Read Online The Transmigration of Bodies by Yuri Herrera - Free Book Online
Authors: Yuri Herrera
Tags: Drama, spanish, Fiction, Mexico, Hard-Boiled, translation, Love Story, Urban, Novel, Dystopia, gangs, Plague, hispanic, disease, Romeo, blonde, Translated fiction, Yuri Herrera, Trabajos del Reino, Señales que precederán al fin del mundo, Signs Preceding the End of the World, La transmigración de los cuerpos, The Transmigration of Bodies, Latino, Vicky, Three Times Blond, Neyanderthal, the Dolphin, Anemic Student, valeria luiselli, mexico city, The Redeemer, daniel alarcón, mediation, narco-literature, gang violence, la Nora, francisco goldman, herrera, redeemer, the Unruly, the Castros, narcoliteratura, maya jaggi, Ganglands, dead bodies, Transmigration of the Bodies
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penciled sign reading No facemasks .
Dammit. Oh well, he had work to do. Maybe he’d find somewhere open on the way. He returned to the Bug and rolled down the window so as not to hear the silence between Vicky and Neeyan, but the silence of the street slipped in instead: a stubble field of frantic signals emitted from the antennae that fear had planted in people’s heads. He could sense the agitation from behind their closed doors but sensed no urgent need to get out. It was terrifying how readily everyone had accepted enclosure.
He drove back to the Castro house, didn’t stop, circled the block twice and headed for Las Pericas. He had to see where he’d hit a checkpoint, which he would: no such thing as a free ride, no matter how hard you hope. A block before Las Pericas they came upon another funeral procession. Normally he’d have passed it, to avoid waiting out the whole mournful motorcade, but this was the saddest cortege he’d ever seen: in the hearse no one but the chauffeur, and behind the hearse one lone Bug with a single person inside, facemasked.
He circled the block Las Pericas was on then headed to the Neeyanderthal’s, assessing the street all the while. One would think he’d find fewer obstacles than ever, but the fear seeping from beneath people’s doors threw him off his game; he stopped at every corner to look both ways, glanced in the rearview every twenty seconds, and each time he did he saw the same thing: asphalt about to rear up at him. Things had been roiling in the background for some time, but now you could see the bubbles starting to rise.
He dropped the Neeyanderthal at his place and the man got out without a goodbye for anyone. Next he headed for Vicky’s. They passed the funeral procession once more, stopped now at a checkpoint. One soldier was opening the coffin and two more interrogated the chauffeur and lone mourner.
Assholes, said Vicky. As if the corpse is armed.
They passed one more pharmacy, also closed, with a sign in the window: Closed for funeral . He dropped Vicky at her place and made for his own. Perhaps he should do the swap there, given how riled up both families were. When he got back he saw that on the house next door someone had written on the wall Clean up you pigs that’s why we’re in this shit . And sure enough, there was a black puddle running from the front door to the gate, tho no insects hovered over it. He looked up. In truth there was nothing to see but a wall of tepid clouds blocking the stars.
He walked into the Big House. Standing a moment at one end of the hall he debated which of the four doors to head for: the anemic student’s, to smack him around for being a shitstirrer; Three Times Blonde’s, where he’d fall to his knees and beg Please please please, for the love of all good things, wait for me just a little longer; his own, to see what was going on; or la Ñora’s, to sound her out about the body swap. Bingo.
He knocked. He heard no steps but la Ñora opened almost immediately, without looking through the peephole. She eyed the Redeemer with an odd intensity, trying to place him or perhaps keep him at bay. She said not a word.
Good afternoon, señora, said the Redeemer.
Evening, you mean, la Ñora replied automatically, tho it seemed like her mouth hadn’t moved.
Right, yes, evening. Ahh, listen, señora, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be having some people over tomorrow. Not for long—they’ll just deliver something and go—but there will be several of them.
La Ñora stared, no change to her inscrutable expression.
I wanted to let you know so you don’t worry, in case you hear anything.
You’re going to have people over, la Ñora said. And you want me to keep my nose out of it.
Sharp lady, la Ñora.
The Redeemer smiled. Just don’t want to worry you, señora.
La Ñora gave a nod. The Redeemer, too, nodded good night and turned. As he was about to enter his place la Ñora said Sir, then faltered. Young man, she
Dammit. Oh well, he had work to do. Maybe he’d find somewhere open on the way. He returned to the Bug and rolled down the window so as not to hear the silence between Vicky and Neeyan, but the silence of the street slipped in instead: a stubble field of frantic signals emitted from the antennae that fear had planted in people’s heads. He could sense the agitation from behind their closed doors but sensed no urgent need to get out. It was terrifying how readily everyone had accepted enclosure.
He drove back to the Castro house, didn’t stop, circled the block twice and headed for Las Pericas. He had to see where he’d hit a checkpoint, which he would: no such thing as a free ride, no matter how hard you hope. A block before Las Pericas they came upon another funeral procession. Normally he’d have passed it, to avoid waiting out the whole mournful motorcade, but this was the saddest cortege he’d ever seen: in the hearse no one but the chauffeur, and behind the hearse one lone Bug with a single person inside, facemasked.
He circled the block Las Pericas was on then headed to the Neeyanderthal’s, assessing the street all the while. One would think he’d find fewer obstacles than ever, but the fear seeping from beneath people’s doors threw him off his game; he stopped at every corner to look both ways, glanced in the rearview every twenty seconds, and each time he did he saw the same thing: asphalt about to rear up at him. Things had been roiling in the background for some time, but now you could see the bubbles starting to rise.
He dropped the Neeyanderthal at his place and the man got out without a goodbye for anyone. Next he headed for Vicky’s. They passed the funeral procession once more, stopped now at a checkpoint. One soldier was opening the coffin and two more interrogated the chauffeur and lone mourner.
Assholes, said Vicky. As if the corpse is armed.
They passed one more pharmacy, also closed, with a sign in the window: Closed for funeral . He dropped Vicky at her place and made for his own. Perhaps he should do the swap there, given how riled up both families were. When he got back he saw that on the house next door someone had written on the wall Clean up you pigs that’s why we’re in this shit . And sure enough, there was a black puddle running from the front door to the gate, tho no insects hovered over it. He looked up. In truth there was nothing to see but a wall of tepid clouds blocking the stars.
He walked into the Big House. Standing a moment at one end of the hall he debated which of the four doors to head for: the anemic student’s, to smack him around for being a shitstirrer; Three Times Blonde’s, where he’d fall to his knees and beg Please please please, for the love of all good things, wait for me just a little longer; his own, to see what was going on; or la Ñora’s, to sound her out about the body swap. Bingo.
He knocked. He heard no steps but la Ñora opened almost immediately, without looking through the peephole. She eyed the Redeemer with an odd intensity, trying to place him or perhaps keep him at bay. She said not a word.
Good afternoon, señora, said the Redeemer.
Evening, you mean, la Ñora replied automatically, tho it seemed like her mouth hadn’t moved.
Right, yes, evening. Ahh, listen, señora, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be having some people over tomorrow. Not for long—they’ll just deliver something and go—but there will be several of them.
La Ñora stared, no change to her inscrutable expression.
I wanted to let you know so you don’t worry, in case you hear anything.
You’re going to have people over, la Ñora said. And you want me to keep my nose out of it.
Sharp lady, la Ñora.
The Redeemer smiled. Just don’t want to worry you, señora.
La Ñora gave a nod. The Redeemer, too, nodded good night and turned. As he was about to enter his place la Ñora said Sir, then faltered. Young man, she
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