cuecos! capítulo seis
TRANSCRIPT
1
BRIDGE
BURBUJAS DE AMOR
2
A Revulú
Ni hemos conseguido un taxi cuando te repito la pregunta.
'Y tus amigos?'
Te imaginas que toda esta gente es una especie exótica de
pájaras que se comunican por medio de graznidos. Dices que
aquellas cosas que nos ocupan la mente las repetimos casi
inconscientemente.
Y mi graznido dice: "tus amigos, baaahck!"
'Tus amigos no se preocuparán por ti?' digo.
3
'Quieres que los llame?'
Por fin para un taxi, nos montamos sin negociar.
'Que son inseparables ustedes?' te pregunto e introduzco mi
mano en tu entrepierna.
'Tu eres el que no deja de hablar de mis amigos'
Te la estoy parando con la mano y el taxista nos tira miradas de
lujuria y asco por el retrovisor.
'Llámalos pues.'
4
JOTADE:
El texto llega a mi handy:
"BURBUJAS DE AMOR"
Se lo enseño al Pez: 'Esto que significa?'
'De quien es?' me dice. 'Ya Revulú se desapareció?'
'Ahá'
'Ese man es una rata de verdad'
'Y entonces?' Le enseño el texto nuevamente: BURBUJAS DE
AMOR.
5
Sin vacilar, El Pez empieza a caminar de vuelta al carro. 'Ven
conmigo,' me ordena como si yo fuera su perra.
'A donde?'
'Muévete!' me ladra.
'Y los pelaos?' Le recuerdo que tenemos dos bombones
engrasaos y listos para meter al horno.
'Tráelos,' me dice. Veo que se dirige al auto. 'Diles que vamos a
dar una vuelta.'
'Una vuelta por...?'
'Por Burbujas De Amor, chucha!' me grita y nos montamos los
cuatro al jeep.
6
The Dirtiest Word's are truest.
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8
Capítulo SEIS
9
10
Dice Jotade que cuando él se fue del push, el manacho aún
estaba vivo.
'Yo lo vi que respiraba,' me dice. 'Eso te lo puedo jurar!"
Pero según La Crónica de hoy, lo encontraron las empleadas a
las nueve y cincuenta y cinco de la mañana, después de mucho
llamar, cuando entraron a limpiar la habitación.
Ahí guindando.
Auto-eroto-asfixia, pronuncia La Crónica, como deletreando las
canicas, causa número uno de cuerpos sin vida en los pushes del
distrito capital.
Según los tongos, recogen por lo menos uno al mes.
Generalmente son hombres mayores -pero esto, esto es lo que
pasa con la juventud de hoy.
Y sin embargo, Jotade lo vio vivito y coleando. Cogiendo perico.
Y cogiendo.
Y todo está documentado en fotos y video.
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12
A DYLAN
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'When I was just a little guppy,' he tells me with a broad
smile, 'the other kids would fuck with me. They called me
names: "Medio-Man" -Halfman. Just like doggies smell asses
-that's how little kids get to know each other: they sniff each
other, they recognize themselves in each other and they go for
the throat every time.'
He downs his drink in one gulp.
'Want s'more? I'll be back'
El Pez disappears past the dance floor, behind a riot of near-nude
cowboys and indians.
One of the most curious things about these so-called "Private
Parties" is that there is no drag.
Nobody invites them.
In just about every single other public homo-social event I know
of drag queens are the center of attention. But here they are
persona non grata.
They do not exist.
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'Where'd Homzi fuck off to?' El Pez returns with drinks.
'Sleeping -he says he's too drunk for this boring shit already.' I
finish my old drink and take a fresh one from El Pez.
'Jota?' I ask.
'Prowling,' he says. 'Sniffing out a new ex-boy'
'You guys never get tired of that,' I say.
'He never gets tired of it.'
The thing with punks in Isthmus City is that they just can't stop
themselves from making every party into cheap camp. So here
you have these bunch of closetcases who would never sink as
low as to set foot onto a 'Lugar de Ambiente' (roughly 'The Gay
Scene') and thus cannot appreciate good local drag (or even
mediocre drag) so they compensate by getting smashed drunk
and crippling high and justifying it as a costume party.
A themed costume party. They throw these every few months.
Tonight’s theme: "Go West"
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A full generation after Madge played out the cowboy hat queens
still get together and decide that 'Cowboys and Indians' is a good
theme for a party. There is no official drag yet we have strippers
in bottomless chaps -we have guests in bottomless chaps.
*Shudder*
This is what the closet does to you.
It isolates you from your fellow brothers and their new currents.
Closet-cases only trust other closet-cases. And then you can't
help but be square.
This is how we find ourselves in the nipply Isthmus mountain air,
on a bright full moon night, wearing ragged jeans and a beat-up
Nirvana t-shirt, surrounded by the nelliest cowpokes this side of
the Rio Grande.
'Aren't you cold?' asks El Pez. Thankfully, he's not wearing a
fucking hat.
I shake my head. I've been colder and in fewer clothes.
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'You know,' I tell him, 'having two boyfriends is one of those
things that sounds hot in theory, but in reality it's just double the
drama. Double bitching and moaning, double-attitude. Ugh.'
He looks at me without blinking.
'You sound very experienced in the matter,' he says.
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Anoche fuimos todos a comprar drogas con El Pez.
Llegamos por unos callejones encharcados y nos apeamos
detrás de un strip mall. En el segundo piso del edificio las luces
mostraban un grupo que cantaba y se bamboleaban al ritmo de
alguna musica inaudible.
El Pez toca el claxón pero nadie responde. Tocamos el timbre.
Nada. Empiezo a discernir las voces del coro, la melodía de la
canción que cantan sobre mi cabeza.
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El intercom está muerto.
Estamos a punto de darnos por vencidos cuando suena el buzzer
de la puerta y sale una mujer sudada y vestida toda de blanco.
'Buenas noches, hermanos,' nos saluda.
'Buenas,' dice El Pez.
'Está muy intensa La Palabra de hoy,' dice la mujer y se seca el
sudor del temple con un dedo.
'Eso mismo es lo que queremos,' dice Jotade y mantiene la puerta
abierta. 'Hasta mañana, hermana.'
'Si Dios Quiere!' dice ella y sigue su camino.
El Pez se caga de la risa y entramos a un pasillo con aire
acondicionado. Huele a incienso atrapado y reciclado.
'Man,' digo, 'donde chucha nos has traido?'
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La transacción es en un depósito lleno de sillas abandonadas y
velas apagadas.
El aprendiz de pastor/dealer saca un tamal inmenso que ha
escondido en un confesional ochentero y lleno de polilla.
'Cuanto quieres?' dice. 'Que tan mal te piensas portar?'
'No es pa' mi,' responde El Pez, 'es para mis amigos los mudos.'
'Cuanta plata traén los mudos, entonces.'
'Ciento cincuenta!', grita Jotade sin darse cuenta que está
gritando.
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'Ah, mira, bendito sea el señor de los milagros, hablan los
mudos.' El dealer pesa la vaina. Me la entrega a mi, y yo le doy
el dinero.
El Pez se ríe: 'En este templo hasta los mudos hablan de plata!'
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Al salir, el coro esta ya en sus últimos humos. Hay cuerpos que
ocupaban dos y tres sillas regados por doquier. Pantimedias
arremangadas y una humedad que empaña los ventanas
inmensas que dan al callejón.
Se desgañita una negra en un ataque de redención.
Veo figuras que se mueven en el vapor como nubes bemoles.
Comprendo que es imposible negarle la diversión a alguién. Y
que siempre será infructuoso ponerle fronteras a los demás.
Cada loca baila al ritmo que ella escucha hasta que no lo escucha
más.
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PRE CUECORNER
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El Pez conocío al NewTime en la cárcel. Dice que se presentaron
por medio de un amigo en común y entraron en confianza
rápidamente.
Al salir, no supo más de él hasta la tercera semana de estar su
madre en coma, cuando recibió un invitado después de las horas
de visitas.
Y una nota escrita a mano:
'Whenever you’d like a break, I’ll be waiting across the street'
NT
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EL PEZ approaches the storefront -his image appears on the
windowpanes.
EL PEZ enters and sits across from someone half-hidden in the
shadows.
MAN:
How's Mum?
EL PEZ:
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Same... better. Who knows.
MAN:
You holding it together?
EL PEZ:
Yes. But ask me again tomorrow.
Here they switch to Spanish. NEWTIME says that he asked
around and he's pretty sure he found the punk that lit his house
on fire
NEWTIME has come to
a. check-in, and
b. ask for permission to teach this guy
a lesson
EL PEZ needs time to think about it
He say's they'll be in touch.
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29
La semana pasado, El Pez ofreció enseñarme el video "para que
me dejes de preguntar de una vez por todas"
Por supuesto que accedí.
Vamos a su casa y allí detecto de inmediato las malas mañas
de Jotade. Los muebles han cambiado de sitio y el olor a porro
impregna hasta las cortinas.
'A Jota no le importará que...'
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'Que que?'
'No digo, que...' no se como explicar esto más delicadamente.
'Que me importa a mi esa vaina?' responde. 'Mis vainas son
privadas.'
Subimos al cuarto y El Pez tranca la puerta.
'Para evitar sorpresas,' me dice.
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CUECORNER II
El CLOSET is inexcusable
Es un acto de mutilación propia
es una cobardía nefasta
no poder reconocerte a ti mismo
en el espejo
Sin embargo
solo falta una mirada cursiva
para apreciar que en esta ciudad
(en este país?)
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CLOSET es lo que abunda.
El CLOSET reina en todas las esferas socieconómicas; en todas
las profesiones y carreras; detrás de familias públicas conocidas
hay aquellas confidencias que muchos insisten en ni siquiera
querer admitir.
Como un Servicio Social, ofrezco este humilde espacio
para desenmascarar aquellos que salvan sus pellejos
a costas nuestra.
Que nos utilizan sin jamás pedir la cuenta.
Si tiene nombres completos
Si tiene pruebas visuales y contundentes
Manda copia de tu carnet de identidad
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Escanea tus pruebas
y suelta tu mejor veneno
Hasta vaciar el último closet!
Luchemos Hermanos!
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39
HOMZI
A lie is a dream with guilt.
The equation is: dream + guilt = lie.
That night Homzi dreamt of dicks.
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Tattooed dicks stamped with crossbones and skullls and that
made him dream of needles and swelling
And that makes him grind his teeth until he wakes up screaming
in the semidarkness, clutching the pillow in a sweaty embrace
His first thought as he came to was:
'Where the fuck are you?'
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42
Homzi went back to sleep, but it was fitful. His dreams returned
to variations of the same awful bloodied images and he stirred
about until he'd had enough.
He opens his eyes and surveys the half-lit room. There's no
television, but there's an old analog radio with big brown knobs.
He tried to make it work before going to bed but something's
wrong with the chord, or with the plug. Nothing ever works right
in places like these.
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The little cabin isn't bad -reminds him of his room back home, the
one he shared with all those goddamn sisters. He could live out
of here without a problem, he thought. He'd just get a small TV.
Something to get his mind off the dreams and these boring
queens at this boring party and I don't know how he ever
convinced me to come. What am I doing in here in this place, in
the dark, alone in this place where I don't belong? I don't know
anyone here.
Homzi gets up and gets dressed without turning on the lights out
of sheer force of habit. He splashes some water on his face, he
finds the cologne next to the sink.
I know at least one person here, he thinks. He walks out into the
windy night and latches the door behind him -there is no lock.
At least one.
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JOTADE
Jotade ha socializado con cuanta loca hay en este lugar y
absolutamente toda y cada una de ellas le ha hecho por los
menos dos preguntas:
1. Tienes coca?
2. Quien es el niño que vino con La Torres?
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Pero esta vaina que es? Ni ha comenzado la fiesta y ya a las
locas no les queda pudor.
Primero, si, si tengo coca, y segundo no. Tampoco se quien es
ese niño tan encantador. Algún manachito pagado y mantenido -
tu sabes eso como es.
Mientras realiza otra puti-vuelta de reconocimiento Jota
decide que es hora de salir del país. Se siente asfixiado y algo
asqueado, como una mascota gorda y lenta deambulando por
el patio de su dueña. Husmeando los mismos recobecos por
enésima vez.
Saluda a dos cuecos ensombrerados, les hace una venia
exagerada y emite un YEEHAAW!! Les toma una foto con flash.
Debería irme a un país donde no haya cuecos, piensa. Un lugar
de puras mujeres bien putitas que se dejen cojer sin andar
jodiéndote la vida. Y sin jamás quedar preñadas.
Jota baja unas escaleras, cruza una sala llena de espejos y sale
al jardín. Mira a su alrededor y no ve a nadie así que se mete
otro hueco bajo un topiario de una palmera. A quien se le ocurre
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cortar un topiario en forma de palmera en el trópico?
De verdad que las locas de este país son bien ridículas.
Que se queden los árabes con sus vientisiete vírgenes. Eso sería
el purgatorio mismo. El paraíso según Jotade es un planeta, una
ciudad, un país entero populado de putas jóvenes y estériles.
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Pasó lo que siempre pasa: las locas se enfuegan y se ponen
impertinentes.
Llega una por la espalda y le toca el hombro a Jotade.
‘Tienes coca?’
‘Hola,’ dice Jota, ‘que gusto verte Antonio! Te has engordado un
poco desde la última vez que nos hablamos. Cuando fue eso?
Quinto o sexto grado?’
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‘Todo el mundo dice que te pregunté a ti’
‘Quien es todo el mundo?’
‘Tu sabes,’ dice la loquita, ‘toooodo el mundo.’
‘Pues no, no tengo coca. Riega la voz a ver si alguien me invita
algo.’
‘Sabes que? Yo creo que se a quien preguntarle’
‘A quien?’
‘Ven conmigo, joooo!’
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_______________
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The room is bare except for the mattress on the floor and the
shelves stacked with videotapes. The curtains are drawn.
It smells of coffee and cigarettes and DVD cleaning solution.
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‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he says, so I sit crosslegged on the
mattress.
El Pez opens a closet and reveals an array of monitors and
players and speakers all crammed together into a mosaic of high-
definition technology.
‘Sorry if it’s chilly in here. I got some sweaters back here if you
need one.’
‘It’s okay,’ I lie. ‘I like the cold.’
He turns on a master switch and all the gadgets purr into life at
once -beeping and flashing tiny bars of text and sundry lights.
El Pez crosses the room.
‘Do you remember what day it was? It was a Thursday, wasn’t
it?’
‘The seventeenth.’ I know the date by heart by now.
He turns on his heels and walks to the opposite wall, muttering.
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‘June,’ he says. ‘What a horrible dive that was -was that your
idea? That place?’
‘No. Definitely not my idea.’
‘Was that guy that took you there, right.’
‘It was like his second home.’
He scans across some tapes and pulls up a couple of empty
covers. He jots down some numbers and crosses the room again.
He kneels at a corner under a pair of monitors and punches a
code into a pad. I hear the whirring of small motors.
A small safe-door pops open and El Pez peers inside.
‘Can you hand me the flashlight -it’s right there under that
corner.’
I look under the bed and find a small metallic flashlight. I hand it
over.
He reaches inside the safe and holds the flashlight with his teeth.
He selects a few things and examines but discards them.
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Finally his hand re-emerges clasping a roll of videotape.
He throws it over to me -I am unprepared and fumble the catch.
‘Is this what you were looking for?’
I look at the label. It reads: “Burbujas De Amor”
I hand the roll back to El Pez and nod.
‘Let’s take a look.’
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I don’t know what I expected to see but it wasn’t this.
For one, there was a lot of static.
‘You seen this before?’ I ask El Pez.
‘I scanned through it real quick, saw it was mostly crap,’ he
says. ‘I told you.’
‘Yeah you told me.’
‘It happens some time - never seen it this bad, but it’s a gamble:
the rolls might be corrupted, that place was very dim to begin
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with, it could be a million things.’
At the beginning of the video I can see El Pez setting up the
different angles, trying out different locations for the lamps in the
room.
‘Why didn’t you bring your lights?’
‘I don’t carry them with me when I scout -this wasn’t planned out
remember. I’m improvising.’
Once he’s happy with the set-up, El Pez disappears from the
screens, leaves the room, and returns with a small satchel.
‘I see you do carry the First-Aid Kit when you scout.’
Out of the satchel he produces a large quantity of pills that he
lays out on a small table like hors d'oeuvres.
‘The kangaroo always comes in handy,’ he says. He sits next to
me on the bed, close enough that our knees are touching.
Onscreen, El Pez takes out a baggie of coke and prepares several
long fat lines on the back of something that looks suspiciously like
a bible.
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‘Nice touch,’ I say.
‘Thanks.’
He wonders off-screen again and the room sits empty for a long
while before a shirtless El Pez re-enters the frame along with two
naked boys, the two cousins he and Jota picked up that night.
They’re drinking beer.
The boys quickly get on their knees and dive for the lines. El
Pez jokes with them a little bit and gets them to kiss each other.
They do a couple more lines and down a few of the pills. They
swill their beer and joke and three-way kiss and then El Pez gets
the cousins to jerk each other a little bit. Then a little more.
A few more pills. Pretty soon the cousins are going at it so
passionately that they don’t even notice El Pez as he smoothly
clears all the frames.
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60
A DYLAN
I went back to the room for supplies and saw him sleeping.
Amazing, like witnessing a locomotive at rest. I lean in and try to
glimpse the energy surging under the skin, under his eyelids. I
stay there far too long.
Then I grab my jacket and the satchel with the drugs and walk
out.
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I latch the door closed behind me.
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‘No sign of Jota?’ El Pez has been keeping an eye out.
‘Who knows,’ he says, ‘who cares? You brought everything?’
‘All You Can Eat.’
We set down the path and come to a crossroad -one way leads
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back to the main house and the party, while the other leads into
the woods and eventually to some mythical river Jotade has been
raving about for weeks.
‘Should we go back and get him?’ I ask.
There’s a moment of indecision. I can hear the thump-thump
music in the distance. I bet these bushes will be mined before
dawn with fornicating queens.
El Pez has already started walking toward the party
muttering ‘this fucking guy.’
I catch up to him.
‘You want some pills in the meantime?’
The wind shakes the tree-leaves and it produces a sound like
white noise -calm, soothing audio that briefly cancels out the
disco that eventually swallows us back up.
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I didn’t start the fight. At least I didn’t throw the first punch -
what ‘punch’? Who am I kidding? There’s no punching in a fag-
fight, there’s only yelling and open-handed slaps and shoving and
if you’re lucky enough to grab a nice handful of hair, very painful
yanking.
I’m just minding my own business, trying to locate Jotade so we
can get the hell out of this wild wild west and go do some drugs
by the river in peace. But these girls are just dying for some
drama.
‘Antonio!’ I call out to the first queen I can name. ‘Have you seen
Jotade?’
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Before he can answer, I feel someone approach me from behind.
I turn to face a middle-aged homo dressed head to toe in
matching denim.
‘I hear you’ve been badmouthing me,’ says the jeans
queen. ‘Why don’t you say it to my face?’
‘Who are you?’ I ask. ‘Do I even know you?’
Of course I know him, I know every single punk at this party -
sometimes I feel like I know every single punk in this whole damn
city.
‘You’ve been spreading the rumor that I’m a homosexual,’ says
the David the Duke of Denim, and I try not to laugh. His fringed-
vest alone confirms that hypothesis.
‘Listen,’ I say, ‘I’m sure you do a damn good job of hiding
that “rumor” on your own.’
‘I don’t want you talking to anyone about my private life,’ the
queen advances toward me and I can see he’s already far too
drunk for this early in the party. ‘My private life is my business,
you hear!’ She pokes her index finger against my chest.
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Honestly, I don’t know what comes over me, but maybe I’ve had
one too many clueless queens violating my personal space in the
last few days. I grab his finger and I twist it back as far as it can
go without it coming loose in my hand.
Of course the Denim Queen immediately starts howling bloody
murder. Which attracts even more queens in cowboy hats to the
scene.
‘Leave him alone!,’ one yells at me. ‘Who do you think you are!’
‘He’s the one,’ screams the Denim Queen. ‘He’s the one going
around town, telling everybody our business!’
The queens circle me and start yelling and poking their fingers at
me; one shoves me from behind.
I’m about to truly lose it when I hear El Pez return alone from
searching.
‘Whatya girls think you’re doing?’ he’s already unbuttoning and
rolling back his cuffs, preparing for a scrap.
‘Who the fuck are you,’ says a guy in a bolo tie -seriously, a
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grown man is wearing a bolo tie in this Year of our Lord. ‘I don’t
know you. This is a private party. Who invited you to this
party?’
‘I did,’ I tell bolo-guy. ‘He’s with me.’
The Denim Queen hasn’t learned his lesson. He turns to El Pez
and starts berating him. I can see spittle flying. This won’t end
well.
El Pez pushes the queens aside and grabs me by the elbow, he
leads me away. ‘Couldn’t find Jota,’ he says, ‘let’s just get the
fuck outta here.’
We walk a few yards back down the path, but the mob of
queens follows us, yelling and gesticulating. They’re incensed.
Outraged.
Finally, one picks up a rock and lobs it weakly at El Pez’s head.
He misses.
That does it.
El Pez turns on his heels and stomps back to the queens -they
immediately take off running back to the party, disbanding and
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squawking like a flock of terrified seagulls. El Pez hooks the two
slowest queens by the back of the neck and shoves one to the
ground. He grabs the other by the shoulders and the turns him
around.
‘Did you just throw a rock at me?’ asks El Pez.
The terrified queen can only shake her head, his eyes huge and
round. El Pez knocks off the queen’s cowboy hat with a flick.
‘How would you like it if I bashed your head in with a rock?’
The queen on the ground tries lamely to kick at El Pez’s shins but
El Pez just steps his right boot square into the queen’s chest. He
doesn’t let go off the other terrified one he’s got by the shoulders.
‘I think it’s time to teach you girls some manners,’ says El
Pez. ‘Don’t you know we are guests in this piece-of-shit party? Is
this how you treat all your guests?’
The queen pinned to the ground starts wheezing and coughing
and screaming for help, but only a thin whisper comes out. He
sounds like a drunk drowning in his own vomit.
El Pez picks the queen off the ground by the hair and grips both
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of them by the collar, dragging them backwards toward some
bushes. They weakly slap and scratch at him.
‘Next time you decide to pick a fight with someone bigger and
butcher than you,’ says El Pez as he shoves the queens back,
stumbling over the roots and stones, ‘make sure you’re prepared
to end it.’
‘Now say you’re sorry,’ he tells them, still grabbing them tight by
the collar. ‘Apologize to my friend for ruining his evening with
your foolishness.’
The queens nod hurriedly; El Pez lifts them almost off their feet.
‘I can’t hear you!’ he yells in their faces.
The two queens dissolve into incoherent apologies. They look like
they’re about to pass out.
‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ says El Pez. He backs the
two queens against a thorny bush and with a quick motion
pushes them into it. There’s two little screams as the queens
stumble backwards, ass over teakettle, disappearing behind the
shrubbery. I hear a splash and some sobbing.
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El Pez walks over to me, rearranging his shirt and tucking it into
his jeans.
‘First Aid Kit?’ he asks me. He reaches into the satchel and pulls
out a handful of pills. He walks back to the bush.
‘Here you go,’ he says. ‘This will make you feel a little better
about this embarrassing episode.’
He scatters the pills over the whimpering queens, leaving them
muddied and miserable in a puddle.
Then he hurries past me in the direction of the river.
‘I hate these fucking fags,’ he snarls.
I follow him.
And we leave the party behind, never to return.
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JOTADE
La loquita llegó corriendo y despavorida, toda sudada.
‘Pelea!’ llega gritando. ‘Apúrense y vengan que hay pelea!’
El círculo de ocho cuecos que rodean a Jotade, pasándose un
tamal inmenso entre ellos y metiéndose sendos pases se levantan
de inmediato, como impulsados por resortes.
‘Vengan!’ grita la loquita-alarma, que ya se ha dado la vuelta y se
aleja nuevamente. ‘Apúrense que nos matan a la Gallardo!’
Los cuecos encocainados se ajustan sus sombreros vaqueros y se
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encaminan hacia la pelea -una turba endemoniada que huele a
Dior y mousse de pelo.
Una loca tiene un instante de claridad y se acuerda del tamal.
‘Antonio, quedate aquí y cuida la vaina,’ le dice a la loquita
parada al lado de Jotade, ‘que se nos pierde en el relajo.’
Pero quien se va a querer perder semejante espectáculo? Ni
corta ni perezosa, la loquita le pasa el tamal a Jotade.
‘Tu te quedas con esto aquí, verdad?’ Le dice la loquita, ‘yo voy a
ver que hay y vengo de una vez... no te vayas!’
Se van todas las locas vaqueras a buscar trifulca y dejan a Jotade
solo con siete gramos de buena coca en sus manos. Y una
sonrisa enorme en los labios.
75
76
HOMZI
Homzi is walking up the path that leads to the party when he
hears what sounds like whimpers coming from behind a bush.
He leans over and spots two trampled-looking guys on their
hands and knees picking small objects out of a mud puddle.
‘Are you okay?’ He asks, but they barely look up: they’re
consumed with their quest.
Homzi shrugs them off and walks away and runs face-first into a
frenzied mob of cowboys.
‘Where’s the fight?’ One of them asks, out of breath. ‘They said
77
there’s a fight here. You seen the fight?’
For a brief moment Homzi considers that he’s still in bed,
dreaming this whole scenario. He shakes his head.
‘No idea what you’re talking about,’ he says.
‘A fight!’ yells another of the cowboy queens, ‘how can you miss a
fight, it was right here!’
Another one looks at Homzi closely. ‘Do I know you?’ he
asks. ‘Who are you here with?’
Homzi shrugs again. ‘There’s two guys on the ground over there,
maybe they know what the fuck you’re talking about.’
The scented mob rushes past him.
‘Gallardo!’ they yell. ‘Are you alive!?’
‘Over here!’ comes a voice from behind the bushes. ‘We got
pills!’
Homzi walks up the path towards the disco music and the bright
lights of the party. The sense that he’s still in bed dreaming gets
78
stronger and stronger every second he stays in this awful place.
He needs to find Roberto and tell him to leave his buddies behind
and get the fuck out of here as soon as possible.
79
He doesn’t find him. Instead, he finds a grinning Chesire Cat
called Jotade.
‘Haven’t seen either of them,’ says Jotade, ‘they’re probably down
in some bushes getting high and blowing each other.’
He offers Homzi a toke from a large coke baggie.
‘No thanks,’ says the boy. ‘If you see him, please tell him I’m at
the cabin packing.’
‘Are you going somewhere?’
80
Homzi shrugs. ‘Just tell him I’m waiting for him.’ He starts
walking away.
‘You wanna dance?’ asks Jotade.
Homzi tuns around, but says nothing.
‘This is my jam!’
Just at that moment, the rumor of cowboy boots walking up the
steps, the high-pitched gripe of overexcited birds.
‘Shit, the Pink Posse returns.’ Jotade grabs Homzi by the arm
and leads him away from the approaching queens. ‘Come on,’ he
says, ‘I’m not sharing my jackpot with any of those fags.’
Homzi resists a bit but Jotade’s already dragging him away.
‘Hurry,’ says Jotade, ‘if they see us we might as well be dead and
buried, stranded here with no chance of fun.’
He looks into Homzi’s eyes.
‘They’re gone,’ he says, ‘they’re gone together, the two of them,
and I know for a fact they took all our drugs with them. Do you
wanna be bored or do you wanna come with me?’
81
By the time the queens have again filled out the dance floor and
gossipped about the fight, and mocked the two muddied queens
behind their backs, and someone finally remembers to ask for the
coke they left behind, Homzi and Jotade are long gone.
82
They wind up next to a small swimming pool, far at the other end
of the property.
‘Can we stop running now? asks Homzi, ‘or do you think the
hounds can still pick up your scent?’
‘We can relax,’ says Jotade.‘You want some coke?’ He takes out
the baggie.
‘Oh right, I remember. You’re a good boy,’ he says. ‘You think
drugs are for losers.’
83
Homzi takes off his shoes, rolls up his jeans, and dips his feet in
the water. It’s warm.
‘So lemme ask you something,’ says Jotade as he reaches his
whole nose into the baggie and snorts. ‘You know you’re fucking
a loser, then, right? Cause Revulú will hoover-up this whole bag
in a couple of hours, if we let him.’
Homzi wiggles his toes in the water. He wonders how come only
rich people get to enjoy heated pools under the stars.
‘So what do you call the guy who hooks up with losers? I’ll give
you a hint: it ain’t “winner.”’
Homzi stands up and peels off his t-shirt. He takes off his pants
and dives into the pool in his underwear.
He holds his breath and glides back and forth a few times before
surfacing.
‘I followed you,’ he tells Jotade, ‘and I’m still bored.’ He walks
up to the shallow end of the pool; his white briefs become
transparent.
‘You overpromise and underdeliver,’ he says. ‘ I’m sure I’m not
84
the first to tell you that.’
Homzi goes under again and stays under for two laps of the pool.
‘Why won’t you dance with me?’ asks Jotade when Homzi
surfaces. ‘Am I too tall?’
‘Tell you what,’ says Homzi. ‘You get rid of that bag of powder,
and I’ll dance with you right here, right now.’
‘Shut the fuck up,’ says Jotade. ‘This is like four-hundred dollars
worth of coke.’
‘Suit yourself,’ says Homzi and goes under again, laps the pool a
couple more times. He comes up for air holding his white briefs
in his left hand. He flings them at Jotade’s face.
‘So you’re torturing me? You won’t dance with me and you won’t
let me enjoy my drugs in peace.’
‘Easy come, easy go... right?’
They’re far away, but the wind carries the thump-thump from the
party speakers and it reaches them here. It makes Jotade’s cells
jump and scatter. He slips off his boots.
85
Jotade wades into the pool fully dressed; he deliberately rips the
baggie and shakes the cocaine onto the surface of the water.
‘Happy now?’ he asks.
‘Less bored,’ comes the reply.
Jotade walks around Homzi to the deeper end of the pool until
they’re standing face to face, eye to eye.
‘You like this song?’ he asks.
‘This is my jam,’ says Homzi, as he wraps his legs around Jotade,
locking his feet behind Jotade’s back.
They start spinning lazy circles in the water, holding onto each
other, laughing a bit.
‘Four hundred dollars,’ whispers Jotade in Homzi’s ear, ‘this dance
better be worth it.’
He spins them further into the deep end, until his feet no longer
touch the bottom and he has to keep them both afloat by kicking
his legs.
86
‘It already is,’ says Homzi.
They spin and they sink and they hold onto each other until the
sky and pool become one indistinguishable mass and the water
completely covers both their heads.
87
[INT. Prison Shower. EL PEZ is bruised and a little bloodied.
NEWTIME’s knuckles are skinned]
NEWTIME:
I know that feeling.
88
EL PEZ:
Wh...?
NEWTIME:
That powerless-ness
crash-landed in another dimension
while the nations are at war
I’m just saying I know what that’s like
because I’ve been there
EL PEZ:
Thank you
89
NEWTIME:
I’m sorry, I...
EL PEZ:
No, no.
NEWTIME:
I didn’t mean to come off as...
EL PEZ:
No, man, It’s cool, I get it...
NEWTIME:
So we’re cool, then?
EL PEZ:
90
Yeah man, we’re cool.
NEWTIME:
Ok.. cool.
EL PEZ:
Now we’re just repeating ‘cool’ for no reason.
91
[EXT. Prison Yard. EL PEZ and NEWTIME are sitting alone on
bleachers while the other inmates walk around the yard. They’re
both wearing boxy-framed sunglasses like the chilean miners.]
EL PEZ:
Did I ever tell you my theory about the birds?
92
NEWTIME:
About, the wh...
EL PEZ:
The birds... ok it’s better to start from the start: we agree that
birds were here before us, you agree?
NEWTIME:
I hate it when you cross-examine me
EL PEZ:
Play along, come on. Birds -before us yes or no.
NEWTIME:
Yes.
93
EL PEZ:
So would it be safe to say that humans, as a species, grew up
listening to birds.
NEWTIME:
Yes.
EL PEZ:
Like in every culture, every baby -just about- recognizes and
understands the sound of birdsong
NEWTIME:
Unless they grew up trapped in a mine
EL PEZ:
With no canaries
NEWTIME:
With no canaries
94
El PEZ:
Yes.
NEWTIME:
Yes -agreed
EL PEZ:
So if you play the sound of a bird to any five-year old in any
nation on earth, and then asked them what that was, they would
say ‘bird’
NEWTIME:
Yes
EL PEZ:
Draw a bird for me
95
NEWTIME:
What?
EL PEZ:
Draw me a fucking bird, ok?
NEWTIME:
Ok, ok... be cool.
[NEWTIME produces a small notebook and a pencil from his
pocket, and quickly draws a small bird]
EL PEZ:
Ok... Thank you.
NEWTIME:
You’re welcome.
96
EL PEZ:
You show this bird, to any kid anywhere in the world, you’d pretty
much expect that the kid would go
NEWTIME:
Tweet!
EL PEZ:
Exactly
[The other inmates look at them. They’re all wearing similar
sunglasses]
So what if i told you that a longitudinal study lead by the
university of Miami, Ohio from the years two-thousand to two-
thousand twenty-five recorded the sounds of birds nesting and
traveling in urban areas larger than a quarter million inhabitants
and then they took those sounds and sorted them out according
97
to recognizable patterns
NEWTIME:
According to song
EL PEZ:
Exactly. And after they filtered out the urban bird’s top forty-
hits, they took a look at the best of the best, the top five
NEWTIME:
The legendary hits. How long does a bird live, on average?
Couple of years?
EL PEZ:
Close, five -although some species have been known to last as
long as twelve
NEWTIME:
That’s like a dog
98
EL PEZ:
Yeah
NEWTIME:
So twenty-five year study, that’s ten generations of birds
EL PEZ:
More or less, you’re getting better
NEWTIME:
What kind of song becomes the number one hit record for ten
generations of birds?
EL PEZ:
Wanna hear it?
99
[EL PEZ takes out an iPhone, plays the song.]
NEWTIME:
That sounds like a...
[EL PEZ smiles]
That’s what they think we’re singing
[EL PEZ nods]
EL PEZ:
To them, we are the big animals that mate with the bigger
animals that when we leave them sing like this
NEWTIME:
It’s a love song!
EL PEZ:
100
It’s a break-up
101
Al Pez
'How was The First?' you ask me
You're not even half-dressed yet.
'What's it like to live there?'
102
I turn my face way from you. Leaves in early sunlight.
'Relaxed,' my stock answer.
You walk around me and pick up your socks off the floor. You
look into my eyes.
'Did you work? What did you do for money?'
'I didn't,' I say. 'Used-up my savings. Who gives a shit about
money, right?'
'For a whole year?'
'Two,' I say. I turn around and gather my underwear.
'You don't wanna talk about it?'
'I don't care,' I lie.
'Why don't you wanna talk about it?'
103
'I said I don't -you always do this thing...' I turn to face you.
'Why don't you ever talk about jail?' I advance over you.
'What don't you want me to know?'
'That's not the same thing'
'How so'
'You were on holiday!'
Silence, deep and timeless. Stillness of neurons at rest, gorgeous
and temporary.
'Did you ever go to the first?'
'Of course, you dumbfuck, I've been there many many times'
'But have you ever lived there?'
'Yes!'
'Then what's the big fucking mystery?'
104
'I don't know -'
'Why are you still lying!?'
So of course I start crying -it's a curse from my mother.
Whenever I'm busted I bawl out.
'Because,' I say. 'It's not everything. Nothing but the truth.'
'What're you hiding?'
You put your arms around me and we sit on the edge of the
boxes.
'What're you hiding from me?'
I'm paralyzed in your arms. Tears stream down my beard,
drowning me.
We sit together forever. I can hear the back and forth of the
mating birds doing their morning calls and I feel like they're
singing to me. Teaching me.
105
You lead softly.
'Nothing happened in prison,' you say. 'Nothing too crazy, I
mean. But at the same time, everything happened in prison. I
got to see all this -to witness.
Inside they take you to the eye doctor and she shoots this
gigantic flash straight in my eyes to shock my pupils open -and
the pain of all the light surging in, coming face to face with the
sun's power forces you to wear the darkest shades you can get
your hands on. The darkest shades they can get you.
They took me to the eye doctor thirty-nine times.
'They blind you?'
I can barely get the words out.
'Only temporarily, briefly -so they say. They say it's for security
reasons -but most understand it's for budget. The longer you
106
stay inside, the darker the shades they give you. That should tell
you everything right there.'
'Why would they...?' but you cut me off.
'To control you, naturally.'
107
108
A few minutes later, Jotade enters the frame and the video starts
fuzzying out into intermittent static.
He’s already shirtless, his enormous dick outlined on his black
boxer briefs.
He sits crosslegged between the two naked cousins and leans
over the bible. He cleanly snorts up two lines of coke.
He starts kissing both cousins at the same time. One of the
cousins, the younger one, dives straight for Jotade’s crotch, his
109
bobbing head half-obscured by the coffee table.
Then I make my first and only appearance in the video. Or
rather, my legs do, up to my knees.
I come into the room with my guy, the guy who started blowing
me in the taxi and when the taxi driver, unsure whether to join in
or kick us out right then and there finally got enough courage to
ask us where we wanted to go, my guy took his lips off my dick
for long enough to form the words: ‘Burbujas De Amor.’
We both walk into the room where the camera’s rolling but I stay
mostly out of frame by the door. I look at my knees onscreen
and I remember feeling that I’d simply already had enough of this
-the group-fucking and the porn-making and the drugs. I’d had
enough for one night, enough for the whole month, even. I really
just wanted to go back to bed and sleep it off and turn it into yet
another funny story to tell Homzi when he came back into town.
But I couldn’t resist the opportunity to stay and watch.
My guy, on the other hand, is living the dream. He jumps right
back into the cluster of bodies -almost knocking the dusty bible
off the table.
110
El Pez re-enters the frame briefly to put the bible back in place
and sets a few more lines on top of it. My guy pops a pill and
starts kissing the older cousin. The younger cousin comes up
for air, reaches across Jotade’s body and starts blowing his own
cousin under the table.
Jotade polishes off two more lines from the bible, stands up
to remove his underwear and right at that moment the screen
dissolves into noise.
The image comes back in slivers: it’s a mess of legs and arms
and moaning faces, lips set in ‘O’s of pleasure -but the video
keeps breaking up into static.
‘It’s like this until the end,’ says El Pez, ‘shitty videotape.’
‘That’s all you got?’ I ask.
‘Well, you’ve seen the photos already. There’s a little more on
the video at the end of the tape, but they’re not doing much by
then. Jota’s not even in it.’
‘Lemme see.’
111
El Pez fast-forwards through the static until the pixels rearrange
themselves into motion pictures once again. The three boys -
the two cousins and my guy- lay spent in a heap of limbs center-
frame. The coffee table has been shoved aside and the bible is
nowhere to be seen.
‘We’re already back in the other room at this point,’ says El
Pez, ‘the three of us. We’re deciding whether to stay and keep
paying for the room or call it a night.’
‘It was daylight,’ I say. ‘I went home.’
On screen, El Pez re-enters the frame and starts collecting
colored pills off the carpet. He stashes them back into the leather
satchel.
One of the cousins stirs and says something to him, they
exchange a few inaudible sentences, then El Pez reaches towards
the lens, and that’s it, tape over.
‘What did you talk about?’ I ask
‘What do you mean?’
‘The kid, he tells you something and you answer, then he
112
answers.’
‘He just asked what I was doing, if the party was over,’ says
El Pez. ‘I told him I was just picking up my equipment and we
were leaving, and that we paid for a few more hours in case
they wanted to stay and rest a bit. Then he went back to sleep I
guess.’
‘So the cousins were the last people to see my guy alive.’
‘Looks that way,’ says El Pez. ‘Am I off the hook now? Are you
convinced I didn’t kill anyone?’
‘I never thought...’ but he cuts me off.
‘Sure you didn’t’
113
114
Two weeks later I have lunch with the younger cousin. The kid’s
name turns out to be Ricky.
‘So what happened after they left you alone?’ I ask.
‘I dozed off for a bit,’ says the kid. ‘But then I started getting
horny again and I started playing with your friend -what’s his
name?’
‘Edgardo.’
‘Right, randy Ed -he’s pretty cuckoo but he’s horny as hell, man.
Ufff, he just let us do whatever we wanted to him -where’d you
115
find that hot piece of ass?’
‘You know he’s dead, right?’
‘Wha... what’re you talking about?’ the kids face looks deflated.
‘He hung himself from the ceiling fan of that very room that very
morning,’ I tell him. ‘You and your cousin were probably the last
people to see him alive.’
The kid’s eyes go extra wide.
‘The police?’ he asks. ‘My parents dont know about me -or about
my cousin- about us.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say. ‘Suicide is the official word -no
investigation, no paperwork.’
‘So then why are you here?’
‘Because I have a finding-out fetish,’ I say. ‘I just wanna know
what happened after we all left and left you alone.’
‘I woke up my cousin and we tagged team and spit-roasted the
116
hell out of that guy -may he rest in peace. Then we left and left
him there.’
‘Why do you say he’s -was- cuckoo?’
‘He was just too high-strung for my taste, you know. He was fine
to fuck -may he rest in peace- but I wouldn’t want him around to
hang out or anything.’
‘What did act he like?’ I prompt him.
‘Just... we finished fucking and I think the drugs were finally
wearing off and he started getting really weird and covering
himself up with the sheets and talking about god.’
‘About god?’
‘Yeah. He said that we’d been sinning and god sees everything,
and I think he even started praying while my cousin and I got
dressed. We were kind of in a hurry to get outta there by then.’
‘And then...?’
‘And then I said something to my cousin about the video, El Pez,
117
y’know, he invited us over to his place to watch the video later,
so I said something like ‘I bet that’s gonna be really hot to see
that.’ And your guy must’ve overheard us, and then he really
started flipping out.
He didn’t know anything about the video -he didn’t know there’d
been a camera in the room the whole time. I thought that was
pretty hot, you know, homemade porn, but your guy -he started
foaming at the mouth, he wasn’t having any of it.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He started yelling at us and how long had we known and why
didn’t we tell him anything. I thought he knew, I thought we all
knew. But the guy kept ranting that he was sure that video was
all over the Web by now, and everybody was gonna know about
him, and his life was ruined and he was never gonna be able
to show his face again -he was talking pretty crazy, I think he
lapsed into tongues or something a couple of times. My cousin
was freaking out and the cab was there so we left. Like I said -
that’s a hot piece of ass, but I wouldn’t wanna marry it -may he
rest in peace.’
We finish lunch in silence.
118
As we part the kid remembers one more thing.
‘I went back in the room to say goodbye,’ he says, ‘and I found
him on the floor, fetal position. He said God was watching -that
God sees everything- and that this was his punishment. Those
are the words he used “my punishment.”
Then we left.’
I give the kid a hug goodbye.
‘You think he killed himself because of us?’ he asks me.
‘I think he killed himself because of god.’
The kid nods.
‘If you see El Pez, tell him we want to see the video... is that
creepy now?’
‘I’ve seen it,’ I say. ’Mostly garbage -something was wrong with
the tape, almost nothing came out.’
‘What a shame,’ says Ricky as he walks back. ‘I always wanted
to be in movies.’
119
120
HOMZI
The sun is barely coming out while Homzi crosses the grounds of
the estate on his way back to the cabin.
He carries his shoes in his hand -damp grass between his toes.
Soft breeze.
For a moment, he feels like a child again, alone with the private,
secret life of Isthmus. Birds sing out from their hiding places.
At the main bandstand drunk queens lie scattered on the floor or
passed out against the walls. The thump-thump of last night’s
121
disco music has worn down to a nub of old salsa.
A couple of dykes slow-dance in the middle of the floor, forehead
to forehead.
-María Lionza hazme un milagrito y un ramo e flores
te vo’ a llevar
Ella es la reina que el pueblo adora, ella es la diosa
mas popular-
Homzi follows the trail of discarded cowboy hats littering the
ground. When he reaches the path where last night’s queens
came looking for a fight he stops in his tracks.
Paralyzed by a vision, unable to believe his eyes.
He comes face to face with a large black leopard who regards the
boy with faint curiosity for a tiny moment before continuing on
his way.
Overwhelmed, Homzi crumples to the ground and breaks into
huge gasping sobs and an endless stream of tears.
122
123
JOTADE
Jotade despierta con el sol picotéandole las pupilas. Desnudo y
tiritando, su cuerpo cubierto de rocío.
No hay señales de Homzi.
Busca sus jeans debajo de una banca y en el bolsillo delantero
encuentra su stash personal.
Se mete un par de huecos para recibir el día con ganas; se
zambulle en el agua cálida de la piscina.
124
Jotade murmura algo que se asemeja a una oración y entonces
empieza a reirse y chapotear y a pegar gritos de júbilo a todo
pulmón.
125
A Dylan
We must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere.
126
The morning after, we decided to look for the river one more time
before heading back up for breakfast; we walk downhill maybe a
half a mile through the underbrush and then climb down a steep
slope in comfortable silence the whole time.
We run into a pathetic-looking creek.
‘This is the great river Jota’s been crowing about non-stop?’ says
El Pez.
‘Maybe he came in the rainy season,’ I say.
‘Fucking Jota,’ says El Pez. ‘You can’t believe a word the queen
says.’
‘Jotade does love to exaggerate.’
‘That’s the understatement of the fucking century,’ says El Pez.
127
128
We must’ve climbed back up the wrong cliff. El Pez munched
some pills and we got lost in conversation and I guess we didn’t
notice. We weren’t paying very close attention.
‘How come you do not drive?’ he asks.
‘I just think it’s ridiculous, I guess.’ That’s about as true a thing
as I can say. ‘It’s declassé’
129
‘Driving is vulgar in my family. It's like asking someone to pee
on you. In bad taste.
Driving is something you pay other people to do, like your
laundry. You ask 'How much to Boca La Caja' and The Lord either
allows you to put your life in His hands or He doesn't.’
I could’ve sworn I’d seen that tree before, the one with the red
flowers. The one with the hanging vines with the sweet fragrance
as we passed it. I remembered all of this, it never raised any
flags.
‘As I’ve grown older I realize that not driving is also a great asset
to my sex life.’
El Pez stops and stares at me.
'Buenos Tardes,' I say. ‘That's how the cruising starts.’
He laughs. We keep walking.
‘Driving is for the lower classes, remember that,’ I tell him.
‘Never forget it.’
130
131
It took us two more nights to find our way out of the wilderness.
By then we were ravaged with hunger.
We follow the river downhill and eventually arrive at a small
village, and since the river was always there we always had water
but there wasn't always food. Just fruit.
No real food, but plenty of water and plenty of drugs in the First
Aid Kit.
132
133
HOMZI
Someone knocked on the door of the cabin but nobody came in.
Whoever it was knocked a few times but Homzi couldn’t care
enough to get up and see. He couldn’t even care enough to ask
who it was.
He couldn’t sleep either -he just lay there- looping the sight of
134
the leopard over and over in the darkened room.
‘Where the fuck are you?’ he thinks. ‘Why do you leave me here
alone?’
When he can’t bear it anymore, he makes a phone call. Sends a
text. Then another.
Then he closes his eyes and waits for someone anyone to answer.
135
136
A DYLAN
On the first night we were officially lost, we saw what looked like
a campfire up ahead -just over that small hill. Of course we go to
it.
We approach quietly, trying not to scare the people camping -
who’d likely freak out at the sight of two strung-out strangers
wandering in from the jungle.
137
We peek from behind some trees, but there’s nobody at the fire.
There’s not even trace of anyone -no cooking, no tent: just an
unattended campfire under a rock outcropping in the middle of
the jungle.
‘What the fuck is this?’ says El Pez. ‘Where’s the people, where’s
the food?’
‘Maybe they left it for us?’ I say.
‘Who?’
‘The jungle demons! Who gives a shit man, I’m tired and wet
and now we have fire. We can ask why later, in the daylight
preferably.’
‘You can go sleep,’ says El Pez. ‘I’ll stay up and keep an eye out.’
He pops a couple more pills, even though he’s been bug-eyed
since this afternoon.
‘You’re never gonna sleep if you keep taking those,’ I say.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ he says. ‘Get some rest. I’ll sleep when
138
I’m dead.’
139
JOTADE
Jotade se pasó toda la tarde viendo unas locas practicar
malabarismos. Se montan unas sobre las otras y hacen
pirámides humanas.
Se caen un montón, pero se ríen con ganas y eso le encanta a
Jotade: ver a la gente reírse desde lo más profundo de su alma.
140
Así que se quedó tirado sobre la grama un largo tiempo, cagado
de la risa viendo las locas pararse de cabeza y las nubes como
trenes que nunca se detienen.
‘Porque no juegas?’ dice una voz a su lado.
‘Quien dice que no juego?’ pregunta Jotade. ‘No me ves riendo?’
Un chico jovencito y delgado, acholado, con una linda sonrisa.
‘Mirar no es jugar,’ dice el chico.
‘Mirar es mejor,’ dice Jotade y le extiende su mano. ‘Mucho
gusto, Josué.’
‘Coclé’ dice el chico. ‘Encantado.’
‘Ven siéntate,’ dice Jotade. ‘Ven a mirar conmigo. Me cago de la
risa cuando se cae la gorda; pega unos alaridos.’
Las locas intentan una maniobra complicada donde cuatro se
acuclillan y otra se les abalanza encima e intenta rodar sobre sus
espaldas. Lo que consiguen es darse unos buenos mamellazos.
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El chico se sienta en la grama.
‘Rimamos,’ dice Jotade y lo mira a los ojos. ‘Aunque mis amigos
me dicen Jota.’
‘A mi todos me dicen Coclé’
‘Quieres coca?’ dice Jotade y saca su stash.
‘Por supuesto,’ dice Coclé. Se mete un jale y le intenta regresar
el toque inmediatamente.
‘Dale sin pena,’ dice Jotade, ‘que aquí estamos en familia.’
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En el momento en que las energías flaquean, Jotade reune a las
locas malabaristas y les reparte jales de coca, sosteniéndoles él
mismo el toque a sus narices para que no se lo embarren de lodo.
‘Vamos a ver si ahora se ponen las pilas,’ le dice a Coclé y se
sienta de nuevo en la grama.
Las locas, inspiradas, se dejan de dar tumbos y deciden inventar
una coreografía con muchos saltos y splits enteros.
‘No te vi anoche,’ dice Jotade.
‘Llegamos tarde,’ dice Coclé.
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‘Vinistes con...?’
‘Mi hermana,’ dice Coclé. ‘Es cueca.’
‘Tus padres deben estar orgullosísimos.’
‘No tienes ni la más mínima idea.’
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COCLÉ
Nuestra Primera Revelación ocurre al borde del río.
-Murmura el río 'Cuenta'
Y hay muchos que cuando escuchan 'Cuenta!' lo primero que
se les viene a la mente es un número y por eso sabemos que
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estamos perdidos. Los Conservadores nunca poseen los mejores
cuentos porque ellos nada más ven números.
Y los cuentos de números son como bebés sin vida -llegan DOA.
Llevas diez minutos sin decir nada.
-No me dejas.
-Pero es que ni haces el intento. No veo lenguaje corporal, nada
más que me enseñas la pinga cada chance que tienes.
-Y la miras cada chance que te doy
-Entonces para que hablamos? Porque no nos metemos tras los
matorrales y te mamo tu descomunal pinga?
-Pórque no?
-Porque entonces cual es la diferencia entre nosotros y los
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pájaros -nosotros y las ardillas?
-Los pájaros cantan
-Los pájaros se comunican - que es diferente
-Entonces en que quedamos con lo de la mamada?
-Hueles a bugspray
-Eso que tiene...?
-Quizás para ti el desinfectante es un afrodisíaco, pero yo prefiero
mis descomunales con sabor a playa limpia, no a cámara de gas
Ahí llegastes tu
-Qué hablan?
-Paja, dice él
-Me encanta hablar paja! dices.
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-Es más fácil ser tu, te digo. Tu eres bonita. No requieres tantos
malabares mentales.
-Deja el el drama, me regañas. NO te estas poniendo viejo.
-Aún
-Aún es todo lo que hay
Empieza a llover -llevaba horas amenazando y de un segundo al
otro se cierran las nubes y cae el agua.
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Quedamos debajo de una casa-árbol. Llueve a cántaros.
Estamos los tres calados y tiritando. Ambos nos abrazamos a él.
-No va a parar jamás, nos dice. Subimos y salimos del agua, por
lo menos?
Arriba, increíblemente, está seco. No hay mucho espacio para
estar de pie, sólo justo al centro. Hay un par de mesitas toscas y
una plataforma de cajas en el medio.
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No pierdes tiempo. Apenas entramos te sacas la camiseta y te
quitas los tights.
Encuentras una liga en una mesa y te haces una cola.
Nos sentamos contra la pared mas seca, a un lado de las cajas.
Él se quita la camisa y me ayuda a quitarme la mía.
Nos acurrucamos los tres.
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The Tree House
The Austrian Pavilion houses a re-creation of
Frederick Kiesler’s sublime 1925 “City in Space,”
a three-dimensional white grid of intersecting
planes and beams that occupies an entire
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gallery, its intersecting lines extending toward
infinity.
“What are our houses but coffins towering
up from the earth into the air?” Kiesler wrote
then. “Cemeteries have more air for the
skeletons of their dead than our cities for the
lungs of their living.”
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A DYLAN
A noise awoke me. It sounds like
‘Who the fuck are you?’
El Pez is conked out against a tree.
‘Wake up, you fool.’ I tell him.
‘What the fuck are you doing here!?’ whistles out the funniest-
looking little midget -not an actual midget, but like a tiny native
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human.
‘You’re supposed to be keeping an eye out,’ I yell at El Pez but
he’s like a light.
‘Did Papaguá send you? Is this a prank? You’re scaring the shit
out of me.’
‘We’re scaring you? You’re scaring me, coming in here whistling
and spitting at me.’
‘This is my fire!’
‘Did you start it?’
‘No’
‘Then how can it be your fire?’
‘They made it for me!’
‘Who!?’
‘None of your fucking business! Wake your friend and leave now.’
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‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it’s dark and wet out.’
‘I don’t care, I need to be alone.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way but it’s still pissing out’
‘You don’t understand’
‘Explain it to me’ -and then I shake El Pez- ‘wake up,
motherfucker, look at the mess we’re in and you’re fucking
dreaming the dream of ages’
‘I won’t pass,’ says the funny little man. ‘I must do it alone in
order to pass the test.’
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156
HOMZI & JOTADE
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How could anything bad possibly happen to them in Isthmus?
They’re just fucking around, that’s all.
-What if... some animal?
Listen, I don’t know where you come from, but where I come
from people don’t get eaten in the woods, ok? They’re high and
having the time of their lives and we’re sitting here worrying over
nothing.
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‘What is the test?’ I ask. ‘What happens if you don’t pass?’
‘Don’t even joke about that’
‘So what’s the test -maybe I can help you. Maybe we can help
you’
‘I have to speak across time until the morning.’
Maybe he’s high? I think
‘I’m not high,’ he says. I crap my pants a little, I have to be
honest with you.
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‘How the fuck...?’
‘Please,’ he says. ‘Wake your friend. I need to be alone.’
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COCLÉ
Me desperté y se la estabas mamando en la esquina.
-Son un asco! les grito
Bajo la escalinata, salto al lodo y salgo corriendo bajo el aguacero
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HOMZI
It’s been raining all afternoon and Homzi’s about to skip a groove
with cabin fever when salvation arrives via text-mail.
‘ON OUR WAY,’ it reads. ‘CAVALRY IS COMING!!!!’
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I finally get El Pez to wake up.
‘This motherfucker is reading my mind,’ I yell at him. I must
seem quite unhinged to him because he jumps back and crouches
as if in a position to attack.
I point at the little angry native:
‘This motherfucker over here,’ I say. ‘You’re supposed to keep an
eye out.’
He looks at me.
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‘I’m sorry.’
‘Will you two shut the fuck up!’
We both stare at the kid -I know realize he’s just a kid. A very
old-looking, tired-looking kid.
‘Listen,’ he says out loud. ‘You guys can stay but you have to be
quiet, ok. There can be no talking, no sound, ok?’
El Pez and I nod at once.
‘Ok,’ says the kid. He sits crosslegged and produces a small jar.
We sit.
He unscrews the top and shakes dried fruit onto his palm.
He offers the snacks to us.
God bless this little midget!
And just as I’m thinking that I hear inside my head
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‘I am NOT a midget!’
I look at El Pez, I feel faint -my knees are buckling.
El Pez looks straight into my eyes with the same terror I feel -it’s
like looking in a mirror
He even lets out a little-girl scream -and I have to laugh
And then the kid laughs
‘You must relax,’ says his voice inside our heads.
‘Or I’ll never pass the test’
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HOMZI
The real queens showed up after the rain.
Homzi had already told them that tonight’s theme is ‘Sports’ so
they came prepared.
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This party never knew what hit it.
They came roaring up the driveway in four cars and they pulled
right up to the bandstand -over the grass, over a fair number
of flower beds, right up to the wood and concrete of the tented
dancefloor
They bounce out of the cars in wigs and heels and basketball
shorts. In full makeup.
The cars’ stereos drown out the sad little party DJ and his disco
music.
‘We heard there’s a game tonight,’ says La Miranda in full
cheerleaders outfit.
‘We came to cheer!’
They all cheer.
‘You weren’t invited!’ says one of the gathering party-queens.
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‘Invited?’ says La Gladys, who just stepped out of another car
dressed like a synchronized swimmer -hair-cap and all. ‘But we
came to cheer!’
They cheer.
‘This is a private event,’ says another party-queen. ‘You can’t be
here, you have to leave.’
‘But you’re not listening to us, girls,’ yells La Miranda over the
Cumbia blaring from one of the car speakers. ‘We came here to
cheer!’
The drag queens cheer and a bottle flies out from the party’s mob
-it bounces off one of the cars’ roof, denting it a little
‘You’re trespassing,’ the mob screams. ‘Look at the damage
you’ve caused. They’re gonna sue you for that, you know.’
‘You’re gonna sue the poor?’ says La Gladys and all the girls
laugh. Homzi laughs too, and the party queens who surround
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him give him cold hard stares
‘You can’t sue the poor!’
Another bottle zooms through the air -this one busts out a tail-
light
‘You’re gonna pay for that!’ cries La Gladys
‘I’m calling the police!’ comes the reply
Two queens with basketballs dribble over to the crowd and it
parts, letting them onto the dance floor
The two queens bounce the balls between their legs and make
improbable passes to each other
One of the party-queens intercepts a pass, bounces the ball twice
on the floor and then kicks it out toward the cars. He signals for
the queens to follow it.
They square off, the party-guy in the middle and the two
basketbal drag-queens circling him like players in offense
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They bounce the ball very fast and very hard, barely missing him
‘Stop that,’ comes a cry from the crowd. ‘You’re gonna hurt him!’
The queens stop bouncing the ball and start hurtling it straight at
the guy’s head. He ducks, but it’s damn close to braining him.
The sound of glass shattering.
A nasty fistfight breaks out out by the cars.
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A HOMZI
El kid salió huyendo como un demonio. Y detrás de él salió la
hermana correteandolo.
Yo no me voy a mojar por drama.
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Yo me quedo seco en la casa del árbol y cuando se empieza a
colar el agua por las ventanas me recuesto sobre las cajas.
Es como una camita y me acuerdo que la cholita salió corriendo
sin terminarme, y con la lluvia y todo, pues quien se resiste.
Me la jalo un poco y me resuelvo y sin darme cuenta me quedo
dormido.
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Me despierto y ya es de noche.
Entre limpiarme y reorientar la mente, mi mano encuentra algo
sobre una de las cajas. Algo cilíndrico y chiquitito.
Dos algos. Pastillas.
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Esos cabrones estuvieron fiesteando aquí.
Y Nosotros preocupándonos como unos estúpidos
Y tu haciendo tu show como un imbécil
Y ellos dos andaban por aquí, pasándola de lo más bien y
tragándoselo todo.
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178
A DYLAN
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His name is Bartolomé and we’ve stumbled onto some sort of
rumspringa - his rite of passage
The dried fruit are to help ‘speak across time’
He tells us these things -just like he shows us his village and
his parents and his brothers and sisters- but his lips do not
move, except to smile or to make an exaggerated expression of
surprise. Or sadness.
He sends the messages out -a signal that El Pez and I receive as
clearly as these words I write
And we understand each other
The three of us, we increasingly share one mental space until I
start to see El Pez’s mind clearer and clearer and he begins to see
into mine.
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A HOMZI
Me guarde las píldoras y subí a buscarte.
Había lodo por todos lados.
Toco a tu puerta, pero te debes haber dormido.
Necesito bañarme, y cambiarme, así que entro a la casa por la
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puerta de atrás, les hecho un par de chistes a las empleadas en
la cocina y subo a la ducha
Me estoy enjabonando cuando escucho que alguien abre y cierra
la puerta -entra al cuarto de baño conmigo
Grito algo como ‘Ocupado!’ pero nadie responde
Abro la puerta de la ducha y el vapor llena el cuarto, empaña los
espejos.
‘Quien anda ahi?’ pregunto.
‘Yo’ dice una voz
Y de la niebla blanca sale desnudo Coclé -un indiecito rubio y
lampiño
‘Me estas siguiendo?’ le digo
‘Ajá.’
‘Trancastes la puerta?’ pregunto
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‘Claro.’
‘Que ya tu familia me ha dado suficientes sorpresas hoy’
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A DYLAN
He concluded we must part of the test so he kept offering us
dried fruit and we kept taking it
I sent you some today -it wasn’t easy to get. But it’s the
authentic thing. Keep an eye out for a box full of Folger’s
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At some point we are communing, the three of us out in that
rock, the river rushing next to us and I can touch my own mind in
the future, and in the past; I can bridge them together
Bartolomé calls it speaking across time and I can only add that
it’s like publishing, or broadcasting, but at the most intimate level
possible, at a cellular, atomic level -you shape this message but it
acquires a life of its own. And before you know it you’re soaring
beyond language in pure visions of memory, of imagination
Speaking in tongues of only perception:
Los cuecos? Los cuecos son la misma vaina en todos lados.
En Tailandia están las mismas loquitas, los mismos viejos verdes
que en Polonia que tiene las mismas musculocas que Moscú y
París y Trash Beach.
Los mismos cuecos hablando de las mismas cuecadas en
diferentes idiomas pero el mismo acento. Ese acento de cueco,
cantadito así
Es siempre la misma vaina que si el pelito pintado, que si
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enseñas el pecho o enseñas el culo
Los cuecos de hoy son las mújeres del pasado -el funcionamiento
de todo universo económico depende de nosotros.
-Entre el delirio y las alucionaciones hablamos buco paja -pero
todo lo que nos ilumina siempre es paja.
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Salimos del cuarto porque hasta alla arriba escuchabamos el
ruido de la trifulca.
Nos terminamos de vestir en el pasillo, y la gritería se hace más
fuerte, se cuela por las ventanas con el viento
Bajamos las escaleras, atravesamos el salón ese inmenso con los
espejos y salimos al jardín: la bulla viene de la pista de baile
Tomo a Coclé de la mano y doy zancadas hacia el revulú -
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escuchamos un caos de acordeones, de tambores y disco-beats e
insultos y groserías
Llegamos a ver el momento cuando una draga agarra a una loca
por las greñas y la estrella contra un carro. Dos beisbolistas le
caen encima a la draga que lleva unos shorts del Real Madrid y
unos plataformas estilo converse
Dos nadadores le huyen a otra draga con un palo de hockey y
una máscara de atajador
Varias cheerleaders ensangrentadas y rofionas
Hasta que llega la chota -los pacos- rodean la pista de baile con
sus jeeps y empiezan a repartir manduco a diestra y siniestra
Coclé y yo nos hacemos los locos y nos escapamos con otro
grupos de locas que encontraron un caminito detrás del depósito
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At some point Bartolomé slips away on his own journey and I fall
completely in synch with El Pez
I feel the sun on my face, the warmth of the yard
and it stirs something familiar in me
a complementary experience of mine
and we don’t even have to look at each other anymore: we sit
connected but facing each in our own direction, making eye
contact for emphasis or theatrics
The sun on my face even though the stars are out
And that unfamiliar sense of freedom possibility of choice
191
I get to see inside El Pez’s jail
and he gets to see inside mine
except that mine looks a lot like a hospital
with busy nurses and pills in little cups on little trays
Mine looks like looking out of windows while his looks like prison
bars, like cages inside cages
The First has perfected the illusion of Freedom, it functions on the
most advanced sensory language man has yet to develop
The Third on the other hand has not yet learned the basic sleight
of hand required to turn jails into clinics
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193
De lejos vimos como montaban a las dragas a las chotas
esposadas a sus espaldas con un cintillo de plástico
El anfitrión de la fiesta deber ser aquel que le habla al policía
encargado en privado, separado de los demás guardias: algún
favor muy jugoso ha de estar pidiendo
Al final, acaba la negociación y los policías se largan con su carga
de locas emputadas y gritonas y dejan atrás los cuatro carros
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Y alguién por fin -bendito sea- se mete en uno de ellos y apaga la
cumbia.
Desde entonces no supe más de ti hasta hoy
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Cuando regresan los policías a buscar los otros tres carros, todas
las locas de la fiesta han quedado bochincheando en la pista de
baile -en la escena del crimen.
Las únicas que se fueron a dormir -las únicas que intuyen bien
cuando una fiesta se ha acabado- fueron las cuecas.
Casi todas las cuecas porque a mis pies quedaba una todavía,
una que hace apenas quince minutos me susurra al oído,
aprovechando que el hermano fue a mear:
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-Soy mas bi que cueca-cueca
-Eso mismo notaba yo, le dije.
-Tu también eres?
-Soy que?
-Bi
-Hay que comer lo que haya.
Uno de los oficiales -ya estos tongos no venían de verde, sino de
federales, con chaquetas como los de la PTJ y con gorras- pide
que se apague la música y declama:
“Dice uno /una- de los/las- atacantes, que ha extraviado un collar
de perlas muy valiosas. Ha visto alguien un collar de perlas sin
dueño?”
EL murmuro del bochinche se detiene por un segundo y luego
resume sin interrupción.
‘Disculpen señores,’ dice el oficial, ‘pero si no encontramos este
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valioso collar de perlas, que según me dicen tiene mucho valor
sentimental, tendremos que investigarlos a ustedes uno a uno.’
‘Aqui no hay nada,’ dice una loca desde la oscuridad.
‘Dile que lo busque en su chocha,’ dice otra anónima.
El oficial se rasca la cabeza. Señala a sus compañeros, que
rodean la pista de baile.
‘Discúlpenme si les molesto una vez más... pero, cuantos
invitados hay en esta fiesta, más o menos?’
‘None of your business!’ le sibila un extranjero en tercera fila
‘Las unicas que no quedan son las cuecas,’ dice la niña a mis
rodillas. ‘Ellas duermen temprano como las gallinas.’
El oficial se nos acerca - a Coclé a mi lado se le escapa un
escalofrío
‘Y usted, señorita, no es como las gallinas?’
‘No, yo en realidad soy un pato disfrazado de gallina.’
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‘Entonces la señorita está tremenda para una buena sopa.’
Los guardias cierran filas a nuestro alrededor -habría que estar
drogado para no notarlo
‘Se los voy a decir solamente una vez más putitos, así que
escuchenme bien’
‘Ay papi tas hablando como los narcos de las novelas’
‘Arriba los Blackberry!’ grita el oficial y desenfunda su taser. ‘Que
ya me cabrié de escuchar cuecadas.’
Todos los guardias desenfundan.
‘Y saquen las billeteras también!’
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Por supuesto que cuando llegan a donde mi la niña le refunfuña y
el oficial se acuerda de la bocona y sus palabras sucias
La revisa; la toquetea toda y la otra se emputa aun más; luego
me revisan a mi y me acuerdo muy tarde y ya el cabo siente con
sus dedos en mi bolsillo las dos píldoras que encontré en la casa
del árbol y nunca llegué a tomarme
‘Oficial!’ grita el cabo. Ahora si nos jodimos.
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El Oficial mira las dos píldoras y me ignora completamente. Se
dirige exclusivamente a ella -a la niña
‘Así que es de esta clase de fiestas?’ dice El Oficial
‘Sáquense todos los bolsillos que yo creo que conseguimos pa’l
recreo’
Los guardias cachean a los cuecos y les decomisan cualquier
cantidad de polvos y poppers, pastillas e inhalantes de diferentes
categorías colores y sabores
‘Que hace una guial tan linda en un lugar como este?’ le pregunta
El Oficial y la niña se queda muda
Se le acerca a la cara
‘No tienes a un macho que te de buen rejo?’
Los otros guardias se ríen y se empiezan a dispersar -algunos
arrancan los carros que dejaron las dragas
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La niña le escupe la cara al Oficial
-arrancan los carros y arranca de nuevo la bendita cumbia
El Oficial agarra a la niña por el pelo y la fuerza a arrodillarse.
Coclé empieza a lloriquear.
El Oficial saca a relucir su hebilla, se la pone casi en la frente a la
niña
‘Bésamela’ le dice
La niña ni lo mira
‘Que me la beses, te digo,’ y le empuja la nariz en su hebilla a la
niña
La niña como una estatua -como en otro planeta
El Oficial le restrega la cara en el frente del pantalon
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le abre los labios a la fuerza a la niña mientras la agarra del pello
Le rechina los dientes de la niña en su hebilla y luego la tira al
piso
Coclé ya esta llorando a moco tendido
El Oficial la agarra por el pelo a la niña y se la lleva arrastrando y
pataleando por el piso y la grama
Coclé se desgalilla gritando
Yo no doy más de tres pasos a tratar de tomarle el brazo, o la
pierna, hacer algo para que no se la lleven a la niña, le agarro un
tobillo
y siento en el pecho una explosión -quinientos voltios de
electricidad
pensé que me había caído un rayo
Caigo hacia atrás, reboto de la cabeza de Coclé que no hace más
nada que gritar como un poseído y quedo de rodillas, viéndolos
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alejarse
El Oficial la jala por los pelos y la mete gritando en uno de los
carros de las dragas -el carro con la cumbia a todo volumen
Cierran todas las puertas y chillan los frenos, y aceleran los
guardias en un convoy que se convierte en luces flotando como
fantasmas, arremetiendo contra las plantas y levantando una
tremenda polvareda
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The sun on my face under a blanket of stars and it transports me
back, I can’t help it
but he’s sharing it now, El Pez, looking inside me and I can’t hold
the visions back anymore than I can cut off my heartbeat, but I
am able turn them this way and that
I can make him look where I want him to see
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The first face I reveal to him is my brother, who came for me,
who has come to my rescue: I open my eyes and I feel nothing
but I recognize his face, my hero from birth, I see his face and I
know that I’m no longer in danger because my big brother is here
and there is nothing to fear.
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And then I show him the clinic, the way it looked during my
intake, the forms we kept signing and shuffling back and forth
The yard in the afternoon, the sun on my face
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The medicine, the therapy, the talking. The talking, the talking,
the endless fucking talking
I show El Pez the only thing that got me through it, through the
entire deteriorating loop of my ordeal there
the only happiness in my days
the pills the nurses brought once in the morning and twice in the
afternoon
I show him how the genius of The First consists of converting
criminals into patients
how with the right dose, the right combination of the right
chemistry any prison can become a clinic
And every inmate can finally be free.
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210
Para cuando llegaron los auténticos tongos en sus auténticos
patrullas a buscar los carros que dejaron atrás ya todas las locas
se habían recogido o se habían largado de vuelta a la capital.
Sólo quedábamos Coclé y yo en la pista de baile apagada
Les contamos lo del secuestro, lo del atraco, lo de los tasers y ni
uno de ellos siquiera se dignó a tomar apuntes
No me sorprendería si ni supieran escribir
Coclé se fue con ellos, cosas de familia, dijeron. Se monto con
los tongos y desde entonces no lo he vuelto a ver
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Las sirenas retroceden y quedo solo en la penumbra. Sobrio,
cabriao y adolorido
Cuando se acaban las drogas se acaba el cuento.
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A JOTADE
En el pueblito nos dan sopa -sabe a lodo, pero es comida
Nadie sabe nada ni de la fiesta, ni de Bartolomé. Solo quieren
darnos sopa e irse inmediatamente.