—
police patrol, hideout, tear gas, door opens, submachine-gun muzzles, black blood of asphyxiation gushing up in the mouth
Go on, why did you stop?
—So this girl is met by her husband, whom she’s married by proxy, after only knowing each other a few days in New York. He’s a widower, also from New York. Anyway, the arrival on the island, when the boat’s docking, is divine, because her fiancé is right there waiting for her with a whole parade of donkey carts, decorated with flowers, and in a couple of carts there’s a bunch of musicians, playing nice soft tunes on those instruments which look like some kind of table made up out of little planks, that they whack with sticks and, well, I don’t know why, but that kind of music really gets to me, because the notes sound so sweet on that instrument, like little soap bubbles that go popping one after another. And the drums have stopped, fortunately, because they’d sounded like a bad omen. And the two of them arrive at the house; it’s pretty far from town, off in the countryside, under the palm trees, and it’s such a gorgeous island with just some low hills, and you’re way out in the middle of these banana groves. And the fiancé is so very pleasant, but you can tell there’s a real drama going on inside him; he smiles too much, like someone with a weak character. And then you get this clue, that something’s wrong with him, because the first thing the fiancé does is introduce the girl to his majordomo, who’s around fifty or so, a Frenchman, and this majordomo asks him right then and there to sign a couple of papers, about shipping out a load of bananas on the same boat that the girl arrived on, and the fiancé tells him he’ll do it later, but the majordomo, he’s like insistent about it, and the fiancé looks at him with eyes full of hatred, and while he’s busy signing the papers you notice how he can hardly keep his hand steady to write, it’s trembling so much. Anyhow, it’s still daylight, and the whole welcome party, which rode back there in those little flowery carts, is out back in the garden waiting to toast the new couple, and they’re all holding glasses full of fruit juice, and at this point you notice the arrival of a couple of black peons, sort of delegates from the sugarcane plantations, with a keg of rum to honor the master, but the majordomo sees them too and looks furiously at them, and grabs an ax that happens to be lying around, and he chops away at the keg of rum until it all pours out on the ground.
—Please, no more talk about food or drinks.
—And don’t you be so impressionable then, crybaby. Anyhow, the girl turns to the fiancé as if to ask him why all the hysterics, but just then he’s busy nodding to the majordomo how that’s exactly what he should do, and so, without wasting any more time, the fiancé raises his glass of fruit juice and toasts the islanders there before him, because the next morning the two of them will be married, as soon as they go sign the papers at some government office there on the island. But that night the girl has to stay by herself, in the house, because he has to go to the farthest banana plantation on the whole island in order to show his gratitude to the peons and, by the way, to avoid any gossip and thus protect the girl’s good name. The moon is marvelous that night, and the garden surrounding the house just stunning, with all those fabulous tropical plants which seem more fantastic than ever, and the girl has on a white satin chemise, under just this loose peignoir, it’s white too but transparent, and she’s tempted to take a look around the house, and she walks through the living room, and then into the dining room, and twice she comes across those folding type of frames with a picture of the fiance on one side but with the other side blank, because the photo is gone, which must have been the first wife, the dead one. Then she wanders around the rest of the house, and goes into some bedroom which you can tell was once for a woman, because of the lace doilies on the night table and on top of the dresser, and the girl starts rummaging through all the drawers to see if some photograph might still be around but doesn’t find anything, except hanging in the closet are all the clothes from the first wife, all of them incredibly fine imports. But at this point the girl hears something move, and she spots a shadow passing by the window. It scares the daylights out of her and she goes out into the garden, all lit up with moonlight, and sees a cute little frog jumping into the pond, and she thinks that was the noise she heard, and that the shadow was probably just the swaying of the palm trees in the breeze. And she walks still.farther into the garden, because it feels so stuffy back in the house, and just then she hears something else, but like footsteps, and she spins around to see, but right at that moment some clouds blot out the moon, and the garden gets all black. And at the same time, off in the distance . . . drums. And you also hear more steps, this time clearly, and they’re coming toward her, but very slowly. The girl is suddenly quaking with fear, and sees a shadow entering the house, through the same exact door that she’d left open. So the poor thing can’t even make up her mind which is scarier at this point, to stay out there in that incredibly dark garden, or to go back into the house. Well, she decides to get closer to the house, where she peeks in through one of the windows but she doesn’t see a thing, and then she hurries to another window, which turns out to look in on the dead wife’s bedroom. And since it’s so dark she can’t make out much more than like a shadow gliding across the room, a tall silhouette, moving with outstretched hands, and fingering all the knickknacks lying around inside there, and right next to the window is the dresser with the doily and, on top of that, a really beautiful brush with the handle all worked in silver, and a mirror with the same kind of handle, and since the girl is right up against the window she can make out a very thin deathly pale hand, fingering all the bric-a-brac, and the girl feels frozen on the spot, too terrified to even budge;
the walking corpse, the treacherous somnambula, she talks in her sleep and confesses everything, the quarantined patient overhears her, he’s loath to touch her, her skin is deathly white
but now she sees the shadow gliding out of the room and toward who knows what part of the house, until after a tiny bit she hears footsteps out there on the patio once more, and the girl shrinks back, trying to hide in all those vines clinging to the walls of the house when the cloud finally passes by so that the moon comes back out again and the patio’s lit up once again and there in front of the girl is this very tall figure wearing a long black duster, who scares her half to death, the pale face of a dead woman, with a head of blond hair all matted up and hanging down to her waist. The girl wants to scream for help but there’s no more voice left in her, and she starts backing away slowly, because her legs don’t work anymore, they’re just rubber. The woman is staring straight at her, but all the same it’s like she doesn’t see her, with this lost look, a madwoman, but her arms stretch out to touch the girl, and she keeps moving ahead very slowly, and the girl is backing away, but without realizing that right behind her there’s a row of dense hedges, and when she turns around and finally realizes how she’s cornered she lets out a terrible scream, but the other one keeps right on coming, with her arms outstretched, until the girl faints dead away from terror. At that point someone grabs hold of the weirdo lady. It’s that the kindly old black woman has arrived. Did I forget to mention her?
a black nurse, old and kindly, a day nurse, at night she leaves the critically ill patient alone with a white nurse, a new one, exposing her to contagion
—Yes.
—Well, this kindly old black woman amounts to more or less a housekeeper. Big and fat, her hair’s already turned completely gray, and always giving the girl these sweet looks ever since she arrived on the island. And by the time the girl regains consciousness the old housekeeper’s already carried her inside to bed, and she makes the girl believe that what happened was just a nightmare. And the girl doesn’t know whether to believe her or not, but when she sees how nice the housekeeper treats her she calms down, and the housekeeper brings her tea to help her sleep, it’s camomile tea, or something like that, I can’t remember exactly. Then the following day the marriage ceremony is to take place, so they have to go see the mayor, and pay their respects to him and sign some papers, and the girl is busy getting dressed for the occasion, in a very simple tailored dress, but with a beautiful hairdo which the housekeeper fusses over, to put it up in a kind of braid, how can I explain it? well, back then the upsweep was a must on certain occasions, to look really chic.
—I don’t feel well . . . I’m all dizzy again.
—You sure?
—Yes, it’s not really bad yet, but I feel the same way I did when it started the other times.
—But that meal couldn’t have done you any harm.
—Don’t be ridiculous. What makes you think I’m blaming it on your food?
—You seem so irritated . . .
—But it’s got nothing to do with your food. It’s a matter of my system, there’s something still wrong with it.
—Then try not to think about it. That only makes it worse.
*
—I just couldn’t concentrate any longer on what you were saying.
—But honestly, it must be something else, because that food was totally healthy for you. You know how sometimes, after an illness, you’re still suggestible for a while?
—Why not tell a little more of the film, and just see if it goes away. Maybe it’s because I’m feeling so weak. I probably ate too fast or something . . . Who the hell knows why . . .
—But that must be it, you’re just very weak, and I noticed how fast you were eating, like a kid, without even chewing your food.
—Ever since I woke up this morning I’ve been thinking about only one thing, and it must be getting to me. I can’t get it off my mind.
—What is it?
—The fact that I can’t write to my girl . . . but to Marta, yes. And you know, it would probably do me some good to write her, but I can’t think of what to say. Because it’s wrong for me to write her. Why should I?
—I’ll go on with the film then?
—Yes, do that.
—Okay, where were we?
—It was just when they were getting the girl ready.
—Ah, that’s right, she was having her hair done up in—
—Yeah, it’s up, I know already, and what do I care if it is? Don’t get so bogged down in details that have so little importance
crudely painted effigy, a sharp blow, the effigy is made of glass, it splinters to bits, the fist doesn’t hurt, the fist of a man
—
the treacherous somnambula and the white nurse, the contagious patient stares at them in the darkness
What do you mean don’t! You just keep still because I know what I’m saying. Starting with the fact that wearing the hair up is—pay attention—important, because women only wear it up, it so happens, or they used to back then, when they wanted to really give the impression it was an important occasion, an important date. Because the upsweep, which bared the nape of the neck because they pushed all the hair up on top of the head, it gave a woman’s face a certain nobility. And with that whole mass of hair pushed up like that the old housekeeper is making her a braid, and decorating her hair with sprigs of local flowers, and when she finally drives off in a little chaise—even though it’s modern-day times they go off in this little carriage pulled by two tiny donkeys—the whole town smiles at her, and she sees herself en route to paradise . . . Is the dizzy spell going away?
—Seems like it is. But continue the story, okay?
—So they go along, her and the housekeeper, and on the steps of that kind of Town Hall-type place they have there, in a colonial style, her fiancé is waiting for her. And then you see them later on, they’re out in the dark night air, her lying in a hammock, with a good close-up of the two faces, because he bends down to kiss her, and it’s all lit up by the full moon kind of filtering through the palm trees. Oh, but I forgot something important. You see, the expression on their faces is like two lovers, and so contented-looking. But what I forgot is that while the black housekeeper’s still brushing her hair up for her, the girl—
—Not that hairdo again?
—But you’re so irritable! If you don’t make any effort yourself you’ll never calm down.
—I’m sorry, go on.
—So the girl asks the housekeeper some questions. Like, for instance, where did he go to spend the night. The housekeeper tries to conceal her alarm and says he went to say hello to some people out in the banana groves, including the ones that lived on the farthest plantation of all, and out there most of the peons believe in . . . voodoo. The girl knows it’s some kind of black religion and she says how she’d very much like to see some of that, some ceremony, perhaps, because it must be quite lovely, with lots of local color and music, but the housekeeper gives her a frightened look, and tells her no, she better just stay away from all that stuff, because it’s a religion that can get very bloody at times, and by no means should she ever go near it. Because . . . but at this point the housekeeper stops talking. And the other one asks her what’s the matter, and the housekeeper tells her how there’s a legend, which probably isn’t even true but just the same it scares her, and it’s about the zombies. Zombies? What are they? the girl asks her, and the housekeeper motions her not to say it so loud, only in a very low voice. And she explains that they’re the dead people that witch doctors manage to revive before the corpses get cold, because the witch doctors themselves are the ones who kill them, with a special poison they prepare, and the living dead no longer possess any will of their own, and they obey only the orders of the witch doctors, and that the witch doctors use them to do whatever they want them to, and they make them work at anything, and the poor living dead, the zombies, they don’t have any will at all beyond the witch doctor’s. And the housekeeper tells her how many years ago some of the poor peons from a few of the plantations decided to rebel against the owners because they paid them almost nothing, but the owners managed to get together with the chief witch doctor on the island to have him kill all the peons and turn them into zombies, and so it came to pass that after they were dead they were made to work at harvesting bananas, but at night, so as not to have the other peons find out, and all the zombies work and work, without any talk, because zombies don’t say a word, or think, even though they suffer so much, because in the middle of working, when the moon shines down on them you can see the tears running down their faces, but they never complain, because zombies can’t talk, they haven’t any will left and the only thing they get to do is obey and suffer. Well, all of a sudden the girl, because then she remembers the dream that she still thinks she had the other night, the girl asks her whether there’s such a thing as a zombie woman. But the housekeeper manages to get off on a tangent somehow and tells her no, because women are never strong enough for such hard work in the fields and so that’s why, no, she doesn’t think there’s any such thing as a zombie woman. And the girl asks her if the fiancé isn’t afraid of all that business, and the housekeeper answers no, but naturally he has to put up with a certain amount of superstition in order to stay on friendly terms with the peons, so he just went out there to receive the blessing from the witch doctors themselves. And then the conversation ends, and like I told you, later on you see them together on their wedding night, and happy-looking, because for the first time, you see the kid, the husband, has a look of peace on his face, and all you hear is the
bzz-bzz
of tiny bugs outside and water running in the fountains. And then later you see the two of them lying asleep in their bed, until something wakes them up and gradually they hear, louder and louder, off in the distance, the beating of the drums. She shivers, a chill runs up and down her back . . . Are you feeling any better?
night rounds for the nurses, temperature and pulse normal, white cap, white stockings, good night to the patient