Iosi Havilio - Open Door

The spectre would manifest itself. The time had come. But something new happened, something unsatisfactory that put an end to everything. The device gave off some sparks, exploded and then plunged us into darkness.

I spend my nights awake, reconstructing, with a bit of book-work and a lot of guesswork, the history of Open Door. I prefer to sleep during the day. In the daytime I don’t dream. At night I do and the dreams, my recent dreams anyway, are too disturbing. I bought myself a cheap whisky that keeps me awake. Sometimes I wonder why I’m so interested in this particular story, when there are so many others; because it’s close, because it’s unlikely, because it’s beginning to belong to me, because I have time on my hands, could it be because of Jaime, who I want to see less and less, or Eloísa, who I want to see more and more and who is driving me to distraction.

Very early, in secret, I submerge the tip in the piss-filled plastic container and leave it twice as long as the instructions suggest, to avoid any mistakes. It’s the first pregnancy test I’ve done in my life. I never thought I’d actually be able to do it. They say that there are many reasons for periods being late: hormonal changes, mood swings, stress, traumatic situations, false pregnancies. There are women who go up to six months without menstruating for no obvious reason, on nature’s whim, just because. Then out of the blue, it returns and they have normal periods again.

Late, but just how late? I’d lost track, but it was etched on my mind that the last one had arrived the day after that first night with Eloísa. I remembered it well because when I woke up that midday with Jaime’s axe cracking a few metres from the window, I went to the bathroom to pee and the blood stains in my knickers filled me with sadness. Right then, it made no sense. My legs were still trembling, my head was still swimming from too many joints and so much crazy sex, deep sounds echoed in my ears and an exquisite tingling picked at the inside of my body. I could only think about when we would see each other again, that same night if possible. And in that instant, like a child betrayed by her own body, I thought that the blood had ruined everything.

That must have been the start of April, the first weekend of the month, the fourth or fifth, a few days after I started taking my unsuccessful trips to the morgue. And if a few weeks ago, when the idea began to spin round my head, it had seemed absurd, impossible, utter madness, later I convinced myself that yes, it was possible, I wasn’t careful and although Jaime took precautions, they’re never enough. The possibility tortured me: it struck me dumb for a couple of days. It even stopped me wanting to see Eloísa, as if I’d deceived her. But no, it made no sense. How many times had I fucked without taking care and nothing had happened? It was all in my mind, and if my period hadn’t arrived it was because I was changing, my body was speaking for me, I wasn’t made to have children. And to stop me worrying over all these stupid speculations, the best idea was to confirm that it wasn’t true. I’m not pregnant and that’s the end of it.

Ready. I leave it a few seconds longer, my eyes following Jaime’s presence as he gets lost on the way to the stable. It would be good for him to have another horse, not that he could replace the other Jaime, but at least what remains of the stable would stop being uninhabited and the heavy air that’s starting to fill it with demons would be dispelled. Here I go: I take courage and pull the stick out of the container, which spills slightly over the toilet lid because my steady hand betrays me.

I make a note: When Open Door was established in 1898, the lunatic population numbered 25; in 1912 it was 154; by 1925 it had reached 234 and they were no longer lunatics, they were internees, the mentally ill. In 2000 there are 1,964. An average of 65 new internees enter the institution every year.

This can’t be right, I must be hallucinating. But no. I wake in the middle of the night between two deeply sleeping bodies, one face up, the other face down, Jaime on the right, Eloísa on the left. All three in the same bed. All three naked. The half-light makes me doubtful, but touch confirms what sight refuses to believe. My eyes cloud over: I don’t know how we came to this.

Jaime had come home drunk, drunker than anyone I’ve ever seen, his mouth hanging open, fillings on show, upper teeth clashing against the lower. Dribbling all over himself. I remember that part perfectly.

He came in acting the way horses do when a lorry passes them on the road: randy. I’m hungry, he struggled to say as he kicked in the air to shake off his boots. I want to eat. I heated up some chicken soup left over from the night before. Jaime appeared from the bedroom, stooped and puffing, with an unfamiliar erection. And what happened next was so typical and so absurd that it didn’t even hurt me. Jaime spat out the soup and right there, on the cold marble work-top, he mounted me, as a stallion would mount a mare, from behind, until he couldn’t go on.

Then he left, he disappeared, and in a while Eloísa arrived, also pretty out of it. I told her that I didn’t feel well and she massaged me and I her, and we must have fallen asleep without realising it.

I have no idea exactly when Jaime came in or how he managed to lie down without realising that Eloísa was in the bed. Or else he saw her and was still so drunk he didn’t care.

I have to do something quickly, right now, but I only come up with bad ideas. What if I try to sleep again and let whatever happens happen. I glance to either side and I still can’t understand it. Jaime snorts loudly, sprawled across the bed, disrobed and disorderly. Who will wake next, it could be Eloísa and she’ll go without anyone noticing. But if Jaime opens his eyes first there’s no going back, it will be irreversible.

The first thing I do is to pinch Eloísa hesitantly on one arm, very gently. I persist, a bit harder, but she doesn’t react. When I finally manage to wake her, I quickly cover her mouth with my hand and explain the situation with gestures. Disconcerted and desperate to burst out laughing, Eloísa puffs her cheeks out, the colour rises to her face, and she does her best to contain her cackles until she can’t help but release a little gasp, which she thankfully manages to stifle before it reaches Jaime’s ears. She doesn’t look good, she’s pale, drugged. What I must look like, I don’t want to know. Very slowly, measuring each movement by the millimetre, we raise ourselves until we manage to get out of bed. Eloísa goes first, on tiptoe, and I follow, resting one finger on her back to guide myself in the darkness. We reach the door, Eloísa opens it slightly, only as much as she needs to and slinks out like a cat.

Before leaving the room, I look round to set my mind at rest and confirm that the nightmare is over, but Jaime’s eyes, wide open, make me wobble and I lose balance. I hang onto the doorframe and expect the worst. It takes Jaime a moment to speak.

‘Are you all right?’ he asks and I don’t know whether he’s making fun of me, testing me or whether he genuinely didn’t notice anything. Words fail me.

‘Are you all right?’ Jaime repeats and I laugh nervously, almost giving the game away.

‘I’m thirsty,’ I do my best to say and he turns over to continue sleeping, face down now.

It’s true, I’m dying of thirst, I feel like someone has slit my throat.

Later that same day, Eloísa looks at me with different eyes, she suspects, or she knows. We sit next to the bare fig tree and smoke a small joint in silence. She seems serious, grown up, with dark circles under her eyes, very different. It’s not the same Eloísa from a few months ago, not a shred of innocence is left in her face, and yet I want her so much. I can only think about kissing her, about her going down on me as soon as possible.