Chapter 62
I had thought, of course, of the man from the path. The man Louise kissed, who stood in the sidewalk beneath our house and later seemed to know me. I wasted no time. I found the car keys, my phone, Tom following me to the driveway.
“Stay with Henry. I’m going to find Ida.”
I drove without direction, searching the streets for his face.
Past the Plaza Civica. North along the Obraje road, past Louise’s.
Think, I commanded myself. Think what’s here!
But there were only unmarked turnings, a few crude structures, two horses hobbled at the side of the road.
I doubled back, skirting the Jardín to the other side of town, funneling somewhere beneath Parque Juárez.
I moved as one does in dreams, with that same illogic, that sense of ineffectiveness and fate.
Once, I thought I recognized him by his gait, only for the gait to change, the face to morph.
I was now far beyond the historic center, yet somehow the traffic had become denser.
On a crowded one-way street, I heard amplified music, growing louder.
I pulled over as best I could. My temples throbbed.
Squinting through the brightness out the rear window, I discovered the source of the music: a truck with a bullhorn affixed to its roof.
As it came scraping past, I saw that it was towing a cage in which a tiger paced lethargically.
Children ran behind, yelling and laughing.
Now and then, one would snatch something off the street and hurl it at the cage: an empty chip bag, a gum wrapper, a shard of plastic.
A tap at my window made me start. A clown with a red plastic nose peered in at me, his Popsicle-red mouth moving exaggeratedly as he exhorted me.
Confusedly I shook my head. “?Qué quieres?”
“?Veinticinco!”
It was like watching a poorly dubbed film. I studied the huge kidney-shaped mouth, comprehending the words at a slight delay.
“?Solo veinticinco pesos!”
I gestured with my palms, no money.
Ignoring me, with a thump, he pressed a paper ticket against my window. The circus was in town. He lifted his gloved fingers one at a time—how many tickets did I want? He mimed laughter, holding his hands to his sides.
“?No!” I screamed at him. “?No quiero nada!” My head was spinning.
I was suddenly desperate to get away from it, the impoverished merriment, the appalling abuse of the animal.
“Leave! Get away from the car!” I revved the engine.
Before he had even stepped away fully, with a jerk, I began to drive, blaring my horn.
I pulled onto the first street, a narrowly winding callejón, then onto a broader thoroughfare, passing a grocery store I’d never seen, large and windowless, all the shoppers in the parking lot fat and laughing stupidly.
Not long after, I found myself on the road that led toward the hot springs, and suddenly the clouds parted.
Tears filled my eyes. I remembered Louise telling me of her friend in La Cieneguita.
I pressed my foot to the gas, seeing the insistent set of her mouth, her eyes when she said:
You ought to visit him; he’d enjoy meeting you.