Read Online The Barcelona Brothers by Carlos Zanón, John Cullen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Carlos Zanón, John Cullen
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keep looking at her. Eyes that never sleep. Eyes that look in no other direction, not yet, not for the moment. Tanveer’s eyes.
Tiffany drags on her cigarette, sets it on the chest of drawers, and thinks about opening them. The surface of the chest is rough. Once the piece of furniture was in place, they promised each other they’d sand and stain and varnish it, but Tanveer never had time for anything. Nor was this place ever his home. Other people were always staying there—you could meet all kinds. The bottom drawer is empty. The drawer aboveit contains a pair of clean panties that Tiffany had forgotten about. In the top drawer she discovers the little paperback novel she never finished reading, no matter how much Alex insisted. It wasn’t only that reading didn’t interest her; it also put her in a bad mood. She always felt that someone was making fun of her, of her inability to keep her attention focused on the plot, of her tendency to get lost among the lines of black ants that seemed to move around, for no good reason, right in front of her eyes. Under the book she finds some lilac-colored packets of condoms.
She shuts the drawer, takes another drag on her cigarette, and lets herself drop onto the mattress. Exhaling the smoke, she stretches out, face down. She lies still and closes her eyes. She feels sleepy, thinks she’s going to doze off. But first she wants to smell Tanveer. To relive the last time she was there with him. No, not the last time. All the times before that, yes, but the last one, no. She wants to smell other women, too. Other scents, other sweat, not Hussein’s.
The last time they were together in this apartment, the Moroccan was in a strange mood. She’d never seen him like that before. They were trying out a brand-new, shiny kind of separation, according to the terms of which Tanveer didn’t come near Tiffany until she decided when and where they would see each other. This game delighted both of them, but on that night, Tanveer wasn’t himself. He made her wait a long time. She was unable to get in touch with him the entire afternoon. If it hadn’t been his birthday, if she hadn’t bought him a Raider T-shirt, she would certainly have given up waiting forhim. When he finally arrived, he told her some asinine story he didn’t even try to make believable. Then, when she didn’t believe him, he tensed up and tried acting tough, but Tiffany was in a good mood and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to enjoy herself; she wasn’t up for having a bad night. However, Tanveer kept thinking about other things, maybe about another woman. He took her out to dinner, yes, but he hardly drank anything. At the end of the dinner, when she blurted out that he was acting strange, he apologized and said he was wasted. The previous night had nearly killed him.
“Don’t exaggerate so much, Tanveer. We’ve all had wild nights.”
“Last night was different, babe. We went too far.”
“It could be you’re getting old.”
“It’s not that. Or let’s say it is—it makes no difference. Your thing is you always have to be right.”
“Were you out with Epi?”
“Yes.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Of course.”
“Where did you go?”
“Around here.”
“Did you score?”
“That, too.”
After dinner, Tanveer didn’t want to go to any of the usual places. He insisted on dodging friends and chance meetings. They left the barrio, and in a Colombian joint whose rolling shutter was halfway down, Tiffany drank herself crazy. Thecheap alcohol made her head spin and caused her to puke her guts out, first in the ladies’ room and later in the street. The alcohol and her fear, and her certainty that Tanveer was escaping her, and the sensation that he found no pleasure with her or had any idea what she was thinking at any given moment.
Why not erase that last night with Tanveer from her memory and concentrate on the other times? When he’d turn into her father and her
Tiffany drags on her cigarette, sets it on the chest of drawers, and thinks about opening them. The surface of the chest is rough. Once the piece of furniture was in place, they promised each other they’d sand and stain and varnish it, but Tanveer never had time for anything. Nor was this place ever his home. Other people were always staying there—you could meet all kinds. The bottom drawer is empty. The drawer aboveit contains a pair of clean panties that Tiffany had forgotten about. In the top drawer she discovers the little paperback novel she never finished reading, no matter how much Alex insisted. It wasn’t only that reading didn’t interest her; it also put her in a bad mood. She always felt that someone was making fun of her, of her inability to keep her attention focused on the plot, of her tendency to get lost among the lines of black ants that seemed to move around, for no good reason, right in front of her eyes. Under the book she finds some lilac-colored packets of condoms.
She shuts the drawer, takes another drag on her cigarette, and lets herself drop onto the mattress. Exhaling the smoke, she stretches out, face down. She lies still and closes her eyes. She feels sleepy, thinks she’s going to doze off. But first she wants to smell Tanveer. To relive the last time she was there with him. No, not the last time. All the times before that, yes, but the last one, no. She wants to smell other women, too. Other scents, other sweat, not Hussein’s.
The last time they were together in this apartment, the Moroccan was in a strange mood. She’d never seen him like that before. They were trying out a brand-new, shiny kind of separation, according to the terms of which Tanveer didn’t come near Tiffany until she decided when and where they would see each other. This game delighted both of them, but on that night, Tanveer wasn’t himself. He made her wait a long time. She was unable to get in touch with him the entire afternoon. If it hadn’t been his birthday, if she hadn’t bought him a Raider T-shirt, she would certainly have given up waiting forhim. When he finally arrived, he told her some asinine story he didn’t even try to make believable. Then, when she didn’t believe him, he tensed up and tried acting tough, but Tiffany was in a good mood and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to enjoy herself; she wasn’t up for having a bad night. However, Tanveer kept thinking about other things, maybe about another woman. He took her out to dinner, yes, but he hardly drank anything. At the end of the dinner, when she blurted out that he was acting strange, he apologized and said he was wasted. The previous night had nearly killed him.
“Don’t exaggerate so much, Tanveer. We’ve all had wild nights.”
“Last night was different, babe. We went too far.”
“It could be you’re getting old.”
“It’s not that. Or let’s say it is—it makes no difference. Your thing is you always have to be right.”
“Were you out with Epi?”
“Yes.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Of course.”
“Where did you go?”
“Around here.”
“Did you score?”
“That, too.”
After dinner, Tanveer didn’t want to go to any of the usual places. He insisted on dodging friends and chance meetings. They left the barrio, and in a Colombian joint whose rolling shutter was halfway down, Tiffany drank herself crazy. Thecheap alcohol made her head spin and caused her to puke her guts out, first in the ladies’ room and later in the street. The alcohol and her fear, and her certainty that Tanveer was escaping her, and the sensation that he found no pleasure with her or had any idea what she was thinking at any given moment.
Why not erase that last night with Tanveer from her memory and concentrate on the other times? When he’d turn into her father and her
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