Patricia Ratto: Proceed with Caution: Stories and a Novella

He’s sitting now, he’s taken a cell phone out of his pocket, and while he touches the screen and places it on the table, he starts looking all around the place curiously, stretching his body so he can see better, taking advantage of the fact that she had to go back to the kitchen, probably to stick one of the beers in the fridge so it won’t get warm, because warm beer is like cat piss; that’s what Aunt Lucrecia always used to say, and you can tell it’s become engraved in my memory. The other bottle was left behind, between the bread baskets, and it’s sweating cold drops. A little bell dings, no doubt an alert from WhatsApp or Twitter or Facebook. She lives on her phone, too; that’s why I’m so up on all of that. He grabs his cell phone again, touches the screen, smiles.

She walks in carrying a mug for the beer, just one. You can tell she’s decided just to drink wine. He puts the cell phone aside, she picks up the two glasses she had brought for the wine and her guest’s water and disappears behind the kitchen door. Another little ding and he types something, presses his finger against the screen again, and stares intently. Anything new? she asks him as she prepares to leave the room again. No, nothing, just Facu’s stupid jokes because Boca lost, and another dumb gag from that pain in the ass, Albertina . She comes back with an opener for the beer, pries off the top, he types something again, she sits, they look at one another, he smears a slice of bread with the yellow dip, she, a piece of toast with the green-and-white stuff. Nice apartment , he remarks. Yes, it belonged to my aunt; it’s small, but it’s fine for me, and besides, the neighborhood … And just then, wouldn’t you know it, the garbage truck rolls by, making an infernal noise; that’s what the next-door neighbor always says, she goes out on the balcony, complains, leans over toward the street and curses, though with that noise nobody will hear her except me, because I’ve got very keen hearing and I’m usually on the balcony at this time of day, just for a little while before that National Geographic jungle program comes on, which I’m sure to miss tonight. But the neighbor doesn’t come out on the balcony to curse, how strange, maybe she isn’t home. I return to the scene of the date and see that she, too, is fiddling with her cell phone, that huge, flat one of hers, which looks like a cutting board for dicing onions, she types away at full speed and with all her fingers; you’ve got to admit she’s got a talent for these things… They eat: another slice of bread for him, another piece of toast for her. They take a few sips: beer for him, wine for her. Suddenly she pops up, goes to the kitchen and comes back right away, holding a plate with two juicy melon wedges with ham. He says he’ll have the ham, but he doesn’t like melon; she helps herself to the melon he’s put aside. May I? he asks, serving himself the other slice of ham. Yes , she replies, of course . The other melon wedge is still there, abandoned on the plate. With me it’s just the opposite: I like melon, in fact I love it, but not ham. It’s not that I don’t like it, but it’s very salty and makes me sick; that’s why she doesn’t let me eat it. Aunt Lucrecia always used to say: Raw ham is awful, it leaves your mouth as dry as a parrot’s tongue . And she repeated it so often that it’s impossible for me to forget.

The two of them carry on like before, typing away on their cell phones, and every so often a mouthful, a sip, a smile. Now she gets up, takes his plate—he’s eaten all the slices of ham—places it on top of hers, then the one with the melon slice on top of the other two, collects the used utensils and goes to the kitchen. He’s still nailed to the chair, forget about helping her, Juancu, now that guy did help, he even cooked sometimes. She comes in with a lovely little white porcelain dish, with a cover, all decorated with green leaves, like vines, raised and intertwined, which she carries in a wooden holder. She sets the whole thing on the table, lifts the lid, and dense steam rises in the air. Ham and cheese cannelloni for you, and vegetable cannelloni for me , she says, standing there and staring at it. Ham and cheese cannelloni! he repeats with a certain amount of enthusiasm, How did you know? Facu told me on WhatsApp yesterday when he found out you were coming over . She leans over to start serving it, but he stops her: Stop, stop, everybody needs to see this . He stands, extends one arm, takes a snapshot of the cannelloni on the dish. I barely manage to see a white flash explode, that light always makes me nervous, it’s even worse when it hits me in the face, but that’s not this time because I’m not too close, and the beam of light vanishes before it can affect me. He goes on typing; sometimes it seems like he’s inside the cell phone. She looks at hers. They look very good in the picture , she says to him; thanks for what you put in your tweet, also . He keeps typing, she stands, serves him two cannelloni, then takes another two for herself. The casserole dish is still steaming; there must be more left. She replaces the cover. I like the vegetable ones; hers come out really delicious. He scoops up a big serving of cannelloni with his fork and suspends it for a moment over his open mouth as he stares intently at the cell phone. The cheese drips onto the plate. Then she quickly sticks out her hand with the device and clicks. He opens his mouth, swallows, smiles, she eats a small portion while she touches the screen and types. She continues staring, takes another bite. He does the same. I look like an idiot , he says, seeing himself in the photo that just now appears on his screen, and he laughs.

He helps himself to more beer; you’ve got to admit that at least he shows some initiative for that. He leaves the now-empty bottle on the table. She serves herself wine, picks up the large glass and brings it to her lips. He extends his arm with the cell phone, she assumes a seductive pose, smiles, he clicks, and once more the flash. He types away and presses the screen, then it’s her turn, looking at her own cell phone: Oh, thanks, you wrote that I’m very pretty . He nods, unable to speak because his mouth is once again filled with ham and cheese cannelloni, and besides you can tell he’s not much of a talker. She swallows a few times and then takes an extreme close-up shot of the wine bottle, now half-empty. Then she types, touches the screen, smiles. He looks at his cell phone, makes a face, takes a close-up photo of his half-empty beer mug, and does the same. She glances at her screen, Oh , she says, bummer about the wine . They eat and drink in a silence occasionally interrupted by all sorts of message alerts: dings, whistles, froggy croaks. She serves him another cannelloni, crossing the utensils on top of her empty plate. The thing is, melon is more filling than ham, and, besides, she watches her weight; that’s why she has such an amazing figure, which this stupid jerk doesn’t even look at.

With Juancu there were times when they hadn’t even finished eating and one of them would say something, or else they just looked at each other, and then they’d get up, automatically, embrace, and without peeling apart they would stumble around, lips locked, ripping off their clothes and falling onto the sofa. Someone phones, he gets up, answers, walks from the table to the door, back and forth, talking very loud: football jokes, lots of asshole , lots of everything’s cool . She picks up the plates, goes to the kitchen, returns, collects the casserole dish. He hangs up. It’s Facu, he’s such a drag. He says hi. Ah , she says, carrying the casserole to the kitchen. You can hear the noise of things being piled up on the countertop, others deposited in the sink. He sits down again, wipes his mouth with the napkin. She arrives with two little plates holding ice cream bonbons, with a spoon on each one. She hands one to him, placing hers next to the half-empty glass of wine. He drinks the beer remaining in his glass in a single gulp; she can see that there’s no more left in the bottle. She picks it up and heads back toward the kitchen. You can hear footsteps, the refrigerator door.