Signal to Noise(77)

“You know what the problem is?” she asked.

Sebastian paused mid-equation and looked at Meche.

“We’re trying to copy people we don’t know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The glamour.”

Sebastian, caught off-guard, simply blinked at her. Meche sighed.

“I’m talking about the spells. I think we are failing because we are picking people out of magazines instead of real people.”

“I thought we were doing homework.”

“Do you think the Mulata de Cordoba went, ‘Oh, it’s homework time now, I can’t think about spells?’”

“The Mulata lived in a time when there was no homework,” Sebastian replied. “Besides, she was caught by the Spanish Inquisition. Have you actually been reading history books?”

“Myths and legends,” Meche corrected him. “I’m reading everything I can about magic. Someone needs to be the research and development arm of this corporation. Anyway, what we need is to copy a real person. Once we’ve mastered that we can probably try some sympathetic magic, steal a bit of hair and all.”

“Hair? OK, Jesus, can I finish this homework before we start talking about this stuff? It’s due tomorrow.”

“Okay, look. I’ve been toying with something,” Meche said.

She stood up, found a record and put it on. Sebastian was not familiar with the song. Something smooth and jazzy. The singer crooned, “I’m a fool to want you,” and Meche sat down again.

She reached across the table and placed a hand on top of his own, then placed the other against her face, covering her features. She slid her fingers down revealing a pair of eyes, a nose, a mouth—a face that was not her own.

It was a crude copy, to be sure. It looked like a rubber mask and it did not resemble Isadora as much as caricaturize her, but there was some clear effort and talent put into it.

“Make it go away,” he said.

“Wait,” Meche said, her hand upon his own, concentrating.

The mask seemed to grow snugger. It fit better. It lost most of its rubbery quality and the skin now had pores. The eyes were the right colour instead of an unusual, artificial shade. Eyelashes grew where there had been none and the lips moistened.

She was close now. Very close.

Isadora smiled.

Sebastian jumped up in his seat.

“Stop it,” he said.

“It’s good, isn’t it? I think we can do much better.”

“Stop.”

She shrugged and shook her head. Isadora’s face chipped and cracked and fell, revealing Meche’s real features.

“Why did you do that?” he asked. “Why did you have to imitate her?”

“Why not?”

“You are cruel,” he said.

He gathered his notebook, his pencils and pens. Meche watched as he tossed the stuff in his bag.

“You’re going?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m going,” he said. “You think I should stay and let you torture me a little longer?”

“I thought you’d appreciate it. Maybe laugh.”

“It’s not funny.”’

“Aw. Come on. You’re not in loooove with her are you?” Meche asked in her patented mocking tone.

Sebastian did not bother answering. Any answer he gave would be the subject of much snickering. He did not have the stomach for Meche’s japes that afternoon.

“You’re not serious about her, are you?” Meche asked dryly.

“What does it matter?” he replied.

“I’m just asking.”

“She’s nice, alright?”

Sebastian zipped his bag closed.

“You go with her to the movies a lot.”

“We’ve gone a few times. And the last time was a disaster.”

“You don’t ask me and Daniela to the movies anymore.”

“Do you want to go see a movie with me? Damn it, I’ll take you next weekend.”

“Forget it.”

“No, I mean it. You wanted to look at some records, no? We’ll watch a movie after that, you and me.”

“I’m not your f*cking charity case. Piss off.”

She headed to her room, abandoning him in the middle of the dining room. Sebastian cursed in Catalán and followed her.

It was always like this with Meche. She was like a cat, sometimes purring and letting herself be petted, the next showing her claws and biting your hand. She could never, ever, make it easy for anyone. Sebastian did not understand why everything had to be a battlefield with her, but it was.

“I didn’t say you were. What’s your problem?” he asked, holding the door when she tried to slam it shut.

Meche sat on her bed, crossing her arms and staring at a poster of Blondie.

“If you have better things to do, go and do them,” she said.

“I have nothing better to do,” he replied.

“Yeah, well it seems—”

He sat next to Meche and held her hand. They laced their fingers together and looked at the poster.

“Movie, then?” he asked.

“Records Saturday. Movie Sunday.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”