Read Online The Disappearance of Irene Dos Santos by Margaret Mascarenhas - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Mascarenhas
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hotel room, whatever.
The rest of the time, which is most of the time, they hang out at the Children’s Park, playing cards, or arm wrestling, or
talking about girls. Way to go, carajo, they say, when one of them tells of making it with a girl or fucking a puta. Give
it to me, they say, jutting their hips and punching each other in the arm. It seems to Efraín that their feeling of accomplishment
is the same irrespective of whether the act has been consummated with a girlfriend or a puta. Sometimes the Guajiro boys refer
to women in general, and even to their own girlfriends, as putas, which only compounds Efraín’s confusion. It seems to him
that according to the Guajiro boys, the only women who are not putas are their own mothers. Mothers are out of bounds; none
of the Guajiro boys talk about their mothers. Unless they are making a vow. When one of the Guajiro boys wants to convince
someone that he is telling the truth, he swears on his own mother’s eyes.
La Vieja Juanita thinks it is good for Efraín to be around other Indian boys; she lets him chew the fat with them while she
shops. She knows about the tobacco but not about the coca paste. She has warned the older boys that if they give Efraín coca,
she will make them impotent. Because of La Vieja Juanita’s connection to El Negro Catire, the Guajiro boys do not question
her ability to fulfill her promise; they never enlist Efraín’s services in the cocaine business. They make him swear upon
his mother’s eyes that he will never breathe a word about the coca paste.
The Guajiro boys treat Efraín like a mascot, sending him on errands—to fetch them some soda pop or rolling papers from the
kiosk on the corner. They are genuinely fond of him. Because they are fond of him, they have never told him the rumor. That
before El Negro Catire found her and cured her, the hottest puta in Chivacoa used to be his mother; that for a gram of cocaine,
she would give them a blow job. Besides, people who disappear are presumed dead, and even these boys know it is dishonorable
to speak ill of the dead, not to mention bad luck.
Even though he hasn’t been to school, Efraín knows how to read and write because his mother, who had studied through the tenth
grade, taught him. When one of the older boys needs to write something, he is sure to ask Efraín to help him, even if it is
only graffiti on the wall of the Mercado Costa. The Guajiro boys repay the favor by giving Efraín tobacco, coca paste, and
rolling papers. They tousle his hair and tease him, asking what he thinks about women. The only women Efraín knows well are
his mother and his grandmother, and while he is certain that the Guajiro boys don’t mean
them,
he is not quite certain who they do mean.
The day before Efraín’s mother disappeared, La Vieja Juanita said she had a plan to guarantee food on the table. Her plan
was simple: Coromoto, who looked surprisingly like commercial depictions of Maria Lionza, would start having visions of the
goddess in public and create a commotion. People would pay to talk to her, yes they surely would, the Marialionceros were
ripe for a miracle.
Efraín’s mother had scoffed at first, but La Vieja Juanita said, “Isn’t it better than serving drinks to ruffians in a bar,
Coro? Think of it as acting; pretend you are starring in a telenovela. If not for yourself, then do it for the boy.” And she
kept on about it until Coromoto had finally agreed, though Efraín thought it was mostly to make his grandmother stop talking.
The next morning, Efraín and La Vieja Juanita had traveled by minibus from Sorte to Chivacoa to make purchases from the only
store open on Sundays where they could find the supplies required—feathers, beads, scraps of cloth, and natural dyes that
La Vieja Juanita would convert into paint. She also selected some material—three meters of handwoven Wayuu cotton—to make
an appropriate costume for
The rest of the time, which is most of the time, they hang out at the Children’s Park, playing cards, or arm wrestling, or
talking about girls. Way to go, carajo, they say, when one of them tells of making it with a girl or fucking a puta. Give
it to me, they say, jutting their hips and punching each other in the arm. It seems to Efraín that their feeling of accomplishment
is the same irrespective of whether the act has been consummated with a girlfriend or a puta. Sometimes the Guajiro boys refer
to women in general, and even to their own girlfriends, as putas, which only compounds Efraín’s confusion. It seems to him
that according to the Guajiro boys, the only women who are not putas are their own mothers. Mothers are out of bounds; none
of the Guajiro boys talk about their mothers. Unless they are making a vow. When one of the Guajiro boys wants to convince
someone that he is telling the truth, he swears on his own mother’s eyes.
La Vieja Juanita thinks it is good for Efraín to be around other Indian boys; she lets him chew the fat with them while she
shops. She knows about the tobacco but not about the coca paste. She has warned the older boys that if they give Efraín coca,
she will make them impotent. Because of La Vieja Juanita’s connection to El Negro Catire, the Guajiro boys do not question
her ability to fulfill her promise; they never enlist Efraín’s services in the cocaine business. They make him swear upon
his mother’s eyes that he will never breathe a word about the coca paste.
The Guajiro boys treat Efraín like a mascot, sending him on errands—to fetch them some soda pop or rolling papers from the
kiosk on the corner. They are genuinely fond of him. Because they are fond of him, they have never told him the rumor. That
before El Negro Catire found her and cured her, the hottest puta in Chivacoa used to be his mother; that for a gram of cocaine,
she would give them a blow job. Besides, people who disappear are presumed dead, and even these boys know it is dishonorable
to speak ill of the dead, not to mention bad luck.
Even though he hasn’t been to school, Efraín knows how to read and write because his mother, who had studied through the tenth
grade, taught him. When one of the older boys needs to write something, he is sure to ask Efraín to help him, even if it is
only graffiti on the wall of the Mercado Costa. The Guajiro boys repay the favor by giving Efraín tobacco, coca paste, and
rolling papers. They tousle his hair and tease him, asking what he thinks about women. The only women Efraín knows well are
his mother and his grandmother, and while he is certain that the Guajiro boys don’t mean
them,
he is not quite certain who they do mean.
The day before Efraín’s mother disappeared, La Vieja Juanita said she had a plan to guarantee food on the table. Her plan
was simple: Coromoto, who looked surprisingly like commercial depictions of Maria Lionza, would start having visions of the
goddess in public and create a commotion. People would pay to talk to her, yes they surely would, the Marialionceros were
ripe for a miracle.
Efraín’s mother had scoffed at first, but La Vieja Juanita said, “Isn’t it better than serving drinks to ruffians in a bar,
Coro? Think of it as acting; pretend you are starring in a telenovela. If not for yourself, then do it for the boy.” And she
kept on about it until Coromoto had finally agreed, though Efraín thought it was mostly to make his grandmother stop talking.
The next morning, Efraín and La Vieja Juanita had traveled by minibus from Sorte to Chivacoa to make purchases from the only
store open on Sundays where they could find the supplies required—feathers, beads, scraps of cloth, and natural dyes that
La Vieja Juanita would convert into paint. She also selected some material—three meters of handwoven Wayuu cotton—to make
an appropriate costume for
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