Certain Dark Things(3)

“Hey, you haven’t told me your name,” he said when they reached the fourth floor.

“Atl,” she replied, taking out her keys.

“Is that foreign? What does that mean?”

“No. It’s from the Nahuatl language. You know. What they call Aztec. It means ‘water.’”

It was an odd name but it was pretty. It suited her. He thought her voice sounded like water, like a stream filled with pebbles, though he’d never seen a real stream in his life. All he’d had were the periodic floods in Mexico City during the rainy season, when the garbage gets stuck in the sewers and the water overflows the drainage system, creating little rivers full of debris, rotten fruit, and dog shit. The door swung open and she turned on the light. The apartment was small and empty. Atl owned a rug with some cushions on top of it, but had no couch, no television, and no table. She didn’t even have a calendar on the wall. A very big window sported garish, tattered curtains, further spoiling the place.

He thought girls had more of an interest in decorating their apartments. He pictured nice living rooms with pink curtains and neat furniture. A stuffed animal, perhaps. That’s how it looked like in the magazines, with rooms like museums. And the ads, the ads had told him to expect color coordination, scented candles on tiny tables.

The apartment did have a heavy smell, animal-like, probably courtesy of the dog. Perhaps she kept more than one pet.

“You haven’t lived here long, have you?” he asked.

She stared at him and for a moment he worried that he’d offended her. Maybe she didn’t have a lot of cash after all, and couldn’t furnish the place. He was no one to judge.

“I’m passing through. Do you want tea?” she asked. Her voice carried a soft indifference.

Domingo would be better off with pop or a beer, but the girl seemed classy and he thought he ought to go with whatever she preferred.

“Sure,” he said.

Atl took off her jacket and threw it on the floor. Her blouse was pale cream; it showed off her bony shoulders. She didn’t bother taking off her gloves. Looking at her, he thought of smoke, of incense and altars, and the painting of a girl he’d seen in a discarded museum catalogue.

He followed her into the kitchen. She lit a match and placed the kettle on a burner.

“I’m Domingo,” he told her.

Her gloved hands moved carefully, pulling out two cups, two teaspoons, and a box filled with tiny sugar cubes.

The dog padded into the kitchen. Atl leaned down, whispered something in its ear, and then it walked out.

She opened a tin decorated with pictures of orange blossoms. It was filled with white tea bags.

“I’m going to pay you a certain amount, just for coming here. If you agree to stay, I’ll double it,” she said.

“Listen,” Domingo said, rubbing the back of his head, “you don’t really need to pay me nothing. I mean, you’re cute. I should be paying you. Not … um … not that I think you work that kind of gig. If you do that’s all right too,” he added quickly.

“I’m not what you think I am.”

Atl looked at him as she fished out two tea bags and closed the tin. She grabbed a pad of lined notepaper that was attached to the refrigerator. It had smiley kittens on it. He knew it wasn’t hers; it was probably the relic of a previous tenant. She wasn’t a smiley kitten girl, that was for sure.

“No, man, no, I wasn’t saying, you know. Just … in case, I—”

“I’m a Tlāhuihpochtli.”

That’s not a word he expected to hear. Domingo blinked. “You can’t be. That’s a type of vampire, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Domingo had heard about vampires. He’d seen the stories about them on the television. He’d read about them in old comic books and graphic novels. He’d never thought he would meet one, not here.

For the first time, he noticed a certain redness to her eyes, as though she had been awake for a long time, as well as dark circles faintly visible beneath her makeup.

“It’s vampire-free territory in Mexico City,” he mumbled.

How’d she gotten in the city? Sanitation should have nabbed her. Those Apostles of Health who were supposed to stop whatever new disease was going around, but who didn’t do jack shit except harass people in the poor neighborhoods. What was it Quinto had said? Something about how the human species was self-destructing at a bacteriological level but sanitation in Mexico was too busy fining people to care. But they would have noticed her, wouldn’t they? And if not them, then the cops.

Maybe she wasn’t a vampire. Could just be a wealthy, crazy girl playing dress-up. But he didn’t think so. He felt he was staring at the real thing.

“I know,” she said, scribbling a number on the pad of paper and holding it up for him to see. “How would you like to not have to work for a whole month?”

Domingo leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“That’s more like five for me,” he said.

He should have been more worried. He wasn’t sure if vampires really did have mind powers or if he’d simply been lulled into a sense of comfort by the woman’s appearance; either way, he didn’t feel scared. He felt a bit giddy and nervous, but there was none of the true fear that should punctuate this moment. It was a good moment, like that time when he found a new pair of fancy sneakers in a trash bin, box and all.