Read Online Monkey Hunting by Cristina Garcia - Free Book Online
Authors: Cristina Garcia
Tags: Fiction
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eating the termites and guarded Chen Pan’s shop at night. “The slightest rattle and Lady Ban is up in arms,” he told everyone. “She’s a regular Manchu warrior!”
“Don’t eat the duck,” Chen Pan instructed Lucrecia on their first day together. He pointed at Lady Ban. “This duck is not for eating.” But he wasn’t sure that she understood what he said. The girl had barely uttered a word since he’d purchased her on Calle San Juan de Dios.
“¿No entiende?”
Chen Pan asked impatiently. She returned his question with a stare. What language would he need to speak with her? Chen Pan showed Lucrecia the shallow pan of sand where Lady Ban relieved herself. It would need to be cleaned out, he explained, every other day.
Chen Pan thought of how a man could start out with one idea—like sailing off to Cuba to get rich enough to return home an important man—and end up with another life altogether. This never could have happened in China. There the future was always a loyal continuation of the past.
Lucrecia rocked the baby as Chen Pan showed her their quarters. “Rest,” he said, indicating the sagging bed near the window. “This is where you and your son will stay.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, her milk-swollen breasts rubbing against her muslin shift. The baby yawned so wide his tiny mouth trembled.
Chen Pan went downstairs to the Lucky Find. In his absence, the Spanish assistant had reopened the shop and sold a musty oil painting and a seventeenth-century map to a tourist from Boston. One hundred sixty pesos for both. Chen Pan was pleased, although he suspected Véa of pocketing a portion of the sale.
He took the money and went to the market, to a stall that sold toys and children’s clothes. Chen Pan selected a wooden train, a rag-stuffed horse with a painted grin, calf-leather shoes, and a minuscule linen suit. He ordered all of it delivered to his shop in an hour.
Then he visited a fabric kiosk
. Basic principles of
sewing.
Chen Pan tried to remember all the fripperies he removed from the whores on Calle Rayos. Voluminous dresses with endless ribbons and bows. Satin corsets with whalebone stays. Lace petticoats. Bustles that made their
nalgas
swell. Beneath all this were slips and silk stockings rolled above the knee. So many buttons and fasteners to undo, it frustrated the clumsier men.
Lucky for Chen Pan, his fingers were nimble. The ladies favored him. Plump dumpling girls were what he liked now. He hated to feel any ribs whatsoever. He went for the older ones, twenty-five and up. No paying two hundred pesos for a virgin like some of his friends. A waste of money, in his opinion. The ladies praised Chen Pan for not ripping their garments. No violent pushing, either. Smooth tiger from China. Never left a bruise.
Chen Pan bought forty yards of gingham, another twenty of a fine scarlet satin. Assorted fluff and ribbons for the underthings. A brand-new pair of scissors. A tin box filled with needles, buttons, and thread.
On his way home, he stopped at a restaurant called Bendición for meat pies, tamales, and sweet potato fritters. Chen Pan was perplexed by the names Cubans gave their shops. La Rectitud. La Buena Fé. Todos Me Elogian. How could anybody guess what was sold inside? Once he’d walked into a shop called La Mano Poderosa, only to find huge wheels of Portuguese cheese for sale.
Lucrecia had swept the apartment clean and was chopping an onion in the kitchen when Chen Pan returned.
Very regular cook.
He watched as she peeled and diced two potatoes, dropped them into a pot for soup. In a few days, he would teach her how to make milk pudding for his breakfast. And in the spring, when fresh bamboo shoots were available in Havana, he’d show her how to cook them in a great earthen pot with boiling rice.
A whimpering came from the bedroom. Lucrecia went to her son and settled him at her breast. He suckled eagerly, his fists resting possessively on her chest. Chen Pan showed
“Don’t eat the duck,” Chen Pan instructed Lucrecia on their first day together. He pointed at Lady Ban. “This duck is not for eating.” But he wasn’t sure that she understood what he said. The girl had barely uttered a word since he’d purchased her on Calle San Juan de Dios.
“¿No entiende?”
Chen Pan asked impatiently. She returned his question with a stare. What language would he need to speak with her? Chen Pan showed Lucrecia the shallow pan of sand where Lady Ban relieved herself. It would need to be cleaned out, he explained, every other day.
Chen Pan thought of how a man could start out with one idea—like sailing off to Cuba to get rich enough to return home an important man—and end up with another life altogether. This never could have happened in China. There the future was always a loyal continuation of the past.
Lucrecia rocked the baby as Chen Pan showed her their quarters. “Rest,” he said, indicating the sagging bed near the window. “This is where you and your son will stay.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, her milk-swollen breasts rubbing against her muslin shift. The baby yawned so wide his tiny mouth trembled.
Chen Pan went downstairs to the Lucky Find. In his absence, the Spanish assistant had reopened the shop and sold a musty oil painting and a seventeenth-century map to a tourist from Boston. One hundred sixty pesos for both. Chen Pan was pleased, although he suspected Véa of pocketing a portion of the sale.
He took the money and went to the market, to a stall that sold toys and children’s clothes. Chen Pan selected a wooden train, a rag-stuffed horse with a painted grin, calf-leather shoes, and a minuscule linen suit. He ordered all of it delivered to his shop in an hour.
Then he visited a fabric kiosk
. Basic principles of
sewing.
Chen Pan tried to remember all the fripperies he removed from the whores on Calle Rayos. Voluminous dresses with endless ribbons and bows. Satin corsets with whalebone stays. Lace petticoats. Bustles that made their
nalgas
swell. Beneath all this were slips and silk stockings rolled above the knee. So many buttons and fasteners to undo, it frustrated the clumsier men.
Lucky for Chen Pan, his fingers were nimble. The ladies favored him. Plump dumpling girls were what he liked now. He hated to feel any ribs whatsoever. He went for the older ones, twenty-five and up. No paying two hundred pesos for a virgin like some of his friends. A waste of money, in his opinion. The ladies praised Chen Pan for not ripping their garments. No violent pushing, either. Smooth tiger from China. Never left a bruise.
Chen Pan bought forty yards of gingham, another twenty of a fine scarlet satin. Assorted fluff and ribbons for the underthings. A brand-new pair of scissors. A tin box filled with needles, buttons, and thread.
On his way home, he stopped at a restaurant called Bendición for meat pies, tamales, and sweet potato fritters. Chen Pan was perplexed by the names Cubans gave their shops. La Rectitud. La Buena Fé. Todos Me Elogian. How could anybody guess what was sold inside? Once he’d walked into a shop called La Mano Poderosa, only to find huge wheels of Portuguese cheese for sale.
Lucrecia had swept the apartment clean and was chopping an onion in the kitchen when Chen Pan returned.
Very regular cook.
He watched as she peeled and diced two potatoes, dropped them into a pot for soup. In a few days, he would teach her how to make milk pudding for his breakfast. And in the spring, when fresh bamboo shoots were available in Havana, he’d show her how to cook them in a great earthen pot with boiling rice.
A whimpering came from the bedroom. Lucrecia went to her son and settled him at her breast. He suckled eagerly, his fists resting possessively on her chest. Chen Pan showed
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