Read Online The Transmigration of Bodies by Yuri Herrera - Free Book Online Page A
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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tried again: have you seen the boy?
Answer me but keep your nose out of it, she said with her eyes. On the surface she looked the same as always, fierce and wary, but the Redeemer saw, now, a certain tender tremble and almost wanted to embrace her. He’d keep his nose out of it, tho. The anemic student. Who’d have thought.
No, he said. But I’ll let you know if I do.
La Ñora nodded again and closed the door. The Redeemer stood a few seconds struggling with mental images of la Ñora and the anemic student, ate a two-day-old sweet roll and went to knock on Three Times Blonde’s door. He heard her body stylizing its steps and saw the light behind the peephole go dark. They both stood breathing silently but the door didn’t budge. Finally Three Times Blonde said Have you been wearing that facemask all day?
Yes, the Redeemer lied.
Three Times Blonde waited another minute and opened up slow. She took a step back, and the Redeemer walked in and shut the door. The moment he did, he cornered Three Times Blonde, pulled down his facemask and began to kiss her. She let him, arms at her sides, body limp but tongue responsive. In that single second the Redeemer thought of all the people who’d breathed in his face that day and the bug he’d smashed on his neck and the who-knows-what already coursing through his veins, yet here he was, a brazen bastard overexcited at the miracle of breasts and diereses before him. What a sonofabitch. Maybe she could sense the Redeemer’s black dog pawing at her chest. Maybe she simply wanted to know. Either way Three Times Blonde pushed him aside.
So who you been talking to?
Lots of people.
Who you been talking to about me, you swine? she asked, and on stressing the me scratched the Redeemer’s arm with a long red nail.
Not a soul. Why?
After you left my baby came over all keyed up wanting to yell at me, asking who’d I let in my house and I don’t know what-all.
That wasn’t me. That was the damn neighbor.
Three Times Blonde looked unsurprised.
I know.
So why ask?
Because men always talk. It’s like they have to report everything to their friends. Jerks.
Ouch. Three Times Blonde had taken a shot in the dark and hit him right between the eyes. And called the other asshole baby.
He left without even saying goodbye, she continued, looking mournful. The Redeemer stroked her cheek.
You feeling sad? he asked, suave.
No.
Three Times Blonde slid her hand under his shirt and stroked his chest, then suddenly slid it down into his pants and squeezed his cock, palming his balls, weighing them.
The condoms, she said.
The Redeemer pulled her in by the back of the neck and began to kiss her. She tried to pull away and oh did he not want that to happen, please no, and in his head he attempted to shoo the bugs and people and shuttered pharmacies, but inevitably Three Times Blonde pulled his arm off her and scooted aside and said Pull… out… a… condom.
The Redeemer donned a now-where-did-I-put-it? face and for a second fostered hopeless fantasies of finding an open drugstore, but before he could lie again, Three Times Blonde said You didn’t buy any. Stupidass neighbor. You didn’t buy any.
She did stick-em-up hands, as tho she couldn’t even bear to brush up against the Redeemer, opened the door, and said I got shit to do.
He begged and pleaded for a moment with his eyes and with her eyes she told him to go fuck himself, and so he went, pitiful and utterly dejected, and let the slam of the door push him home.
He walked in and threw himself down on the bed.
Some nights, when the black dog left, he imagined sleeping curled up inside some other animal, protected from the cold. But that night the black dog stayed.
4
In the faint light of his fitful sleep he saw Óscar’s outstretched hand, pointing, and suddenly sat up in bed because he knew somehow it contained a clue to how this grimreapery had begun. He called the Mennonite, explained what he was thinking and they
Answer me but keep your nose out of it, she said with her eyes. On the surface she looked the same as always, fierce and wary, but the Redeemer saw, now, a certain tender tremble and almost wanted to embrace her. He’d keep his nose out of it, tho. The anemic student. Who’d have thought.
No, he said. But I’ll let you know if I do.
La Ñora nodded again and closed the door. The Redeemer stood a few seconds struggling with mental images of la Ñora and the anemic student, ate a two-day-old sweet roll and went to knock on Three Times Blonde’s door. He heard her body stylizing its steps and saw the light behind the peephole go dark. They both stood breathing silently but the door didn’t budge. Finally Three Times Blonde said Have you been wearing that facemask all day?
Yes, the Redeemer lied.
Three Times Blonde waited another minute and opened up slow. She took a step back, and the Redeemer walked in and shut the door. The moment he did, he cornered Three Times Blonde, pulled down his facemask and began to kiss her. She let him, arms at her sides, body limp but tongue responsive. In that single second the Redeemer thought of all the people who’d breathed in his face that day and the bug he’d smashed on his neck and the who-knows-what already coursing through his veins, yet here he was, a brazen bastard overexcited at the miracle of breasts and diereses before him. What a sonofabitch. Maybe she could sense the Redeemer’s black dog pawing at her chest. Maybe she simply wanted to know. Either way Three Times Blonde pushed him aside.
So who you been talking to?
Lots of people.
Who you been talking to about me, you swine? she asked, and on stressing the me scratched the Redeemer’s arm with a long red nail.
Not a soul. Why?
After you left my baby came over all keyed up wanting to yell at me, asking who’d I let in my house and I don’t know what-all.
That wasn’t me. That was the damn neighbor.
Three Times Blonde looked unsurprised.
I know.
So why ask?
Because men always talk. It’s like they have to report everything to their friends. Jerks.
Ouch. Three Times Blonde had taken a shot in the dark and hit him right between the eyes. And called the other asshole baby.
He left without even saying goodbye, she continued, looking mournful. The Redeemer stroked her cheek.
You feeling sad? he asked, suave.
No.
Three Times Blonde slid her hand under his shirt and stroked his chest, then suddenly slid it down into his pants and squeezed his cock, palming his balls, weighing them.
The condoms, she said.
The Redeemer pulled her in by the back of the neck and began to kiss her. She tried to pull away and oh did he not want that to happen, please no, and in his head he attempted to shoo the bugs and people and shuttered pharmacies, but inevitably Three Times Blonde pulled his arm off her and scooted aside and said Pull… out… a… condom.
The Redeemer donned a now-where-did-I-put-it? face and for a second fostered hopeless fantasies of finding an open drugstore, but before he could lie again, Three Times Blonde said You didn’t buy any. Stupidass neighbor. You didn’t buy any.
She did stick-em-up hands, as tho she couldn’t even bear to brush up against the Redeemer, opened the door, and said I got shit to do.
He begged and pleaded for a moment with his eyes and with her eyes she told him to go fuck himself, and so he went, pitiful and utterly dejected, and let the slam of the door push him home.
He walked in and threw himself down on the bed.
Some nights, when the black dog left, he imagined sleeping curled up inside some other animal, protected from the cold. But that night the black dog stayed.
4
In the faint light of his fitful sleep he saw Óscar’s outstretched hand, pointing, and suddenly sat up in bed because he knew somehow it contained a clue to how this grimreapery had begun. He called the Mennonite, explained what he was thinking and they
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