Pig's Foot (20 page)

‘I don’t have to tell him anything, because Benicio and I are not together. So congratulations. You finally got what you wanted,’ said Gertrudis and began to sob.

Her tears were not enough to stop Melecio. He asked where Benicio was and Gertrudis explained he was living at Ester’s house. Melecio rushed for the door but Geru put a hand on his arm to stop him and said that José was right, that Benicio was no longer the person he had been, that he had changed utterly. She suggested Melecio wait until she had had a chance to talk to him, because it was impossible to know how Benicio might react.

‘What do you think he’s going to do to me?’ said Melecio, jerking his arm away from Gertrudis. ‘Benicio is my brother. He’ll welcome me with open arms.’

Then he set off running, ignoring the greetings from the villagers he encountered along the way. When he came to Ester’s house, he did not need to knock. A giant of a man matching his sister’s description was digging over the small plot of land next to the shack of timber and daub. He had the glossy blackish complexion of a fat Negro although in fact he was thin, chiselled and unshaven.

‘Benicio,’ called Melecio. Benicio first heard the cry in his neck which immediately jerked upright. The first thing Melecio noticed was the leather band from which hung the shrivelled pig’s-foot amulet. He watched his brother’s broad glistening back as Benecio rose to his full height and, without turning, said, ‘I’d recognise that voice anywhere. It may have changed, but it doesn’t fool me. It has to be the voice of the talented Melecio.’

‘How have you been, brother?’ said Melecio.

‘Brother! I’m surprised to hear you call me that. Or haven’t you heard?’

‘They’ve told me everything.’

Benicio’s relationship with Gertrudis was not news to Melecio, he had been told about José’s paralysis and he knew what Ester had told Benicio about El Mozambique. All these things were trivial, Melecio concluded.

‘Is it trivial to be thrown out of your own house?’ asked Benicio.

‘Every cause has an effect. You slept with Papá’s golden girl. Besides, he will always think of the two of you as brother and sister. You have to try and see his point of view.’

‘And who will try to see mine?’

Melecio changed the subject and asked why he and Gertrudis had argued.

‘I was tired.’

‘No one tires of the love of his life.’

‘Well I did.’

‘I brought you a present.’

‘I don’t need anything.’

‘Open it. I know you’ll like it.’

Benicio walked over to Melecio and took the box from him.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a toy ram, like the ram you saved when you were a boy, remember? It’s the most noble thing anyone could have done. I always tell people my big brother has the compassion of a god.’

‘Well, your toy is no use to me. Your big brother has changed a lot since he discovered his real father.’

Melecio said that did not mean he had to punish Gertrudis.

‘I am not punishing Gertrudis,’ said Benicio. ‘She is punishing herself.’

Melecio talked about the weather and began comparing it to the other countries he had visited.

‘What the hell do I care about the weather?’ said Benicio.

‘You should come to my classes, brother,’ said Melecio.

‘I’m not one for learning,’ said Benicio. ‘And let that be the last time you call me brother. And next time you see me, don’t come too close or it’ll be the worse for you.’

‘Well get used to it, brother. Because that is what you will always be to me.’

This was the extent of their reunion; there were no hugs, no kisses. The two men stood in silence for a long time and Benicio assumed there was nothing left to say. He turned and went back to digging the ground. It seemed to Melecio that his brother’s every word, uttered through gritted teeth, had nothing but contempt or indifference. Having exhausted all his subterfuges he headed home.

When he arrived back he gave his parents a modified version of his encounter with his brother. His parents said again that Benicio was irredeemable and advised him to leave his brother in peace.

‘He’s lonely,’ said Melecio.

‘Some people are happy that way,’ said Betina.

And that was all he told his parents.

The full account of the conversation he related only to Gertrudis, who cried when Melecio reached the part where Benicio had said she was punishing herself.

‘Don’t take it to heart, Benicio is confused,’ said Melecio. ‘But I’ve got a plan to bring him back to himself. Trust me.’

Classes started the following day. The Jabaos were the first to arrive at the flame tree, besieging it with the stools and tables they had brought. By the time the Aquelarres, the Cabreras and the Santacruzes arrived there was barely room to sit so they asked Pablo and Niurka to get their family to budge up since otherwise everyone else would have to stand. Eustaquio the
machetero
was next to show up, and then Epifanio Vilo and his family. Melecio, Gertrudis, Betina and José were the last to appear.

Melecio set a blackboard against the trunk of the flame tree and then handed out pencils and sheets of blank paper. ‘In today’s class, we will learn about vowels,’ he explained, then wrote out the vowels on the slate and asked the villagers to repeat them aloud with him. He pointed to them in turn and they repeated the sounds Melecio made. So passed two hours. At the end of the class the teacher gave out homework and the
patapuercanos
did everything that Melecio asked of them. Melecio offered gifts as a reward for paying attention in class or for completing homework.

The following week they continued with the whole alphabet. By the third week, the
patapuercanos
had learned to combine vowels and consonants. Mathematics worked in the same way. People learned to count, to add, subtract, multiply and divide. They learned for the first time that the earth was round and that it was divided into seven continents separated by seas and oceans inhabited by giant animals known as whales. They learned of the existence of something called philosophy and ancient, long-dead philosophers named Plato and Aristotle; they learned that there was something else called science which claimed man was descended from apes and had not been created by Changó, or Orula, or Olofi, or even by God; that there were tiny organisms called bacteria and that art was something complex but very beautiful. That centuries ago there had lived a musician named Mozart. They discovered what a violin was. In short, overnight the Festivals of Birth had become Festivals of Knowledge. Gone were the sack races, the tales, the childish games.

Silvio and Rachel Aquelarre were surprised when their daughter Anastasia won a competition that entailed reading
The Odyssey
and answering questions set by Melecio. She beat Ignacio el Jabao, who did not mind losing because, according to him, Odysseus was a homosexual. Everyone was surprised, not so much by his suggestion but because for the first time in his life Ignacio did not use the word ‘faggot’.

‘I tell you, señores, Odysseus was a coprophagic homosexual. What other explanation can there be for him leaving Calypso to return to Ithaca after seven years in that fabulous grotto where he could have sexual intercourse as often as he wished with two or even three women at a time? I sincerely doubt Penelope was prettier than Calypso, who was a demigod. Consequently I can see no other possible explanation for his behaviour. Odysseus turned fagg . . . I mean Odysseus decided he was homosexual. This is why I stopped reading the damn book, because every time I thought about it, I felt an ineffable heat surge through my spinal column all the way to my pituitary gland.’

Everyone was astonished by Ignacio’s orotund manner of expressing himself. But Pablo and Niurka, who could not bear to lose anything, not even a spitting contest, were furious about the result of the competition. However, their anger did not last long, since the poetry competition was won by their older son Juan Carlos with his poem ‘Girls’:

What exactly are girls?

A rainbow that feeds roses,

A soft breeze that blows

With a sweet scent of jasmine.

What are girls? Let me say

They are whorls of bright coral,

A leaf of swamp laurel

And the perfume of youth.

And if pressed I would say

They suffuse every season

With love and with reasons

That make life worthwhile.

And this poem is to say

In my faltering way

How girls make me feel

And what makes me smile.

Pablo and Niurka rushed over and covered their son with kisses. The rest of the Jabaos leapt to their feet, excitedly celebrating this victory as though Juan Carlos had just won the Olympics.

‘Well, well. Your poem is better than the ones that I recite,’ said Melecio happily. He looked around him and saw how things had changed. There were children wearing white shirts, women sharing out food, men chatting so quietly they were barely audible, people laughing joyfully, a scene that he had pictured in his dreams and which, now it was real, was all the more moving. Everyone was discussing weighty matters, using words that until recently not one of them had ever heard, casting off the chains that had shackled them for years, the chains of ignorance. ‘This is good,’ thought Melecio. Still he sat perched on his stool, engrossed by his work, present in every article of clothing, every pair of shoes, every new word learned.

Never before had he so powerfully experienced the happy satisfaction that is the fruit of one’s efforts; it was something akin to the love he felt for María and for his family. But very quickly he realised that something was amiss. Melecio scanned the happy faces of the Jabaos, the groups of people chatting, others practising their handwriting, and noticed that none of his family were present. He went home. Opening the door, he found José in one corner of the room, Betina in another and Gertrudis sitting on the floor. All of them were staring at the ground. He did not need to ask them what had happened. The answer was written in the stooped shoulders of José and Betina, in the misted, half-closed eyes of Gertrudis. In that moment he realised that he could never be satisfied by the fruit of his efforts, because in a broken family there could be no happiness. This is what Melecio thought, and José was the living confirmation of it. His father did not move, did not blink, as though he were inwardly appraising himself and realising that behind his stubbornness, his bitterness, his incomprehension, what weighed most heavily were his regrets. ‘I have to solve this problem,’ thought Melecio. By now everyone in the village knew how to read and write. It was time for him to deal with things at home. To set things right.

He went to see Benicio again.

‘I didn’t see you at any of the classes,’ he said.

‘I told you, I’m not interested in your classes. Education is for faggots.’

‘That’s not what Gertrudis thinks.’

‘Who is Gertrudis?’

‘She’s the love of your life.’

‘Gertrudis always was a fool.’

‘I can’t believe you don’t miss your family.’

‘Ester and El Mozambique are all the family I need. They don’t throw me out, they accept me for who I am.’

‘This is not who you are, brother. Don’t shut yourself away.’

‘If you call me brother again, I’ll split your skull.’

Melecio swallowed hard. He went back to discussing the weather.

‘If you’ve got nothing else to say, then fuck off, but don’t come talking to me about the weather,’ said Benicio.

‘What did you do with the toy ram I gave you?’ asked Melecio.

‘I burned it.’

Benicio turned away and went back to digging. Melecio stared at him, stifling the urge to weep.

‘You know something, broth—’

Benicio did not let him finish. He picked up a rock and hurled it and, had Melecio not ducked, it would have split his skull exactly as his brother had foretold. Once again, Melecio trudged home.

The following day, he gave the villagers a whole week’s study matter and, leaving Anastasia Aquelarre in charge, excused himself saying he needed time to think. He did as he always did: he locked himself in his room, but this time he took spices, eggs, sugar, spoons and saucepans. When Gertrudis asked what he was doing, he asked her to give him a little time, that what he was doing was necessary and she would find out soon. And so Melecio resumed the role of chef, something he had not done since he was a boy. He spent two days cooking in secret. On the morning of the third day, Señora Santacruz knocked at the door and haltingly told José that Ester the midwife was locked in her house screaming like a madwoman, pounding on the walls and yelling that if anyone other than José came in she would drive a stake through their skull. From his bedroom, Melecio overheard what was said; still he did not come out.

‘You stay here,’ said José and went outside.

It was a chill morning, the sky was leaden and the wind bit hard. José hobbled past the houses of the Aquelarres and the Jabaos, ignoring the looks and the sibilant whispers from the dark interiors that smelled of kerosene and coal. As he reached the fence around Ester’s shack, he could feel the roars, the howls of remorse sprouting from his body, displacing every organ inside his ribcage. José crept towards the door and glanced around. There was no sign of Benicio or El Mozambique.