Читать книгу Fish Soup - Margarita García Robayo - Страница 13

7

My first flight was to Miami. It was the city’s busiest international route, and the most sought-after. I went for it, and I got it. I wanted to go to Miami because it was cheap to buy things there, the weather was good, and the men weren’t gringos. The young air hostesses didn’t like gringos because they were bad in bed; the old ones did, because they took whatever they could get.

Do you know Miami? I asked Julián. He said he did, but I could tell he was lying. Julián was watching TV in our living room: there was a boxing match on. My brother was in the shower, getting ready to go to a party. My mother, on the phone to my grandmother: the cousin of a relative had died. My father had gone out to pay some traffic fines.

Do you know Miami? I asked Gustavo. He didn’t reply. Olga snorted. He was drinking rum in the hammock, looking out to sea. Olga was grating coconut for a rice dish. She had a long white skirt and red knickers on, her tits spilling out of a tight, low-cut black Lycra top.

I had gone to say goodbye.

In Miami, I stayed in a hotel near the airport. I had already arranged for a friend of a friend from the gym to come and meet me. He was married but he turned up without his wife. Probably for the best, seeing as lately I had not been getting on with anybody’s wives: young air hostesses were notorious for spreading their legs in any airport toilet. Old air hostesses were notorious for spitting in the plane food, among other things. My colleague Susana said that the old air hostesses suffered from terrible flatulence – a result of so many years eating that shrink-wrapped food – which became uncontrollable at certain altitudes.

This friend of a friend was called Juan, but he was known as Johnny, and he was a huge, green-eyed, mixed race guy. His car still had that “new car” smell. He took me out to eat some spicy food and then he took me for a ride along Ocean Drive. Before going back to the hotel, we went into a bar owned by Johnny’s friend – an associate, he said, then corrected himself: a buddy, and slapped him on the back. We drank Negronis. I’d never had a Negroni, but I didn’t say so. Do you like it? asked Johnny, and I nodded: I like strong drinks. He clinked his glass with mine and breathed into my ear, me like you, beibi.

Johnny smelled of expensive cologne.

I had to get back to the hotel by midnight because the Captain said he didn’t want any of us staying out all night. Our flight was at seven. Thanks, Johnny, I had a great time. He lunged in for a kiss, but I dodged it. Johnny wasn’t bad looking, but if he got his way now, I wouldn’t have anyone to call next time I came to Miami. I was planning to go to Miami often, until I found a way to stay there for good.

When I got back, the rain started. Again, like it had not rained for years. Days and days of torrential rain, which meant we were unable to fly: the airport was closed, and I was bored, watching films about people who were happy for the first half an hour and who then got sad, and that’s what it was all about, getting over the sadness. Then something would happen, and they ended up even happier than they were at the start.

I had moved out of my parent’s house months ago and was living with Milagros, a girl who sold alcohol in the duty-free shop and had put up a notice in the toilets: looking for a roommate, two-bed apartment near the airport. I liked the idea of living near the airport, so I could be 100% available for the airline. If someone was ill, I was there in five minutes to replace them. If a charter flight was leaving and they needed staff, I would volunteer myself. Every time a plane took off or landed, I knew about it.

I liked the sound of the aeroplanes.

On the third day of rain, I put on a raincoat and went to visit Gustavo, but it was Olga’s head that poked out of the door to the shack. Where’s Gustavo? And she said: he’s gone fishing. The sky was falling in sheets of water. I didn’t move. Olga emerged to stand in the doorway, revealing her naked body, dark and glossy, her magic button a tangled mat of hair.

I left.

I called my parents’ house, it felt like years since I’d heard from them. As soon as my mother started talking, I realised that everything was the same: she had fallen out with one of my aunts, because my aunt was a manipulator who liked to bleed my grandmother dry. Me: bleed her dry of what? Her: what do you think? My father had hired a new driver, because the last one had stolen from him. He’d taken three hundred thousand pesos and the spare tyre. Did you report it? No, what would be the point? It never does any good. Right. What about my brother? Out and about.

The block of flats where I lived with Milagros was near the sea. When it rained, an eerie-sounding wind blew. Tony called me occasionally. I told him I didn’t want to see him. On one of those rainy nights, it was me who called him.

Do you want to go and see a film? I don’t know, I don’t think so. Are you with someone? No. You’re with someone.

Tony lived far from me, it would have taken almost an hour on the bus, but he took a taxi and arrived in twenty minutes. I was in the shower. He must have spent all his money for the week. Tony turned on a film on the TV in the living room, and Milagros shut herself away in her bedroom. See you tomorrow, she said. I came out in pyjamas, smelling of soap. Before I sat down, I went to the kitchen to get the Guatemalan rum that Milagros had brought home. I took a swig from the bottle and then poured a glass for Tony, who barely wet his lips with it. I sat down and immediately climbed on top of him. I had no idea what film he’d put on. The first time, I came. The second, he did. When we had finished, Tony said: marry me.

I can’t. Why? Because of work. What’s that got to do with it? I’d leave you on your own all the time, and I’d get so jealous imagining that when I’m not there, you’d replace me with someone else. You’re irreplaceable. I am now, but when I leave you alone, you’ll realise I’m not. Let’s go to Canada. Canada is full of old people. Quit your job. Never. But why not? Never in a million years.

He left.

It was still raining. Out of the window, the lights in the street looked distorted. Across the street, there was a huge illuminated sign for a fried chicken restaurant, but that night it was a shapeless blur. I went over to the window, wiped it and looked down. Tony was there, standing on the corner, looking around the street, waiting for something to happen. Nothing happened.

I thought about opening the window and shouting to him to come back up. I thought about opening the window and shouting, Yes! But what I actually did was light a cigarette, and still watching him, I imagined my life with him. It went like this:

It is raining. I leave the airport, heading for a tiny apartment in a neighbourhood miles away, overlooking a rotten swamp. I have plastic bags in my handbag to put on my feet when I get off the bus, so my heels don’t get stuck in the mud when I’m walking home. On the way to the building, I have to dodge kids screaming and splashing around on the pavements. I am deafened by the vallenato music booming out of the low, cramped houses, from which a sickly-yellow light seeps. It smells of fried food, it smells of rum, it smells of rotten swamp, it smells of poverty. Hi, sweetheart, Tony says, opening the door. In his arms is a small child, slurping at its own snot. Soon, that baby will be slurping at my tits. Then we eat a watery lentil stew, we go to bed and turn off the light. Tony would cling to my back like a limpet, his arm around my waist, and whisper in my ear: one day we’ll get out of here. Me: we’ll always be here, waiting for a hurricane to come.

By the time I finished my cigarette, Tony was still there, but I wasn’t.