_1. Alma
I was never really superstitious. But when I looked at the knife in my hand, and saw the blood gleaming along the edge of the blade, I thought of what Doña Alfonsina had said only that morning. The old woman, she had nothing better to do than scare the neighbors.
Of course, I have no doubt that the slightest disturbance—a phone call, a gust of wind—would have sufficed for everything to come out differently so that I still would be where I was. Which I am; but I’m not.
In the Residencia Veracruz, in Tlatelolco, I lived with my husband Ignacio and our four children. I keep a picture in my mind, and even though that picture keeps changing, it still helps me find the way back sometimes. A few days before, we took a picnic to Chapultepec Park, which we used to do more often when Ignacio didn’t have so much responsibility at work and I had less children to look after. There we were, seated on our blankets. I can still see them all clearly, Tino with his wide grin sitting on his father’s lap, and Julieta in her Sunday best, and beside them near the edges like they wouldn’t stay there long, the two older ones. I can still feel the shape of my round belly, weary belly, the baby kicking as inside a drum while I held onto the camera.
Because I was never in those pictures. I was always on the other side. Barely a moment could I get them all to glance in my direction, now smile—and then they were gone.
I used to wonder how long we could fit in three bedrooms. Like the students up at the top on the thirteenth floor, I told Ignacio they should serve as a warning: imagine ten students in our place, I said that’s it, this one’s the last, no more children for me! Our apartment was on the second floor, we hardly used the elevator, too long a wait, but that day, each time I went out and came back in, there it was about to close as if whoever was inside had instructions to hold it for me, and I was always so tired.
If only I’d kept my mouth shut. I might have spared myself the extra trouble. No, I had to complicate matters by telling Verónica what I thought of her boyfriend. That’s why she phoned in the morning, to say she just had a call for an audition. First time my sister ever canceled on me like that, at the last minute. There I was—not taking her for granted anymore, no señor, my only family in la capital—Ignacio already off to work, and suddenly I had to find a babysitter. I thought of the widow Roldán on the sixth floor, she helped me out sometimes. She was a bit of a witch, or wanted us to think so, but what was I to do? Why, I’d be happy to look after Julieta, she’s so civilized, the widow told me on the phone. So, I pack up the kids quick as I can—the older ones had left for school. Mustn’t forget to feed the cat, I kept thinking, she could be such a nuisance, that cat. Tino I would drop off at his school on my way to the office. Just reaching the office was a relief after that: four hours later I would be at it again, plus all the shopping. Some days were like crossing a wide river, it was a wonder I got to the other side.
When we returned home later, besides making lunch I had to bake the cake, clean the apartment, cook up the chicharrones in that green salsa for Ignacio, call his parents and his brother to remind them, and when Inés came back from school with Rafael, do some laundry and start on dinner. Ignacio was doing so well—turning thirty-three and already he was manager of the underground merchants association at Chapultepec station. And he still kept his jewelry stand there, the one he had when I first met him. I remember when we moved to Tlatelolco and had two children, the apartment seemed so big.
We rang at the widow’s three times before she came to the door, answering it in her exercise shorts and pushing out long deep breaths. Doña Alfonsina had three bedrooms and lived alone. Her husband had died ten years earlier—after the last of their three sons moved out—on a train that she warned him not to take. He used to travel a lot, he was a musician.
She bent down low and met Julieta eye to eye.
“So who’s the lucky girl?” she said.
Julieta pointed to the widow.
“Ah, very good.” Doña Alfonsina straightened up. “Do you have time for coffee?” she asked me as we entered.
“Five minutes, no more,” I replied.
It would be rude to just unload Julieta, who proceeded immediately to her spot by the window where she could reach the toys and the TV, though not before glancing about for César and Cleopatra, the widow’s cats. Tino followed me reluctantly inside until I found a little truck to keep him busy. From the sixth floor up I had hoped to be able to see the mountains beyond the city but no, only the thick brown haze that turned the air to earth.
Across from where I sat on the other end of the sofa, framed by tall plants, stood a full-length mirror. Doña Alfonsina fixed dresses there. I noticed myself gazing back, then stepped over to look more closely.
My belly made the image lopsided, and I felt lopsided too. I peered at my face, tried to see it not as it was right then but as the accumulation of countless moments in the past. I didn’t know yet how to see the layers, to read the residue of other lives. What I knew was that I felt old, threads of gray in my long black hair, my body thickening like the smog out there—even if, when I thought of my life and took one step back, it was plain that I was still young, that I had barely started.
The widow’s cups rattled in their saucers as she carried the tray in. I hurried to help her.
In her wake, a sleek gray cat emerged into the room. Cleopatra liked to keep her distance; but when she spotted Julieta she went right up to the child.
I only had time for a few sips. I wasn’t going far, just over in the Plaza de las Tres Culturas to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. However, I could not move very fast under the circumstances, to say nothing of the crowds. I’d been working there for a year, half-time.
César, the brown long-haired cat, came in to see what he was missing, gliding right under Julieta’s other arm.
“How are you feeling, my dear?” said Doña Alfonsina.
I held onto my belly. “This one’s been so active lately. I only hope I survive.”
She sat closer to me and said in a low voice, “I can still give you the number of my friend. Ignacio doesn’t have to know.”
What difference would it make if there were four or five? I only sighed.
The widow waved her hand. “Anyway, it will be over before you realize.”
“But then they’re babies,” I protested. “And they want you all the time. And then they grow!”
“And some day far away when you’ve forgotten all that, they write home and lay all their unhappiness at your feet.”
Suddenly the cats ran off. Tino was staring after them where they lingered in the doorway. We really had to be going.
“They’re so lively,” I remarked.
“Yes, with them I think there’s really more,” said the widow, “more than two cats.” A woman in the market gave them to her after her husband died. “As if they remembered things. I can tell by their positions, the way they look at me.”
Julieta was busy with the remote control box for the TV. I made to gather my sweater, to unfold Tino’s jacket. The widow, oblivious of my actions, spoke up.
“You know what the Indians say, Alma?”
What Indians was she talking about, I wondered. We’re all Indians of one sort or another. What was she up to, the old bruja?
“Drink the blood of a cat and you will have nine lives,” she told me.
What a strange thing to say. Did she believe it?
“Of course, that’s not the difficult part,” she went on.
“What do you mean?”
“The difficult part is in living all those lives. But never mind, you have to go.”
Tino was putting on his jacket. “And if I come back for her around two o’clock?” I asked.
“Whenever you like, hija.”
I kissed Julieta goodbye and the widow opened the door for us. “Don’t worry,” she said, “you will be all right.”
As we went down in the elevator, I was impressed how Tino managed to still look neat and brushed after our detour. I had a vague memory of myself like that at his age, very careful about appearances, back in Pátzcuaro.
It was not until we reached the Residencia Guaymas across the courtyard from our building that I noticed the flyers on the walls. There was a picture of a woman’s face, but I didn’t stop, I had no time to read what was written.
People hurried past us in all directions, mostly toward the metro. I gripped Tino’s hand so he wouldn’t lose me. We were going just beyond the metro to his school—inside there, you could feel the ground tremble every time a train passed underneath. I was always rushing to get him to school in the morning, simply to navigate the crowds.
That would teach me to rely on Verónica. She wanted to be an actress. I saw a film she was in once, wasn’t much. I wondered, was she lying to me that morning? She was not above small acts of vengeance. And she knew that I was right. What she wanted to avoid at all costs was to end up going back to Pátzcuaro to work in the family restaurant. That much was certain. She wanted to stay in Mexico City. Ignacio even offered to get her a job in a boutique down where he works, but she said she wasn’t made to spend her days underground.
At the door to his classroom Tino didn’t waste time. Dutifully he pecked me on the cheek, turned, and marched inside. I watched him take his seat: the little man at work. Not once did he look back.
Outside I turned onto La Redonda and before crossing over to the plaza, I stopped at a sidewalk vendor to order some fresh orange juice. I still had a few minutes.
“You want an egg with that?” said the boy behind the stand.
“No, no egg.”
“You need your strength.”
Once or twice I let Ignacio convince me to take the juice with a raw egg on top, but I didn’t like the texture as it went down, swallowing the yolk.
In truth, it was nice to be alone a moment, for as long as it took to drink my tall glass of juice. There at the stand, I felt quite apart from the crowd streaming around me. As if I had managed, ever so briefly, to step outside my own life.
. . . . .
I was never really superstitious. But when I looked at the knife in my hand, and saw the blood gleaming along the edge of the blade, I thought of what Doña Alfonsina had said only that morning. The old woman, she had nothing better to do than scare the neighbors.
Of course, I have no doubt that the slightest disturbance—a phone call, a gust of wind—would have sufficed for everything to come out differently so that I still would be where I was. Which I am; but I’m not.
In the Residencia Veracruz, in Tlatelolco, I lived with my husband Ignacio and our four children. I keep a picture in my mind, and even though that picture keeps changing, it still helps me find the way back sometimes. A few days before, we took a picnic to Chapultepec Park, which we used to do more often when Ignacio didn’t have so much responsibility at work and I had less children to look after. There we were, seated on our blankets. I can still see them all clearly, Tino with his wide grin sitting on his father’s lap, and Julieta in her Sunday best, and beside them near the edges like they wouldn’t stay there long, the two older ones. I can still feel the shape of my round belly, weary belly, the baby kicking as inside a drum while I held onto the camera.
Because I was never in those pictures. I was always on the other side. Barely a moment could I get them all to glance in my direction, now smile—and then they were gone.
I used to wonder how long we could fit in three bedrooms. Like the students up at the top on the thirteenth floor, I told Ignacio they should serve as a warning: imagine ten students in our place, I said that’s it, this one’s the last, no more children for me! Our apartment was on the second floor, we hardly used the elevator, too long a wait, but that day, each time I went out and came back in, there it was about to close as if whoever was inside had instructions to hold it for me, and I was always so tired.
If only I’d kept my mouth shut. I might have spared myself the extra trouble. No, I had to complicate matters by telling Verónica what I thought of her boyfriend. That’s why she phoned in the morning, to say she just had a call for an audition. First time my sister ever canceled on me like that, at the last minute. There I was—not taking her for granted anymore, no señor, my only family in la capital—Ignacio already off to work, and suddenly I had to find a babysitter. I thought of the widow Roldán on the sixth floor, she helped me out sometimes. She was a bit of a witch, or wanted us to think so, but what was I to do? Why, I’d be happy to look after Julieta, she’s so civilized, the widow told me on the phone. So, I pack up the kids quick as I can—the older ones had left for school. Mustn’t forget to feed the cat, I kept thinking, she could be such a nuisance, that cat. Tino I would drop off at his school on my way to the office. Just reaching the office was a relief after that: four hours later I would be at it again, plus all the shopping. Some days were like crossing a wide river, it was a wonder I got to the other side.
When we returned home later, besides making lunch I had to bake the cake, clean the apartment, cook up the chicharrones in that green salsa for Ignacio, call his parents and his brother to remind them, and when Inés came back from school with Rafael, do some laundry and start on dinner. Ignacio was doing so well—turning thirty-three and already he was manager of the underground merchants association at Chapultepec station. And he still kept his jewelry stand there, the one he had when I first met him. I remember when we moved to Tlatelolco and had two children, the apartment seemed so big.
We rang at the widow’s three times before she came to the door, answering it in her exercise shorts and pushing out long deep breaths. Doña Alfonsina had three bedrooms and lived alone. Her husband had died ten years earlier—after the last of their three sons moved out—on a train that she warned him not to take. He used to travel a lot, he was a musician.
She bent down low and met Julieta eye to eye.
“So who’s the lucky girl?” she said.
Julieta pointed to the widow.
“Ah, very good.” Doña Alfonsina straightened up. “Do you have time for coffee?” she asked me as we entered.
“Five minutes, no more,” I replied.
It would be rude to just unload Julieta, who proceeded immediately to her spot by the window where she could reach the toys and the TV, though not before glancing about for César and Cleopatra, the widow’s cats. Tino followed me reluctantly inside until I found a little truck to keep him busy. From the sixth floor up I had hoped to be able to see the mountains beyond the city but no, only the thick brown haze that turned the air to earth.
Across from where I sat on the other end of the sofa, framed by tall plants, stood a full-length mirror. Doña Alfonsina fixed dresses there. I noticed myself gazing back, then stepped over to look more closely.
My belly made the image lopsided, and I felt lopsided too. I peered at my face, tried to see it not as it was right then but as the accumulation of countless moments in the past. I didn’t know yet how to see the layers, to read the residue of other lives. What I knew was that I felt old, threads of gray in my long black hair, my body thickening like the smog out there—even if, when I thought of my life and took one step back, it was plain that I was still young, that I had barely started.
The widow’s cups rattled in their saucers as she carried the tray in. I hurried to help her.
In her wake, a sleek gray cat emerged into the room. Cleopatra liked to keep her distance; but when she spotted Julieta she went right up to the child.
I only had time for a few sips. I wasn’t going far, just over in the Plaza de las Tres Culturas to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. However, I could not move very fast under the circumstances, to say nothing of the crowds. I’d been working there for a year, half-time.
César, the brown long-haired cat, came in to see what he was missing, gliding right under Julieta’s other arm.
“How are you feeling, my dear?” said Doña Alfonsina.
I held onto my belly. “This one’s been so active lately. I only hope I survive.”
She sat closer to me and said in a low voice, “I can still give you the number of my friend. Ignacio doesn’t have to know.”
What difference would it make if there were four or five? I only sighed.
The widow waved her hand. “Anyway, it will be over before you realize.”
“But then they’re babies,” I protested. “And they want you all the time. And then they grow!”
“And some day far away when you’ve forgotten all that, they write home and lay all their unhappiness at your feet.”
Suddenly the cats ran off. Tino was staring after them where they lingered in the doorway. We really had to be going.
“They’re so lively,” I remarked.
“Yes, with them I think there’s really more,” said the widow, “more than two cats.” A woman in the market gave them to her after her husband died. “As if they remembered things. I can tell by their positions, the way they look at me.”
Julieta was busy with the remote control box for the TV. I made to gather my sweater, to unfold Tino’s jacket. The widow, oblivious of my actions, spoke up.
“You know what the Indians say, Alma?”
What Indians was she talking about, I wondered. We’re all Indians of one sort or another. What was she up to, the old bruja?
“Drink the blood of a cat and you will have nine lives,” she told me.
What a strange thing to say. Did she believe it?
“Of course, that’s not the difficult part,” she went on.
“What do you mean?”
“The difficult part is in living all those lives. But never mind, you have to go.”
Tino was putting on his jacket. “And if I come back for her around two o’clock?” I asked.
“Whenever you like, hija.”
I kissed Julieta goodbye and the widow opened the door for us. “Don’t worry,” she said, “you will be all right.”
As we went down in the elevator, I was impressed how Tino managed to still look neat and brushed after our detour. I had a vague memory of myself like that at his age, very careful about appearances, back in Pátzcuaro.
It was not until we reached the Residencia Guaymas across the courtyard from our building that I noticed the flyers on the walls. There was a picture of a woman’s face, but I didn’t stop, I had no time to read what was written.
People hurried past us in all directions, mostly toward the metro. I gripped Tino’s hand so he wouldn’t lose me. We were going just beyond the metro to his school—inside there, you could feel the ground tremble every time a train passed underneath. I was always rushing to get him to school in the morning, simply to navigate the crowds.
That would teach me to rely on Verónica. She wanted to be an actress. I saw a film she was in once, wasn’t much. I wondered, was she lying to me that morning? She was not above small acts of vengeance. And she knew that I was right. What she wanted to avoid at all costs was to end up going back to Pátzcuaro to work in the family restaurant. That much was certain. She wanted to stay in Mexico City. Ignacio even offered to get her a job in a boutique down where he works, but she said she wasn’t made to spend her days underground.
At the door to his classroom Tino didn’t waste time. Dutifully he pecked me on the cheek, turned, and marched inside. I watched him take his seat: the little man at work. Not once did he look back.
Outside I turned onto La Redonda and before crossing over to the plaza, I stopped at a sidewalk vendor to order some fresh orange juice. I still had a few minutes.
“You want an egg with that?” said the boy behind the stand.
“No, no egg.”
“You need your strength.”
Once or twice I let Ignacio convince me to take the juice with a raw egg on top, but I didn’t like the texture as it went down, swallowing the yolk.
In truth, it was nice to be alone a moment, for as long as it took to drink my tall glass of juice. There at the stand, I felt quite apart from the crowd streaming around me. As if I had managed, ever so briefly, to step outside my own life.
. . . . .