Back in the room I sink my comb into the knots in my hair. It takes me quite a while to untangle them; while I’m doing this, Gerardo opens a Mahou, finishes his joint, and goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he returns I’m curling my eyelashes. He doesn’t speak; in fact, he seems to understand that my belated attempts to look presentable are because I’m leaving, and as I too now understand that fact—at first I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal of combing out the knots in my hair, curling my eyelashes, and putting on eyeliner to make my reflection in the mirror appealing—our mood turns somber. It’s five in the morning; I ask him to come down to the front desk with me because I’m afraid of Shorty. I call a cab. The bar is empty and smells of the pot Gerardo shared with the students. The cab takes half an hour to arrive; it’s a white vehicle, similar to Shorty’s, with the regulation interior light. The driver looks at us as though some member of our family has been stabbed and he’s taking us to identify the body. When he realizes that Gerardo is staying, as we’re wishing each other all the best, the driver looks less concerned, and I begin to love his serenity; he suddenly seems so sane to me, full of life, and I’m so happy that these attributes are going to accompany me on the journey to the train station, during this night—almost as dark as the last one—when the only things to see are the markings along the highway.

Strychnine

STRYCHNINE

1

She compares the ferry to a spacecraft, and thinks that the windows are similar to the compound eyes of certain insects. Then she sees the as-yet nameless character walking along the deck, saying just that. The character is a woman, and she exudes an air of measured, rational, calming coldness. She’s speculating on what she observes, which is also cold: dirty, white material; a slight odor of damp earth, sweat, french fries, and fish.

It’s going to be a third person narrative, as though she were a stranger to herself. She wants to enter this aura of serene iciness she has just imagined, which is also the tone she wants for her text. That seems the best way to try out her new brain, to anticipate what’s going to happen.

But feeling a little pessimistic, she seeks conversation.