Call Me Zebra(85)

Then came Mercè, the middle-aged woman with a blond bob who hung sheets on her roof while spying on her neighbors and who, according to Agatha, had a crush on Ludo. She also had about thirty years on him. In the absence of sheets, she hid behind her hands, which is to say she spoke through her fingers, and every once in a while, during a pause in conversation, she spread them open and peeked out at her interlocutors. Nevertheless, her face lit up when Ludo arrived. I had given him an ultimatum: Become a pilgrim or forget we ever knew each other. He had acquiesced with reservations. He was learning to come along.

Ludo looked equal parts captivated and peeved. His lips were pouty, but his eyes were alert and expressive. He saluted Mercè with the warm grace of a dandy and a gentleman (she blushed, lowered her hands, and held them over her mouth like a fan so he could see her eyes), then he cast a defiant gaze at Gheorghe, who, having no memory of his drunken adventures, responded to this passive assault by nervously shaking the double flap hanging from his moley chin. He moved on to Remedios; he acknowledged her with a wry smile.

Agatha and Fernando arrived next. I waited five minutes for possible latecomers, but there were none. This was our lot. A crew of misfits. I counted their oily heads: There were six of them, seven if I included myself.

“All present?” I asked.

No one answered.

“Is this a pyramid scheme?” Mercè mumbled into the palms of her hands. She had recently gotten caught up in one and had lost all of what little money she’d had.

I assured her that it wasn’t, then looked over that sea of heads, fixed my gaze on the horizon, and, employing an oratorical manner, said: “This is a remedy for the illfated, the oppressed, and the disenfranchised, like yourselves, who knowingly or not live within the metaphysical ghetto known the world over as the Pyramid of Exile, which is shaped similarly to Dante’s triangular purgatory.”

At the word purgatory, I heard gasps of recognition. The cathedral bells tolled.

I informed them that in the Pyramid of Exile we are all desperately alone; no one is in the position to extend a hand to another.

“This world has a way of abandoning the weak to their weakness and of encouraging the powerful to further attach themselves to the objects of their greed and avarice,” I declared. “But we, the illfated, must resist becoming pawns in their hands. We must rebel together against the injustices assailed on us! Now, who here can define exile?” I asked, pacing the narrow spot where that hairy-assed man had died. I hung my head humbly and looked down at the ground.

Agatha, with that frank and straightforward presence of hers, said, “A depressed state of mind!”

“Excellent,” I said. “Who else?”

Mercè, looking pleadingly at Ludo, said, “A loveless life.”

Gheorghe stepped forward, encouraged. He stuttered, “A p-i-t-i-f-u-l m-a-n.”

The leaky-eyed girl said: “Earthly life. We have been locked out of the gates of paradise. All of life is exile from the sanctity of the almighty creator.”

I paused and looked at her. I could see now that she had a rash on her neck. She had a tissue in her hand, and she kept dabbing the red protrusions. How had she landed in our midst? I refrained from giving her a lecture on Nietzsche. She had no idea what the last A in AAA stood for, and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.

“Ludo,” I proceeded with an inquisitorial tone. “Any thoughts?”

He took on that stoic, arrogant look of his. He seemed ready to bolt. Then, clearly reciting from the dictionary, he delivered a pedantic outline of the etymology of the word: “Exile (v.) c. 1300, from Old French essillier ‘exile, banish, expel, drive off’ (12c.), from Late Latin exilare/exsilare”—his tone was getting progressively haughtier—“from Latin exilium/exsilium ‘banishment, exile, place of exile,’ from exul ‘banished person, from ex- “away” (see ex-)’; according to Walters, the second element is from PIE root *al- (2) ‘to wander’?”—he was articulating each comma, open parenthesis, closed parenthesis, asterisk—“(source also of Greek alaomai ‘to wander, stray, or roam about’).”

Fernando, eternal lover of knowledge, considered Ludo’s etymological breakdown sacred information and listened with his head hung over his muscular body, eyes closed, ears finely tuned. Remedios, Gheorghe, and Mercè seemed disenchanted; none of them had understood Ludo’s soliloquy. He took note and assumed a more casual approach: “He who walks out,” he intoned. “In other words, he who is driven out.” At this, he gazed defiantly in my direction.

“He, she, they who walk out,” I corrected Ludo. “This,” I said, waving my hands over the area of death, “is a safe space where all the marginalized are welcome.”

Ludo scoffed and looked away. He was in a terrible mood. He stood there looking snubbed, as stiff as a mummy. A specialty of his.

With Agatha’s help, I had brought down the Mobile Art Gallery and left it in one of the parking spaces. It looked like a casket on wheels. There was some wine inside and the bread and, of course, Taüt. I had drilled a few breathing holes for him. I rolled the miniature museum to the center of our circle. I opened the lid and let Taüt out. He promptly climbed my arm, settled on my shoulder, and stared with such a villainous glare at the pilgrims that an icy silence ensued. To compensate for his charged presence, I distributed the bread and wine.