Daniel Galera: Blood-drenched Beard

H e sees a pair of gray-green eyes above fleshy cheeks with dimples that frame a pearly, expectant smile. Light olive skin and thick, peeling lips almost the same color, just a little rosier. He knows the nose ring in one of the nostrils and the small scar right in the middle of the forehead, but he is unable to retrieve the entire face from memory. Long black hair tumbling over the shoulders. His eyes take in every quadrant of this face in the space of a breath, and he could swear he’s never seen this woman before in his life, but he suddenly knows who she is. Something tells him. He thought about her a few days ago and always knew she would come someday. At the same instant in which he recognizes her, she gets a fright and her smile gives way to a pained expression.

Shit! What happened to you?

I got a little roughed up in a fight, he says smiling.

You never were the brawling sort.

Some guys stole my dog. Beta. I went to get her back, and they didn’t like it.

She tilts her head and narrows her eyes as if she doesn’t believe him. They stare at each other for a while. He feels his body swaying softly to the rhythm of his racing heartbeat and sees Viviane’s chest inflating and emptying like a bellows. Organs working to feed brains at the peak of activity, almost paralyzed by the millions of things to be said.

Did you recognize my face when you opened the door?

No. But I recognized you.

How?

You know how.

She nods and tries to blow away some hairs that are falling over her face. He realizes that both of her hands are occupied with some kind of frame wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

Even after all this time?

Guess so.

Well, I almost didn’t recognize you . You’re so thin.

I know. There are several reasons. Among which pneumonia.

Pneumonia? You never used to get sick. Just colds.

I got water in my lungs.

How did that happen?

I fell off the top of a headland and had to swim all night to get to a beach.

You can’t be serious.

You look beautiful. You seem happy. I look at your photos sometimes.

Are you going to let me in?

She is wearing a military-looking burgundy coat with large pockets and a belt of the same color at the waist. Black jeans and boots adorned with metallic buckles. Everything looks expensive and elegant, different from the little summer dresses and department store tracksuits that clothe the image of her that inhabits his memory. She takes a few steps into the living room and looks around. Her tall figure in the morning light looks like something straight out of a fashion magazine and contrasts with the secondhand furniture of the apartment.

Your mother told me you were living in front of the beach, but I imagined something different. This is practically in the water. What an incredible view. You could just about swim out the door, couldn’t you?

It’s what I do almost every day. Have a seat. I’ll make us some coffee.

She leans the frame against the arm of the smaller sofa and sits. He fills the kettle with tap water.

When did you get here?

Last night. I got to Florianópolis in the afternoon and rented a car. I got a room in a bed-and-breakfast in front of the beach. It’s so cheap in the off-season! The room’s really nice. I think I’m the only guest.

You came alone, didn’t you?

Yes.

He goes through four matches trying to light the stove.

I wanted to call to let you know I was coming, but your mother said your phone had been off or out of range for several days, and you closed your Facebook account too. Though you never did answer my messages anyway. Did you even see them? I sent you some text messages too, but you didn’t answer. In the end I decided to come anyway because I’d already scheduled the time off from work, and I wasn’t going to have another opportunity so soon. I hope it’s not a problem. I don’t want to be a bother.

No problem. I’ve been a bit out of touch with the world.

You never answered any of my messages. I came to the conclusion you didn’t want to have any contact with me. But I came anyway. Because, after all, I know how things work with you. If I were to wait for a reply…

It’s nice to see you. I think—

He considers what to say as he spoons coffee into the filter.

— I read your messages for a while, but I dunno, Viv. I didn’t really feel like chatting on Facebook. It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you.

No, I understand.

It was great to open the door and see you. Really great. It’s nice to see you in person.

I’ve been worried about you. Everyone has. Especially after all this rain, the flooding. And then you up and disappear all of a sudden. Was there a lot of damage here?

Not here.

I kept seeing all those people dying on TV. They say it was the biggest flood in the history of Santa Catarina. There was all that construction work on the highway. I’m glad it didn’t affect you.

He hears Beta’s paws as she comes out of the bedroom.

Beta, look who came to visit us. Someone you know.

Beta comes limping into the living room. She looks at Viviane and sniffs the air but doesn’t approach her.

She got hit by a car, but she’s okay now.

Viviane snaps her fingers and makes some sounds without much conviction to call Beta, but the dog just stands there in the middle of the room, out of reach. The two of them stare in silence at Beta, who in turn stares at nothing. Everything is frozen for a few seconds. The kettle starts to whistle.

So how are you holding up?

I’m fine. They messed up my face a bit. The worst thing was the pneumonia, but I’m over it.

After your dad’s death, I mean.

Oh. I’m okay. I miss him. But that’s to be expected.

I wanted to go to his funeral, but I’d just started my new job and couldn’t get the time off.

You told me on the phone. You don’t have to justify yourself. Everything’s okay, really. What’s done is done. Keeping Beta has helped me deal with it. Sometimes I remember him, and I feel sad, but we didn’t even visit each other all that often, you know? He was in pretty poor health. But he had a good heart. After he killed himself, I think that became clearer. He was good for everyone in his own twisted way. We never wanted for anything, if you think about it. I remember him holding me by the scruff of the neck and giving me advice. He’d hold on tight and start telling me some home truths. Dad always knew what he was doing. He made quick decisions and never went back on them. He made a decision.

Dante was really upset. He can’t accept it.

That’s his problem.

He goes back into the kitchen and pours the boiling water into the filter.

Dante was also upset that he didn’t see you at the funeral. You left early, didn’t you? You missed each other.

We didn’t miss each other. I left before he got there on purpose. Dante can fuck himself. And I don’t want to talk about him right now.

The hiatus in the conversation is filled by the smell of coffee and the sound of the waves crashing into the rocks near the window. He returns with two coffee mugs, gives one to Viviane, and sits on the other sofa. She is so beautiful. His coffee making hasn’t kept him with his back turned long enough for him to forget her face. When they lived together, he used to play a secret game where he would test how long he could remember the face of the woman he loved or try to look at her often enough so as not to forget her for an entire morning or a whole day. In the beginning it was easy, then it grew harder, and at some point he lost the will to try, but seeing her again now, after more than two years, the game makes sense again. He decides to put it in practice. He won’t lose sight of her. He won’t let her face escape his memory until she leaves again. When she walks out the door, he will hold her face in his memory at the same time as he remembers how they met at the pool where he was teaching, she in a black bathing suit and blue swimming cap, swimming clumsily with her tall, strong body, stopping at the edge of the pool to breathe and chat, letting her guard down for an invitation to go out for a beer. The house brimming with books where she lived with her rich parents before she moved in with him in a horrible apartment in Cidade Baixa, surrounded by noisy bars and schizophrenic neighbors. Her face will start to fade, but the memories of what they did together won’t. The first time they went to the seaside together and camped in a deserted campsite at Christmas. Her coming out of the water in the middle of the deserted beach shaking with cold, covered in goose bumps, not noticing the blood running down her thighs, and cringing with shame when he told her. Lying on her back on top of him in the damp, stuffy inside of the tent, having little convulsions after she came. Them looking at themselves in the mirror together. Their bodies were so beautiful, it was agonizing. She used to say that the human body was fortunate. It didn’t make much sense, but it was what she said, as if fortunate were a synonym for beautiful or something of the sort. He never corrected her. The one who was right about words was her, always her. He didn’t read books, and she didn’t watch him compete, but it didn’t seem to matter. It will take a few minutes for her face to disappear. Then all that will be left is a blur. It doesn’t matter what he feels for someone, it always happens. But he won’t allow it to happen as long as she is in his apartment. He makes the most of her being there. One, two, three, go.