Translated by Derekk Ross
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When I saw her in the lift, I understood that my life was going to be wretched from that moment on. Because, it was her!
I had first set eyes on her a week earlier, when, as yet, I had no idea what a state I was about to put myself in. There she was, on the pavement opposite the building where I live, right there on my own home turf, her contagious laughter ringing out as she strolled happily by with a couple of friends. More beautiful, sensual and vivacious than could be thought possible in a woman.
She stopped to buy something in the corner shop: some vegetables, some fruit. I remained fixed where I stood on the pavement outside the building, gazing at her. I had no idea yet what was going to happen to me the following week, and beyond...
The problem I have with my appearance is that my jawline is lopsided, my nose a bit bent, that kind of thing. It's something that's noticeable, and it's not so good. Or, maybe it's not that noticeable but it ought to be? I dunno. Women tend to be drawn to men with the most muscles, with the most masculine jawline, with noses that are straight, and above all, with no brains but lots of money. And that's why I stayed where I was, watching her from a distance, there on the pavement, trying to be unobtrusive. I was spellbound by her tanned complexion, her black woman's broad hips, her legs, powerful as a tennis player. Her waist was impossibly narrow, her breasts perfectly formed. She had a slim elegant face and her features, which seemed to have the mysterious air of an Indian, contrasted captivatingly with her sonorous musical laughter and her rather mischievous expression.
I also had to remain watching her from a distance because I'm not the 'ladies’ man' type that my friend Gonzalo is. He says stuff like 'how beautiful you look today!', and the beautiful girl in question - could be any beautiful girl on the entire planet - feels adored, and she responds. Whereas, if I were to say 'how beautiful you look today!', the girl would look at me as if to say 'what's it to you?' - if she even bothered to look at me at all. If I give a compliment to a girl that I actually know, then a 'what's it to you?' becomes even more of a discouragement. She might say 'thank you my friend', but by saying 'friend' she clearly means 'keep your distance'. 'Friend' means: 'you've got a crooked mouth, and I do like you, like you a lot even, but it's not gonna happen, thanks anyway'. Lizmary, Isabel, Ana Isabel, Ana María - all 'friends'; and I can't get close to any one of them. They've all of them addressed me at some point as 'friend'. For all this, I can never open a conversation with a complement. I have to start by asking them some kind of question. But what question?
I never know where to start. I've always been a very conventional type of person. I never break the rules. I adapt to situations so as to fit in, not be a nuisance, and I work very hard at not calling attention to myself. I get terrified at parties, of saying something dumb, and so I just nod when I don't know what's being said to me - because I know equally well that no one has anything interesting to say anyway, including me.
I never arrive late because I don't want to have to apologise: my excuses can tend to be horribly embarrassing. I can't bear being made fun of, so I just avoid being involved in any discussions. I stick with the majority opinion and keep my own council. Also, I'm a coward. So much so that I even get scared when I'm watching a film where someone cheats on their lover and is about to be found out. My own love affairs would be secure, faithful ones - if such things existed.
And all of this should explain why, when I saw her and realized how I felt, I felt lost: it was the hour of my downfall. I couldn't let this one turn out the same way as all the others. Something had to happen this time, or I'd just carry on here interminably, til I died, in this tiny little Caracas flat with its view over the Avila national park...
All these kinds of thoughts filled up my brain. It wasn't by chance that I felt suddenly breathless when I saw her there in the lift - I always do when I have a beautiful woman in front of me. I don't know if I'm a pervert, or a moron, or a sick person, or a psycho. This is just how I am. I don't really know what I'm saying, if I'm saying anything. Neither do I know what I'm thinking because I don't know either whether I am actually thinking. All I sense is my heart racing, the heat in my chest, the confusion of ideas, my cock readying himself for action that's not going to happen. Waste of energy. But this time things were a bit different. Seeing her in the lift, I gathered up all my strength and managed to speak a sentence. This time, yes, at last, a heroic question:
'Which floor are you going to?'
'The fifth floor...I've just moved in there'
I know that Gonzalo would've thought of something better, something more 'masculine', but this was good enough for me. In fact, she looked me in the eyes. With tenderness, love, desire! The lift stopped at the fourth floor. I got out and said 'see you later'. 'See you later', she replied.
I took the risk! I spoke to her! To that very same most beautiful woman in the world, the most divine! The one with the mischievous look!
'The fifth floor...I've just moved in there'.
That moment was repeated over and over in my memory whilst I took out the keys to my flat, whilst I opened the door, as I walked inside. And throughout the rest of that night:
'The fifth floor...I've just moved in there'.
The intense look she had given me was what confounded me most. That was no 'friend' look. No, there was fire! Could this just have been a figment of my imagination, I wondered? No, it can't have been; no one gives a look like that without it meaning something. And also, what did she really mean when she said she'd 'just moved in'? That I should come round? Bring her some lemons? Ask her for a cup of sugar? Say to her, 'hello, I'm here if you need me, I live downstsairs, flat 42'?
'Yes, that's it', I was thinking, 'I'll go up, ring the bell and say 'hi, I live downstairs - I'm at your service'.
And that's where the problem began, because instead of thinking about what was going to happen, I began to think about what I wanted to happen. That's to say, I revelled in the thought that she might say 'yes, how kind, do come in, have a coffee...', and then shortly afterwards she would undress in front of me and ask me if I wanted a shag. I kid you not, this is what I always do; I have such a wild imagination. I don't plan it that way. In my head I just star in movies about things that never happen. Pure fantasy. Pure nothing.
But then I took my first big step:
'That's it! I'll go up there and tell her I'm at her disposal. Like a man. Because maybe my problem's nothing to do with the wonky jaw or the crooked nose; it's to do with how I'm so unagressive, so over-respectful, so lacking in virility. So maybe it’s not a physical thing. A woman looks for determination in a man but here I come along with these wimpish ways and women get turned off. I end up with a "you are a great friend"
I grabbed my keys, wallet, splashed on some cologne - not too much - best shirt, freshly-ironed trousers. I opened the door with energy:
'Today I'm a new man, different. Hard, determined, strong, self-assured, macho. I either change myself, or remain celibate for the rest of my life. Nothing ventured nothing gained.'
I left the flat and closed the door. I turned, and, with the confidence of a victor, looked down the hallway leading to the stairs to the fifth floor. I took three steps and now I really felt like the victor. But then, just as I got to the stairwell, oof, I suddenly began to feel really hot.
'Bugger, come on, let’s go up! To the goddess's flat! Treat it as if it were nothing.
And less of the sweat. I'll go up, sure I will! But I won't go up if this body won't behave and starts sweating! And I'm getting palpitations too! Best go back. A good wank would get rid of all this stress. Right then.'
And I went back home.
I went straight in the shower. Got rid of all that excess energy. Tried to watch TV but couldn't concentrate on anything.
'What a stupid idiot, what a moron. You're 25 years old and you've never even so much as touched a woman. Unbelievable. And you're going to carry on like this. It would be better if I just threw myself out of the window and killed myself. Or jumped onto the tracks in the underground. But no, stop pissing about! It would surely be better if I just went up to the goddess's flat, right now!'
I grabbed keys, wallet, cologne, everything as before, reached the stairs, climbed up.
And now I had to ring the bell. I pondered for a moment.
'I'll ring the first one. If it's not that one it'll be the next one, or the next, until I get the right one.'
And then right at that moment, guess what? The old heat in the chest came back, along with the palpitations and the sweating.
'Agh, I can't go ahead in this state. Best delay it a bit...'
I returned to the stairwell and decided to wait until, by some miracle, the door might open.
And then suddenly it happened. I started to hear the sound of keys being turned in the lock. I hid myself a little, round the side of the staircase in order to survey the scene, and to be able to feign a chance arrival, if it should become necessary.
'This'll be perfect. She comes out and I appear, pretend to be busy with something and then I see her and feign surprise - pleasant surprise, obviously - and I say Hi! We meet again! What a surprise! Actually I live just beneath you and I'm at your service. If you need anything, just let me know! Shit, this heat again! My chest, my heart. I'm gonna die of a heart attack! Before I've even managed one screw!'
The lock suddenly released. The door opened and I heard the hinges squeaking. It closed again. My palpitations felt like a heart attack but it couldn't be a heart attack because I was too young for that, and on the whole I looked quite well. It wasn't her. It was another neighbour. 'Nothing. I'll wait a bit longer.'
I waited for almost an hour. I was just thinking about it all and then suddenly I heard the unmistakable sound of the lift coming to a stop.
'Perhaps it's her, who knows. Maybe she went out to buy some fruit and this is her returning home right now. I'll pretend I'm passing by, by chance. I'll say hi, how are you, we meet again, what a surprise! And she'll invite me into her flat.'
More palpitations and feeling too hot. The lift door opened. It wasn't her.
I stayed on the stairs, waiting. 'She'll get here eventually. Obviously the first one to arrive wasn't going to be her. All love affairs have their own story to tell, and maybe this one will be mine.'
I was thinking - that's to say I was fantasizing - all sorts of things. Because that's what I do, I fantasize instead of think, and the fantasies become a substitute for reality, which leads to me not attempting to change reality because I don't feel so much of a failure when I'm picturing a new reality.
'But things can't go on like this. I'm 25 and I've never touched any woman. Ok, so fantasies are always available to me but I want a real woman, one that truly loves me, someone with whom I can do it all, but above all, someone who'll want me to do it all with them.'
When I woke up the next day I decided that in order to continue this stalking business properly, I needed some supplies. I bought some soda biscuits, long-life milk and a few bottles of water, and I put them all in the hallway so that I wouldn't have to waste any time going into my flat for food. Those were invaluable minutes saved. I also decided not to worry if the neighbours saw me there with a load of carrier bags. However, at the same time I thought it more advisable that they shouldn't notice me camped out, as then they wouldn't be asking me any questions.
'It mustn't happen that right at the moment she appears someone should happen to be asking me if I've moved home to live out in the hallway or on the stairs.'
Everything else was fine - with the neighbours, the hot flushes and the palpitations. But as for her? Nothing. 'That's what it's like with goddesses', I thought, 'the minute I go to the toilet, out she goes, or back she comes.'
So on the Thursday I decided I wouldn't go to the toilet anymore. Okay, obviously you can't avoid the physical need itself, but going to the actual bathroom is a different thing altogether. So, I had various drinks bottles which I could use if I needed to urinate quickly; I could dispose of them down the refuse hatch later. 'They'll hold five litres of pee. Perfect'. I believed I'd gained some invaluable watch time. But the goddess didn't appear.
On Monday morning I called into work:
'I've caught a really bad infection. The doctor's told me to rest for a week.'
They believed me, so I did the same the following week - at least from Monday to Saturday…
On the Sunday everything changed. I went out to buy some ham, cheese and bread - my new fast food diet that would allow me to continue with my spying vigil. Just as I was returning, I
saw that she too was approaching the building! She moved with poise, swinging her hips, gazing vaguely about her, giving no particular attention to anything. Two weeks on the hunt for her and now she appears in front of me completely randomly like this! Well, so much the better, I thought. I pretended to search for my keys, in order to give her time to get to where I was. But when she did arrive I could neither find the keys, nor the words. She simply opened the door and went in. I followed her to the lift, and once we were both inside I quickly said:
'Fifth floor, yes?'
'Yes. How did you know?'
'You told me a couple of weeks ago that you had just finished moving...'
'Ah yes, that's right. But I haven't been at home these two weeks. It's been divine'
'Divine? Why?' I asked her.
'My honeymoon', she said.
It felt rather unfair. She looked at me and said:
'There's nothing you can do about it - it is written.'
Now to me, this kind of esoteric comment always sounds a bit ridiculous, but I played along and she explained to me:
'Everything we do is already laid down in a story written by Fabrizio. He's crazy, and he wanted the story to end this way. There's nothing that can be done.'
She went into her flat and I stayed outside, thinking that if she was right then the only thing that I had to do was carry on waiting in the hallway. But perhaps the story has a different ending. This Fabrizio may be crazy but perhaps he'd take pity on me. I waited and waited...and nothing. I wanted to knock on the door and invite her to escape from this story, tell her that if she didn't come out of her flat she would disappear from in there, without even dying.
But I couldn't do it. Something bigger than me was preventing it.
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