lived in the shantytown and walked up from there every morning. She’d also seen her with one of those dangerous Bolivian drug dealers. The maid looked Bolivian too, and Vanessa might have been getting her mixed up because to her all Bolivians looked the same. Only someone in a state of high agitation would have resorted to such an unlikely source of help, but the girl was there, just across the street, and that was enough for Vanessa. She turned around and went straight back home; it was the ideal time to make contact. She’d be alone, and from the front window she’d be able to see if the maid was cleaning as usual. Maybe she’d be alone too, and they would be able to talk.

Vanessa went upstairs and rushed to the window. Across the street, the doors that opened onto the balconies were closed, but the curtains were open; she could see into the bedrooms: no one there. She went to the telephone and only then did she realize that she didn’t know the number. That didn’t matter. There was a way she could find out: her best friend lived in the same building. She called the friend, who wasn’t home, but her mother answered and gave Vanessa the surname of the people who owned the third-floor apartment. She searched frenetically in the phone book. Among all the entries for that name, there was one with the address 200 Bonorino. She called the number. A woman’s voice answered.

“I want to speak with the maid who’s working there,” she said.

“Who’s speaking?”

The accent was funny. It must have been her.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Ma’am, yes.”

Vanessa heaved a sigh of relief, as if all her problems were over.

“Listen, I’m the girl who lives in the apartment on the third floor of the building opposite, I always see you in the window. You must have seen me.”

A silence.

“Hello!”

“Ma’am, yes. Who?”

“Opposite, directly opposite! I’m at the window now. Can you use the phone in one of the bedrooms. It’s very important. If you go to one of the bedrooms you’ll see me. I can see into the bedrooms from here.”

“Ma’am, yes.”

Another silence.

“Hello!”

Nothing. Had she understood? Vanessa fixed her gaze on the balconies. After an eternity, she saw the girl appear, as black as a cockroach, as small as a ten-year old, and pick up the phone from a bedside table.

“Ma’am, yes.”

“Hello! Here I am. Look straight ahead.” She opened the window with one hand and waved her arm desperately. “Can you see me? No, look this way! Outside!”

Vanessa saw her turn slowly, like a sleepwalker (or was it an effect of the distance?) and look all around.

“Can you see me? I live here, right opposite. Hello! Hello!” These hellos were accompanied by extravagant arm gestures.

“Ma’am, yes.”

“Don’t call me Ma’am, you’re not talking to my mom, it’s me. Can you see me now? Do you see where I am?”

“Ma’am. . yes.”

“Listen, what’s your name?”

“Ma’am, Adela.”

“Adela, my name’s Vanessa. I’ve been seeing you around for a while, and I know you live down near 1800 Bonorino.” She thought it would be tactless to say “in the shantytown.” “One time I saw you coming up from there with the fat man who used to hang out with the kids from Commercial College Nine.”

“Who? What man?”

“A short, fat guy. A man, or a boy, I don’t know.” As well as being unable to tell those people apart, she couldn’t tell what age they were. “He had a bright red jacket. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. That’s not what I wanted to tell you. I’m desperate. This guy just stopped me in the street: the father of the girl that got shot at 1800 Bonorino. He’s crazy! He wants to kill them all! I don’t know what to do. He’s after me, he knows where I live, he’s harassing me. If my parents find out, they’ll kill me. .”

She was out of control, sobbing and talking so quickly it was incomprehensible. Adelita seemed to be puzzled, with good

reason.

“But what do you want?”

“For you to fucking sort it out! I’m being harassed by a madman. . and I’ve got nothing to do with it! I’ve never even been there. I saw that fat guy once in my whole life. I don’t know who he is. You must know, that’s why I called you.”

“Ma’am, I don’t know. .”

“I want this to finish now! Now! I don’t want anything more to do with it.” She was losing control again, crying so much she couldn’t even speak. In the end they hung up.

Adelita stood there pensively. The lady of the house came into the bedroom.

“Who called you?”

“Ma’am, the girl who lives across the street: she’s crazy! She was staring at me through the window as she talked! There she is, can you see?” The lady turned and saw the girl, standing by the phone in the apartment opposite, weeping convulsively. Luckily, Vanessa didn’t look up and see how her secret had begun to spread as soon as it had left her mouth.

“But what’s wrong?” asked the lady. “Why did she call you?”

“Ma’am, she says that she’s being harassed by the father of that girl who was killed in my neighborhood.”

The lady looked horrified.

“When is this nightmare going to end? And does she know. .”

“Ma’am, no,” said Adelita, making an effort to compose her features because now she was beginning to feel upset. “She thinks I know the people who sell drugs. She said she saw me coming up the street with. .”

“With who?”

“I think she meant the Pastor. She mentioned that shiny red jacket he has.”

“Mmm. . and when did you come up with the Pastor?”

“One day, it only happened once; I ran into him on the way up. He was going to the police station, Ma’am; it’s the only time I’ve ever talked with him. He asked me if I lived in the neighborhood, if I believed in Jesus, and then he went on and on.”

“Typical,” remarked the lady, disdainfully. “It’s a wonder he didn’t ask where you work, and whether your employers believe in Jesus Christ, and what kind of car they have. .”

Adelita couldn’t stop herself smiling:

“Ma’am, I think he did.”

“I hope you didn’t tell him!” said the lady, laughing. “What a nosy little shit!” She stopped to think for a moment. “Life is so strange. You talk with a guy in the street just once; somebody sees you and assumes that you’re friends.”