Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter - Mario Vargas Llosa [88]
“That reminds me—I’m writing a story that’s going to be called ‘Dangerous Games,’” I whispered in her ear. “It’s about a bunch of little street urchins who levitate at the airport, thanks to the lift effect from planes that are taking off.”
I heard her laugh. A moment later she threw her arms around my neck and put her cheek to mine. “Okay, I’ve gotten over being angry,” she said. “Because I came here determined to tear your eyes out. But it’ll be too bad for you the next time you hang up on me.”
“And it’ll be too bad for you the next time you go out with that endocrinologist,” I told her, searching for her mouth. “Promise me you’ll never go out with him again.”
She drew away and looked at me with a belligerent gleam in her eye. “Don’t forget that I came to Lima looking for a husband,” she answered, half jokingly. “And I think that this time I’ve found just the right one for me. Good-looking, cultivated, well-off financially, graying at the temples.”
“Are you certain that this marvel is going to marry you?” I asked her, enraged and jealous all over again.
Placing her hands on her hips in a provocative pose, she replied: “I have ways of getting him to marry me.”
But, on seeing the expression on my face, she laughed, threw her arms around my neck again, and there we were, kissing each other lovingly and passionately, when we heard Javier’s voice: “You’re going to be arrested for indecent and pornographic conduct in public.”
He was in a happy mood, and embracing the two of us, he announced: “Little Nancy has accepted my invitation to a bullfight, and that calls for a celebration.”
“We’ve just had our first big fight and you caught us right in the middle of our big reconciliation scene,” I explained to him.
“It’s plain to see you don’t know me very well,” Aunt Julia informed me. “When I have a really big fight I break dishes, I scratch, I’m out to kill.”
“The best part about having fights is making up afterwards,” Javier, an expert on the subject, opined. “But, damn it all, I come bouncing in here all set to commemorate my glorious victory and you start raining on my parade. What kind of friends are you, anyway? Come on, you two, I’m inviting you to lunch to fete this grand occasion.”
They waited for me while I wrote up a couple of news bulletins and then we headed for a little café on the Calle Belén that delighted Javier, since, despite its being filthy and little more than a hole in the wall, they served the best chitlings in all of Lima there. I ran into Pascual and Big Pablito standing downstairs in the doorway of Panamericana, flirting with girls passing by, and sent them back upstairs to the News Department. Despite the fact that it was broad daylight and right in the middle of the downtown area, within full view of countless pairs of eyes of relatives and friends of the family, Aunt Julia and I walked along holding hands and I kept kissing her almost every step of the way. Her cheeks were as bright red as a mountain girl’s, and she looked as happy as could be.
“That’s enough of your pornography, you selfish creatures, think about me for a minute,” Javier protested. “Let’s talk about Nancy a little.”
Nancy was a pretty young cousin of mine, a terrible flirt, whom Javier had been in love with ever since he’d reached the age of reason and whom he pursued with the persistence of a bloodhound. She had never taken him seriously, yet always managed to keep him on the string and lead him to think that maybe…that very soon…that the next time… This pre-romance had been going on since we were in high school, and I, as Javier’s confidant, bosom buddy, and go-between, had been in on every detail. Nancy had stood him up countless times, left him waiting for her countless times at the door of the Leuro while she went to the Colina or to the Metro for the Sunday matinee, appeared countless times at parties on Saturday nights with another escort.