— Who invited you? — he said to you—You ruined the whole scene. I’m not talking to you because I want you in the film. I’m here because I want you to write reviews in Newsweek on my work.
— I don’t know how to write reviews.
— It’s as smooth as nail polish. One of my assistants will teach you. I offered the job first to Leen, but Leen wanted to write about Olmo-Olmo, and I said, Oh, no, no Olmo-Olmo, you can only write about me.
— I told you, I don’t know if I can do the job, but I’ll try. If not, my translator will do it.
— Are you still writing poetry?
— I’m writing poetry disguised as a novel—you offered apologetically.
— There are no disguises here—I said—She’s writing a screen play.
— A screen play! — he said. Ya know—he pointed at you—ya know wha-what you are?
— Me? — You shrugged shyly.
— Ya, ya know wha-what you are?
— Wha-what?
— You’re a, you’re a pentagram—then he pointed at me—and you, ya know wha-what you are?
I rolled my tongue again—oops—frenó en el paladar — déjame parar — a ver si para—oops—frenó en el paladar — la lengua motada en la cólera de su frenillo.
Frenillo. Ponle freno a tus estribos.
Hold your horses — frena los caballos–
Hold your horses — relinchan los caballos–
Hold your horses—Whuiiiiii. Stop.
— Ya know wha-what you are? — he sta-stammered—You’re a, you’re a Yo-Yo. ¡BOING! Choqué contra el techo y me desperté. Wow—this is night. Silence reigned over the house. All the kids were asleep except me. I looked around the moonlit room and saw my rocking horse in the corner and a glowworm by the door. Somehow I climbed over the bars and landed belly up with my head thudding against the carpet. I crawled downstairs backwards, following the wizardly mumbling coming from the kitchen where my parents were arguing at the table. I stood up at the door and waved.
— Mírame a mí. Mírame a mí.
— My mother took one look at me and screamed.
–¡Un gargajo!
— I was so scared I scrambled upstairs on all fours and climbed into my sister’s bunk. But I showed them who I am. Notice me now. How I dared down the dark stairs crawling into a fight. Sure they noticed. None of my brothers ran into the traffic of the night and sent my mother into a fright.
— I guess it’s like when you least expect it, in the middle of the night, in the streets, near a dumpster, a mouse appears. You scream and in a flash the mouse disappears.
— I first appeared in Kalooki.
— You played a seal, didn’t you? I can imagine you balancing a beachball on your pugnose.
— There were plenty of silly animal tricks, but I landed a role that nobody dared.
— Nobody wanted.
— Kalooki tried to fly like a bird, but never pulled it off. Leopard Seal flopped and flounced around, but never left his rock. But me, I crossed the whole ocean, inch by inch, belly-crawling across the rug so gracefully, so quietly nobody noticed I was moving. I not only gave setting to the play, I gave a dwelling to the penguins.
— You let them step on you?
— On the quilt covering me. Such fierce concentration did I exercise that neither squawk nor squeak did part my kisser when Kalooki stepped on my fingertips. It was a humble role, but the power behind the play.
— Dog or woman?
— I didn’t bark or scream. I became what I had to become, an iceberg. Unable to see what the animals were doing, I was minding my own business, the business of crossing the whole ocean without melting, even though I was sweating like an ox. When the curtain fell, I was the one who went the farthest and accomplished the most. They clapped and hooted when I emerged pink and soppy, bowing: Here I am. Then I cartwheeled across the stage.
— Reminds me of when Jabalí and I drove through the mountains and there in front of us was an icy river.
— What’s this got to do with Jabalí?
— He used to fish in that river.
— What’s this got to do with me?
— He sat on a rock and fished with a needle and thread.
— How pathetic.
— How poetic. The fisherman and the iceberg. To know that my Pipo saved all those penguins from drowning. What a tender guy. When I looked into Jabi’s eyes I used to see el hilo verde de la esperanza, until I started feeling I was his rag and he was sticking needles in me.
— Wait till you feel my iceberg melting in your ocean.
— I prefer a fire burning in the heath of my house.
— Tú te crees que eso es algo. Ay, bendito, deja que te cuente cuando la abeja me picó el pie. Yo iba, feliz y contento, skipping barefoot about the farm — away, away, away from my chores — when happiest I felt, zzwapt, rapt.
— Oh, my heel, and now I’m cripple, maimed for life.
Hopping, hobbling, what do I see, a wading pool full of back-swimmers and tadpoles, leaves and twigs, charco mugriento de vegetales, onions and carrots. My imagination was stewing.
— Soup, soup always makes me feel better.
Schwapt. I swished my foot around in nature’s brew, wiggled my toes into the mud for sting relief. By sunset, the arch of my foot was swollen, itchy and bulging like a sand packed balloon, infected by parasites in the rainwater. Sweating, I was thirsty. I saw a hose spurting crystal cold water.
— If I go in the house now — I thought — Mom will take me to the hospital. I’ll sneak in at bedtime. I’ll be fine in the morning.
Metí una manguera en mi boca — and gulp, gulp, sploosh — ahogado en mi garganta — glup — came a glob, a frog — a tender tadpole which I swallowed whole. I dropped the hose, realizing it was scum water my father was siphoning from the pool. A queasiness overcame me. Saltó el guzarapo, glup, me tragué el renacuajo, y seguí andando como un sapo.
–¿Por qué andas con escorpiones si eres un sapo?
— Me hacen cuestionar, dudar, todas mis bases.
–¿Sabes lo que el escorpión le dijo al sapo?
— Sapo, estamos aquí, en la orilla del río. Me gustaría cruzar el río.
— Yo no puedo darte pon, escorpión. Me morderías y nos ahogaríamos.
— Cómo haría eso. Yo me hundiría contigo.
— Es cierto. Móntate en mi caparazón. Vamos a cruzar el río.
Guess what happened, in the middle of the river, el escorpión mordió al sapo.
— Por qué me mordiste. Now, we’ll both drown.
— Why did you let me? You know I’m a scorpion. No puedo cambiar mi naturaleza.
Eso te pasa con todos los escorpiones, y siempre caes en sus trampas.
— Anoche soñé que yo estaba echándole viento a tu ano, y tu barriga se inflaba, y tú te elevabas de la cama, te elevabas, chocando contra el techo y rebotando contra el suelo: