Kiss of the Spider Woman (18 page)

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Authors: Manuel Puig

Tags: #Regional.Latin America, #Fiction.Magical Realism, #Fiction.Literature.Modern, #Acclaimed.Horror 100 Best.Index

BOOK: Kiss of the Spider Woman
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GUARD
: Remove your cap in front of the Warden.
PRISONER
: Yes, sir.
WARDEN
: No need to be trembling like that, young man, nothing bad is going to happen to you here.
GUARD
: Prisoner has been thoroughly searched and has nothing dangerous on his person, sir.
WARDEN
: Thank you, Sergeant. Be good enough to leave me alone with the prisoner now.
GUARD
: Shall I remain stationed in the hallway, sir? With your permission, sir.
WARDEN
: That will do fine, Sergeant, you may go out now . . . You look thin, Molina, what’s the matter?
PRISONER
: Nothing, sir. I was sick to my stomach, but I’m feeling much better now.
WARDEN
: Then stop your trembling . . . There’s nothing to be afraid of. We made it look like you had a visitor today. Arregui couldn’t possibly suspect anything.
PRISONER
: No, he doesn’t suspect anything, sir.
WARDEN
: Last night I had dinner at home with your sponsor, Molina, and he brought me some good news for you. Which is why I had you summoned to my office today. Oh, I know it’s rather soon . . . or have you learned something already?
PRISONER
: No, sir, nothing yet. I feel I need to proceed very cautiously in this kind of situation . . . But what did Mr. Parisi have to say?
WARDEN
: Very good news, Molina. It seems your mother is feeling a lot better, since he spoke to her about the possibility of a pardon . . . She’s practically a new person.
PRISONER
: Really? . . .
WARDEN
: Of course, Molina, what would you expect? . . . But stop your crying, what’s this? You should be pleased . . .
PRISONER
: It’s from happiness, sir . . .
WARDEN
: But come on now . . . Don’t you have a handkerchief?
PRISONER
: No, sir, but I can just use my sleeve, it’s no problem.
WARDEN
: Take my handkerchief at least . . .
PRISONER
: No, I’m really okay. Please excuse me.
WARDEN
: You know, Parisi is like a brother to me, and it was his interest in you that led us to come up with the present option, but Molina . . . we’re expecting you to know how to manage things. Do you seem to be making any headway, or what?
PRISONER
: I think I’m getting somewhere . . .
WARDEN
: Was it helpful to have him weakened physically, or no?
PRISONER
: Actually I had to eat the prepared food the first time.
WARDEN
: Why? That was certainly a mistake . . .
PRISONER
: No, it wasn’t, because he doesn’t like rice, and since one plate had more than the other . . . he insisted I have the bigger portion, and it would have been suspicious had I refused. I know you warned me that the prepared one would come in a new tin plate, but they loaded it up so much I had to eat it myself.
WARDEN
: Well, good work, Molina. I commend you, and I’m sorry about the mixup.
PRISONER
: That’s why I look so thin. I was sick for two days.
WARDEN
: And Arregui, how’s his morale? Have we managed to soften him up a little? What’s your opinion?
PRISONER
: Yes, but it’s probably a good idea to let him begin to recover now.
WARDEN
: Well, that I don’t know, Molina. I think the matter had best be left to our discretion. We have here appropriate techniques at our disposal.
PRISONER
: But if he gets any worse there’s no way he can remain in his cell, and once he’s taken to the infirmary, there’s no chance left for me.
WARDEN
: Molina, you underestimate the proficiency of our personnel here. They know exactly how to proceed in these matters. Weigh your words, my friend.
 
*
PRISONER
: Excuse me, sir, I only want to cooperate. Nothing else . . .
WARDEN
: Of course. Now another thing—don’t give out the slightest hint about a pardon. Hide any sign of euphoria when you go back into your cell. How are you going to explain this visit?
PRISONER
: I don’t know. Perhaps you can suggest something, sir.
WARDEN
: Tell him your mother came, how does that sound?
PRISONER
: No, sir, impossible, not that.
WARDEN
: Why not?
PRISONER
: Because my mother always brings some bags of food for me.
WARDEN
: We have to come up with something to justify your euphoria, Molina. That’s definite. I know now, we can requisition some groceries for you, and pack them up the same way, how does that strike you?
PRISONER
: Fine, sir.
WARDEN
: This way we can also repay you for your sacrifice, over that plate of rice. Poor Molina!
PRISONER
: Well, my mother buys everything in the supermarket a few blocks from the prison, so as not to have to carry everything on the bus.
WARDEN
: But it’s easier for us to requisition everything from supplies. We can make the package up right here.
PRISONER
: No, it would look suspicious. Please don’t. Get them to go to that market, it’s just down the street.
WARDEN
: Wait just a minute . . . Hello, hello . . . Gutierrez, come into my office a moment, will you please.
PRISONER
: My mother always brings me the stuff packed in two brown shopping bags, one for each hand. They pack it for her at the store, so she can manage everything.
WARDEN
: All right . . . Yes, over here. Look, Gutierrez, you’ll have to go buy a list of groceries which I’m going to give you, and wrap them up in a certain way. The prisoner will give you instructions, and it all has to be done in . . . let’s say half an hour. Take out a voucher and have the sergeant go make the purchases with you according to the prisoner’s instructions. Molina, you dictate whatever you think your mother would be likely to bring you . . .
PRISONER
: To you, sir?
WARDEN
: Yes, to me! And quickly, I have other things to attend to.
PRISONER
: . . . Guava paste, in a large package . . . Make it two packages. Canned peaches, two roast chickens, still warm, obviously. A large bag of sugar. Two boxes of tea, one regular and the other camomile. Powdered milk, condensed milk, detergent . . . a small box, no, a large box, of
Blanco
, and four cakes of toilet soap,
Suavísimo
 . . . and what else? . . . Yes, a big jar of pickled herring, and let me think a little, my mind’s a complete blank . . .
CHAPTER
9
—Look what I’ve got!
—No! . . . your mother came? . . .
—Yes!!!
—But how great . . . Then she’s feeling better.
—Mmm-hmm, a little better . . . And look at what she brought for me. I mean, for
us
.
—Thanks, but all of that’s for you, no kidding.
—You be quiet, you’re convalescing, remember? Starting today a new life begins . . . The sheets are almost dry, feel . . . and all this food to eat. Look, two roast chickens,
two
, how about that? And chicken is perfect, it won’t upset your stomach at all. Watch how fast you get better now.
—No, I won’t let you do that.
—Please take them. I don’t care for chicken anyway. I’ll just be glad to do without any more stink from you and your barnyard . . . No, seriously, you have to stop eating that damn stuff they feed us here. Then you’ll start feeling better in no time. At least try it for a couple of days.
—You think so? . . .
—Absolutely. And once you’re better then . . . close your eyes, Valentin. See if you can guess . . . Come on, try . . .
—How do I know? I don’t know . . .
—No peeking. Wait, I’ll let you handle it to see whether you can guess.
—Here . . . feel.
—Two of them . . . packages . . . and heavy ones. But I give up.
—Open your eyes.
—Guava paste!
—But you have to wait for that, until you feel okay, and you can be sure you only get half of that . . . I also took a chance and left the sheets alone to dry . . . and nobody walked away with them, how about that? They’re just about dry. So tonight we both have clean sheets.
—Nice going.
—Just give me a minute while I put this stuff away . . . And then I’ll make some camomile tea because my nerves are killing me, and you, you have a leg of this chicken. Or no, it’s only five o’clock . . . Better you just have some tea with me, and some crackers here, they’re easier to digest. Delicadas, see? The ones I had as a kid whenever I was sick . . . before they came out with Criollitas.
—How about one right now, Molina?
—Okay, just one, with a dab of jam, but orange for the digestion. It’s lucky, almost everything she brought is easy to digest, so you can have lots of it. Except for the guava paste . . . for the time being. Let me light the burner and presto, in a few minutes you’ll be licking your fingers.
—But the leg of chicken, may I have it now?
—Come on, a little self-control . . . Let’s save it for later, so when they bring us dinner you won’t be tempted, because, lousy as it is, you gorge yourself every time.
—But you don’t realize, my stomach feels so empty when the pains stop that it’s like all of a sudden I’m starving.
—One minute, let’s get this straight. I expect you to eat the chicken, no, chickens,
both
of them. On condition, though, that you don’t touch the prison chow, which is making you so sick. Is it a deal?
—Okay . . . But what about you? I won’t let you just sit around and drool.
—I won’t, cold food doesn’t tempt me, really.
 
—Oh, it definitely agreed with me. And what a good idea to have camomile tea first.
—Calmed your nerves, didn’t it? Same with me.
—And the chicken was delicious, Molina. To think we have enough for two more days still.
—Well, it’s true. Now you sleep a little, and that will complete your cure.
—I’m not really sleepy. You go ahead and sleep. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.
—But don’t you start dwelling again on some nonsense like before, or it’ll interfere with your digestion.
—What about you? Are you sleeply?
—More or less.
—Because there is one thing that’s still lacking to complete the usual program.
—Christ, and I’m the one who’s supposed to be degenerate here.
—No, no kidding. We should have a film now, that’s what’s missing.
—Ah, I see . . .
—Do you remember any others like the panther woman? That’s the one I liked best.
—Well sure, I know lots of supernatural ones.
—So let’s hear, tell me, like what?
—Oh . . .
Dracula . . . The Wolf Man
 . . .
—What else?
—And there’s one about a zombie woman . . .
—That’s it! That sounds terrific.
—Hmm . . . how does it start? . . .
—Is it American?
—Yeah, but I saw it eons ago.
—So? Do it anyway.
—Well, let me concentrate a minute.
—And the guava paste, when do I get to taste it?
—Tomorrow at the earliest, not before.
—Just one spoonful? For now?
—No. And better I start the film . . . Let me see, how does it go? . . . Oh, that’s it. Now I remember. It begins with some girl from New York taking a steamer to an island in the Caribbean where her fiance is waiting to marry her. She seems like a very sweet kid, and full of big dreams, telling everything about herself to this ship’s captain, really a handsome guy, and he’s just staring down at the black waters of the ocean, because it’s night, and next thing he looks at her as if to say, “This poor kid has no idea what she’s getting herself into,” but he doesn’t say anything until they’ve already reached the island, and you hear some native drums and she’s like transported, and then the captain says don’t let yourself be taken in by the sound of those drums, because they can often as not be the portents of death . . .
cardiac arrest, sick old woman, a heart fills up with black seawater and drowns

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