“You can say whatever you want—I’m not going to change the subject. What’s going on? What are those meds in your toiletry bag?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“You think?”
“I don’t believe you. And you’re making me mad again.”
I can see the struggle he’s having with himself. He wants to tell me.
“Nothing’s going on,” he finally mutters. “Anyway, I don’t want to worry you.”
“Well, I’m already worried.”
For a few seconds that feel like an eternity to me, he thinks.
“Jude . . . there are things you don’t know and . . .”
“Tell me, and then I’ll know.”
Suddenly, he grins and lovingly rubs his nose against mine.
“No, love, I can’t.”
“Listen, you stubborn . . .”
“No, you listen . . .” But then he instantly regrets teeing up to say something and ruffles my hair instead. “Oh, little girl, what am I going to do with you?”
Because I want him to trust me, to trust me completely, I decide to open my heart to him.
“What you’re going to do is crush on me as much as I’m crushing on you. Maybe, in the end, you’ll even love me and stop hiding all your little secrets.”
I’m waiting for him to chuckle. But Eric closes his eyes, and his face remains solemn.
“No, I can’t, Jude. If I awaken those emotions, I’ll just get hurt, and you’ll get hurt too.”
“What kind of foolishness is that?” I ask.
He tries to change the subject. Again.
“What do you think we should do tomorrow?”
I sit down on the bed and move a lock of hair from my face.
“Eric, what is this BS?”
“It’s the truth.”
“My emotions are already awakened, and nothing can be done about that. I like you. You drive me crazy. You fascinate me. And don’t lie—I know I have the same effect on you. I can see it on your face, in your eyes when you look at me, in your hands when you caress me, in the way you possess me when we make love. So just tell me once and for all what those medicines are about.”
His jaw tenses, and he gets up. I follow him to the bathroom, where he throws some water on his face, grabs his toiletry bag, zips it, and throws it angrily against the wall. I don’t know what’s going on, and I look at him uneasily.
“What’s happening? What did I say that could put you in such a state? Does this have anything to do with the calls you get all day from Marta and Betta? Who are they? I mean, look, I’ve tried to be quiet, to not say anything, but I just can’t take it anymore!”
Eric won’t look at me. He rushes out of the bathroom and stands by the window. I follow and force myself right in front of him, face to face.
“Don’t run away from me. You and I are here right now, and I want you to be honest with me and tell me what’s going on. Goddamn it, Eric, it’s not like I’m asking for eternal love. I just need to know what’s going on with you, and who those two women are.”
“That’s enough, Jude. I don’t want to talk anymore.”
I’m despairing, and when I see my naked reflection in the closet-door mirror, I realize I need to get dressed. I put on my underwear, a torn T-shirt, and a pair of denim overalls.
“All right,” I say, turning back to him, “so what is it that you don’t want to talk about anymore?”
“I said, ‘enough’! I’ve had my share of these little scenes for today.”
“Your share of these little scenes? What are you talking about?”
“Your questions make me uncomfortable.”
But now I’m emboldened.
“My questions make you uncomfortable? Well, your inability to respond makes me uncomfortable. I understand you less and less every damned day.”
“I’m not trying to get you to understand me.”
“You know what? I had almost forgotten about you right after you disappeared from my life, and then you showed up at the door of my father’s house . . .”
“Forgotten about me?” he hisses, now really close to my face. “How can you say you’d almost forgotten about me when you tattooed that on your body?”
He’s right.
The phrase I tattooed on my body is ours, and I don’t see how I can argue.
“Yes, I tattooed that because of you. Something inside me told me you would be an important person in my life, and I wanted to have something on my body that belonged to the two of us, and that would last forever.”
“The two of us?”
“Yes!”
“Are you trying to tell me that when you sleep with someone else, when he sees that phrase and repeats it, you’re going to think about me?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“I’ll probably think about you every time a man says to me, ‘Tell me what you want.’ When I read it on my body, I’ll remember your eyes and how much I enjoyed what I experienced with you when I surrendered to your whims and when we made love.”
My words hurt him. His face flinches, and then he punches the wall.
“This is a mistake. An unforgivable mistake on my part. I should have let you go on with your life, with Fernando or with whomever else you like.”
“Eric! What are you talking about?”
He moves through the room like a caged lion.
“Get your things. You have to go.”
“You’re kicking me out?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I want you to leave.”
“What the . . . ?”
“I’ll call a taxi to take you to your father’s house.”
“Fuck that,” I say, staggered by the turn this has taken. “Don’t call a taxi. I don’t need it.”
Eric stops moving. He stares at me, and I see the pain in his eyes. I don’t understand him. I want to cry, but I contain my tears.
“Jude . . .”
“You just kicked me out, Eric. Don’t even think about touching me!”
“Listen . . .”
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
He stands a few feet away from me and anxiously runs his hands through his hair.
“I don’t want you to go . . . but . . .”
“Look, it’s better if I go.”
“Love . . . listen to me.”
“No! I’m not your love. If I was your love, you wouldn’t talk to me the way you’ve just talked to me, and you would be honest with me. You’d tell me who Marta and Betta are. You’d tell me why I can’t mention your father, and above all, you’d tell me what those goddamned medicines are in your toiletry bag.”
“Jude . . . please. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”
Now sure that I really want to go, I grab my backpack and stuff my few things in it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see he’s watching me. But again, he proves himself inflexible. His face tightens; his hands shake. He’s nervous, but I’m furious.
“You’re an egocentric ass, and you only think about yourself.”
“Jude . . .”
“Forget my name and just keep on exchanging messages with those women. I’m sure they know much more about you than I do.”
“Goddamn it, woman, would you please lower your voice?” he exclaims.
“No. I’m going to keep on shouting because I want to, because you deserve it, and because I need it. Dickhead! In the end, I’m going to have to tell Fernando he was right.”
He wasn’t expecting this. “He was right about what?”
“That you would use me and then toss me aside.”
“Is that what that idiot told you?”
“Yes, and I just now realized he was right.”
He’s desperate and moves away from me as he continues to rant.
Suddenly, Andrés and Frida are at the door. Our yelling must have alarmed them. Frida tries to calm me down while Andrés tries to do the same with his
friend. But Eric doesn’t want to talk; he just keeps cursing in German. His shouting can be heard, I’m sure, all the way to China. Surprised by all this, Frida tugs on me and takes me down to the kitchen. She gives me a glass of water and takes my backpack from my hands.
“Don’t worry. Andrés will calm him down.”
“Frida, I don’t want Andrés to calm him down. I want it to be me who does that, and above all, I want to know why he’s so secretive about his life. I can’t ask anything. He won’t respond to a single question. And worst of all, when he gets angry, he runs away or he pushes me away, like he did just now.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. We were joking around, talking, and I asked him about some medicines I saw in his toiletry bag and all the texts and calls he’s constantly getting from Betta and Marta.”
I break down, sobbing. Frida hugs me and sits me next to her in the kitchen.
“Jude . . . calm down. I’m sure this is just a lovers’ quarrel, and that’s all.”
“Didn’t you hear a word I said?”
“Yes, I heard you. And even though Eric may not say it, I’ll tell you again what I told you a few hours ago at the beach: he’s crazy about you. You just have to see how he looks at you, how he treats you, how protective he is of you. I’ve known him for more than twenty years. Believe me when I tell you, I know he feels something very deep for you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know, Judith. Trust me. And as far as those women are concerned, don’t worry about them.”
At that moment, Andrés comes to the kitchen door.
“Judith . . . ,” he whispers, clearly uncomfortable, “Eric wants you to go up to the room.”
“No, no way. He can come down.”
My answer unsettles him. They look at each other.
“Please,” Andrés insists, “go up. He wants to talk to you.”
“No,” I say. “I mean, who does he think he is—some kind of marquess?—that I should go after him like some idiot? No. I won’t go up. If he wants to, he can come down.”
“Judith . . . ,” Frida pleads.
“Please,” I plead right back, wanting to get out of there, “I need you to call me a cab. Please . . .”
Frida and Andrés are aghast.
“Judith, Eric said that—”
“I could give three shits what Eric says,” I say, outraged, my veins throbbing, “just as he could give three shits about me. Please, call me a cab. It’s the only thing I ask of you.”
“That’s not true,” says Eric, now standing at the kitchen door.
We look at each other like combatants. “Frida, please call a cab,” I demand.
Andrés and Frida don’t know what to do. Bewildered, Eric keeps his distance.
“Jude, I don’t want you to go. Come upstairs to the room, and let’s talk.”
“No. Now I’m the one who doesn’t want to talk to you. I want to leave. I refuse to let you use me anymore. This is over!”
Eric closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. My words have hurt him, but he decides not to answer. When he opens his eyes again, he doesn’t look at me.
“Frida, please, call her a cab,” he says, and walks away.
Ten minutes later, a cab arrives at the door. Eric has not reappeared. I say goodbye to Frida and Andrés, and—my heart hurting—I leave.
46
In Jerez, my father doesn’t talk; he just looks at me.
It’s been three days since I came home, and I’m just human debris. He knows that I’m not well and something happened between Eric and me, but he respects my silence. My father’s neighbors are a different story. They’re constantly asking me about “the Frankfurter,” and that throws me into despair.
Somebody tells Fernando I’m back home. He texts me and, on the third day, shows up at the house. I’m over by the pool, lying on a hammock, when I see him come out to the backyard.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I respond.
He sits down on the hammock next to mine, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither of us says anything. My father peeks out the kitchen window and sees us, but he doesn’t come near us. He waits.
“Are you OK, Judith?”
“Yes.”
Silence again . . .
“I feel bad that you’re here,” Fernando says.
“There’s nothing wrong,” I say with a smile. “As you said, I bashed my head against the wall all by myself.”
“I’m not happy about that, Judith.”
“I know.”
Again, silence between the two of us. Suddenly, the Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” comes on the radio, and we can’t help grinning.
“Every time I hear that song, I remember the party at Rocío’s a few years ago,” I say. “Do you remember when we did it to this song?”
Fernando nods and starts to sing along. I join him. He gets up and begins to dance as he sings, and that makes me laugh. Finally, I get up too, and I dance and sing along with him. In that moment, I manage to forget all my troubles. When the song ends, we both laugh and look at each other. I raise my arms in search of a hug.
“This is how I like to see you, Judith. Happy and having fun. Like yourself. Forgive me for sticking my nose in what wasn’t my business, but sometimes, we men can be real idiots.”
“You’re forgiven, Fernando. I need to be forgiven too.”
“Of course. Have absolutely no doubt about that.”
That night, I have dinner with him, and then we go out to places where we know we will run into friends. Nobody makes the slightest reference to the man they’ve seen me with in the past few weeks, and I try to enjoy myself the best I can.
The days pass, and Eric doesn’t contact me. I don’t understand how such a marvelous vacation can end like that, so abruptly and on such a sour note, especially when he and I can understand each other with just a look. These days, Fernando’s presence gives me comfort. He hasn’t tried anything beyond what would be expected of a friend, and I’m grateful to him.
Then without warning, like always, my sister shows up with Jesús and my niece. This makes my father crazy happy. To have both his daughters and his granddaughter here is the most he can hope for, and he can’t contain how proud he is.
Luz, my niece, is a breath of fresh air. My sister and my brother-in-law are happy. They can’t stop flirting, and they go out to dinner every night and come home in the wee hours. This really amuses me. I haven’t seen my sister, Raquel, so satisfied, active, and in love in so many years.
I’m glad for her happiness. I see how my brother-in-law looks at her, how their eyes meet, and how, when they can, they find their intimacy. They’re so obvious, even my father is astonished. My sister tries to talk to me. She knows I’m not doing well, though I smile, but I tell her we can talk later. For the first time in my life, my sister respects my decision. I must look terrible.
One night, after Fernando drops me off at home around three o’clock in the morning, I come into my father’s house and go straight to the porch swing in the backyard. It’s a perfect and marvelously starry night. My father sees me through the window and ambles out to sit by me. He brings two Cokes. I take one, and he sips from his.
“I’m very glad to see your sister so happy, but I feel bad to see you so sad, especially because it’s usually the other way around.”
“I hope this lasts a long time for her, Papá. When she’s like this, it makes us all happy.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she made me a grandfather again sometime soon . . . Have you seen the two of them?”
Amused, I nod while my father shakes his head.
“Yes, Papá, I’ve seen them. It’s wonderful.”
We each drink from our Cokes.
“Listen, little girl,” he says after a long silence. “You’re worthy, and I’m sure Eric knows that.”
“And what good is that, Papá?”
“A lot, my love,
you’ll see. Eric won’t let you get away.”
“Maybe I’m the one who’s letting him get away.”
My father laughs and ruffles my hair.
“Well then, little girl, it will be you making the most foolish mistake of your life.”
I can’t keep my secret from my father any longer.
“Papá, Eric is my boss.”
My father stays quiet for a second and scratches his chin. “Is he married?”
“No, Papá . . . Eric is single and has no commitments. What do you take me for?”
I feel my father sigh with relief. The last thing he would have wanted to hear is that Eric is married.
“He doesn’t look at you like a boss, and I know what I’m talking about, little girl. When he looks at you, it’s with the eyes of a man gazing at the woman he loves and whom he wants to protect. But I have to tell you, Fernando looks at you the same way, and that makes me feel bad for him.”
I shrug and sigh.
“Then,” he says when he realizes I have nothing to add, “will you be going back to Madrid tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ll load the car after breakfast and then leave for the city. I want to get back early enough to get groceries and stuff like that.”
“When will you come back?”
“I don’t know, Papá, but it’ll be the next time I can string at least four days off in a row. You know I don’t like to come for just a few hours . . .”
“I know, my love, I know.”
He cradles me as he used to when I was little and kisses my hair.
“I know you’re going to be happy, because you deserve it. And if you and that Eric don’t give yourselves another chance, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your lives. Think about it, all right?”
“All right, Papá . . . I’ll think about it.”
47
On August 27, I return to work.
My supervisor is on vacation, and that helps ease my reentry. The best thing for me is not to have her toxic presence around right now. Miguel isn’t here either, and I miss his jokes. But I’m in such an apathetic mood that I would rather no one look at me or talk to me.
Every time I go into Eric’s office or into the archive room, my heart drops to my feet. I can’t help but think about him—the things he said to me, the things we did there—and it’s a great struggle for me not to cry.