Yuri Herrera: The Transmigration of Bodies

He needed someone to watch his back. He called the Neeyanderthal and climbed back in the Bug to go get him.

The Neeyanderthal was an entrepreneur of sorts: it was all bidness for the Neeyanderthal. Everywhere you look, he liked to say, looks like wheels and deals. He bought old cell phones that he sold at new prices to credulous clients, organized office pools at places he didn’t work, and shuffled the cash flow to keep all his balls in the air: he smuggled shit in, sold intel, rented his house out as a place for petty crimes to go down. He never had any money. Instead his rackets seemed designed to prove he was cleverer than everyone else, to bring him doses of euphoria followed by stretches of contained rage. The Neeyanderthal was huge and hulking, a man who walked like he was forever on his way out of the ICU, moving each muscle with considerable care.

Years ago the Neeyanderthal’s brother had died in his arms, on the way back from a nearby town: some kid had crossed the road in front of them, the Neeyanderthal jammed on the brakes, the brother flew through the windshield, the truck flipped and by the time the Neeyanderthal could get out from under it, his baby brother was dying on the white line and kept right on dying even as the Neeyanderthal held his face, sobbing into it saying Hold on, man, almost there little brother, as tho that could extend his life. It didn’t. Finally the ambulance came to pick up the body, by then so lulled and soothed it looked almost at peace.

To the Redeemer it seemed the Neeyanderthal had been trying to off himself on blow for years. After the brother thing he launched into more honest attempts. Provoking police, street fighting. Then one time while he was truly looped he came right out and tried to shoot himself through the heart. Like it was no big deal, people were at his place getting trashed, and he got up, went to his room and fired a shot. His luck was so bad one of the credit cards he kept in his pocket to cut coke deflected the bullet, which flew up, barely kissed the top of his heart and came out his back. They found him standing unsteadily with a lost look on his face. Guess this ain’t a boneyard kind of day, he said, and claimed he was smiling when he said it.

The Redeemer had never contemplated suicide, not even the time Dolphin had pulled him out of that black hole. Whenever he heard about someone who’d decided to cut their own life short he was shocked, especially if it was someone who had the strength to defend themselves; it surprised him not because he thought it was wrong but because he suddenly saw that person like they belonged to an entirely different species, and was astonished they inhabited the same planet. People who could make decisions they weren’t prepared for. So you want to inhale ammonia? You fuckin sure? Dead silence.

He got to the Neeyanderthal’s place, rang the bell and went back to the Bug to wait.

He watched a junkman pull his cart up the middle of the street. The junkman looked at the Redeemer in his mask, smiled with superiority, began hacking dramatically, then shook his head side to side and kept on his way.

The door opened.

What’s up, Neeyan? asked the Redeemer.

Damn, man, not a tail to chase or a soul in sight, said the Neeyanderthal, staring out the Bug’s window at the empty streets.

The Redeemer crossed an avenue with two military trucks down it and turned in another direction.

First time there’s no traffic and I still got to take the long way, he said.

At the next avenue they caught sight of a very small funeral procession: one hearse with two cars following behind, three people in the first car, only one in the last.

Oh, yeah, said the Neeyanderthal, looks like people are real choked up over this fuckin corpse.

Passing the procession the Neeyanderthal stuck his head out and said aloud, as if addressing the body in the hearse, You’re fooling yourself, man, you’re fooling yourself.

He would say that about anything: a political argument, a lover’s secret, a soccer game. Afterward he’d add something smartass; in this case, once his head was back inside the Bug, he said Should’ve vacuum-packed your ass…

Dependable as gravity, that was the Neeyanderthal. He messed with everyone like it was an obligation. Why was he the Neeyanderthal’s compadre? Was it because they’d once been real friends? Was it that he’d watched him grow sadder and sadder? Or that in him he saw something of his own black dog? That’s why we make enemies of our friends as soon as they start to drift, he thought, cos that way they get stuck with all our flaws, unlike when they’re shared. Maybe brief friendships are best. If you pull out in time, the vices are all theirs.

Close to his barrio the Redeemer turned and found himself head-on with another military truck. This time he couldn’t dodge it so he braked slowly and started a U-turn but a soldier waved him to where he should stop. He parked the Bug and waited. The soldier approached the car, peered into the back seat, then at the Redeemer and finally at the Neeyanderthal, who said What? I didn’t hear anything about a curfew. Can’t a man go out anymore without catching shit?

The soldier walked around to the Neeyanderthal’s side and stared at him with no expression, making no attempt to bend down. Then he glanced back to the truck and nodded toward the Bug. A masked officer approached and ordered the Redeemer out with an index finger. He got out. Another soldier was patting down a punk rocker, palms against the truck.

Good morning, Captain, the Redeemer said.

The captain’s eyebrows arched almost imperceptibly, seeming to indicate an appreciation for the Redeemer’s knowledge of rank. But what he said was: Afternoon, you mean.

The captain stared at him as tho chewing a twig. Patient, reflective. The Redeemer realized he’d do well to keep quiet and silently composed his best body language to say: You say jump, Captain, I’ll ask how high. The captain glanced sidelong at the Neeyanderthal and said Couple of smartasses, I see.

The Redeemer half-closed his eyes in apology.

Captain, I can’t even imagine what you must have to put up with in a situation like this, the thing is, sir, we’re all uneasy, as you can imagine, and the only thing we really want is to get home and lock ourselves up.

At the truck, one of the soldiers had pushed the punk against the hood and spat The fuck is all this crap you got on? slapping his ears, his lip, where he wore rings. The boy accepted the slaps without raising his hands.

Going to have to take you in and do background checks, the captain said.

But suddenly he’d stopped looking at the Redeemer: he turned his attention to the soldiers by the truck and said Take that shit off him. One of the soldiers cuffed the kid’s hands behind him and the other began to rip out the rings. The punk writhed in silence, trails of blood starting to run from his eyebrows, his nose, his mouth. The Redeemer sensed this was his chance to dig a hole in the wall and sneak out. Another day he’d have tried to help the kid, but today it was a no-go.

Any chance you could do me a favor, officer? I certainly don’t want to take up any more of your time.

He took out one of the business cards that boasted a degree he’d never earned and said In case I can ever be of any service to you.

The captain took the card but didn’t turn to look at it. He waited a couple seconds, then with his left index finger sent him back to the Bug, and with his right ordered the soldiers to put the punk in the truck. Thank you, Captain, the Redeemer said. He got into the car and started the engine.

They drove several blocks in silence and then the Neeyanderthal said Dude was asking for it, right? You walk around like a faggot, all that metal in your face, you pay the price.