Carlos Fuentes - The Death of Artemio Cruz

Again, he looked toward the dance floor.

"So," whispered Jaime, "may I come to see you…one of these days?"

"Speak to Padilla. Good night."

The clock in the ballroom struck three times. The old man sighed and snapped the leashes of the sleeping dogs, who instantly pricked up their ears and stood at the same time as he, bracing himself first on the arms of his chair, rose heavily and the music stopped.

He crossed the dance floor amid his guests' expressions of gratitude and the heads turned aside. Lilia made her way toward him: "Excuse me…" and she grasped his rigid arm. He with his head held high (Laura, Laura); she with averted eyes, curious. They wended their way along the path opened by the guests, the sumptuous crystalware, the opulent marquetry, the stucco-and-gold moldings, the colonial breakfronts inlaid with bone and tortoiseshell, the metal plates and knockers, the paneled coffers with iron keyholes, the aromatic benches of ayacahuite wood, the church choir seats, the baroque crownwork and drapery, the bowed backrests, the carved crossbeams, the polychromed corbels, the bronze studs, the embossed leather, the cabriole feet with their claw and ball, the chasubles sewn with silver thread, the damask armchairs, the velvet couches, the cylinders and amphorae, the beveled game tables, the merino-wool carpets, the four-paneled canvases, under the crystal chandeliers, the burnished beams, until they reached the first step of the staircase. Then he caressed Lilia's hand, and the woman helped him, taking him by the elbow, bending, the better to assist him.

She smiled. "You didn't get too tired now, did you?"

He shook his head and again caressed her hand.

I wake up…again…but this time…yes…in this car, in this coach…no…I don't know…it runs without any noise…it must be that I'm not fully conscious…no matter how wide I open my eyes, I can't make out…the objects, people…white, luminous ovals spinning around in front of my eyes…a wall of milk separates me from the world…and the things we touch and the voices of other people…I'm apart…I'm dying…I'm parting…no, an attack, an old man my age can have an attack…not death, not separation…I don't want to say it…I want to ask it…but I'm saying it…if I tried…yes…now I heard the superimposed noises of the siren…it's the ambulance…of the siren and my own throat…my tight and closed throat…my saliva drips through it…toward a bottomless pit…parting…a will?…ah, don't worry…there's a paper all signed, sealed, witnessed before a notary…I didn't forget anyone…why would I forget any of you, forgive any of you…?…isn't it delightful for you to think that right down to the last minute I thought about you to have my little joke?…ah, what a laugh, ah, what a joke…no…I remember you with the indifference of a cold transaction…I dole out this wealth they'll say came from my hard work…my tenacity…my sense of responsibility…my personal abilities…do it…calm down…just forget that I earned that wealth, that I risked it, that I earned it…now I give it all in exchange for nothing…isn't that right?…what do you call giving everything in exchange for everything?…call it whatever you like…they came back, they didn't give up…right, when I think about it, I smile…I mock myself, I mock all you…I mock my life…haven't I earned the right?…isn't this the appropriate, the only time to do it?…I couldn't mock myself while I was alive…now I can…my right…I'll leave you my testament…I'll bequeath you those dead names…Regina…Tobias…Páez…Gonzalo…Zagal…Laura, Laura…Lorenzo…so you won't forget me…separated…I can think it and ask myself…without knowing it…because these last ideas…I know it, too…I think, dissimulate…run out of my control, ah, yes…as if my brain, my brain…asks…the answer comes to me before the question…probably…they're the same thing…living is another separation…with that mulatto, next to the shack and the river…with Catalina, if we had ever spoken…in that jail, that morning…don't cross the sea, there are no islands, i t ' s n o t t r u e, I t r i c k e d y o u… f r o m t h e teacher…Esteban?…Sebastián?…I don't remember…he taught me so many things…I don't remember…I left him and went north…ah, yes…yes…yes…yes, life would have been different…but only that…different…not the life of this dying man…no, not dying…I'm telling you no no no…an attack…an old man, an attack…convalescence, that's it…another life…the life of another man…different…but also apart…oh, what a trick…neither life nor death…oh, what a trick…on the man's land…hidden life…hidden death…a fixed period of time…no meaning…my God…ah, that might be the last piece of business…who's putting his hands on my shoulders?…believe in God…yes, a good investment, why not…who's making me lie back, as if I wanted to get up out of here?…is there any other possibility to believe that we go on being even when we don't believe in it?…God God God…all you have to do is repeat a word a thousand times for it to lose its meaning, be nothing more than a string…of empty…syllables…God God…how dry my lips are…God God…illuminate those who are left…make them think of me once…in a while…make my memory…last…I think…but I don't see them clearly…I don't see them…men and women mourning…that black egg of my sight…cracks and I see…that they go on living…they go back to their jobs…idleness…intrigues…without remembering…the poor dear man…who hears the shovels digging the moist…earth…on h i s f a c e… t h e s i n u o u s advance…sinuous…sinuous…sinuous…yes…sensual…of those worms…my throat…drips into me like a sea…a lost voice that…wants to revive…revive…go on living…get on with life where it was cut off by the other…death…no…start over from the beginning…revive…choose again…revive…choose again…no…how icy my temples feel…what blue…nails…what a swollen…stomach…what nausea…from shit…don't die senselessly…no no…ah, bitches…impotent bitches…who have had every object money can buy…and a head full…of mediocrity…if at least…you had understood what those objects…were good for…how to use…these…things…but not even that…while I had it all…do you hear me?…everything…money can buy and…everything it can't buy…I had Regina…do you hear me?…I loved Regina…her name was Regina…and she loved me…loved me without money…followed me…gave me life…down below…Regina, Regina…how I love you…how I love you today…without having to have you near me…how you fill my chest with this warm…satisfaction…how…you flood me…with your old, forgotten…perfume, Regina…I remembered you…see?…look carefully…I remembered you before…I could remember you…just as you are…as you love me…as I loved you in the world…that no one can take away from us…Regina, the world…that I carry with me and save…protecting it with my two hands…as…if it were a fire…a small, living fire…that you gave to me…you gave to me…you gave to me…I may have taken…but I gave to you…oh black eyes, oh dark, aromatic skin, oh black lips, oh dark love I cannot touch, name, repeat: oh your hands, Regina…your hands on my neck and…the oblivion of finding you…the oblivion…of all that existed…outside you and me…oh Regina…without thinking…without speaking…existing in the dark thighs…of timeless abundance…oh my unrepeatable pride…the pride of having loved you…the unanswered challenge…what can the world tell us…Regina…what could it add to that…what logic could speak…to the madness…of our love?…what?…dove, carnation, convolvulus, foam, clover, key, chest, star, ghost, flesh: how shall I name you…love…how shall I bring you close to…my breath…how shall I beg you…to give yourself…how shall I caress…your cheeks…how shall I kiss…yours ears…how shall I breathe you in…between your legs…how shall I say…your eyes…how shall I touch…your taste…how shall I abandon…the solitude…of myself…to lose myself in…the solitude…of ourselves…how shall I repeat…that I love you…how shall I exile…your memory so I can wait for your return?…Regina Regina…that stabbing pain is coming back, Regina, I'm waking up…from that half sleep the sedative induced…I'm waking up…with the pain…in the center…of my guts, Regina, give me your hand, don't abandon me, I don't want to wake up and not find you next to me, my love, Laura, my adored wife, my saving memory, my percale skirt, Regina, it hurts, my unrepeatable tenderness, my turned-up little nose, it hurts, Regina, I realize it hurts: Regina, come, so I can survive again; Regina, exchange your life for mine again; Regina, die again so I can live; Regina. Soldier. Regina. Embrace me, both of you. Lorenzo. Lilia. Laura. Catalina. Embrace me, all of you. No. What ice I feel in my temples…Brain, don't die…reason…I want to find it…I want…I want…land…nation…I loved you…I wanted to go back…reason of unreason…contemplate from a very high place the life I've lived and then see nothing…and if I don't see anything…what reason to die…why die…why die suffering…why not go on living…the dead life…why pass…from the living nothingness to the dead nothingness…it runs out…it runs out panting…the screech of the siren…pack of dogs…the ambulance stops…tired…couldn't be more tired…land…the light enters my eyes…another voice…