Hopscotch: A Novel (Pantheon Modern Writers Series) (35 page)

“I won’t be able to tie the knot,” Talita said. “You and Oliveira know how to tie knots, but mine will come undone right away. I won’t even be able to get it started.”

“We’ll tell you how,” Traveler condescended.

Talita tightened her bathrobe and picked a thread off her finger. She needed to sigh, but she knew that sighs annoyed Traveler.

“You really want me to be the one who takes the
yerba
over to Oliveira?” she said softly.

“What are you talking about there?” Oliveira asked, leaning halfway out the window and putting his hands on his plank. The errand-girl had brought a chair out on the sidewalk and was watching them. Oliveira waved at her with one hand. “A compound fracture in time and space,” he thought. “The poor dear thinks we’re crazy and she’s waiting for a wild flight back to normality. If anyone falls she’ll be splattered with blood, that’s for sure. And she doesn’t know that she’ll be splattered with blood, she doesn’t know that she put the chair there so that she would be splattered with blood, and she doesn’t know that ten minutes ago she had an attack of
tedium vitae
right there in the pantry, just enough to initiate the transference of the chair out onto the sidewalk. And that the glass of water she drank at two twenty-five is lukewarm and upsetting for her stomach, that center of afternoon moods, and that it had prepared her for that attack of
tedium vitae
which three tablets of Phillips milk of magnesia would have taken care of perfectly; but she couldn’t have known about this last item, certain things that unleash or cut off can only be perceived on an astral plane, if one wishes to use that inane terminology.”

“We’re not talking about anything,” Traveler was saying. “You get the rope ready.”

“There it is, a magnificent knot. Come on, Talita, I’ll hand it to you from here.”

Talita straddled the plank and moved forward a couple of inches, leaning on her hands and picking up her behind and putting it down a little bit farther forward.

“This bathrobe isn’t very comfortable,” she said. “A pair of your pants or something like that would be better.”

“It’s too much trouble,” Traveler said. “And if you fell off you’d ruin my clothes.”

“Take your time,” Oliveira said. “Just a little bit more and I can toss you the rope.”

“This street is awfully wide,” Talita said, looking down. “It’s much wider than it looks from the window.”

“Windows are the eyes of the city,” Traveler said, “and naturally they give the wrong shape to everything they see. Right now you’re at a point of great purity, and maybe you can see things the way a pigeon or a horse does, without being aware that they have eyes.”

“Save ideas for the N.R.F. and tie the boards up tight,” Oliveira advised.

“It’s just like you to blow up if anyone says something you would have loved to have said first. I can hold the board down perfectly well while I think and talk.”

“I must be close to the center,” Talita said.

“The center? You’re barely out the window. You’ve got at least six feet more to go.”

“Not quite so much,” Oliveira said in way of encouragement. “I’m going to toss you the rope right now.”

“I have the feeling that the board is bending down,” Talita said.

“It’s not bending at all,” Traveler said as he straddled the plank, but from inside the window. “It’s just shaking a little.”

“Besides, the end of it is resting on my board,” Oliveira said. “It would mighty strange if they both broke at the same time.”

“Yes, but I weigh a hundred and twenty-five pounds,” Talita said. “And when I get to the center I’ll weigh five hundred at least. I can feel the board bending more and more.”

“If it was bending, my feet would be off the floor, and I can still feel them firmly planted. All that can happen is that the boards might break, and that would be damned unusual.”

“The fibers have a lot of resistance lengthwise,” Oliveira agreed. “That’s the whole story behind a bunch of twigs and other examples. I suppose you’ve got the
yerba
and the nails.”

“I’ve got them in my pocket,” Talita said. “Hurry up and throw me the rope. I’m getting nervous, believe me.”

“It’s the cold,” Oliveira said, twirling the rope like a gaucho. “Watch out that you don’t lose your balance. Maybe I’d better rope you, that way we can be more sure that you can tie it on.”

“It’s funny,” he thought, as he watched the lasso go over her head. “Everything really falls into place piece by piece if you really want it to. The only thing untrue about all this is the analysis of it.”

“You’re getting there,” Traveler announced. “Get into position so you can tie up the boards, they’re a little bit apart.”

“Look at the good job I did of roping her,” Oliveira said. “There you are, Manú, you can’t tell me now I couldn’t get a job with you people in the circus.”

“You hurt my face,” Talita complained. “The rope is scratchy.”

“I can put on a cowboy hat, come out whistling, and rope anybody or anything,” Oliveira proposed with enthusiasm. “The bleachers will break out cheering, a show that has few precedents in circus history.”

“The sun’s starting to get you,” Traveler said, lighting up a cigarette. “And I’ve told you not to call me Manú.”

“I haven’t got the strength,” Talita said. “The rope is too coarse, it keeps catching on itself.”

“The ambivalence of the noose,” Oliveira said. “Its natural function sabotaged by a mysterious tendency towards neutralization. I think that’s what they call entropy.”

“It’s pretty tight now,” Talita said. “Shall I loop it again? There’s still a little left over.”

“Yes, tie it around tight,” Traveler said. “I hate things that are left over and dangling; it’s diabolical.”

“A perfectionist,” Oliveira said. “Now come on over onto my board and test the bridge.”

“I’m afraid,” Talita said. “Your board doesn’t look as solid as ours.”

“What?” said Oliveira, offended. “Can’t you see that it’s a fine cedar board? Are you comparing it to that piece of pine? Come on, don’t worry.”

“What do you think, Manú?” Talita asked, looking back.

Traveler, who was about to reply, looked at the spot where the two boards overlapped and at the poorly tied rope. Straddling
his board, he could feel it vibrating between his legs in a way that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. All Talita had to do was put down her hands, pull herself up a little and she would be over on Oliveira’s side. The bridge would hold, of course; it was well built.

“Wait a minute,” Traveler said doubtfully. “Can’t you hand him the package from there?”

“Of course she can’t,” Oliveira said, surprised. “What’s on your mind? You’re ruining everything.”

“Like he says, I can’t hand it to him from here,” Talita admitted. “But I could toss it, the easiest thing in the world from here.”

“Toss it?” Oliveira said resentfully. “All this trouble and you’re going to end up by tossing me the package?”

“If you stick out your arm you’ll only be a foot away from the package,” Traveler said. “There’s no need for Talita to go all the way over there. She’ll toss you the package and that’s that.”

“She’ll miss, the way women always do,” Oliveira said, “and the
yerba
will spill all over the street, not to mention the nails.”

“Rest assured,” Talita said, quickly taking out the package. “Even if it doesn’t land in your hand, it will still go through the window.”

“Yes, and it’ll spill all over the dirty floor and I’ll have to drink
mate
that’s all full of dust,” Oliveira said.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Traveler said. “Go ahead and throw it and come on back.”

Talita turned around to look at him, doubting whether he meant what he was saying. Traveler was looking at her in a way that she knew very well, and Talita felt a sort of caress run up over her shoulder. She clutched the package and gauged the distance.

Oliveira had lowered his arms and seemed indifferent to what Talita was or was not going to do. He was looking at Traveler over Talita’s head, and Traveler returned his look fixedly. “Those two have got another bridge working between them,” Talita thought. “If I were to fall into the street they wouldn’t even notice it.” She looked down at the cobblestones, she saw the errand-girl looking up at her with her mouth open; two blocks away she saw a woman coming along who must have been Gekrepten. Talita paused with the package resting on the bridge.

“That’s the way it is,” Oliveira said. “It had to happen, nobody can change you. You come right up to the edge of things and one gets the idea that finally you’re going to understand, but it’s useless, you see, you start turning them around to read the labels. You always get stuck in the planning stage, man.”

“So what?” Traveler said. “Why do I have to play games with you, chum?”

“Games play along all by themselves; you’re the one who sticks a pole in the spokes to slow down a wheel.”

“A wheel that you invented, if you want to bring that up.”

“I don’t agree,” Oliveira said. “All I did was create the circumstances, as anyone who can understand would see. The game has got to be played clean.”

“You sound like a loser, old man.”

“It’s easy to lose if somebody else is rolling the dice.”

“Big shot,” Traveler said. “Real gaucho talk.”

Talita knew that somehow they were talking about her, and she kept on looking down at the errand-girl, motionless on her chair with her mouth open. “I’d give anything for them to stop arguing,” Talita thought. “No matter what they talk about, it’s always about me in the end, but that’s not what I really mean, still it’s almost what I mean.” It had occurred to her that it would be very funny to drop the package so that it would fall into the errand-girl’s mouth. But she didn’t really think it would be funny because she could feel that other bridge stretched out above her, the words that passed back and forth, the laughs, the hot silences.

“It’s like a trial,” Talita thought. “Like a ritual.”

She recognized Gekrepten, who had reached the next corner and was beginning to look up. “Who’s judging you?” Oliveira had just said. But it wasn’t Traveler they were judging, it was she. A feeling, something sticky, like the sun on the back of her neck and on her legs. She was going to have an attack of sunstroke, that’s what the punishment would probably be. “I don’t think you’re in any position to judge me,” Manú had said. Still it wasn’t Manú but she who was being judged. And through her God knows what, while stupid Gekrepten was waving her left arm around and making motions as if she was the one who was about to have an attack of sunstroke and fall down into the street, condemned without appeal.

“Why are you wobbling like that?” Traveler said, holding his board with both hands. “Hey, you’re making it shake too much. Watch out or we’ll all be up the creek.”

“I’m not moving,” Talita said miserably. “All I wanted to do was toss the package and get back inside again.”

“The sun’s beating down right on your head, you poor doll,” Traveler said. “This is really too much, damn it.”

“It’s your fault,” Oliveira said in a fury. “There’s nobody in all Argentina who can fuck things up like you.”

“You insist on blaming me,” Traveler said objectively. “Hurry up, Talita. Throw the package in his face so he’ll stop screwing around with us once and for all.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Talita said. “I don’t know whether I can hit the window now.”

“I told you so,” Oliveira muttered, and it wasn’t often that he muttered and only when he was on the brink of some outrageous thing. “There comes Gekrepten loaded down with bundles. There were only a few of us, and grandmother gave birth.”

“Throw him the
yerba
anyway,” Traveler said. “Don’t worry if you miss.”

Talita lowered her head and her hair flowed down over her forehead to her chin. She had to keep on blinking because the sweat was getting into her eyes. Her tongue felt salty and covered with something that could have been sparks, little stars running back and forth and bumping into her gums and the roof of her mouth.

“Wait,” Traveler said.

“Are you talking to me?” Oliveira asked.

“No. Wait, Talita. Hang on tight, I’m going to hand you a hat.”

“Don’t get off the board,” Talita pleaded. “I’ll fall down into the street.”

“The encyclopedia and the dresser will hold it down fine. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

The boards dipped a little and Talita hung on desperately. Oliveira whistled with everything he had as if to stop Traveler, but there was nobody in the window any more.

“What a bastard,” Oliveira said. “Don’t move, don’t even breathe. Your life depends on it, believe me.”

“I know,” Talita said in a wisp of a voice. “That’s the way it’s always been.”

“And to make matters worse, Gekrepten is coming up the stairs. She’s going to ball things up, damn it. Don’t you move.”

“I’m not moving,” Talita said. “But I think …”

“Yes, but don’t even do that,” Oliveira said. “Don’t move at all, it’s the only way.”

“They’ve already passed judgment on me,” Talita thought. “Now all I have to do is fall and they can get on with the circus and life.”

“What are you crying about?” Oliveira asked with interest.

“I’m not crying,” Talita said. “I’m sweating, that’s all.”

“Look,” Oliveira said resentfully, “I may be stupid, but I’ve never confused tears with perspiration. They’re quite different things.”

“I’m not crying,” Talita said. “I almost never cry, I swear. People like Gekrepten cry and she’s coming up the stairs right now, loaded down with bundles. I’m like the swan bird that sings when it dies.” Talita said. “That’s from a record of Gardel’s.”

Oliveira lit a cigarette. The boards had settled together again. He took a satisfying drag.

“Look, until that fool Manú comes back with the hat, what we should do is play seesaw-questions.”

“Go ahead,” Talita said. “If you want to know, I put a few together yesterday.”

“O.K. I’ll begin and we’ll each ask a seesaw-question. The operation which consists of depositing a coat of metal dissolved in a liquid on a solid body by use of electric currents, isn’t it an old-fashioned ship, triangular sails, hundred-ton cargo?”