Cuento para Carola
Liza Rosas Bustos
Cuando le explicaba a Juan lo de el proyecto, para variar, no estuvo de acuerdo conmigo. Recib� la sentencia clara y articulada despu�s de el cl�sico escrutinio al que ya me estaba acostumbrando. Observ� la pieza por bastante tiempo. Me habl� a r�fagas diciendo que si me empe�aba en terminarlo, tampoco le gustar�a al jurado. "Olv�date Marina-dijo- Ni sue�es que te la aceptar�n."�
Yo junt� lo poco de inspiraci�n que me quedaba trat� de rebatirle como pude. Pero �l atrapaba todas mis apelaciones para convencerme que dejara la escultura as� como estaba, sin sexo. "Con esa postura y esa cara de guerrero caliente basta- dijo- para qu� te empe��s m�s." Para m� la cosa no era tan simple. Algo le faltaba y era preciso dar con ello. "Pero Marina-dijo-si el tipo tiene cara de pene...lo tiene escrito en la cara, est� plasmado en la expresi�n." Me cost� convencerlo que quer�a celebrar la diferencia, la utilidad y la flexibilidad de un miembro especial con vida propia y funci�n an�loga a la del cerebro por esto de la irrigaci�n. Deb�a parecerse a la funci�n del cl�toris o la de un pez�n, solo que m�s grande y abultando inc�modamente la intersecci�n de las piernas. Juan Antonio se ri�, me ofreci� traerse unas pornos y venirse al taller para servirme de modelo o explicarme crudamente lo de los vasos sangu�neos hinch�ndose, lo de los caprichos de la irrigaci�n "como lo hacen los donantes de espermios." Yo le dije que qu� se cre�a, que yo tambi�n los hab�a visto y muchos, a lo que �l contest� que no importaba cuantos hubiera tenido yo, �l hab�a siempre visto el doble: las erecciones de sus amantes hombres y las propias. Le dije que no me daba la gana, que estaba muy ocupada pensando.�
Y le agradec� el gesto, pero el pene de Juan francamente no me serv�a.�
Sab�a que seguramente corresponder�a a su cuerpo atl�tico. A juzgar por su meticulosidad visual present�a que estar�a amaestrado por una perfecci�n profesional. No era eso lo que yo necesitaba. No quer�a de modelo a un �rgano perfecto, a uno como de aviso publicitario, una elongaci�n justa, precisa, un grosor ideal. Lo que en realidad buscaba era un pene arisco, uno hostil cuya fuerza no estuviera en su porte sino en la complejidad biol�gica y reflectara a trav�s de los vasos sangu�neos la espontaneidad de los movimientos musculares internos. Le agradec� el gesto. Juan es tremendo amigo. S� que trataba de evitarme el disgusto de perder el certamen y no alcanzar como �l un espacio permanente en la galer�a. El siempre tan atento.�
Esta ma�ana vino mi mam� con los �ltimos bultos que sac� de la aduana. Como no trajo las llaves, estuvo golpea que golpea; golpea que golpea . Seg�n ella, me encontr� durmiendo, lo que no es cierto porque estaba escuchando m�sica. Cuando abr� la puerta con los aud�fonos puestos, como estaba escuchando el ultimo single de la Nathalie Merchant parece que me grit� que me los sacara de las orejas y me grit� un par de cosas. Ten�a mi walkman puesto as� que ni la escuch�. Miento, la adivin�. Pero a mi mam� siempre se le escucha lo mismo y con el mismo tonito, en cambio a la Nathalie Merchant...
"Lo principal aqu� es el tiempo," me dije a m� misma mientras lo cubr�a con una franela para que no se trastocara de fr�o. Si no termino luego, se quedar� como una a�adidura ajena a la voluntad de su due�o y me ser� extremadamente dificil prensar ranuras. Me torturaba la idea de estar a medio camino, as� que sal� por las calles pensando, planeando. La idea era que fuera una extension del hombre, dilat�ndose independiente en esos precisos momentos. Apelaba para ello a una complejidad de textura que lo retratar�a inmanejable, ajeno en ese particular momento a su due�o, como las partes del disco duro de una computadora, insertables en otras con las que pueden realizar funciones independientes. En vez de conecciones internas, de inserciones pl�sticas, de cables y soldaduras, la sangre se esparcer�a an�rquica por la delgadita pero pedregosa regi�n cut�nea, impidiendo la desembocadura e hinch�ndolo todo. No. No ser�a una cosa enorme como la de los conejos mulatos que se contratan para las despedidas de solteras. Tampoco lucir�a como la verga del fastuoso de la tele, el "Mister Cream". Este pene ser�a imperfecto, m�s b�sico, m�s terrenal. Su due�o ten�a despu�s de todo los ojos punzantes de Yerko, el olor de mar de Kurt, el ritmo jadeante, constante de Anelito, el cuerpo de antera com como el de Ladonne. Era justo que le otorgara al menos el homenaje de la originalidad. Y por fin di con �l. Recuerdo que llevaba gorro de lana y hac�a un fr�o de mentol cuando par� por fin la imagen del m�nimo com�n denominador. Todos los penes que me hab�an dibujado la cara como pinceles, explotando en texturas distintasde distintos sabores. Cer�mica, pl�stico, barro, pintura. Era justo darle su correspondido homenaje. No sab�a la verdad, de qu� iba a estar hecho, hasta que se me ocurri� inventarme el material. As� que antes de que los dedos se me quebrajaran de fr�o, volv� a casa enajenada a diagramar la pieza final.�
Apuesto que mi mami dijo lo t�pico, que todav�a no salgo ni del liceo y ya parezco una pensionista, que nunca la ayudo con nada, que si no lavo la taza del ba�o no hay plata para salir a la noche. Yo no s� que onda le ha dado conmigo. Cuando me la topo en los pasillos, me mira punzona, todo por lo de la t�a Marina. Esta ma�ana cuando trajo los bultos, ni siquiera me dej� que la ayudara. Subi� la escalera sola, puso cara de parto y tir� las cosas encima de la cama. Yo ya ve�a que me dec�a que anda, que dejara de pintarme las u�as, que la ayudara a sacar las cosas de las bolsas. Ya ve�a que se me pasaba la hora y con la famosa extorsi�n del ba�o ya me quedaba sin salir. Pero no. Se qued� sentada sobre los bultos de la cama, mirando y tocando las cosas de mi t�a Marina. Ni que fueran las trenzas de la Virgen del Carmen.�
Cer�mica pl�stica, casi casi silicona, pero m�s barata. No estar�s como tu due�o, fabricado de papel mach�. Ser� material conductible y maleable. No s� si ser�s peque�o, grande , mediano, ligeramente vuelto hacia el este para encajar certero con migo, s�, con mi inclinaci�n izquierda. El color l�quido que se le escurre, ese particular detalle se lo dejar� al d�a, a la intensidad certera del momento en que todo quede finiquitado. Hay, la verdad, muchas formas de dibujar la geograf�a m�gicamente er�ctil de un pene, tanto como las hay para dibujar el pico de un tuc�n, la trompa de un oso hormiguero o la bolsa maleable de un marsupial.�
Rara mi mam�. Primero me compra un CD player. Despu�s me jode porque lo uso. �No fue para que lo usara que me lo compr�? Cuando le ped� permiso para ir al concierto de Los Jaivas, me dijo que no. "Te a puesto que te vai a la pampa con el Soplete en el auto-dijo - te apuesto que vas a andar revolc�ndote con �l." Despu�s sigui� con la cantinela, que capacito que nos fu�ramos con por las calaminas oscuras de la salitrera Santa Laura, lo que no es verdad porque el Soplete y yo le tenemos miedo a los fantasmas. Adem�s lo que nos gusta es la playa. El otro d�a en Chanavayita, el Soplete dijo que si me acuesto con �l como se debe y no a medias, deja de fumar marihuana y no se vuelve a ir con los amigos a carretear por las dunas los viernes, que se quiere tranquilizar, que mejor se est� conmigo. Ya s�. Tiene nariz de soplete pero es tan rico cuando se da vuelta. Tiene unos gatos que se le hacen en el pelo y cuando camina y se le forman como unos columpios por detr�s. Mi pap� dice que es muy negro, pero yo no estoy ni ah�. Tiene las pesta�as tan crespas que sujetan un palito de f�sforo y no como yo que tengo que estar dale que dale con la cuchara y me las he robado todas y se me pierden y mi mam� cuando se mete a la pieza y las encuentra me vuelve a retar. No es que tenga miedo de atinar con el Soplete. Es que si tiene esa cosa grande que vi a los 13 cuando iba en la b�sica, mejor por ah� ni me paseo. Fue el viejo borracho de la calle Lynch, ten�a olor a escupo con el tronco enorme pegado a la cintura que vomitaba lavasa junto con �l. Menos mal que de curado daba trancadas y me pude salir arrancando. Cuando llegu� a la casa estaba sin aire casi, pero no se lo pude soltar nada a mi mam�. Rara mi mam�. Dice que sal� igualita de loca que la t�a Marina. Luego se trae toda su ropa para la casa, me dice que me la va a regalar toda para que me la ponga yo porque soy id�ntica a ella. Rara la gente. Mejor me pongo a limpiar el ba�o y llamo al Soplete luego para que me venga a buscar . Desde lo de mi t�a, en esta casa de locos ya no se puede estar.�
Quise decirle tipo de la tienda que me sirviera de modelo para finiquitar la pieza. Pero me dio verg�enza decirle "ande, a ver si le paso unas pornogr�ficas, para que me exhiba su verga imperfecta". Quiz� hubiera dicho que no y hubiese sido complicado y sacrificar una tienda de materiales arata para no pasar la verg�enzas de volverlo a ver. Tuve que conformarme con unas pornogr�ficas que pas� a comprar y las fotos surreales que ofrec�an los ejemplares. Me puse a dibujarlas una y otra vez para adue�arme de la forma y luego estuve por tres horas trabajando el molde. Acabo de insertarle la pieza que faltaba a su due�o y parece tener la desordenada armon�a esa que busco, una que funca y se desprende, como un modem. No se ve el prensado, unque el Juan probablemente dir� que s�. El peso relativamente mayor al de la escultura le da un ligero aspecto encorvado. Las venas, parecen deltas de r�os que desembocan en otras m�s gruesas como las ramas de �rboles, un perfecto Licancabur. Siento que me voy a encari�ar con la pieza. Mejor no la presento. En vez de dej�rsela al jurado, al pinche curador, a un puto certamen, mejor me la dejo yo.�
El otro d�a le pregunt� a mi mam� que cu�ndo se trae el resto de las cosas de la aduana. Quer�a ver las esculturas de la t�a Marina, pero mi mam� me dijo que estaban muy grandes, que hab�a que arrendar un cami�n.. Tambi�n dijo que hab�a una escultura que era la que la t�a Marina m�s quer�a y que me la iba a regalar a m�. A m� no me importa, pero la quiero en mi pieza. Total, saco la cama o la pongo en el suelo. No estoy ni ah� si se enojan . Estoy preg�ntale que preg�ntale y a mi mam� que cuando se consigue un cami�n, pero dice que no sabe quien podr� tener uno la muy. Se hace la tonta. Le he dicho que el Soplete tiene una camioneta dice que nos lleva a buscar las cosas pero por m�s que le digo no quiere. Dice que no le uiere deber nada a mis "lachos". No le gusta el Soplete a mi mam� . por m� que se huele que es marihuanero. Querr� un ingeniero para que no quede pegada por las matem�ticas. Por m� que no joda.�
Ten�a buen gusto la t�a Marina, pero era un poco rar�fica. Podr�a haber sido brasilera. Que pena que aqu� no se usen los pantalones de terciopelo ni los petos apretados, todav�a. Para que mi mam� no se sienta mal voy a dejar las cosas de la t�a Marina en el closet . A ver si en una de esas se ponen de moda de nuevo. Ni tonta me los pongo. Si me los planto junto con los zapatones altos y la falda de mallarm�, capaz que el Soplete diga que soy putilla. "No est� de moda esa guev� ac�. S�catelo,-me dir�- parec�s como de tro planeta." Y eso no ser�a todo. En la calle me plantar�an un agarr�n y en la liceo me mandar�an a la ahorca. Ni me acerco a la calle Lynch. En vez de un viejo borracho me persegur�an tres. Mejor las guardo para el disfraz de la kermesse del liceo y aprovecho de prestarle algunas cosas a la Macarena para que se disfrace de la Cindy Louper que le gusta tanto y me preste su ropa hippie para que yo sea la Nathalie Merchant. Total, como la t�a Marina ten�a talla 42 y la talla 8 es la misma que la 42. A prop�sito, cuando met� la ropa al closet hab�a una libretita de apuntes en el bolsillo de el abrigo de reno de mi t�a. Menos mal que mi mam� no la pill�. Ahora la libreta es m�a. Dice "apuntes de trabajo". Cuando mi mam� salga a comprar la saco. Mejor no, mejor me encierro en el ba�o y me la leo enterita.
Hoy acabo de darle los �ltimos trazos a la pieza. las venas protuberando por la Geograf�a cut�nea, la sangre azulosa circulando libre por los conductos y el material establece una maleabilidad b�sica, una indefinici�n perfecta. Mientras me vert�a la mezcla, digo, mientras vert�a la mezcla al molde de yeso se me ocurri� agregarle sabor s�, sabor a menta del semen de Kurt, el sabor a tutti-frutti del de Pedro. Hoy mis dedos redibujan el espacio que ocupas, la espalda empal�ndose hacia el cielo del taller, la nube regordeta que no vemos, pero presentimos; las plumas de un ave distante, la sal de una estrella de mar; el rasmilleo de tu barba dibuj�ndome la cara, tu textura siempre nueva y reciclada, derriti�ndose entre mis manos. Listo tuti-frutti. De m� saliste y aqu� te quedas.Aunque no te lo creas ni t�, mejor dicho, aunque no puedas cre�rtelo ni t�.
Juan se ha sorprendido mucho. Al ver la pieza, ha dado dos piruetas en el aire y me ha pegado dos espaldazos. Seg�n �l, he conseguido atrapar la expresi�n, el movimiento, la complejidad biol�gica del momento. "Es la fuerza erecta, la irrigaci�n total, la contramano de la muerte," dijo. Yo invocaba al libro de Luis Sep�lveda, a los j�baros recortando cabezas y ech�ndolas a hervir atrapando el momento exacto de la muerte de un guerrero. Pensaba que me quedaba con el mejor trofeo. Esta vez tampoco le hice caso a Juan y decid� que no iba a entregar nada. Hice un proyecto apurado, uno m�s peque�o para lo del certamen, un minitrofeo j�baro, el m�stil: una vara con cables de una caja de computadora, la cabeza: un celular chamuscado que me encontr� en la�
calle. Por supuesto no me dieron el espacio. Ni siquiera me han llamado para recuperar la pieza. Menos mal que me qued� contigo porque tienes atrapadas a todas las sensaciones del mundo y porque aunque no tengas cerebro igual hueles a mar.�
Listo. Anoche me puse el peto de la t�a Marina a escondidas de mi mam� para que no me viera al salir. Encima me puse la ropa para que el soplete no me agarrara pa'l gueveo o alguien me viera por la calle y me gritara "putilla". Cuando estabamos en la playa me saqu� los jeans, me qued� en churrines y estuve tratando de parecerme mucho a la t�a Marina. Total, si mi mam� me dice que me le parezco. Total, pa'eso le hacemos caso.�
A veces escuchaba la voz de mi mam� asom�ndose por los vidrios empa�ados del auto grit�ndome que soy igual a mi t�a, que soy una yegua loca y me espantaba. Pero cuando al soplete trataba de tinar pegaba con la cabeza en el techo del auto entonces se plantaba una risotada y se me olvidaba todo. Total que se me iba el miedo. Cuando el Soplete encendi� la luz para limpiarse, vi que tambi�n tiene gatitos alrededor del pene, s�lo que como son m�s duros, esos no creo que se columpien. Art�stico, como dir�a mi t�a Marina: duro, bello y potente, como digo yo. Cuando volv� a la casa, me saqu� el peto, me mir� los pezones moreteados y los recorr� como se hace con la arena de la playa, como de haberlo hecho la t�a Marina. Ten�a raz�n. Se pararon con la misma facilidad con la que se le paraba al Soplete. El viernes en la noche nos bajamos del auto, hicimos un oyo que qued� como una hamaca donde quedamos el Soplete y yo, justos los dos, as� "funcando" como dir�a mi t�a Marina. Sent�amos los autos estacionando, los amortiguadores saltando. No alcanz�bamos a ver eso s� los vidrios empa�ados. Cuando se lo limpiaba, mir� a los ojos al Soplete y le dije: "�sab�s Soplete? estoy segura de que tu pene es igual al de la escultura que hizo mi t�a antes de el accidente, igual igual."
Short Story for Carola
Liza Rosas Bustos
When I told Juan about my project, he didn't agree with me for a change. I listened to a clearly articulated sentence, so typical of his, one sentence I was getting used to hear at that time. He observed the piece for a long time. Then he busted a few more sentences, saying that if I insisted on finishing it, the jury wouldn't like it anyhow. "Forget about it, Marina", he said. "Don't even dream they will admit your submission of that."
I gathered a little of inspiration left and tried to fire right back. But he would catch every one of my appeals with enviable eloquence, telling me to leave the sculpture as it was, without a gender. "With that horny warrior posture, it is enough," he said. "Why would you want to try harder than that?" For me, however, things were not that simple. Something was missing and it was imperative to get to another level of completion. "But Marina", he said. "His penis is plastered on his facial expression." It was hard to convince Juan that I wanted to celebrate the difference, the usefulness and the flexibility of a special part of the body, with independent life and an operation, analogue to that of the brain judging from the irrigation standpoint, a function similar to that of a clitoris of a nipple, only bigger and bulkier, uncomfortably inserted in the junction of the legs. Juan Antonio laughed, then volunteered to bring a few porno magazines and come to the studio to serve as a model or to give me a rough explanation of blood vessels swelling and the fancifulness of the irrigation process, "Just like the sperm donor would do," he said. I asked him if he seriously thought he was all that. I told him that I had already seen many of them. He then answered that it didn't matter how many penises he had seen, he had always seen the double amount, his sex partners' and his. I said "no thanks", I didn't feel like it. I was too busy thinking.�
And I thanked him for the offer, but his penis did not serve my purpose. I knew it would be analogue to his athletic body. I had a feeling that, judging by his visual meticulousness, it would be tamed by a professional perfection. It wasn't what I really needed. I didn't want a perfect organ as a model, one like the ones in the ads: the perfect fit, the precise length, and the ideal elongation. As a model for my piece, I wanted an untamed, hostile penis, one whose strength did not focus on its size but on its biological complexity and the spontaneity of its movements. I thanked him for the gesture. Juan is a hell of a friend. I knew he meant to protect me from the blues of losing the contest and not being able to get, as he did, a spot in the gallery. Juan is always so helpful.�
This morning, my mom came up the door with the last bag containing the stuff she brought from customs. Since she didn't take her house keys, she got locked out and kept knocking and knocking. I guess she didn't like to find me sleeping. When she came up to the door while my headphones were on, listening to Natalie Merchant, she was just so mad. She did some yelling, but I had my headphones on so I didn't hear a word she said. Just kidding, I guessed what she said. But my mom always says the same old stuff, same tone and everything, while Nathalie Merchant...
"The most important thing here is time", I told myself while covering the piece with a piece of flannel to avoid breakage from the cold. If I don't finish this soon, the additional piece will look like a foreign add-on free from its owner's will. It will be extremely difficult to fix crevices. I tortured myself with the idea of being halfway through with the piece, so I decided to go for a walk while thinking and planning the whole thing out. The idea was for it to become a man's extension, working on its own at those precise moments. I count on a complexity that would make it unrivalled and foreign to its master, just like the parts of the hardware of a computer that, when inserted in other PC work independently from the apparatus to which they were initially inserted. Instead of the internal connections, of plastic inserts, of cables and lead, the blood would spread anarchically through the thin but eruptive skin region, finally stopping the free flow which would lead to a general swelling. It wouldn't be an enormous thing like those of the Chippendales from baccalaureate parties. It wouldn't be a comprehensive package like the big man on TV "Mister Cream". This penis would be an imperfect one, perhaps more basic and down to earth. Its owner had, after all, Yerko's penetrating eyes, Kurt's sea scent, Anelito's constant rhythm, a panther's body like Ladonne's. It was fair to give it, at least, the homage of originality.�
I wouldn't follow Juan's advice. I knew I wouldn't have to work as hard to see the result. Little by little, I gave birth to the image of the common denominator, of all the penises that have drawn my face, like brushes exploiting in different textures of different tastes. Ceramic, plastic, mud and paint. I didn't know, really, what it was gonna be made of, until I decided to invent the material myself. That was when I went back home to draw the final piece.�
I bet my mom said what she always says, that I haven't even graduated from high-school, that I act like a tenant in her hotel, that I never help her with anything, that if I don't wash the toilet seat, no money tonight no nothing, don't know what 's up with her lately. When I pass by her in the hallway, she stares at me and everything, all because of what happened to aunt Marina. This morning, when she brought some of her stuff, she wouldn't even let me help her. She, shoved the stuff upstairs all by herself, then gave me a "woman-in-labor" like face and dumped the bag over the bed. I thought she was going to tell me to stop lazing out, to help her take the stuff out of the bags. Then I'd be out of time and, with the bathroom ordeal and with the bathroom hassle, forget about hanging out tonight. But she didn't. She sat on top of the bags, then kept staring and looking through aunt Marina's stuff. As if they were the Virgin Mary's holy braids or something.�
Ceramics, plastic, almost silicone, but cheaper. You won't be made of the same material as your master's. I found a more conductible, bending material. I don't know if you will be small or big. Medium slightly bent to the East to exactly fit inside me. The liquid that runs through you will be left to the exact intensity of the moment when everything is finished. There are, indeed, many ways to draw the magically erectable geography of a penis, there are just as many as those that draw a bird's beak, the ant eater's trump, the malleable marsupial's bag.
She is just like, so weird. First she buys me a CD player and she later harasses me because I play it way too much. Wasn't that the reason why she bought it for me to begin with? When I asked permission to go see "Los Jaivas" concert, she said no. " I bet you are gonna go with "Soplete" she said, I bet you are gonna go with him. Today she told me " I betcha you go mess around with Soplete in the rusty roofs at Santa Laura nitrate mine," which is not true because Soplete and I are scared of ghosts. Besides, we like the beach. Soplete said that if I have sex with him all the way through and not half way as usual, he is gonna stop smoking pot and he is gonna stop messing around with his friends up the desert dunes. He said that he wants to settle down, that it's better to hang out with me. I know. His nose has the shape of a blue pipe but he is so cute when he turns around. His hair kind of curls back on the back of his neck. When he moves they'be bouncing and all, like a swing. My dad says that he is too dark but, Who cares? He has these long eyelashes that are so curly that could hold a match. Unlike me. I have to curl my eyelashes with a spoon which I sneaked from the kitchen and my mom will soon know why they are missing and I will be in big trouble. It is not that I don't want to have sex with "Soplete". If he has the same big thing I saw when I was 13 in elementary, I better not. That old drunken man on Lynch street, that old drunken man who smelled, like spit and had a thick bubble-vomiting log stuck in between his legs, an ugly one just like him. When he kept following me, I started running and when I got home I was out of breath and I couldn't even tell my mom.�
I meant to tell the guy at the materials' store to serve me as a model to finish up the piece, but I didn't really want to tell him "Go ahead and let me see your imperfect dick." I thought that if he allowed me to see his imperfect penis with objective eyes that were not blurred by desire, we could maybe come to an agreement. But I changed my mind. It would have been too complicated, considering that I always visit the same spots and sacrificing a store that sells cheap materials would not have been such a good idea. I had to settle with some porno magazines I bought and their surreal pictures offered by the men. I started drawing them once and again to master its shape and later it took me three hours to figure out the mold. I have just inserted the piece its master was missing and it seems to have a harmony relative to that I was searching for, one that fits and comes off, like a modem, like a printer. The veins look like river deltas flowing into thicker ones, like tree branches, perhaps a perfect volcano, a Licancabur. I feel I am going to get attached to the piece. I better not submit it. Instead of handing it to the jury, to the damned curator, to the ass contest, I will keep it for me.�
A few days ago I asked mom when she is bringing the rest of the stuff from customs. I wanted to see aunt Marina's sculptures, but my mom said that they were too big, that we had to rent a truck. She also said that there was a sculpture that my aunt loved the most. She said that it was going to be my present. I don't care what they say, but I want it in my room. I can get rid of the bed or put it on the floor. I don't care if I get in trouble. I am about to ask mom when she is going to get a truck, but she pretends she doesn't know who has one and says she doesn't know when. I have told her that Soplete has a big truck, that he can take us to pick the stuff up. But she says that she wants no favors from my "johns". My mom doesn't like Soplete. I am sure she knows he smokes pot. She probably wants an engineer so that I don't fail in math. In my opinion, she better stop the bugging.�
My aunt Marina had good taste, but she was a bit weird. She could well be Brazilian. Too bad tight strapless shirts and velvet pants are out of fashion these days. But who knows later. I am going to shove all her stuff into my closet so that my mom doesn't feel bad. Maybe one of these days her stuff will be on fashion again. Now, I don't think I would wear them. If I wear them with the high heels and the mallarm� skirt, I am sure Soplete will say I look like a slut. "That shit is out of fashion around here," -he'd say-"Take it off. You look like you are from another planet." And the fuzz wouldn't end just there. I would probably get my ass grabbed in the street; I would get harassed at school. I better don't get near Lynch street. Not one but three drunken men would stalk me. I better keep this stuff for the school fair. May be I will lend some stuff to Macarena so that she dresses like Cindy Louper whom she likes so much. She can let me borrow her hippie stuff and I can dress like Natalie Merchant. Aunt Marina was size 42 and 8 is the same as 42. By the way, when I stuck aunt Marina's stuff in the closet I found a notebook in the pocket of her suede coat. Good that my mom didn't find it first. Now the notebook is mine. It says, "Notes from my Work". When my mom goes shopping, I will read it. No. I am going to lock myself in the bathroom to read the whole thing instead.
Today I just gave the piece its finishing touches. The veins emerging through the geography of the skin, the bluyish blood freely circulating through the conducts and the material establish a basic flexibility, a perfect originality. While I poured the mixture into me, well, while I poured the mixture inside the matrix. I thought it would be a good idea to add flavor to it, yap, mint flavor like Kurt's semen, Tutti frutti flavor from Pedro. Today, my fingers draw the space that you occupy, your back emerging towards my studio's ceiling, the chubby cloud that we don't see, yet we can sense; the feathers of a distant bird, the salt from a seashell; the scratch of your beard drawing on my face, your renewed recycled texture melting in my hands. OK Tutti Frutti. From me you are born and here you stay. Although you can't believe it, better to say, although you are unable to believe it.�
Juan was very surprised. When he saw the piece, he flipped in the air and patted my back twice. According to him, I have been able to trap the expression, the movement, and the biological complexity of the moment. "It is the erectable power, the total irrigation, the counterpart of death," he said. I remembered Luis Sepulveda's book about the Jibaros cutting heads to boil them, trapping that exact moment in a warrior's death. I felt I had kept the best trophy. This time, I didn't hear Juan's words and told him I wasn't going to submit it. I came up with a quick smaller project for the contest; a jibaro mini trophy, its pole; a wand with cables that came from an old computer box. Its head; a churned cell phone I found in the street. Of course, I didn't get the space. They haven't even called me to take back my piece. At least I have you because you have trapped all the sensations from the world and because even though you don't have a brain, you have the ocean scent�
OK. Last night, I wore aunt Marina's strapless shirt and sneaked out so that mom wouldn't see me. I put on some clothes on top so that Soplete wouldn't give me shit or someone in the street would scream: "Hey ya, slut". When we were at the beach, I took off my jeans, wore under panties and tried to pose like Aunt Marina. If my mom says I look like her, good, we will make it happen, then. Sometimes, I would listen to my mom's voice , I would feel her face through the foggy window, yelling and saying that I look just like Aunt Marina, that I am a crazy whore. Then I'd get scared. But Soplete'd be squeezing in between my legs and his head would be banging against the roof. Then, I would burst out laughing and I would forget everything. When Soplete turned the light on to clean me up, I could see his curly hair right around his penis, but it probably don't swing as much as his head's hair do.�
When I came back home, I took off the strapless shirt. I was staring at my nipples, bruised and all, going around them with my fingers as people do with the sand at the beach, like Aunt Marina probably did. She was right. Soon, they got hard and stiff, just like Soplete's penis did. On Friday night, we got off the car and dig a hammock-like hole in the sand where Soplete and I fit right in, "we clicked right in" as aunt Marina would say. We heard many cars parking and many bumpers jumping. But, we couldn't reach high enough to see the foggy windows. While I was cleaning Soplete's penis, I looked at him, right into the eyes and said. "Soplete, you know what?" I am sure your penis and Aunt Marina's sculpture, the one she made before the accident, look just the same, exactly the same."
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