Blood-drenched Beard : A Novel (9781101635612) Read online

  • • •

  That same afternoon he is explaining to the twins how to do a drill to extend their strokes when a woman appears at the entrance to the pool and runs toward him with a worried face and flailing arms.

  Your dog’s been run over.

  He doesn’t recognize her.

  It can’t be mine, he says. My dog’s here.

  I saw it! she shouts in exasperation. It was right in front of me, over on the avenue.

  He strains to recognize her. She is a slender woman in her early forties, with veins like tree roots running down her arms to her hands.

  It isn’t possible. Beta’s lying at the entrance to the gym, he says with impatience that sounds affected to his own ears. She always waits outside reception or with Mila in the snack bar.

  He takes two steps toward the door but realizes he doesn’t know where he is going, so he stops and hesitates. The twins take in the scene wide-eyed. They look more identical than ever. He is sweating in the warm air, pungent with the smell of chlorine. The woman grabs his arm.

  Come on, let’s go. The man who hit her took her to Greice’s. That’s where you should go.

  Do I know you?

  Before he has even finished saying it, he knows it was a mistake. He hasn’t rushed in with a question like this in a long time.

  What? Are you nuts?

  He stares hard at the woman’s face, glances at her sandals, her green and gold sarong with Indian patterns, the blouse without any distinguishing characteristic, earrings, hair, teeth. Nothing.

  She places her hand on his face and gives him a maternal look. As if he were a sick child.

  Stay calm. I’ll come with you, come on.

  He follows her, breathing quickly. His vision has tunneled, and outside of it everything is blurry and no longer of interest.

  It’s me, Celma, your student, she says, glancing at him.

  I know, sorry. I’m a bit confused.

  So this is what Celma’s face looks like. They ran together earlier that morning. She told him much of her life story. He apologizes again. She shakes her head as if to say she doesn’t mind.

  As he leaves the pool building, he can’t help but look in the places where Beta normally spends her time. Débora says she hasn’t seen her. Celma loses her patience.

  I’m telling you, your dog’s over at Greice’s! Get down there before she dies! Do you want me to take you there? If not, I’m going home.

  Who’s Greice?

  The vet over in Palhocinha. The guy said he was going to leave her there.

  They pass through the front gate of the gym. Celma climbs onto her bicycle and turns to fiddle with something in the wicker basket lashed to the bike rack with bungee cords.

  How is she?

  Celma presses her lips together and sighs.

  He ran right over her. He got her good.

  But is she alive?

  I don’t know. She was in a bad way. But he stopped the car and asked where there was a vet. Lúcia from the coffee shop told him to take her to Greice and explained where it is. He went to pick her up, and she tried to bite him. Someone gave him a hand, and they managed to get her in the car, and the guy sped off.

  It’s the clinic over by the highway, isn’t it? The one with the greenish sign.

  That’s the one. Near the fire station. Want to take my bike?

  But before she can finish, he thanks her and sprints away. He runs three blocks to the main avenue, where he turns left and almost collides with a cyclist riding down the bike lane with a surfboard under his arm. He runs in his T-shirt, Speedos, and flip-flops. When the strap of one of the flip-flops breaks, he slows down, kicks them off his feet in a kind of clumsy dance step, and keeps running. The soles of his feet pound the cracked tarmac and hard sand at the shoulder of the road. He passes a shop selling Indian decorations and one of the many pizza parlors that closed right after Carnival. In the swamp on the right side of the road, which extends for several miles to the hills, a column of gray smoke is rising from a fire. He hears the crackling of burning bamboo and sees pink tongues of fire in his peripheral vision. There is no time to look now. His breathing is becoming more labored. The vegetation along the side of the road stinks of carrion. He stares straight ahead as he runs with long strides, his feet stinging from the friction, and wonders why he is running to the vet’s, why he didn’t take Celma’s bike, why he didn’t ask for a lift, or better, why he didn’t take his own bicycle, which was where he always left it back at the gym. Idiot. He approaches the turnoff to Ferrugem Beach. At the back of his throat, he detects the zincky taste of being out of breath. He runs until he sees the green sign saying PETVIDA.

  The young man in reception is startled when he bursts in, or was already startled.

  Did someone bring in a dog that’s been run over?

  The man doesn’t say anything and just looks at him. It is a common reaction in these parts. People sometimes look surprised that they have been spoken to, as if addressing someone in words were the most peculiar thing.

  My dog was run over, and someone told me she was here.

  The man jolts out of his stupor and says yes, the dog is here. He says he’s going to talk to the vet and tells him to wait there. He returns and says that she’s in the consulting room and will be out to see him in a minute.

  Can I go in to talk to her?

  No. She’ll be right out.

  The man still looks nervous, as if he were being tested.

  Is the man who brought her in still here?

  He’s gone. He waited awhile, then left.

  Was it someone from here? Was he a local?

  The man shrugs. His ears have no outside folds, as if someone had cut off their edges when he was a child in an act of insane cruelty. The veterinary clinic’s reception area is actually a fully stocked pet shop. Tall piles of bags of dry dog and cat food take up most of the small space, and the strong smell unearths childhood memories, visits to stables and agricultural fairs with his father. Once when he was barely a teenager and the whole family still lived in the house in Ipanema, he ate dog food just to see what it was like. The floury taste and gritty texture come back to him. He used to feel sorry for the dogs that had to eat it. He sees a poster on the wall with illustrations of every dog breed in the world and fading photos of what appear to be members of several generations of beagles from the same family. A poster about vaccination. On the glass door is a large sticker with a drawing of a cow munching on grass that says ANIMALS ARE FRIENDS, NOT FOOD. Plastic doghouses, padded pet beds, collars, and multicolored shampoos. He hears a small animal yelping at the back of the clinic.

  A blond woman in a white coat appears in reception.

  Are you the owner of the dog?

  There is a smear of blood near the waist of the coat.

  Yes.

  You know she was hit by a car, don’t you?

  Yes. Where is she?

  In the consulting room. I’ve just stabilized her. Please, let’s go into my office because I need to explain a few things to you.

  They sit facing each other at her desk. On top of it is a portrait of her next to her husband, a stout, bald man. He reminds him of his student Jander, who owns a pet shop.

  Are you Jander’s wife, by any chance?

  Yes. Do you know him?

  He’s my student at the swimming pool.

  Oh, so you’re his instructor?

  He says yes with a little smile and takes a deep breath. He rests his forehead in his hand with his elbow propped on the edge of the desk.

  The vet explains that Beta has a fractured humerus and a lumbar spine injury, probably with a complete fracture of vertebra L6 or L7, which means that she will probably be paralyzed. The vet’s tone of voice is funereal. She may also have a fractured pelvis. In addition to her abrasions, which are ugly. In
a case like this, she says, we need to offer the owner the option of euthanasia.

  I don’t want to put her down. Try to save her.

  Of course you don’t. But think about it a little.

  Can’t you operate?

  I can. But even if she survives, it is almost certain that she’ll never walk again. And no matter how much you love your pet, you should give some thought to what things will be like afterward. She may suffer a lot, she won’t be easy to care for, she’ll need a trolley in order to walk.

  So there’s a chance she might walk again?

  It’s almost impossible. I’m sorry.

  Can I see her?

  It’s better if you don’t. In general we don’t allow it. You think you want to see her, but you don’t. Believe me.

  I don’t have a problem with these things.

  Even if you’re a doctor or a vet, it doesn’t matter. It’s not a question of being used to seeing blood. You don’t want to. It’s better if you talk to me. Trust me, I’ve seen this before.

  Sweat drips from his chin. He is still breathing heavily. He remembers that he is in a T-shirt and Speedos, barefoot.

  Excuse the state I’m in. I ran here from the gym.

  Don’t worry. Look, forgive me for insisting. I’m really sorry, and I know that you love your dog a lot, but I need to emphasize that it would be best—

  Your name’s Greice, isn’t it?

  Yes.

  Greice, I understand. But I need to see her before I decide. I won’t leave without seeing her.

  She stares at him for a moment.

  Come with me, then.

  There isn’t much in the operating room: a wall cabinet, a support trolley, plastic tubes, cotton wool, not a surgical instrument in sight. In the center, on an aluminum table under an operating light with four bulbs, is his father’s dog.

  I’ve cleaned and sedated her. But like I told you, she’s badly hurt. You’ll get a shock.

  He walks over and looks at the dog.

  Then he approaches the vet, who stayed in the doorway, and talks to her in a low voice close to her face.

  Do everything you can, Greice. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I don’t care how much it costs. I’ll pay more than normal if necessary. I’ll pay whatever you think is fair. If you need to take her somewhere else, let’s do it. Do whatever you can for her to survive and to get as well as possible.

  You understand that she’s going to be paralyzed? That there’s no guarantee that she’s going to walk?

  Yes.

  The surgery costs around two thousand reais. But it might end up costing more.

  That’s fine. The price doesn’t matter.

  Leave your contact information with William in reception. Cell phone and everything. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got some news. And she’ll need to stay in the clinic for at least thirty days. That’ll cost you too.

  Okay. Do everything you can.

  I promise you I will.

  Thanks.

  He gives William his contact details and walks back into Garopaba.

  • • •

  The news has spread through the gym. Mila hugs him and kisses his neck. He feels the satiny skin of the Chilean descended from Mapuche Indians on his. She strokes his hair with her hand and offers him a slice of wholemeal chocolate cake. She says he is pale and looks weak. Débora is signing up some new clients but straightens up in her chair and asks how the dog is with pity written all over her face. She tells him to go home as it’s almost time anyway, and Saucepan is watching his students in the swimming pool. He thinks about calling his mother as he gets changed in the dressing room but decides not to. To her, Beta is just a dog, if not to say a kind of enemy, and he realizes how absurd it is to be jealous of a dog and a dead man, even if not entirely without cause. When he told his mother that he had decided to look after Beta after his father’s suicide, she shook her head, unable to understand. If it were up to her, she would have pressured someone in the neighborhood to take her in. But her son keeping the dog? It was a kind of offense.

  He arrives early to pick up Pablo from school. When the children get out, Pablo appears accompanied by a teacher. He lost the fingernail of his index finger in a game. He is sporting an oversized bandage on the finger, a thick wad of gauze held down with plasters. The teacher strokes his hair.

  He had to go to the health clinic, didn’t you, Pablito?

  Yep.

  And what did the doctor say?

  The nail will grow back, says Pablo with a sideways glance, paying attention to something else.

  He puts Pablo in the bike seat.

  Ready?

  Ready!

  Can you hold on properly with your finger like that?

  Yep.

  Did it hurt a lot?

  Yep.

  He continues asking questions the whole way, and Pablo answers them as succinctly and directly as possible and with an honesty that still hasn’t been contaminated by sarcasm or irony. When they get to Dália’s mother’s house, she asks if he has read the last e-mail she sent him. He confesses that he hasn’t yet.

  I had another vision with you in it. Or a dream, if you prefer. This time it was really strange. I want to know what you think.

  I promise I’ll read it as soon as possible.

  On his way home he stops in front of the pizza parlor on the main avenue. He identifies Dália by her height and exuberant curls. She is in a meeting with other employees at the counter of the bar and signals through the window for him to wait a minute. As she walks out, she makes a funny face with twisted lips and squinting eyes.

  Hi, you wooking for me?

  I’m looking for a really pretty girl who works here.

  She lets the funny expression go, and he discovers her face all over again. How many times has it been now? Thirty? Fifty?

  Hey there, sexy. Your beard’s getting long.

  Letting nature follow its course.

  Been breaking many hearts?

  I just came to say hi and tell you that Pablito’s at home. He managed to lose the fingernail of his index finger playing hide-and-seek, but he’s taking it in his stride as always. They took him to the clinic, and he’s got a huge bandage, but everything’s okay.

  Oooh. My poor baby. I’ll give him a call now. Thanks for letting me know. Actually, it’s good that you stopped by. I need to talk to you. As of next week, you won’t need to pick him up. I’m quitting this job. I’m just going to work in the shop, and I can pick him up when I get back from Imbituba.

  I see. Changes. Some kind of problem?

  No, but I don’t need two jobs anymore. I make more money there. And I don’t have to work nights. Thanks for helping me out. You’re an asshole, but you’re an angel too.

  That’s what folks used to say to my dad. But with him it was the opposite: You’re an angel, but you’re an asshole. And I recognize that sparkle in your eye.

  I’m seeing someone.

  Already?

  She gives him the finger.

  I knew it. You’re looking very smug. Someone from here?

  From Florianópolis. He’s fifty, but he isn’t as square as you.

  What does he do?

  He’s a contractor. He’s working on that project to widen the highway. What’s the face for? Everyone makes that face when I tell them his age. Why?

  Did I make a face? I don’t think I made a face.

  Fine.

  I don’t see anything wrong with it. I don’t even know the guy. Maybe you’re the one who’s worrying too much about what other people think.

  She doesn’t answer, but her gaze is reconfigured. Now it is a look of farewell in which he can tell that she isn’t saying good-bye to him, because they’ll still see each other around, but to another world identical to this one exc
ept that in it they are still together, in love, and have lasted the distance, a world imagined in detail and nurtured for a time, which she is just now letting go of. A great sadness overcomes him. He suddenly wants her again. It is as if her attachment to that other world has leaped out of her body and into his like an invading spirit. Maybe he is feeling exactly what she was feeling a minute earlier.

  What’s wrong? asks Dália.

  He feels like crying. Truth be told, he’ll never know what she was feeling. He could have asked her. She’d have told him. He clears his throat and tells her that Beta was run over earlier that afternoon.

  Oh, how awful. Is she going to be okay?

  She’s in a bad way. But she’ll pull through.

  Are you okay?

  Yeah. I’m fine.

  The other waiters start bringing the tables outside, and Dália has to get to work.

  • • •

  The waves hit Baú Rock with a thud, followed by an effervescent hiss. He mashes up a tin of tuna with mayonnaise, slices a tomato, and makes sandwiches. He can smell the dog in the apartment and sees her short bluish hairs on the ground and her empty dish abandoned on the damp cement under the clothesline.