Gods of Jade and Shadow - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,11
parrot in its cage as it ate, and then, bored, slipped back to his room for a nap. He engaged in an indolent existence punctuated by the most expensive treats and drinks he could find in town. When Martín awoke, he pawed around his bed for his pack of cigarettes and remembered Casiopea was supposed to bring them back. He cursed under his breath, because she had not bothered to hand them to him yet.
He waited for her in front of Grandfather’s room until she came out, newspaper tucked under her arm. She saw him as soon as she stepped into the hallway and looked at him with very dark, very dismissive eyes.
“Wherever have you been? I told you to fetch me cigarettes and you never came back.”
“I was doing my chores, Martín. Bringing the beef to the cook.”
“What about me?” he asked.
“I thought the most important thing was to get the meat for Grandfather’s supper.”
“Oh, and what, I’m not important?”
“Martín,” she said and reached into her skirt’s pocket and held out the cigarettes for him. “Here.”
This, like many of her gestures, was dismissive. Not that she had said anything particularly bad. It was her tone of voice, the movement of her head, even the way she breathed. Quiet and defiant at the same time, driving him to irritation. He thought she plotted against him, or she would if she could.
Martín snatched the pack of cigarettes. The girl walked away, and once she was out of sight he forgot he’d been angry at her, although she quickly got on his bad side again with her impertinence about the boots. Was it so difficult to simply do as he asked without a complaint or curt look?
Of course he tattled on her, told Grandfather Casiopea was being disrespectful again, and after that was accomplished he went in search of entertainment, as if to reward himself. There was a single, lackluster cantina in town. He did not frequent it because it was unseemly for the grandson of the most important man in Uukumil to show his face there. Instead, he socialized with what passed as the cream of the crop of their town. The pharmacist and the notary public, who also served as the haberdasher, organized games of dominoes at their homes on certain nights of the week, but Martín was often bored when he attended these gatherings. Casiopea could play both chess and checkers, but she was better than him at these pursuits, and since he did not like to be beaten by anyone, especially a girl, he did not deign to play with her.
He made up his mind and walked to the pharmacist’s home. With mechanical rigidity he sat around the table with the other men, watching as one of them emptied the box with the game pieces.
Rather than being upset at the monotony of this game, he was soothed by the familiar faces and rituals. Unlike Casiopea, who had grown disenchanted with the town, with the sameness of expressions, he was comforted by its familiarity.
By the time Martín went back home and saw Casiopea walk across the interior patio, headed for bed, no doubt, he was in a hazy, pleasant state of mind, and being the kind of drunk who naturally engages in multiple apologies when inebriation erodes his defenses, he spoke to her.
“Casiopea,” he said.
She raised her head. She didn’t look at him with a question in her eyes, like others might, but stared at him instead.
When he’d been a boy Martín had feared the monster that dwelled under his bed, pulling his covers up to his chin to stay safe. Martín had the nagging suspicion that as a child his cousin had feared nothing, and that she feared nothing now. He thought this was unnatural, especially for a girl.
“Casiopea, I know the old man is punishing you, and I have to say it’s a raw deal. Do you want me to ask him to let you come with us tomorrow?” he asked.
“I don’t want anything from you,” she spat back.
Martín was incensed. Casiopea loved to push against him, to disobey him, to speak in that insolent tone of hers. How could he be kind when she was this willful? It had been wrong to even consider extending her this courtesy.
“Very well,” he told her. “I hope you enjoy your chores.”
He left her with that. He did not consider that his attempt at an apology had been insufficient, nor that Casiopea had a reason to be curt