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3. Cleo: ‘It was all thanks to the Virgin Mary’

It was all thanks to the Virgin Mary

who changed my entire life:

the miracles started happening

and even the slum seemed alright.

Oh, Quity, if you’d only started the story at the beginning you’d understand things so much better. What’s the beginning? There are loads of beginnings, my sweetness, because there are loads of stories, but I want to tell the story of this love of ours, which you don’t remember too well, Quity. You tell some things like they happened and some of the other things, well, I don’t know what you do, my love, you say all kinds of stupid stuff. So I’m going to tell our story myself. I’m going to record it for you, my darling, and you’re going to add it to your story. Wait, wait, little Cleopatra just came in. What are you doing in here, my little dove? Didn’t Mummy tell you to stay downstairs? Yes, go downstairs, sweetheart, let Mummy finish her work and then she’ll come and play with you. Yes, okay, I’ll come down and we’ll play Barbies. Sorry, anyway, now I’m back, I’m going to turn off the phones and close the door so I can tell the story in peace.

I’m not going to be able to tell the whole of it: there are things I still don’t know. I don’t know if I even want to know them. It’s not going to change my life, but I’m curious, and it eats away at me a bit, like being hungry or horny. It’s just curiosity. I don’t get what you don’t understand about it. What drew Eve to the apple? You have no trouble pretending to be curious when you want to annoy me! How do I know what drew Eve to the apple, my love? They’re red, they smell nice, she must have felt like biting into it. I don’t think it’s something I should really have to explain. Anyone ought to be able to understand curiosity – except you, Quity, since you’re practically an extra-terrestrial. And don’t play stupid, don’t send me to ask the Virgin because I’ve already told you hundreds of times that the Virgin doesn’t like it when I ask her about every little thing. She makes a face like she’s annoyed, clams up and not even God could make her talk. Well, maybe God could make her talk. But the fact is, she gets her knickers in a twist if I ask her too many questions. I don’t know why, maybe she gets sick of all us mediums, we’re all chicks, we’re probably too gossipy. Yeah, I know, guys can be gossipy too, maybe I am a male chauvinist, Quity, even though I refuse to accept my masculinity, according to you, who’s not curious about anything because you don’t give a shit about anything and also because you just go and make up whatever story suits you. The truth is I was never male, my dearest.

But I don’t want to talk about that today. I want to talk about the beginning, and the question of whether or not I was ever male isn’t the beginning of anything, I don’t think. It started that day I saw you guys there in the slum. It was really early and you arrived all fresh and happy like you were ready for a picnic, you even had hiking boots and hiking trousers on, the kind of clothes you’d use to go on holiday to the jungle. You thought going into the slum was like going on safari. Well, how do I know what you thought, but you seemed not to realise we dressed like normal people, like everyone else, in work clothes, or clubbing clothes, or around-the-house clothes, not like you who showed up ready to hunt a bear or walk on some shifting sand dunes. Daniel was looking sophisticated. Such a handsome man. I liked Daniel when I saw him that day, those blue eyes and that silver hair of his just killed me. Well, Quity, you were no virgin yourself, and you know that before you I didn’t want anything to do with chicks, I’d never gone beyond sucking some pussy when one of my more depraved clients wanted to pay extra for the show. But I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about Dani. I thought he was a cop because he was taking pictures and pretending not to the whole time we were eating breakfast, but he also looked too posh to be a cop. Also he was with you and I thought you were on the production crew of some TV show. You looked like one of those slutty chicks who come to the slum to film some documentary or buy some coke, a bit of a hot mess. I had you pegged from the start. And look at us now, my queen! Whoever would have imagined it? Two happy mums with a terrace overlooking the Caribbean and international fame! Ever since the Virgin’s first miracle in the police station I knew my life was going to be charmed, but I never in a million years imagined I’d be here today, the mother of your daughter, in a mansion and on TV all day long. Well, I did imagine that when I was little: I wanted to be a showgirl and be on TV, I wanted to be on TV more than I wanted to be a showgirl actually. And did it work out? Yes and no. I’m on TV but I’m not a showgirl, I’m more like a sort of nun even though you say I still look a bit like a whore. Still, I know I’m famous because I can talk to the Virgin and not because of my tits, even though they’re pretty big. For someone who claims to be straight, I have to say you went pretty crazy for them, and when I got these huge nipples that you love so much and that cost us a fortune to redo in Miami you made me feel like the wolf that nursed both Remus and Romulus.

Yes, Quity, my love, I realise I’m only on TV because of the Virgin and because of everyone that died, and because you wrote almost all the lyrics of the cumbia opera that shot me into the stratosphere of worldwide Latin stardom. And now you’re writing this book and I imagine you selling it to Hollywood and some little Salvadoran boy playing me. No, the Virgin hasn’t had a single complaint about it. She’s been a star for two thousand years, you think she doesn’t love fame? I don’t know how, I guess it was etched on her eternal mind and her mortal heart and so she still loves it. It may seem impossible, she still enjoys fame even though she’s been dead for like two thousand years! Oh, not dead, I meant she’s been immortal for two thousand years. Your Greek gods loved fame too. And no, Quity, it’s not that hard to believe they loved it if they made us, or if the ones who made them are the same as the ones who made us. Oh, you’re so difficult. I don’t even know why I love you; you never give me a break even for a second, as if I didn’t have enough with little María Cleopatra, who you don’t pay any attention to, my love, even though you had the privilege of carrying her in your womb. I know God made lizards too and you can’t understand lizards even though we have the same father. I think I understand Juancho pretty well: ever since I changed his pool and started giving him organic frogs and Patagonian salmon he looks at me lovingly. He wants to be comfortable and eat well and be loved, does that sound so strange to you, silly billy? Everyone wants to be loved, even rocks want to be loved. And I’m not just spouting bullshit here. It’s my turn and I’m going to keep recording my comments, Quity. You can write whatever you want but I want to tell my truth too. I know you never said I was stupid but in your book I come off like an idiot, so you’re going to put all this that I’m saying in there too, my sweetness, and if you don’t, you can take me out of your book completely. Or I’ll add it in myself. I have the right to make myself heard.

So, that morning, I thought Dani looked like some posh police officer but since you were there too I thought you guys were from the TV or something and that you must be making a secret documentary. I don’t know why you needed to be filming in secret, but then again, I didn’t think it through. Anyway, I didn’t really care because I knew I was going to end up on TV eventually. The Virgin told me that much, and then I was sure of it on the morning when the Virgin Mother disappeared because of Susana’s howling and carrying on, do you remember? Yeah, I know you wrote about it, but I’m just remembering it now and I guess I’m asking more out of nostalgia. Because we’ve shared so many memories, because I don’t even know how to think about myself without talking to you. Susana threw her wheelchair aside and jumped up howling, splashing through the mud like a little girl with her legs all cured, praising the miracle and swearing she’d give me a spot in the next season of her show. I got kind of pissed off about the shouting: ‘Do you have to be so loud about it? The Virgin doesn’t like it,’ and sure enough, the Holy Mother disappeared without even giving me a kiss goodbye like she normally does. She just said, ‘Pray, my daughter, and God will help thee and care for thee,’ or something like that. In Spanish, too. The Virgin hardly speaks Spanish at all now we’ve moved her to Florida, have you noticed?