Tender is the Flesh(45)

Though he’s not looking at her, she says, “The incompetence of these people is beyond words.”

He doesn’t say anything because he thinks that working for this woman must be utterly maddening. What he would like to do is tell her that “later” means later and that when she insults her employees, she just comes across as a disloyal boss. But he thinks better of it, and says, “Incompetence? Aren’t you the one who hires them, Doctor?”

She looks at him furiously.

He feels that the volcanic lava, cold and viscous, is on the verge of erupting. But she breathes deeply and says, “Please leave. I’ll send the list directly to Krieg.”

She says this like it’s a threat, but he ignores her. There are so many more things he wants to tell her, but he says goodbye with a smile, puts his hands in his trouser pockets and turns around. He walks through the hallway whistling and hears the indignant strikes of her cane against the floor slowly grow distant.





16




He’s getting into his car when Cecilia calls.

“Hi, Marcos. You’re pixelated. Hello? Can you hear me? Can you see me?”

“Hi, Cecilia. Hello. Yes, I can hear you, but not well.”

“Marc—”

The call cuts out. He drives for a while, pulls over, and then dials her number.

“Hi, Cecilia. The signal was bad back there.”

“I heard about your father. Nelly called to tell me. How are you doing? Do you want some company?”

“I’m fine. Thanks, but I’d rather be alone.”

“I understand. Are you having a farewell service?”

“Marisa’s going to do it.”

“Of course, that’s to be expected. Do you want me to go?”

“No, but thanks. I don’t even know if I’ll go.”

“I miss you, do you know that?”

He’s silent. It’s the first time she’s said she misses him since she left.

She continues, “You look different, strange.”

“I’m the same.”

“It’s just that for a while now you’ve seemed more distant.”

“You don’t want to come home. Do you expect me to spend my whole life waiting for you?”

“No, but it’s just… I’d like us to talk.”

“When I’m doing better, I’ll call you, okay?”

She looks at him in the way she always has when she doesn’t understand a situation or there’s something that’s beyond her. It’s a look that’s alert, but sad, a look like in an old sepia-coloured photograph.

“That’s fine, whatever you prefer. Let me know if there’s anything you need, Marcos.”

“Okay. Take care.”

When he gets home, he hugs Jasmine and whistles “Summertime” into her ear.





17




His sister has called countless times to organize the farewell service. She’s clarified she’ll take care of everything, “even the cost”. When he heard her say this, he smiled at first, but then he was overcome by the feeling that he never wanted to see her again.

He wakes up early because he has to get into the city on time. Before he leaves, he showers with Jasmine to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself. Then he gets her room ready, cleans it and fills the bowls with food and water so she’ll be fine for a while. He checks her pulse and blood pressure. When he learnt she was pregnant, he put together a complete first-aid kit, picked up books on the subject, brought home a portable ultrasound machine, one of the ones they use at the plant to check impregnated females before they’re sent to the game reserve. He trained himself to care for her and follow the stages of her pregnancy. Though he knows it’s not ideal, it’s the only option available to him because if he were to call a specialist, he’d have to register the pregnancy and provide documentation for the artificial insemination.

He puts on a suit and leaves.

While he’s driving, his sister calls again.

“Marquitos, are you on your way? Why can’t I see you?”

“I’m driving.”

“Oh, okay. When will you be here?”

“I don’t know.”

“People are starting to arrive. I’d like to have the urn here, as you can imagine. Without the urn there’s no point.”

He hangs up without saying anything. She calls back, but he turns off his phone. Then he slows down. He’ll take all the time he needs.

When he arrives at his sister’s house, he sees a group of people going inside. They’re carrying umbrellas. He gets out of the car, opens the boot and places the silver-plated urn under his arm. Then he rings the bell. His sister answers.

“Finally. Is something wrong with your phone? I couldn’t call you back.”

“I turned it off. Take the urn.”

“Come in, come in, you don’t have an umbrella again. Do you want to get yourself killed, Marcos?”

His sister says this and looks up at the sky. Then she takes the urn.

“Poor Dad. A life full of sacrifice. And in the end, we’re nothing.”

He looks at his sister and thinks there’s something strange about her. Then he looks more closely and realizes she’s wearing make-up, has been to the hairdresser and has on a tight black dress. None of it’s over the top, so as not to show a complete lack of respect, but she’s sufficiently put together to look good at what is without a doubt her event.