Giannina Braschi - Yo-Yo Boing!

— I wasn’t done.

— Go ahead. Start at the World Wide Plaza.

— It wasn’t at the Plaza. It was in front of Rizzoli’s.

— Yes, but there is a fountain in front of the Plaza, so you can make the train run circles around it until we break the neurosis and take us out-out.

— Faith DeRoos, you know who Faith DeRoos is.

— No, why would I?

— She was my Spanish teacher. She took me to the Middle Ages. She appeared to me with her skinny red pumps and frizzy black hair like Cher. We were in England, and you wanted to bring a castle to New York. You were using a huge wooden crane with stone wheels and lots of grappling hooks and claws to lift and move huge rocks and beams.

— So that’s how Stonehenge got here —I thought— I didn’t know they had so much machinery back then.

Faith and I were surrounded by medieval monks who had bangs like the Beatles and red beards masking their whole faces like Paco Pepe. Droves of monks in blue frocks were loading the stone tablets and wooden beams onto a boat. You were in front saying:

— Heave — ho — heave — ho!

— She plans to crown the World Wide Tower with the castle.

— Why didn’t you tell me she was nuts? — Faith said. How is she going to balance a castle on top of that triangle?

But when I looked up, you had already erased the triangle.

— I’ve got a pencil point for that. I’ll use the rest of my tools to draw on top of that big pink tower, so useless and fat. Forces of this rockety earth. I need the past and the present to make it work. No more doubts about myself. I’m making it right now .

The next thing I knew, Faith and I were on a wagon balancing the whole castle on our heads as if we were columns. Fireflies were swarming around us. As the castle rocked back and forth, you hollered:

— High-ho! Giddy-up!

You held out your arms, calling forth a herd of wild horses with black stripes and pink manes, galloping gracefully without braying or neighing, showing the white of their teeth.

Ta-da-dúm.

Ta-da-dúm.

Ta-da-dúm, dúm, dúm.

Then suddenly a road coiled around the World Wide Tower like a spiral staircase. Faith looked at me from the corner of her eye — the castle swaying on our heads — about to collapse — about to crush us to death. The wagon jutted, a loose beam came tumbling down, and the entire structure fell perfectly into place. I knew he was going to use our scene. Bright white lights went on, the crowd dispersed, and the crew started climbing down scaffolds and girders. Woody turned around to see who had changed his pace. He was panting and sticky with his face blotchy red. I was hoping he’d be fascinated. Fellini would’ve fallen in love with my runaway train.

— Who invited you? — he said to you. You ruined the whole scene. I’m not talking to you because I want you in the film. I’m here because I want you to write reviews in Newsweek on my work.

— I don’t know how to write reviews.

— It’s as smooth as nail polish. One of my assistants will teach you. I offered the job first to Leen, but Leen wanted to write about Olmo-Olmo, and I said— Oh, no, no Olmo-Olmo, you can only write about me.

— I told you, I don’t know if I can do the job, but I’ll try. If not, my translator will do it.

— Are you still writing poetry?

— I’m writing poetry disguised as a novel —you offered apologetically.

— There are no disguises here —I said. She’s writing a screenplay.

— A screenplay! — he said. Ya know —he pointed at you— ya know wha-what you are?

— Me? — you shrugged shyly.

— Ya, ya know wha-what you are?

— Wha-what?

— You’re a, you’re a pentagram —then he pointed at me— and you, ya know wha-what you are?

I rolled my tongue again — oops — hit the brakes — let me stop — to see if it stops — oops — it stopped in the roof of my mouth — oops — my tongue’s on a roll, on a rampage, running away…

— Hit the brakes — kick your stirrups.

— Hold your horses — hold your temper.

— Hold your horses — hold your tongue.

— Hold your horses — whooa. Stop.

— Ya know wha-what you are? — he sta-stammered. You’re a, you’re a Yo-Yo BOING!

My head hit the ceiling, and I woke up. Wow — this is night. Silence reigned over the house. All the kids were asleep except me. I looked around the moonlit room and saw my rocking horse in the corner and a glowworm by the door. Somehow I climbed over the bars and landed belly up with my head thudding against the carpet. I crawled downstairs backwards, following the wizardly mumbling coming from the kitchen where my parents were arguing at the table. I stood up at the door and waved:

— Look at me. Look at me .

My mother took one look at me and screamed.

— A gobber!

— I was so scared I scrambled upstairs on all fours and climbed into my sister’s bunk. But I showed them who I am. Notice me now. How I dared down the dark stairs crawling into a fight. Sure they noticed. None of my brothers ran into the traffic of the night and sent my mother into a fright.

— I guess it’s like when you least expect it, in the middle of the night, in the streets, near a dumpster, a mouse appears. You scream, and in a flash the mouse disappears.

— I first appeared in Kalooki .

— You played a seal, didn’t you? I can imagine you balancing a beach ball on your pug nose.

— There were plenty of silly animal tricks, but I landed a role that nobody dared.

— Nobody wanted.

— Kalooki tried to fly like a bird, but never pulled it off. Leopard seal flopped and flounced around, but never left his rock. But me, I crossed the whole ocean, inch by inch, belly-crawling across the rug so gracefully, so quietly nobody noticed I was moving. I not only gave setting to the play, I gave a dwelling to the penguins.

— You let them step on you?

— On the quilt covering me. Such fierce concentration did I exercise that neither squawk nor squeak did part my kisser when Kalooki stepped on my fingertips. It was a humble role, but the power behind the play.

— Dog or woman?

— I didn’t bark or scream. I became what I had to become, an iceberg. Unable to see what the animals were doing, I was minding my own business, the business of crossing the whole ocean without melting, even though I was sweating like an ox. When the curtain fell, I was the one who went the farthest and accomplished the most. They clapped and hooted when I emerged pink and soppy, bowing — here I am. Then I cart-wheeled across the stage.

— It reminds me of when Jabalí and I drove through the mountains and there in front of us was an icy river.

— What’s this got to do with Jabalí?

— He used to fish in that river.

— What’s this got to do with me?

— He sat on a rock and fished with a needle and thread.

— How pathetic.

— How poetic. The fisherman and the iceberg. To know that my pipo saved all those penguins from drowning. What a tender guy. When I looked into Jabi’s eyes, I used to see the green thread of hope until I started feeling I was his rag and he was sticking needles in me.

— Wait ’til you fill my iceberg melting in your ocean.

— I prefer a fire burning in the hearth of my house.

— If you think that’s a good one, ay, bendito, wait until you hear about the time I stepped on a bumble bee. I was happy and gay — skipping barefoot about the farm — away, away, away from my chores — when happiest I felt, zzwapt, rapt.