Read Online The Barcelona Brothers by Carlos Zanón, John Cullen - Free Book Online
Authors: Carlos Zanón, John Cullen
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camel’s inside and you can’t get it out of your life. Tiffany reproaches herself for having allowed him to use that “honey” without hanging up on him. But she wanted to find out what the devil had really happened, what on earth would cause him to telephone her at eight in the morning. Not exactly an hour for heroic exploits.
“I don’t want to play games, Epi. Stop fucking around.”
“But why not do what I’m asking you to do, just this once?”
He was very nervous. It had been a long time since she’d last known him in such a state. Tiffany had a bad feeling. She didn’t want impatience to get the best of her. She lifted the medal with the image of the Virgin to her lips, kissed it, and put it in her mouth, completing the unconscious gesture she had recourse to when she was trying to calm down a little. She stood there in the middle of the room, barefoot, wearing the XL Mala Rodríguez T-shirt that reached down almost to her knees and served as a nightshirt. She’d jumped out of bed to get the phone, and Epi wasn’t making himself very clear. She was having trouble hearing him. When she did, his voice had a metallic echo. Tiffany decided to jump in the shower and get dressed quickly. She’d probably get breakfast in the bar, so she wouldn’t have to give her mother any explanations. Thus distracted, she hadn’t noticed that the older lady, awakened bythe telephone, was behind her, wrapped in her pink dressing gown and clutching it as though holding in her life.
“Nothing’s going on, Mama. Go back to bed.”
“Who is it?”
“Nobody, goddamn it, nobody! And don’t yell! The child’s still asleep!”
“Tiffany, please.” It was Epi’s supplicating, half-human, half-robotic voice, coming from the receiver.
“For Christ’s sake. You’ve woken up the whole family. Now I’m trying to get my noble mother to return to her bed, and besides, I can barely hear you.”
“How about now? Can you hear me better now?”
“Yes.”
“Either my account’s getting low or my battery is, I don’t know. I have to keep turning the phone off and then turning it back on. I’ll see you in the Granada Street apartment in fifteen minutes. It’s important, I promise.”
“But don’t leave me like this! Tell me what’s going on!”
“I’m all right.”
Tiffany left the room where the telephone was and went back to her bedroom. She got dressed and, standing in front of a mirror, thought for the umpteenth time that maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to have her eyelids tattooed. She also found time to spray her hair. Before she went out, slamming the door, she wondered whether she should tell her sister where she was going. In the end, she decided not to. Now, in the other apartment, she regrets her omission in a remote, imprecise way, with a feeling close to apathy. The same feelingthat stops her from reaching in her purse, pulling out her cell phone, and calling home this very moment.
Tired of sitting on the floor, she rises to her feet and shakes the dust from the seat of her pants. It must be years since anybody swept up in here. She goes to the bedroom, where there’s a mattress and a wardrobe with a few articles of clothing. She knows entering the room is going to bring back bad memories, but she won’t and can’t resist the temptation to go in. Everything looks the way it did the last time she was there. All that’s different is the blue T-shirt on the floor, or maybe the cruddy glasses by the mattress. There are some little glassine envelopes with tiny traces of cocaine. Tiffany runs a finger inside the envelopes and then rubs the finger on her gums. The drug tastes dusty, of course.
She rummages around in her purse until she comes up with her cigarettes. She lights one. There’s no ashtray, so she uses one of the little envelopes. She sits down on the mattress. She knows she’s still not alone; she knows she’ll have no secrets, no privacy, as long as those invisible eyes
“I don’t want to play games, Epi. Stop fucking around.”
“But why not do what I’m asking you to do, just this once?”
He was very nervous. It had been a long time since she’d last known him in such a state. Tiffany had a bad feeling. She didn’t want impatience to get the best of her. She lifted the medal with the image of the Virgin to her lips, kissed it, and put it in her mouth, completing the unconscious gesture she had recourse to when she was trying to calm down a little. She stood there in the middle of the room, barefoot, wearing the XL Mala Rodríguez T-shirt that reached down almost to her knees and served as a nightshirt. She’d jumped out of bed to get the phone, and Epi wasn’t making himself very clear. She was having trouble hearing him. When she did, his voice had a metallic echo. Tiffany decided to jump in the shower and get dressed quickly. She’d probably get breakfast in the bar, so she wouldn’t have to give her mother any explanations. Thus distracted, she hadn’t noticed that the older lady, awakened bythe telephone, was behind her, wrapped in her pink dressing gown and clutching it as though holding in her life.
“Nothing’s going on, Mama. Go back to bed.”
“Who is it?”
“Nobody, goddamn it, nobody! And don’t yell! The child’s still asleep!”
“Tiffany, please.” It was Epi’s supplicating, half-human, half-robotic voice, coming from the receiver.
“For Christ’s sake. You’ve woken up the whole family. Now I’m trying to get my noble mother to return to her bed, and besides, I can barely hear you.”
“How about now? Can you hear me better now?”
“Yes.”
“Either my account’s getting low or my battery is, I don’t know. I have to keep turning the phone off and then turning it back on. I’ll see you in the Granada Street apartment in fifteen minutes. It’s important, I promise.”
“But don’t leave me like this! Tell me what’s going on!”
“I’m all right.”
Tiffany left the room where the telephone was and went back to her bedroom. She got dressed and, standing in front of a mirror, thought for the umpteenth time that maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to have her eyelids tattooed. She also found time to spray her hair. Before she went out, slamming the door, she wondered whether she should tell her sister where she was going. In the end, she decided not to. Now, in the other apartment, she regrets her omission in a remote, imprecise way, with a feeling close to apathy. The same feelingthat stops her from reaching in her purse, pulling out her cell phone, and calling home this very moment.
Tired of sitting on the floor, she rises to her feet and shakes the dust from the seat of her pants. It must be years since anybody swept up in here. She goes to the bedroom, where there’s a mattress and a wardrobe with a few articles of clothing. She knows entering the room is going to bring back bad memories, but she won’t and can’t resist the temptation to go in. Everything looks the way it did the last time she was there. All that’s different is the blue T-shirt on the floor, or maybe the cruddy glasses by the mattress. There are some little glassine envelopes with tiny traces of cocaine. Tiffany runs a finger inside the envelopes and then rubs the finger on her gums. The drug tastes dusty, of course.
She rummages around in her purse until she comes up with her cigarettes. She lights one. There’s no ashtray, so she uses one of the little envelopes. She sits down on the mattress. She knows she’s still not alone; she knows she’ll have no secrets, no privacy, as long as those invisible eyes
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