We entered the deserted house, a shed or hangar with a gigantic sofa in the middle. The tip of Bambi’s cigarette was our only source of light, and that was swallowed by the darkness after every drag … until the bearer of the torch managed to find the switch. Dazzled, we glanced in every direction. Hulot began barking. As Bambi anticipated before entering, there were no ashtrays; and, as she foresaw in her earlier comment, the walls were covered in childish doodles resembling those of Dubuffet [genre, realist]. One wall, however, the one we happened to be facing, was the only one depicting something symbolic, a fairy tale. It was a cartoon of the cottage in which Hansel and Gretel lived after they poisoned the original owner with a blowgun they borrowed from Beddoes, and afterwards, burnt her with the help of Giordano Bruno. Then, from the doorway of this Trompe-l’œil, emerged a very tall though fleshy woman in dowdy dress, a fashion victim in every sense, holding an aerosol can in her hand.
— Who are you people and what are you doing in my house?
— You’re ruining our fun, Sophonisba — said Bambi casually, looking straight at her—. Perhaps you don’t recognize me?
— If you don’t get out of here right now, I’m going to scream …
— You’re already screaming — observed Hope.
— Get out, you tourists, you gawkers! This is the house of St. Mawr!
— Mary and Joseph didn’t own the manger, heretic.
— Ever since we got married, Woodrow and I wanted to give all English children the opportunity to get to know their favorite literary characters … That’s why St. Mawr had to be born here, because the children deserve to be surrounded by their favorite literary characters.
— If all that’s true, why didn’t you kidnap Bambi? — asked James sensibly, surreptitiously.
— Shut your mouth, I’ll have you know the president of the institution supports us.
— You take a risk at covering up what can be easily uncovered by us.
James rushed the sofa, which no longer faced us but seemed to have us corralled in the corner of the room, provoking a mock chase and a change of position worthy of comic scene in a silent movie. Now Christine Knowles Kinsey stood where we were standing thirty seconds before. Hulot spent the whole time reclining comfortably on the sofa. The second period of the shouting match began when Bambi said brashly:
— Triste, the father of St. Mawr, belongs to us. Malanoche, the daughter of Noctámbula and Padrenuestro, and Nabucodonosor, the son of Casualidad and Monaguillo, together begat Comino; and Comino lay with Aldebarán and begat Úkase, and Úkase lay with Solombra or Sansueña — sister (night)mares — and begat Triste. The sky was indifferent. The clouds were like ash. Or maybe chalk …
— Just because you know his ancestry doesn’t make you his owner, you jumped-up whore!
— Are you going to make a moral issue of it, Mary Poppins? I’m not the one who dedicates every day of her life to corrupting kids.
— Look at yourself. You’re a mess! Haven’t you heard of clothing?
— Haven’t you heard of a mirror? Or do you think looking at yourself means bowing your head whenever you see a reflective surface?
— Fucking Olympian slut among whores!
— Fucking bitch! Dowdy old cheesecloth-wearing Calvinist …
— Whore of Babylon! Fucker of multitudes!
— Miserable nun! So easily found out by a pathetic copyist, and now he’s going to ruin you …
To prevent the duel [between the two] going on [indefinitely], James once more intervened. But when he did, it seemed Christine was no longer our only opponent. Accompanying her was a short man with his fringe combed forward. Like Moe from the Three Stooges.
— Onanist altar boy …
— Let’s resolve this issue once and for all — said James.
— Doing so would require us to be reasonable. Lower the weapon, my dear — said the man with the fringe. Then he turned to address us—: Forgive poor Chrissie’s want of eloquence; she’s rarely well-spoken when she’s nervous … but within a society of which we’re all members …
— I’m sure he’s not a member — interrupted Christine, pointing at me—. I’ve never seen him before, Woodrow …
— He must be an invited guest, then — retorted Woodrow, before continuing his explanation. But he was interrupted again [by something unexpected]. Bambi leapt behind the sofa, and
NO. St. Mawr was by no means where she thought. Dragged on longer than expected.
Early
The Referent
Xochimilco Diary
[Her strict sonnet]
Sodomy / allegations
#???
Contre-rejet
A sonnet Nicasio challenged me to write,
Not about me — a thing completely alien
A concept too remote to penetrate—
But about the things I see, the laws that govern
Outer spaces. The first law discourages
Me to love a man who only gives me bitter
Looks. But being full to rupture with desire
I let a trickle fall upon these pages.
For the small space between the gut and heart
Is like a city state whose frowning prince
Forbids desire’s polluting influence.
Yet, a silent blush [frown] is all he need impart
To silently renounce [confirm] the looks he gave,
And I’ll write a different sonnet to my love.
Elena Siesta, Errands
Then include a proto-prologue / procto-prologue
XOCHIMILCO DIARY
Sunday, March 23, 1100 hours. Solstice, Xochimilco.
We should’ve arrived early for the celebrations, but Luini and Zi Benno didn’t want to. So we’ll have to wait until after one p.m. to witness the (second) Grand entrance of the Great Chihuahua of Xochimilco.
Aída and Hernán were waiting for us at the exit of the metro station. Then we took Hernán’s car (driven by Aída) to our destination. Some cajolery, talk of the festivities. And then: “This is something our rivals would never think of doing (Hernán knew we’d spent the previous evening at Sherman’s, Septimio Mir’s executor) because they’d say it’s … what’s the word they use over there?” We concluded the word they use is “vulgarian” (but we [three] neglect to add that we’d already suggested the same word to “his rivals” the previous night).
11.15. At the pier. Last minute doubts dispelled by Aída or Hernán. Exploring the boat, Luini was delighted to find a large table flanked by long benches. Then he thought he hit the jackpot when he saw that Hernán brought eighteen bottles of beer, five bottles of tequila, two of rum — apt, since we now comprised a naval crew — and [thrown in for good measure] a bottle of sangria.