ECOLOGICAL DISASTER
300 TONNES OF CRUDE OIL IN
THE PERSIAN GULF
Eloísa goes to the toilet. I’m left alone with Axel who, without letting go of the phone, pressing keys blindly with his thumb, suddenly smiles at me, but says nothing. Since he doesn’t sustain eye contact, I focus on a large, recently squeezed spot that’s perfectly equidistant between his brows, a third eye. A fine scab is forming at the edges, the still fresh blood coagulating in the centre. The slight difference in skin tone between that area and the rest of his forehead makes me suspect he is wearing some kind of make-up. I’m not sure.
I take advantage of the interlude to look around me. The thing that grabs my attention most is the cabaret-style bar with gold studs, dark wood, the deep-red cushioned edging making you want to sink an elbow into it. The drinking-den effect is continued with a row of burgundy-coloured stools and the bottles multiplied by the mirrored walls behind the counter, liqueurs, wines, whiskies, grenadine. Further along, built into the wall, there’s a grill, as large as a double bed. From a distance, I can make out a couple of chickens and a piece of steak, that’s all. A grill of that size must have functioned to its full potential at some point, or perhaps not, it could be a project that failed in the attempt. Even more disconcerting is an arrangement of vines, garlands and pineapples, somewhere between Caribbean and Amazonian, swinging above the bar. Another jungle.
So, how’s the city treating you? Axel is speaking, he surprises me. I turn to look at him at the same time as he discards his phone on the table, opening and closing his hands as if the muscles have cramped from so much tapping. Yeah, I say, it’s fine. And the zoo? It must be something spending all day there, isn’t it? Like a film. Yes, just like a film. He wants me to tell him an anecdote about animals, but everything that comes to mind involves humans, Iris in the jungle, Canetti deliberately turning to shit, Yessica and her fake tits. I invent something about a goose that tried to escape and was caught crossing the road. Axel laughs loudly, grunting like a pig, a piece of burger in his mouth.
Meanwhile, a man with no legs enters the bar, travelling on a kind of skateboard, but square, like a mobile platform. He’s wearing glasses with green lenses, like jam-jar bottoms; rather than seeing better it’s as though he doesn’t want to see at all. He stretches out his hand. He passes us and Axel pulls a face of repulsion, he clenches his fists as if he were in pain too, it’s unclear why, whether it’s the legs, the misery or the stumps. Something is torturing him. In his hurry to get rid of the poor fellow, Axel puts his hand in his trouser pocket and instead of taking out what he was looking for, he spills a load of coins on the floor, some notes too. The cripple devotes himself to collecting it all, moving with amazing dexterity; Axel makes as if to bend down but aborts the movement halfway. Perturbed, he plugs his mouth with bread, chewing as best he can, jaws full, and refuses energetically when the man gestures to hand back everything that fell. He tells him with signs to take it all, that he wants nothing more than for him to get out of his sight quickly. The process leaves Axel exhausted and sweating, fists clenched on the table, not even craving his mobile. I’ll be right back, I’m going to buy cigarettes, he says, and flees.
Eloísa takes advantage of Axel’s absence to tell me about him. He’s really quite alone, she says, confirming my intuition about how the couple got together. It’s highly likely that Axel would say the same about her. Pity for pity’s sake, that sounds about right, after everything. You have no idea of the money they have, not a clue, she continues. Axel’s parents live in Miami, they left after a kidnap attempt on his sister. Eloísa saw her once: An aberration. Axel wanted to stay because of his girlfriend, Débora, another moron. The boy handles the family’s money, but as for doing, he does nothing. Did I tell you they own a jeweller’s? They’re shit-deep in money but really stingy. Stingy, I repeat, surprised to hear Eloísa use that word. Stingy, she repeats: Tight-fisted, penny-pinching, miserly. And she continues: As you can see, he’s a real druggy. I’ve seen him out of it hundreds of times, practically dead. But I love him — pah, I don’t know if I love him; I like him and we have fun. I live at the back of the house, we see each other when we want to and when we don’t, we don’t. Seeing him return, Eloísa pretends not to notice and says in a whisper, as if it were another confidence: Can you imagine what Miami must be like?
They drop me at the door of the building. Eloísa asks me what my work schedule is like. She says she’ll drop by some day so we can go for a beer. She notes down her mobile number for me again, on a piece of paper this time. Before saying goodbye, she takes out a half-smoked joint and hands it to me. A little present. Getting back into the car she sticks her head out of the window again. Axel says goodbye too, with two short, sharp beeps. They disappear and I’m left like an idiot holding the door with my ankle so it doesn’t shut on me. I think about everything we said, everything we didn’t, I think about the past, everything that is no longer and never will be again, I think about how each of us had to devise our truth in relation to the other, a comparison of before and after. And that’s the reason for all the affectations, the smiles, the embarrassment, the surprise, the And you? This is mad, and I promise. All those words.
Fifteen
Saturday afternoon, the last day of the year. A few blocks before the zoo, in passing, I hear one taxi driver saying to another, as they sit in their cars, that a temperature of forty-three degrees has been forecast. That it will be a record, the highest for fifty years, and that the emergency services have declared an orange alert. Dog days, he shouts and accelerates. No matter what, if December’s like this, the chances are that January will be worse. Record or not, the heat is certainly making itself felt and at times it seems unreal. It must be between two and three o’clock, I’m in the shade and yet this blouse, too heavy for the summer, is sticking to my back, chest and armpits. Few people dare to look round the cages in the sun: one bold woman drags five rebellious children behind her, a pale adolescent passes with a sketchbook and two tourist couples enter the reptile house sweaty and happy. Since the activity is almost nil, the fiery breeze sends me to sleep. I’m alone; Yessica was feeling unwell and they gave her the day off. My blood pressure’s hit the floor, that’s what she said. Esteban didn’t appear either. The only person I saw, passing in the distance with a broom, was Canetti, who in an attempt to escape the heat went to sweep behind the toilets, a zone he always avoids because of that intolerable sewer smell.
Suddenly, above the muffled hum emanating from this incendiary cloud of heat, I hear an exclamation followed by a metallic clatter. I’m gonna bust you, you utter bastard, is what I hear. Less quickly than other curious bystanders, but still attracted by the din, I leave my hideout and take three steps forwards without venturing beyond the edge of the shade. The scene is being acted out right in front of me, next to the drinks stalclass="underline" on the ground, there’s a blond guy surrounded by a table and some chairs that fell along with him; a few metres away, a skinhead in a vest, a hefty guy, hostile expression, keeps tossing out insults in that rough voice that dragged me from my lethargy. He’s one of those skinheads who shave to disguise premature balding, to seem harder or more virile. In the second row, each man has his cheerleader. The blond guy has a little boy with curls, even blonder, of six or seven who snivels behind his back: Daddy, Daddy, he repeats, I can’t work out whether reproaching or wanting to protect him. The other man is accompanied by a girl with back-combed hair, a fuchsia top and a leather miniskirt that comes down to where her arse meets her legs. Near the blond guy I can now see the remains of a hot dog, the sausage rolling slowly down the slope towards the lake, to the delight of the otters.