Kiss of the Spider Woman Read online

—What time is it?

  —It’s eight-fifteen.

  —And the guard didn’t come by yet?

  —He came with the coffee but you didn’t wake up. Sleeping like a log, you were.

  —How fantastic! . . . what a way to sleep . . . But where are the mugs? . . . Say, are you putting me on or something? They’re right where you left them last night.

  —Okay, I lied to you, so what? I just thought the guard should stop bringing us coffee in the mornings. And I told him so.

  —Look, you can decide for yourself whatever you want, but me, I want my coffee, even if it’s pisswater.

  —You don’t have any sense, do you? Whenever you take the prison stuff you get sick, but this way you don’t have to worry, because as long as I have provisions you have provisions, too. And besides I’m expecting a visit from my lawyer today, and my mom’ll probably show up with him like usual, so that means another package for us.

  —Honestly, my friend, I don’t like anybody running my life for me.

  —What my lawyer has to say today could be important. To tell you the truth, I don’t put much stock in appeals and all that, but if he’s got the kind of pull he says he has, then there may be something to it.

  —Let’s hope so.

  —Say, if I get out . . . who knows what you’ll wind up with for a cellmate.

  —Have you had your breakfast already, Molina?

  —No, because I didn’t want to disturb you, while you were sleeping.

  —I’ll put some water on for both of us then.

  —No! You just stay put, you’re barely recovering. I’ll fix it. And the water’s already on.

  —But this is the last day I allow any of this. What are you making?

  —A surprise. What were you reading last night?

  —Nothing. Political stuff.

  —Boy are you communicative . . .

  —What time is the lawyer coming?

  —He said at eleven . . . And now . . . we open up the little secret package . . . which I’ve been hiding from you . . . something really delicious . . . to have with our cup of tea . . . marble cake!

  —Thanks, I don’t want any.

  —You don’t want any . . . oh, I’ve heard that before . . . Look, the water’s already starting to boil, so out you go and hurry back, now that the water’s almost ready!

  —Don’t be telling me what I have to do . . .

  —But, hey, can’t I just coddle you a little bit? . . .

  —Cut it out! . . . Christ almighty!!!

  —You gone crazy? . . . What the hell’s wrong with you?

  —Shut up!!!

  —But the marble cake . . .

  — . . .

  —Look what you did . . .

  — . . .

  —If we don’t have a stove, we’re done for. And the plate . . .

  — . . .

  —And the tea . . .

  —I’m sorry.

  — . . .

  —I lost my head, I’m sorry, honestly.

  — . . .

  —The stove isn’t broken. But the kerosene got knocked over.

  — . . .

  —Molina, please forgive my damn temper.

  — . . .

  —Can I pour more kerosene into the bottle?

  —Yes.

  —And please forgive me, honestly.

  —Nothing to forgive.

  —Yes there is. All that time I was sick, if it weren’t for you, who knows how I’d have ended up?

  —You don’t have to thank me for anything.

  —Yes I do. And for a lot, too.

  —Forget it, nothing’s the matter.

  —Yes there is, obviously, and I’m terribly ashamed.

  — . . .

  —I’m a real bastard.

  — . . .

  —Molina, look, I’ll call the guard and while I’m out I’ll fill the pitcher up with water because we’re almost empty. Look at me, will you? Lift your head up.

  — . . .

  —See, I’m going for some water now. You forgive me?

  — . . .

  —Please, Molina.

  — . . .

  *

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  WARDEN: Fine, Sergeant, you can leave now.

  SERGEANT: Yes, sir.

  WARDEN: Well, Molina, how is it going?

  PRISONER: Fine, sir. Thank you . . .

  WARDEN: What news have you got for me?

  PRISONER: Not much to tell, I’m afraid.

  WARDEN: Hmmm . . .

  PRISONER: But I promise you one thing—each day he opens up more and more with me, that I can tell you . . .

  WARDEN: Hmmm . . .

  PRISONER: Yes sir, that much is for sure . . .

  WARDEN: The unfortunate thing, Molina, is that they’re pressuring me from all sides. And I’m going to let you in on something confidential, so you can understand my position. The pressure is coming right from the top . . . from the Presidency. They want to hear something up there, and soon. What’s more, they’re insisting upon Arregui’s being interrogated again, and thoroughly. You understand my meaning? . . .

  PRISONER: Yes, sir . . . But give me a few more days, don’t interrogated him yet; say he’s too weak, which is true. Because it’ll be worse if he drops dead on them, tell them that.

  WARDEN: Yes, I tell them, but they’re not very convinced.

  PRISONER: Give me just another week, and I’m sure I’ll have some information for you.

  WARDEN: All the information possible, Molina, all of it.

  PRISONER: I have one idea though, sir.

  WARDEN: What’s that?

  PRISONER: I don’t know whether you’ll . . .

  WARDEN: Speak up . . .

  PRISONER: Well, it’s true, Arregui is very tough, but he also has his weaker side . . .

  WARDEN: Yes? . . .

  PRISONER: So . . . for example, if he should find out, for instance . . . Say a guard comes along and announces that they’ll be shifting me into a different cell, because I’m now under a special category, on account of the pardon, or . . . Not so fast yet, on account of the fact that my lawyer has just presented an appeal, then if he thinks they’re putting us into different cells, he’ll probably soften up a lot. Because I think he’s gotten a bit attached to me, so this way he’s bound to loosen up and talk . . .

  WARDEN: You think so?

  PRISONER: I think it’s worth trying.

  WARDEN: I still suspect it was a mistake to tell him about the possibility of a pardon. It’s probably made him put two and two together.

  PRISONER: No, I don’t think so.

  WARDEN: Why not?

  PRISONER: Oh, just a feeling I have . . .

  WARDEN: No, tell me why. You must have some reasons for thinking that.

  PRISONER: Well . . . that way I cover myself too a little.

  WARDEN: How do you mean?

  PRISONER: In the sense that if I finally get out of prison he wouldn’t suspect something and then, next thing I know, get some of his comrades to come looking for me, and take reprisals.

  WARDEN: You know perfectly well he has no contact whatsoever with his comrades.

  PRISONER: That’s what we think.

  WARDEN: He can’t even write them without our seeing the letter first, so what are you frightened about, Molina? You’re getting carried away with yourself.

  PRISONER: But I’m still sure it’s better if he thinks I’m about to be released . . . Because . . .

  WARDEN: Because what?

  PRISONER: Nothing . . .

  WARDEN: I’m asking you a question, Molina. Speak up!

  PRISONER: What can I say . . .

  WARDEN: Speak up, Molina, I want it straight! If we’re not straight with one another, we won’t get anywhere.

  PRISONER: Okay, but it’s nothing, sir, I swear. Just a hunch, that’s all, that maybe if he thinks I’m leaving, he might feel like getting a few things off his chest. That’s the way it goes with
prisoners, sir. When a buddy leaves . . . it makes you feel more helpless than ever.

  WARDEN: Have it your own way, Molina, we’ll see you here in a week.

  PRISONER: Thank you, sir.

  WARDEN: But from then on we’ll have to start looking at things in a different light, I’m afraid . . .

  PRISONER: Yes, of course.

  WARDEN: Very good, Molina . . .

  PRISONER: Sir, I’m sorry to . . . well, try your patience . . . but . . .

  WARDEN: What’s the matter?

  PRISONER: Well, I ought to return to my cell with some kind of package, so I’ve made up a small list here—that is, if it’s all right with you. I wrote it while we were waiting outside. Sorry about my handwriting.

  WARDEN: And you think this sort of thing helps?

  PRISONER: I promise you nothing helps more, especially at this point, absolutely . . . I promise you.

  WARDEN: Let me see it.

  List of things to go in the package for Molina, please, with everything packed in two brown shopping bags, like my mother carries it:

  2 roast chickens

  4 baked apples

  one pint egg salad

  ¾ pound fresh ham

  ¾ pound cooked ham

  4 fresh rolls, seedless

  one package of tea & a tin of ground coffee

  one loaf of rye bread, sliced

  2 large packages guava paste

  one jar orange marmalade

  quart of milk & a Holland cheese

  small box salt

  4 large pieces assorted glazed fruits

  2 marble cakes

  one stick butter

  jar of mayonnaise and a box of paper napkins

  —This is the fresh ham, and this is the cooked. I think I’ll make a sandwich just to have the bread while it’s fresh. But you have what you want.

  —Thanks.

  —Me, all I’ll do is open up one of these rolls, put a little butter on it, with some ham. And some egg salad. Then afterwards a nice baked apple. And some tea.

  —Sounds good.

  —And you, break off a piece of chicken if you want and have it while it’s still warm, just go right ahead.

  —Thanks, Molina.

  —Better that way, right? Each one fixes whatever he wants; that way I don’t aggravate you.

  —Whatever you prefer.

  —I put water on the stove in case you want something. Have what you like, tea or coffee.

  —Thanks.

  — . . .

  —Delicious-looking food, Molina.

  —And we also have some glazed fruit. Only thing I want you to leave me is that piece of glazed pumpkin because it’s my favorite. We also got glazed pineapple, and a large glazed fig, and this reddish piece, I wonder what it is?

  —Probably watermelon, or maybe not, I really don’t know . . .

  —Well, we’ll get to find out when we bite into it.

  —Molina . . . I’m still ashamed . . .

  —Of what?

  —About this morning . . . about my temper.

  —Nonsense . . .

  —Whoever doesn’t know how to receive . . . he’s the mean one. It’s because he doesn’t want to give anything either.

  —Think so? . . .

  —Yes, I’ve been thinking, and that’s what it is. If I got all uptight because you were being . . . generous with me . . . it’s because I didn’t want to see myself as obligated to treat you the same way.

  —You think? . . .

  —Yes, I do.

  —Well, look . . . I’ve been thinking, too, and I remembered about some of the stuff you said, Valentin, and I understood from that why you acted the way you did. I mean it.

  —What was it that I told you?

  —That all of you, when you’re involved in a struggle the way you are, you’re not supposed to . . . well, become attached . . . to anyone. Oh, maybe attached is saying too much, but why not, yes, to become attached . . . like a friend.

  —That’s a very generous interpretation on your part.

  —See, sometimes I really do understand the things you tell me . . .

  —Yes, but in this case, the two of us are locked up here, so there is no struggle, no fight to win, you follow me?

  —Mmm, go ahead.

  —Then are we so pressured . . . by the outside world, that we can’t act civilized? Is it possible . . . that the enemy, out there, has so much power?

  —I don’t follow you . . .

  —Well, that everything that’s wrong with the world . . . and everything that I want to change . . . is it possible all that won’t allow me to . . . behave . . . even for a single minute, like a decent human being?

  —What do you want to have? The water’s boiling.

  —Put tea on for both of us, okay?

  —Fine.

  —I don’t know if you understand me . . . but here we are, all alone, and when it comes to our relationship, how should I put it? We could make any damn thing out of it we want; our relationship isn’t pressured by anyone.

  —Yes, I’m listening.

  —In a sense we’re perfectly free to behave however we choose with respect to one another, am I making myself clear? It’s as if we were on some desert island. An island on which we may have to remain alone together for years. Because, well, outside of this cell we may have our oppressors, yes, but not inside. Here no one oppresses the other. The only thing that seems to disturb me . . . because I’m exhausted, or conditioned or perverted . . . is that someone wants to be nice to me, without asking anything back for it.

  —Well, about that I don’t know . . .

  —What do you mean you don’t know?

  —I can’t explain it.

  —Come on, Molina, don’t try to pull that on me. Concentrate, and you’ll know what it is you’re thinking, soon enough.

  —Well, don’t get the idea anything’s strange, but if I’m nice to you . . . it’s because I want to win your friendship, and, why not say it? . . . your affection. Same as I want to be good to my mom because she’s a nice person, who never did anybody any harm, because I love her, because she’s nice, and I want her to love me . . . And you too are a very nice person, very selfless, and you’ve risked your life for a very noble ideal . . . And don’t be looking the other way, am I embarrassing you?

  —Yes, a little . . . But I’m looking at you, see? . . .

  —And because you’re that way . . . I respect you, and I’m fond of you, and I want you to feel the same about me, too . . . Because, just look, my mom’s affection for me is, well, it’s the only good thing that’s happened to me in my whole life, because she takes me for what I am, and loves me just that way, plain and simply. And that’s like a gift from heaven, and the only thing that keeps me going, the only thing.

  —Can I take some bread?

  —Of course . . .

  —But haven’t you . . . haven’t you any close friends . . . who also mean a lot to you?

  —Yes, but look, my friends have always been . . . well, faggots, like I am, and among ourselves, well, how can I put it? We don’t put too much faith in one another, because of the way we are . . . so easy to scare, so wishy-washy. And what we’re always waiting for . . . is like a friendship or something, with a more serious person . . . with a man, of course. And that can’t happen, because a man . . . what he wants is a woman.

  —And all homosexuals are that way?

  —No, there’s the other kind who fall in love with one another. But as for my friends and myself, we’re a hundred percent female. We don’t go in for those little games—that’s strictly for homos. We’re normal women; we sleep with men.

  —Sugar?

  —Please.

  —Delicious this fresh bread, isn’t it? . . . Best thing there is.

  —Mmm, it is delicious . . . But I have to tell you something . . .

  —You bet you do, the end of the zombie movie.

  —Mmm, that too. But there’s something else, too . . .
>
  —What’s the matter?

  —Well, my lawyer told me things are moving along.

  —What a jughead I am, I didn’t even ask. What else did he tell you?

  —Well, that it seems like everything’s going to work out for me, but that when they put you up for a pardon, I mean when you’re being considered for a pardon, not when you already have one . . . anyway, you get switched to some other section of the penitentiary. So, before the week is out they’re going to move me into a new cell.

  —Really? . . .

  —It seems so.

  —And the lawyer, how did he know?

  —They told him in the parole office, when he brought the papers in to be processed.

  —That’s great news . . . Wow, you must feel so happy . . .

  —I don’t want to think about it yet. Or build up any hopes . . . You should try the egg salad.

  —Should I?

  —Honestly, it’s delicious.

  —I don’t know if I should; my stomach clenched after what you said.

  —Look, act like I never said a word, because nothing is certain at all. As far as I’m concerned they haven’t told me a thing.

  —No, it’s all looking up for you; we should be celebrating.

  —No, I don’t buy any of it . . .

  —But I’m very happy for you, Molina, even though you’ll be leaving and . . . Anyway, that’s the way it goes . . .

  —Have a baked apple . . . easier to digest.

  —No, maybe we’ll leave it for later, or I’ll just leave mine. You go ahead and eat, as long as you’re in the mood.

  —No, I’m not very hungry either. Know something? . . . probably if I finish the zombies, we’ll be hungrier then, so let’s eat later.

  —Fine . . .

  —It’s fun, the film, isn’t it?

  —Mmm, it’s really been entertaining.

  —In the beginning I didn’t remember a lot of it, but now it’s all coming back to me.

  —Mmm . . . but wait awhile. Actually I . . . I don’t know what’s come over me, Molina, suddenly I’m . . . I’m all messed up.

  —How come? Something hurting you? Your stomach?

  —No, it’s my head that’s messed up.

  —From what?

  —I don’t know, maybe because you’re leaving, I don’t know exactly.

  —Ah . . .

  —Maybe I’ll just lie down and rest a little bit.