Mai at the Predators' Ball (19 page)

what one knows, Socrates never stopped teaching did he, still what did she know of Socrates, not learned like him, self-taught and caught up in the whirlwind of life from the day, the very day her father, the great surgeon in Africa, said yes you can try to study medicine but you won’t finish, you’re not decisive enough, it paralyzes you, and he underscored her fragile nature, and what if it were true, this indecisiveness, what exactly did he mean by it, that she hadn’t the capacity of careful thought, that she was headlong, unable to maintain the pace, that she was worthless, fit only to be a woman, mother, and wife, was it insidious of him, even though he got on well with Christiensen were they complicit or duplicitous toward her, no it couldn’t be, she must be wrong, so unfair, Christiensen had always urged her to put her paintings on show, worked hard at finding galleries, vaunted his wife’s talents, and he was adamant that she not go for too long without painting, but how could he know how disappointed she felt recently, all the worse for its being so sudden, ’specially now they’d been so happy organizing this and planning that, for that is how her life was built yet she didn’t feel that way anymore, her enthusiasm giving way to bitterness, so that was it . . . growing old, it had seemed a promising time, he renowned for the remarkable efficacy of his work, with more to come, while she felt herself slide backward into dreamy artistic contemplation, poring over her paintings and feeling as she did now when she thought about O’Keeffe, incapable of doing that well and not content with being an imitator of something she found too free-form, Nora recalled a moment amid deafening music in the garden at Chuan and Olivier’s when Esther expressed faith in her, you’ll go back of course you will Nora dear, I’m so sorry your malaria’s causing you so much discomfort, but such is the strength of a woman that even in a weakened state you never stopped looking after those poor kids with AIDS, why you saved quite a few didn’t you, and they’ll go on living a long time yet, think about that now, she replied you know down there, looking after other people’s children, holding them, washing, changing, and caring for them, that was when I felt as though I were in full flight, not all disappointed in myself, or others for that matter, though we’re all agnostics in our family it’s as if some god or other were guiding me in a single language anyone could understand, and it was the same everywhere for everyone, live without apprehension or afterthought, even without knowing who, that was the pinnacle of light in my life, when everything inside me kicked in at once Nora said, really absolutely everything within me as resolute as it’s ever been, none of the anxiety or feeling torn by indecision that my father used to pounce on, and who’s to say he wasn’t right after all, this though, this was the most exalted moment of my life, yes of course it weakened me so I couldn’t stay, and this was the Esther, mother to Mélanie, that Nora refused to go and see, crippled by the fear of disappointing her, what was she to say that wouldn’t turn out gauche, sure she would have gone on for a while about her kids, still hanging on to their marriages with the help of therapists and psychologists, Marianne of course had waited too long to get married, well her work came first, and Greta was on her second marriage while Stephanie swung between two parents in two countries, but these days it was practically the norm she noted, still, why so many attachments or marriages broken by divorce, now Nora had always been faithful to one man, wasn’t that just the right thing to do when a woman was beloved of a man, but was this equally true for Christiensen the non-stop traveller, probably some things were better left in the dark, the beginnings of doubt could shake you to your roots and you never felt safe after that again, I have total confidence in my husband asserted Nora to her friends, never suspecting a single infidelity on his part, true to her as he was to everyone, Greta too, she’s finally found her man for the ages, and with this Nora became acerbic and aggressive in her speech, yes always and always, and any doubt about Greta’s marriage vanished, or probably should, erased from everyone’s mind, sure there was the occasional argument or two with her new partner, I mean she’s got a strong personality hasn’t she, impulsive like her mother, nothing in life ever happened fast or well enough did it, and he was every bit as loving as she was, Christiensen, on the other hand, was calm, collected, and thoughtful, funny how mother and daughter made the same choices, had the same behaviour, now why would Nora confide her worries about the children to Esther, who was not very long for this world, what comfort could she possibly be, there was nothing she could say, she had reached the end and old age is its own relentless horror that picks us off one by one, but here Nora was still alive and strong, busy stitching up holes in her daughters’ lives, patching the mix-ups between her son and his wife, come now my darlings everything’s going to be just fine, and they all said she did them good every time and everywhere, but Esther now, Esther put her on a pedestal and she’d fallen short, not knowing what to say, not measuring up to the idealized portrait of herself, well you had to admit her trip to Africa had been a flop and that’s exactly what she’d have said to the old lady, what galls us women so much is the certainty of failure in practically everything but motherhood, and as they wandered the garden paths lined with red roses, of course Mère would say no dear, you’re wrong there, really you are, for heaven’s sake love yourself a little, I just don’t understand, Nora though would not delve into her father’s rejection, cowardly no doubt, so her only reply would be but I paint, yes I do, you know that don’t you Esther, O’Keeffe now, she would know how to make the wild and dangerous leap into abstraction, but me, well I’m obsessed with faces, bodies, portraits of myself and of others, something clearly defined, think of Georgia O’Keeffe, they only ever show her in old age, hair and features taut, austere and sexually neutral, was she rising to a challenge when she let them take her picture, as indefinite as Rembrandt grown old, willing to show only the quintessential beauty of a forehead too large, her sexually indefinite body which once had been sensual and desirable, even provocative to her husband and lovers, the determined pursing of her lips, the austerity in her face far outstripped by her art, a face sparer than the art praised by men, I paint you see, I really do paint she would say to Mère, and yet I am so dissatisfied with myself as I am, only to be told but why, my child, do you have so little self-love, with a look Nora could absolutely not have borne, the vitreous and distant look of those about to die, no that was why Nora would not go to see her, having known Mélanie’s mother in her prime, solid and dominant, running the whole household, yet now on the threshold, no she would not risk this ominous visit with Esther, well a few days more and maybe she would after all, um, that white on the canvas, lighten the face and the whole picture, make the eyes less charged and a little smaller under the bluish white lids, that’s it she thought, now perhaps her husband would approve. Herman said it really was time to roll the horse out onto the sidewalk speckled with golden stars like Christmastime, what a setting for it, and Robbie already yanking on the reins, as he felt Yinn’s gaze on his neck and shoulders Petites Cendres also noticed it scanning the marchers with concern, as though afraid someone’s overflow of delight would make them break ranks, tempt fate and maybe disrupt things like the group of Fatalités gathered round the horse, symbol of spring and resurrection, perhaps she was afraid that their fragile health, plus the ample supply of rum Jamie and Herman had provided, would suddenly have them all running for the toilets and getting their dresses and robes all stained and dirty, then again maybe it was just sadness at the thought of My Captain making his descent into the ocean depths with Fatalité’s ashes gently to be placed among the pink shells, coral reefs, and spectacular fish, a tiny bag quickly tugged by the water till its contents scattered like so many seeds of life, the last fiery cinders before eternal rest amid the undersea vegetation, Fatalité, a sadness Yinn knew he wouldn’t give in to, no here she was dragging the Mexican Philippo into the street weeping over his drink, c’mon you’re going to celebrate with the rest of us, five gins, that’s it for you my friend, I’m mourning Fatalité, Philippo said, okay I’m also feeling sorry for myself because my sixty-five-year-old hubby mistreated me at his Christmas party, no Latinos allowed here he said, too noisy, whites only, no Latinos, now look at me Yinn, I’m good-looking ain’t I, nice fleshy lips, hot for a man’s body, here look at this, thirty years old, course he’s good-looking too, works out and all, the gym and journalism, that’s his life, never stops writing either, always in the first-class section flying off to some story or another, he bought me a house you know, over on Bahama, always comes to see me when he’s out this way, not that often though, usually it’s Brazil or Spain or wherever, my job’s not much, I clean the streets and fix windows the kids have busted, yeah he knows and he said when I’m legal to travel he’ll take me with him, but still street-cleaning isn’t much of a job, I know that Yinn, see he keeps me in nice clothes and I’ve got all I need, yep I love that old hubby of mine, even if he says no Latinos in here, sometimes I think about shopping around, I mean hey, look at me, I got a nice face, I’m honest, and see my big lips, they’re definitely going to look good to someone aren’t they, somebody who won’t say no Latinos in here, they’re too noisy, yeah poor old Fatalité, I mourn her, I do, but I mourn for me too, poor li’l Philippo, I mean a good guy who gets no respect from his hubby, just pain and insults, y’understand Yinn, insults, hell it’s no fun being a street-cleaner either with all that crap and stuff, leaning on my broom every day from sunup, I don’t have to work, in fact he doesn’t want me to, he can take care of me, but I want him to know I’m proud, even if I am only a street-cleaner, people in my country are proud and honest and I’m independent, okay now you can buy me a gin and tonic, I think I deserve it, geez poor Fatalité, and poor li’l Philippo insulted by his hubby, poor me he lamented as Yinn dragged him outside in the direction of Herman, Robbie, and the rest as they pulled on the reins of the white papier-mâché horse, Yinn gradually shaking off his sadness as if he realized, even without Fatalité and all the other Fatalités taking to the street, as Petites Cendres thought, he was still bound to lose all of them, oh they’d proudly go on working of course, just like Philippo, always standing up for each and every one of them wherever they worked, whether they lived or died, Yinn would personify the unbreakable chain of life to a better and evolving future, that’s what he believed, and Yinn the Prince or Princess of New Year’s, photographed over and over as she cautiously approached in stilettos and on a boat rocking on the waves, the first wave of each new tide being the roughest and the January 1 cold being the sharpest so soon after the last warm days of December, cracking the first bottle of the year in the frigid air and yelling Happy New Year to everyone, of course thought Petites Cendres, that’s why everyone wanted her as page or maid of honour when two women got married, even if it was in secret with just an exchange of kisses, it dismayed Yinn’s mother though that she was part of such off-the-wall weddings, as if same-sex marriages were perfectly natural, oh this boy with his new-fangled ideas, sometimes it was all just too much for a mother, really, those were times the house broke into an uproar said Robbie, huge fights erupted between Yinn and his mother, still not enough to wake up Geisha or Cobra smothered in their pillows though, not even the old dog sighing away under Jason and Yinn’s bedcovers he told Petites Cendres, so now she said her son was depraved even if he was a good boy, well-mannered most of the time, well, when he wasn’t pirouetting and rather crudely lifting his dress on Decadent Fridays in the Porte du Baiser Saloon, no she didn’t like that, sure it was a way of bringing in customers, especially during weekdays when business was slow, no need to show off that frilly string of yours, they can see way up to your belly button, Yinn had inherited her delicate features but definitely not the benign dissipation, nor the erotic dances tinged with languor and ennui, no her child did not get enough sleep in there with his bed partner Jason, always kept awake and busy or dealing with some crisis or other, that’s what led him to those street dances outside the saloon on Decadent Fridays with the other transvestites, then the nonchalant, soporific solo dances when he was really bored and down and he practically slept upright while he danced, yes despite his mother’s refined contribution he had certainly got more from his dissolute father, although he didn’t much like it, nice but depraved with all these modern ideas, that’s how Yinn was like his father, and now to top it off he was page or maid of honour in these forbidden weddings, what next she wondered aloud to Robbie, really what next, he was sure to come up with something to torment her with, her patience had to be a lot more than she let on to her son, she somehow enjoyed scolding him in the home they shared with the others like this, the sermons delivered from the stool weren’t enough, she needed to see more of him, and she actually had to let him have it at least once a month, it brought her closer to him and actually allowed her to rule the roost here. And this is my room said Tammy, take off your skates Mai, the floor was just waxed yesterday, oh and your mother phoned again, see the message light is flashing, it’s not even midnight so why on earth do they keep calling Mai said, hearing the water from Tammy’s shower already splashing on the tiles, I’d better get going as soon as you’re out of there, see Tammy said, emerging in one of her father’s white shirts that just about covered her completely, they won’t notice a thing and I feel better already, oh don’t go right away, I want to show you my room, say why don’t you ever come see me, I need to get drunk for you
to show up, the library’s got books my parents wrote, they say Mum writes with a scalpel but I don’t want to read those, my dad doesn’t, he’s a historian and I’m not afraid to read his, but Mum’s are there just the same, see I don’t even want to know what she thinks of me, no, no way, Tammy ran her fingers over the books as though afraid to dwell on them, do you read the books your dad writes she asked Mai, I wouldn’t if I were you, his friend Adrien is a critic and he’s often hard on your dad’s books, they’re sort of over-the-top he says, obscure, hard to figure out, oh my head’s spinning but at least I’m all cleaned up now, they won’t notice a thing, look my parents have already called several times looking for me Tammy, hey don’t forget to get home before midnight, your father doesn’t like it when you get in early in the morning Tammy said, he says it’s too late when the fog’s thick on Atlantic Boulevard, he says you should take a taxi or he can come and get you, but don’t go right away, you never come over here, I mean we go to the same school and all, girls who don’t smoke hash don’t hang out with me ’cause I do but I was sure you and Manuel, well I thought you still like Emilio best but how do you manage to see him, his parents sent him to the Spanish Catholic school, and Mum says if I don’t change I’ll wind up with the Catholics too, I’m hungry, aren’t you Mai, so the marine, the kid in khaki, what were you doing with him, he was repulsive all covered in chili sauce and scary, I’ve got to forget about the fridge or I’ll get even fatter, just look at my hips, then Mai said no, she looked all skinny in her father’s shirt like that, if you’re hungry why don’t you just eat, you really are too thin, no I’m wide all over Tammy said, I get hashish on the beach from Manuel’s dad to forget, when we’re alone of course, absolutely no one must see us, in her books Mum complains about having a daughter like me, she doesn’t know what to think of kids nowadays, ’specially my brother and me, so I’m never going to read her books, I don’t want to know what she thinks of us, Mai looked at Tammy sitting on the bed in her father’s billowy shirt, when it opened revealing her swimsuit with