Iosi Havilio - Paradises

When she sees me, Yessica exaggerates her surprise, covering her mouth with her hands. Oh, she says, you look like a guy. Esteban notices too and tries to encourage me. It’s great, a bit unusual, but it’s great, he says, pointing at his own head. Iris releases one of her cackles, spying on me from the sardine stall. I put on the zoo cap to avoid more comments.

A quiet afternoon until the matter of the iguana re-emerges. The truth is that I was beginning to forget it, I’m slightly surprised without quite being worried. Yessica says that Esteban wants to see me, I should look for him out back. I discover that they’re going to begin an internal investigation. It’s not up to me, he says, rules. Because I was there the day the animal disappeared they’re definitely going to want to speak to me. But I shouldn’t worry, it’s a formality. I nod in silence as I wonder who will be interrogating me. There’s no way I can be found out, I left no clues of any kind, the creature is well buried twenty blocks from here. The only people who could incriminate me, and it would be a betrayal, are Herbert and Simón.

From then on, the iguana in all its forms occupies my head relentlessly. The situation as I see it, that is to say, depending on my mood, seems serious at times and at others, more often, a minor anecdote. And what if I tell the truth, confess? I try to imagine Esteban’s reaction, I doubt he would be able to understand, to become my accomplice. I elaborate a speech to explain what happened, the word impulse comes to my mind. I had a sudden impulse, Esteban, I don’t know what got into me, I would begin by saying. I’d tell him about Simón, about the poison beads, the fright of seeing him in hospital, under analysis, I’d say, in an attempt to move him, and that the need surged in me to provide him with a companion while I wasn’t there. I could mention Jaime, the father who died a few months ago, the trauma of the move, so many changes at once, and more arguments to soften the blow. I know it was madness, almost as if someone else had done it in my place. The problem is that if I managed to touch Esteban and get him on my side, he would certainly suggest I return the iguana without reporting me. The death is inadmissible. I’d carry on lying about that. It escaped and that’s it. It’s even more believable than the burial, animals escape when they change environment. But I would only be able to cover up for so long; I feel like I’m in a labyrinth. I think about all this while, on the other side of the rail, with the yellow python curled up in the background, protected by the shadow so that none of the bosses can see her, so she says, Yessica paints her nails an angry red, those nails that are so long I imagine them giving painful caresses. Running down a neck, an arm, a prick, the very idea produces a shudder in me that I repress by gritting my teeth.

During the break, I bump into Canetti, more taciturn than ever. I’m thinking about quitting, I tell him. His reaction is delayed, his eyes glued to the embers of the cigarette dying between his fingers. I’m knackered, says Canetti and starts moving his shoulders as if saying what do I care. He talks about his pains, about all his misfortunes. What a shitty life, he sighs. I stop him short. I repeat: I want to quit. And he steps back as if I were about to slap him. It arouses his full interest: resignations, dismissals and working relationships are a very sensitive topic for him. He doesn’t try to dissuade me nor does he encourage me to do it, he limits himself to advising me. He knows a lot about the subject: agreements, rights, regulations. He lists advantages and disadvantages: The important thing is to have a strategy. If you send a letter of resignation you lose, like in war, that’s how he puts it. He takes a drag, releases smoke from his nose and mouth and continues: It’s always better for them to fire you. And he adds, lowering his voice: You have to forge your own escape route, understand. Pull stunts, cause a racket without anyone noticing. Canetti’s nature is too strong for him and despite so many losses, all those miserable years, as he calls them, the rebel seed has been kept alive in him ever since it occurred to him to hatch an illness to which in some way he ended up falling victim. A kind of silent, solo revolution, neither utopian nor idealistic, but practical and mocking, that of a fainthearted martyr.

At the end of the day, I see Esteban passing between the tables and sunshades. He walks rapidly towards the lake next to a zoo employee dressed, like me, as an explorer, speaking into his walkie-talkie and gesticulating with his free hand, giving to understand that whoever is at the other end is an imbecile. This is my opportunity to clarify matters, we’ll see what happens afterwards. I take a step forward but I pause in the attempt, one foot in the shade and the other in the sun. Esteban notices my aborted impulse, and my indecision; for that reason he raises an arm and waves above his head at me, showing no hint of stopping, as if he already knows and prefers not to hear me say it.

After a week of silence, Eloísa rears her head again. She sends me two identical messages one after the other. I’m sorry, she writes, I’m really mental. And a third, at dawn: You kno I love u.

Herbert comes in kicking the door. He’s in his pants, hair on end, confused expression and a pillow mark splitting his cheek in two. What time is it, I ask, my voice hoarse, sitting up in three beats. I have the book with the naturalist illustrations on top of me, making it hard for me to move. Mum says for you to go upstairs. I hear him fine, but I don’t react, I hug my legs, I stretch to grab the sheet, screwed up at the foot of the mattress, and cover myself, I feel a bit embarrassed. It’s as if he’s speaking to me in a dream, there’s no sense replying. He insists: It’s urgent. What happened, I ask silently, raising my chin. Herbert says nothing more. Message delivered, mission accomplished, he turns round and is swallowed by the darkness of the corridor. I put on the first thing I can grab, the usual jeans and a black T-shirt with studs that Eloísa left one day and never reclaimed. I leave on tiptoe so as not to wake Simón, who is biting his lips in his sleep. A warrior’s dream.

I realise that I’m barefoot as I’m climbing the stairs but I don’t go back, I’m guided by the word urgent. In fact, if it weren’t for the confusion caused by the abrupt awakening, I would almost certainly be speculating on what might be waiting for me up there. But no, I climb on blindly. On the fifth floor, I lean in, half opening the door. I risk a few steps and from the kitchen I can see Mercedes snoring, sprawled over the bed; closer to me Herbert is lying on his, his eyes tightly closed, as if what just happened was my own invention. I can’t see Sonia anywhere.

I retreat. Motionless on the threshold, I hear a hoarse shout: Here, here. The voice is coming from the other end of the corridor, some four doors further down. I feel my way forward, unable to see much ahead of me until I make out Sonia beckoning with her hand. There’s no time for greetings or explanations. I need your help, she says quietly, guiding me into the flat by the shoulder. Identical to Mercedes and Sonia’s: dining kitchen, two rooms at the sides. The one on the right is empty, in the other there are three or four children sleeping on the same mattress, criss-crossed, superimposed. Between the bedrooms is the bathroom, instead of a door there’s an iron panel which Sonia slides across to pass through, carefully so that it doesn’t come apart. She makes me enter first, she’s anxious for me to see: a naked woman sitting on the toilet, her head straining towards her legs, about to give birth. The last thing she wants is to go to hospital, Sonia breathes at my neck. The woman, only just noticing us, throws herself back, her fright slightly out of time. She has a tangle of black hair, very black, covering half her face. I give an Oriental-style bow of greeting, she ignores me. It really hurts, it’s squeezing, says the woman, addressing Sonia, as if she doesn’t entirely accept my presence. I move back, the conversation is between them. Don’t you think we’d better go? The other woman shakes her head from side to side as if possessed.