* * *
Juan de la Cruz Saudade frowns as he examines the covers of a dozen DVDs from his lavish porn collection, lying in the bed of the bedroom he shares with his wife. He always ends up in the same dilemma when choosing a porn movie: big asses or little asses. The decision becomes even more complex given the size of his collection and its extraordinary range. The tits have to be big, that is the second most important rule. The pubic area has to be shaved. That is the first and most sacred of the rules. The absence of a shaved pubis is reason enough not to fuck his wife, currently absent from their household. Saudade sighs. Often the ass question mires him in a state of indecision that threatens to hinder the very process of porn watching. The visual and tactile sensations aroused by a small ass are radically different from those produced by a big ass. And yet, it can't be flatly said that one category is intrinsically better than the other. The pros and cons of both types of asses are fighting a fierce battle in his mind when he hears a series of timid little knocks on the bolted door of the bedroom.
“Daddy?” says the voice of his eight-year-old son. From the other side of the bolted door. “Can you open up for a second, please?”
Saudade clicks his tongue. He gathers up all the DVDs spread out on the bed and sticks them underneath the comforter. He sits on the bed, lights the stub of the joint he has in the ashtray on the bedside table and takes two drags as his son's knocking continues. He opens the window and waves his arms to get rid of the smoke like certain teenagers do after secretly smoking joints in the bathrooms of their parents' houses. Finally he opens the door and looks at his son with a defiant face. His son looks at him with a frown. Dressed in footsie pajamas that are too small for him and visibly squeeze his neck and shoulder area.
“What?” asks Saudade.
“Why is the window open when it's so cold out?” asks the boy with a frown. “And what is that bulge under the covers?”
Saudade puts his hands on his hips.
“Do you mind going back to your room?” he says. “It's Christmas Eve, for the love of God.”
Cristian Saudade, eight years old, only child of the civil marriage between Juan de la Cruz and Matilde Saudade, lowers his eyes. The multicolored patterns on his too-small footsie pajamas depict the four main characters in Los Lunis, a kids' show on TV that's like a poor man's Muppets. His father remains motionless at the door to his room wearing only briefs and a promotional T-shirt of a heavy metal group that peaked in the eighties.
“When is Mom getting out of jail?” asks the boy.
Saudade rubs his temples with his index finger and thumb.
“Mom is not in jail,” he says. “How many times do I have to tell you? She's at her mother's house. Do you understand? Fuck.”
“Dad,” says the boy in an impatient tone. “Mom called the other day and said she was in jail.”
Saudade sighs. He opens up the drawer on his bedside table and begins to search through the papers inside. After a moment he pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper and smooths it with his hand.
“Here.” He gives the paper to his son with a hostile expression. “Your mother's coming back on Tuesday. Are you happy? Eat what's left in the fridge and when it's gone, call your aunt and tell her you have to spend a couple of days with her 'cause we're having some work done on the house. You understand?”
Cristian Saudade, eight years old, goes off down the hall dragging his feet. Saudade bolts the door. Then he closes the window and puts a movie with big asses into the DVD player. Then he lies down on the bed and uses the remote to skip the transitional scenes that precede the first anal sex scenes. Anal sex scenes are, in Saudade's opinion, the main element of a good porn film. Oral sex scenes are also very important because they show an actress's technique. But there's no denying that the anal sex scenes are what give pornography true meaning. He usually fast-forwards the vaginal sex scenes with the remote or just skips them with the Skip Chapter function on his DVD player. Once he's found the most adequate scene, he lights his joint with a lighter advertising his favorite soccer club and takes a couple of hits before putting it back in the ashtray. Then he sticks his hand into his briefs and proceeds to carry out the controlled stroking that makes up the main phase of the mental-physiological operation he's nicknamed “recharging the batteries.”
* * *
Stretched out on the sofa in her living room with the DVD player's remote in her hand, Iris Gonzalvo alternately pushes the PLAY and FAST FORWARD buttons to select those fragments of her favorite show that release emotional responses of identification, desire and repulsion in her. It's possible that the sun has already come up. It's hard to tell because she closed the blinds hours ago so she could concentrate on what was happening on the TV. She isn't hungry or sleepy but that doesn't mean anything when you take into account that by now she's finished off the reserves of cocaine she had in the kitchen. She moves the sofa cushions to make herself more comfortable, closes her eyes, and imagines how things will be when she achieves Fame and Success in Life. She imagines the magazine interviews and the photo sessions and the dates with famous men in restaurants. The kinds of things, she thinks, that make life worth living.