Kiss of the Spider Woman (3 page)
Read Kiss of the Spider Woman Online
Authors: Manuel Puig
Tags: #Regional.Latin America, #Fiction.Magical Realism, #Fiction.Literature.Modern, #Acclaimed.Horror 100 Best.Index
—He must have bad breath, he didn’t brush his teeth yet.
—If you’re going to make fun, there’s no reason to tell you anything more.
—No, please, I’m listening.
—He asks her again if she wants to marry him. She answers yes she wants to with all her heart, and she doesn’t want to ever have to leave that house again, she feels so at home there, and she looks all around and the drapes are dark velvet to block the light out, and so to let the light in she draws them open and behind them there’s another set of lacy curtains. Then you get to see the whole turn-of-the-century decor. She asks who picked out all the lovely things and I think he tells her how much his mother had to do with all that, every piece of furniture, how she was such a good mother and how much she would have loved Irena, like her own daughter. Irena goes over to him and kisses him almost with adoration, the way one kisses a holy saint, you know? On the forehead. And she begs him please never to leave her, she wants to be together with him always, all she could ever ask for is to wake up each morning to see him again, always by her side . . . But, to become a real wife to him, she asks him to give her a little time, until all those fears have a chance to subside . . .
—You get what’s going on, don’t you?
—That she’s afraid she’ll turn into a panther.
—Well, I think she’s frigid, she’s afraid of men, either that or she has some idea about sex that’s really violent, and so she invents things.
—Wait, will you? He says okay, and they marry. And when the wedding night comes, she sleeps in the bed, and he’s on the sofa.
—Keeping an eye on his mother’s furniture.
—If you’re going to laugh I won’t go on, I’m telling you this in all seriousness, because I really like it. And besides there’s something else I can’t tell you, that makes me really like this film a lot.
—Tell me what, what is it?
—No, I was about to bring it up but now I see you’re laughing, and, to tell you the truth, it makes me angry.
—No, I like the picture, but you have the fun of telling it and I just want to chime in once in a while too, see what I mean? I’m not the type who knows how to sit around and just listen all the time, you get what I mean? And all of a sudden I have to sit quiet listening to you for hours on end.
—I thought it helped you pass the time, and fall asleep.
—Yeah, that’s true, absolutely, it does both things, it passes time and puts me to sleep.
—Well?
—Only, if it doesn’t rub you the wrong way, I’d like us to discuss the thing a little, as you go on with it, so I get a chance now and then to rap about something. Doesn’t that seem fair to you?
—If it’s so you can crack jokes about a picture I happen to be fond of, then the answer is no.
—No, look, it could be just a simple discussion. Like for example: I personally would like to ask you how you picture the guy’s mother.
—If you’re not going to laugh anymore.
—I promise.
—Let’s see . . . I don’t know, a really good person. A lovely lady, who gave her husband every happiness and her children too, always managing everything perfectly.
—Do you picture her doing housework?
—No, I see her as impeccably attired, a dress with a high collar, edged in lace to cover the wrinkles on her neck. She has that marvelous thing of certain respectable ladies, which is that little touch of coquettishness, beneath all the properness, on account of her age, but what you notice about them is the way they go on being women and wanting to please.
—Yes, always impeccable. Perfect. She has her servants, she exploits people who can’t do anything else but serve her, for a few pennies. And clearly, she felt very happy with her husband, who in turn exploited her, forced her to do whatever he wanted, keeping her cooped up in a house like a slave, waiting for him—
—Listen . . .
—waiting for him every night, until he got back from his law firm, or from his doctor’s office. And she was in perfect agreement with the whole system, and she didn’t rebel, and she fed her own son the same crap and now the son runs smack into the panther woman. Good luck with that one.
—But tell the truth, wouldn’t you like to have a mother like that? Full of affection, always carefully dressed . . . Come on now, no kidding . . .
—No, and I’ll tell you why, if you didn’t follow me.
—Look, I’m tired, and it makes me angry the way you brought all this up, because until you brought it up I was feeling fabulous, I’d forgotten all about this filthy cell, and all the rest, just telling you about the film.
—I forgot all the rest, too.
—Well? Why break the illusion for me, and for yourself too? What kind of trick is that to pull?
—I guess I have to draw you a map, because you sure don’t get the idea.
—Here in the dark he starts drawing things for me, well that’s just wonderful.
—Let me explain.
—Sure, but tomorrow, because right now I’m up to here with it, so skip it till tomorrow . . . Why couldn’t I have the luck to get the panther woman’s boyfriend to keep me company, instead of you?
—Oh, now that’s another story, and I’m not interested.
—Afraid to talk about such things?
—No, not afraid. Just not my bag. I already know all about yours, even if you didn’t tell me a thing.
—Well I told you what I’m in for, corruption of minors, and that tells it all, so don’t start playing the psychologist now.
—Come on, admit it, you like him because he smokes a pipe.
—No, because he’s the gentle type, and understanding.
—His mother castrated him, plain and simple.
—I like him and that’s enough for me. And you, you like the assistant, some urban guerrilla that one!
—I like her, sure, more than the panther woman.
—Ciao, you tell me why tomorrow. Let me get some sleep.
—Ciao.
—We were just where she’s going to marry the pipe-smoker. I’m all ears.
—What’s the little sneer for?
—Nothing, tell it to me, go ahead, Molina.
—No, you go ahead, you tell me about the pipe-smoker, since you know him so much better than me, I only saw the film.
—The pipe-smoker’s no good for you.
—Why not?
—Because what you have in mind’s not strictly platonic, right? Admit it.
—Obviously.
—Okay, the reason he likes Irena is because she’s frigid and he doesn’t have to make her, that’s why he looks after her and takes her home where the mother’s all over the place. Even if she’s dead she’s there, in every stick of furniture, and the curtains and all that junk, didn’t you say so yourself?
—Go on.
—If he’s left all his mother’s stuff in the house just the way it was, it’s because he still wants to be a little boy, back in his mama’s house, and what he brings home with him isn’t a woman, it’s a little playmate.
—But that’s all your own concoction. How do I know if the house was the mother’s? I told you that because I liked the apartment a lot, and since it was decorated with antiques I said it could be the mother’s, but that’s all. Maybe he rents the place furnished.
—Then you’re inventing half the picture.
—No, I’m not inventing, I swear, but some things, to round them out for you, so you can see them the way I’m seeing them . . . well, to some extent I have to embroider a little. Like with the house, for example.
—Admit that it’s the house you’d like to live in yourself.
—Yes, obviously. And now I have to put up with you while you tell me the same old thing everybody tells me.
—Is that so . . . What is it exactly I’m supposed to tell you?
—You’re all alike, always coming to me with the same business, always!
—What?
—How they spoiled me too much as a kid, and that’s why I’m the way I am, how I was tied to my mother’s apron strings and now I’m this way, and how a person can always straighten out though, and what I really need is a woman, because a woman’s the best there is.
—That’s what they tell you?
—Yes, and my answer is this . . . great! I agree! And since a woman’s the best there is . . . I want to be one. That way I save listening to all kinds of advice, because I know what the score is myself and I’ve got it all clear in my head.
—I don’t see it so clear, at least not the way you just worked it out.
—Okay, I don’t need you to clear up anything for me, and now if you want I’ll go on with the film for you, and if you don’t, so much the better, I’ll tell it to myself in a whisper, and
saluti tanti, arrivederci, Sparafucile
.
saluti tanti, arrivederci, Sparafucile
.
—Sparafucile?
—Obviously you don’t know anything about opera. He’s the villain in
Rigoletto
.
Rigoletto
.
—Tell me the picture and then ciao, because now I want to know what happens.
—Where were we?
—The wedding night. When he doesn’t touch her.
—That’s right, he’s sleeping on the living-room sofa, and oh, what I didn’t tell you is they’ve arranged, they’ve come to an agreement, that she’ll go see a psychiatrist. And she starts going, and she gets there the first time and finds that the guy’s incredibly good-looking, a fantastic flirt.
—What’s your definition of incredibly good-looking? I’d like to hear.
—Well, he’s tall, dark, wears a mustache, very distinguished-looking, broad forehead, but with a pencil-line mustache a little bit like a pimp’s . . . I don’t know if I’m making it very clear . . . a wise-guy’s mustache, which gives him away. Anyhow, since we’re on the subject, the guy who plays the psychiatrist’s definitely not my type.
—What actor was it?
—I don’t remember, just a supporting role. He’s good-looking but too thin for my taste, if you want to know the truth, the type that looks good in a double-breasted suit, or if it’s a regular suit they have to wear a vest. He’s the type women find attractive. But with this little hotshot something shows, I don’t know, how he’s so positive women find him attractive. But the minute he comes on . . . you have to dislike him. And so does Irena, who’s over on the couch beginning to talk about her problems, but she doesn’t feel comfortable, doesn’t feel like she’s with a doctor, but with some guy, and she’s afraid.
—This picture’s really something.
—Really what? Silly?
—No, coherent, it’s fantastic, go on. But don’t get so uptight.
—She begins to talk about how afraid she is of not being a good wife and they decide next time she ought to tell him something about her dreams, or nightmares, and how in one dream she turned into a panther. So that’s okay, they end the session at that point, but the next time she has her appointment she doesn’t show up, she lies to her husband, and instead of going to the doctor she goes to the zoo, to look at the panther. And she stands there as if she’s fascinated, she’s wearing that thick plush coat, it’s black but glistens almost iridescent in the light, and the panther’s fur is iridescent black too. The panther is pacing back and forth in the huge cage, never taking his eyes off the girl. And here the keeper comes along, and opens the door on one side of the cage . . . opens it for just a second, tosses the meat in and shuts it again, only he’s so busy with the hook the meat was slung on, he forgets and leaves the key in the lock of the cage. Irena sees all that, keeps quiet, the keeper picks up a broom and sets to work sweeping up the scraps of paper and cigarette butts strewn all over the place near the cages. Irena moves a little closer, stealthily, toward the lock. She removes the key and looks at it, a large key, covered with rust, she stands there pensively, a few seconds go by . . .
—What’s she going to do?
— . . . but she goes over to the keeper and hands him the key. The old man, who seems like a good-natured guy, thanks her for it. Irena returns home, waits there for her husband to arrive, it’s already the time when he usually gets back from the office. And I forgot to add to all this how every morning she tenderly feeds the canary, and always changes the water, and the canary sings to her. And finally the husband arrives and she hugs him and almost kisses him, she has such a strong desire to kiss him, on the mouth, and he gets all excited, and he thinks maybe the psychoanalytic treatment is doing some good, and the moment’s finally approaching to really become husband and wife. But he makes the mistake of asking her how the session went that afternoon. That makes her feel really bad, since she didn’t even go, and really guilty, so she slips out of his arms and lies to him, that she went and everything was fine. But she’s already slipped away and there’s nothing more to do about it. He just has to grin and bear it. And another day he’s back once more at work with the other architects. And the assistant, who’s always looking at him, because she still cares for him, sees he’s troubled and asks him to go have a drink after work, it’ll lift up his spirits, and he says no, he has a lot to do, he’ll probably work overtime and finally the assistant who’s never cared for anyone but him says she can stay and help him out for a while.
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