[2013] Pierced by the Sun Page 5

  “Lupita?”

  “Yeah!”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that I didn’t recognize you out of uniform.”

  “What do you want, Captain?”

  “I was looking for you because new evidence came up.”

  “Who told you I was here?”

  “Your neighbor, I believe Celia is her name.”

  “That fucking bitch!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Look, Captain, since you’re here, you might as well come dance with me. Then you can talk about whatever you want.”

  Not one to hesitate, Captain Martinez took Lupita by the hand and led her to the dance floor. Lupita felt like a child protected by her father. His was a big, loving hand. She immediately fantasized about that warm hand running over her entire body.

  “I’ve got good news, Lupita. The sketch you worked on with our artist has been of great help. Licenciado Buenrostro has identified the suspect as one of the street vendors.”

  “Oh, Captain, why don’t you tell me all this stuff later? I really like this song. Let me enjoy it.”

  The band was playing one of Lupita’s favorite songs, “Pedro Navaja” by Rubén Blades. Lupita inched closer to the captain and appreciated how well their bodies fit together. Lupita’s breasts rested perfectly on Martinez’s belly. It was like he and she had been designed for each other. They were dancing so close that Lupita could feel the captain’s breath on her neck. “Life gives you surprises, life gives you surprises” chimed the song’s chorus, at the precise moment Lupita noticed the captain wasn’t wearing underwear and had an erection. What a surprise indeed! Lupita excitedly pressed her thick curves against the captain. She never imagined that her chubby body could provoke such a fortunate reaction. Her self-esteem took a quantum leap. She felt a knot in her stomach and, much to her dismay, had to excuse herself to run to the bathroom to throw up.

  Lupita barely had time to hunch over a sink in the women’s room before her stomach emptied itself. Immediately, the attendant—who was none other than the shaman Concepción Ugalde, better known as Conchita—rushed to her aid. She affectionately rubbed Lupita’s back while she heaved, and then helped her clean up. Conchita showed no sign of judgment. As a bathroom attendant she had witnessed many similar scenes, but it was still admirable how she tended to Lupita. They were old acquaintances. Lupita had been visiting this dance hall once a week for many years, as many years as Conchita had been the one in charge of preventing the sale and consumption of drugs in the women’s bathroom.

  “Thanks, Doña Conchita.”

  “You’re welcome child. Do you feel better?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Good. When did you fall off the wagon?”

  “Just recently. Don’t worry. It’s under control.”

  “Well, I guess you know all about that.”

  “I’m just having a real hard time getting over the delegado’s death. He died in my arms, you know.”

  Conchita stopped cleaning, shocked by what she had just heard. “You’re the cop that was on the scene?”

  “Yeah, didn’t you see me all over the news?”

  “No, I don’t watch TV.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Hey, did you happen to see who attacked the delegado?” Conchita asked, getting a bottle of disinfectant to scrub at the sink and anxiously awaiting an answer.

  “Guess what, Doña Conchita?” Lupita said, smoothing out her dress. “I just fell in love!”

  “You don’t say. With who?”

  “With an incredible man!”

  “Does he drink, too?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s not important.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Anyways, I quit drinking. This is just for today.”

  “So now it turns out that ‘just for today’ is an excuse to drink? What would the people in your AA group say about that? You’re not going anymore, are you?”

  “Aw Conchita, don’t be like that. We’ll talk later, okay? My man is waiting for me.”

  “Well at least rinse out your mouth before you go.” Conchita handed Lupita a small bottle of mouthwash she kept in a drawer, and she noticed Lupita’s wounded finger. “What happened to your hand?”

  “I got a glass shard stuck in my finger, can you believe that?”

  “Glass? But how?”

  “I think it’s from the delegado’s phone.”

  As Lupita rinsed her mouth, Conchita called someone on her cell phone. She spoke briefly with whoever was on the line. It was inaudible to Lupita due to her loud gargling. Conchita hung up in a hurry.

  “Thank you, Doña Conchita. You’re the best!”

  “You’re welcome, child. Have a nice night and remember that if you need help I have a friend who runs a rehab center.”

  “You don’t give up, do you? I told you, I’m not drunk. Well, maybe a little, but don’t worry, a bump will fix that! Hahaha.”

  Conchita did not appreciate Lupita’s joke. She nodded her head in disapproval and grasped Lupita by the arm before she walked out the door. She asked Lupita for her number so she could reach her and keep up with her health. Lupita took a pen that was on the counter and started jotting down her phone number directly on Conchita’s dress.

  “Child, what is wrong with you?”

  “Don’t get mad, Conchita. This way you won’t lose it!”

  Conchita once again nodded her head in disapproval. Lupita left the bathroom with a feeling of freshness in her mouth, but she ran straight into a man in the hallway, losing her balance. She turned furiously and was frozen with shock: in front of her stood the very same man who’d crossed the street alongside her the day of the delegado’s death. She was dumbstruck. The man was wearing the same ear gauges and labret piercing. After an awkward second, both he and Lupita went their separate ways.

  Lupita had three options: go after the man and arrest him, go back to Captain Martinez and tell him about it so he could handle the arrest, or go find some cocaine and enjoy the rest of the night. She chose the last one. She knew exactly where in the dance hall to find the best coke, and she immediately headed in that direction. She was in such a hurry that she didn’t see the man she’d run into head into the women’s bathroom. He knocked on the door and when Conchita came out they had a suspicious conversation.

  LUPITA LIKED TO BE RIGHT

  Nothing annoyed her more than being contradicted. She quarreled vehemently, argued endlessly without rhyme or reason, and even mixed up her arguments. In a nutshell: she was very stubborn. Convincing others that she was right was her passion. In her life she had made many mistakes just to prove her point. For example, all her friends had warned her that when he became her boyfriend Manolo was going to put her through a lot of suffering. She didn’t heed their warnings. The man attracted her so much that she overlooked all the telltale signs. She never acknowledged that he was an alcoholic, or how violent he could get when he was drunk. When they got married and the beatings began, Lupita kept quiet. She couldn’t stand the thought of her friends saying “we told you so,” so she pretended to be in a harmonious relationship just so they wouldn’t have the pleasure of being right. It would mean defeat, and she wasn’t ready to admit to it. Not until Manolo beat her so badly that she had to go to the hospital did Lupita confess the abuse she had been subjected to. That day she couldn’t decide what was worse, the pain in her ribs or her wounded pride.

  On this morning she couldn’t decide what was worse: her headache, her depression, her uncontrollable desire to sleep, or the anger from hearing terrible comments about Licenciado Larreaga, her dear and admired delegado. Her face was red, and she had an urge to hit someone. And as if her physical and moral hangover weren’t enough, she had to sit there and listen to a bunch of assholes talking shit.

  So what if Licenciado Larreaga had made political compromises in order to govern? That didn’t mean he got dirty money from it! She refused to accept that the delegado had been corrupt. Lupita
would stick her neck out for him. She couldn’t understand how there could be people mean enough to bad-mouth such an honest man. A deep depression began to overtake her. If anyone had asked about her mood, all she’d be capable of answering would be “shitty.” And not just because of the delegado’s death. Having slept with Captain Martinez while wasted made her very sad, because for some time now she had been haunted by an absurd thought: she could never know when would be her last time having sex. A woman perfectly remembers her first time, but could never predict when would be her last, and that worried her tremendously. That’s why she always tried to enjoy sex to the fullest, and she tried to soak in every detail to keep in her memory just in case there was no next time. For the past few hours she had been trying to remember every kiss and every caress, no matter how insignificant. She had all the time in the world for this. The cocaine she’d inhaled at the dance hall had diminished the effects of the alcohol she drank, but it also kept her up all night. When Captain Martinez left to go to work, she had stayed up waiting for the sun to rise, feeling guilty as hell. As soon as she recalled every instant of the passionate night, her mind began to torment her. Her addiction and lust had prevented her from capturing the delegado’s possible murderer. She couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong her actions had been. What worried her most was the feeling of losing control once more. The first time she’d felt like this was when she smoked marijuana. Under the influence of weed she heard more than she usually did, and she noticed things she had never seen before. Pot allowed her to overcome the limits imposed by her body, which she liked, but it also altered her sense of space and time. Not controlling her senses and not knowing when the effects would wear off really scared her. And now she felt the same way. The euphoria from the cocaine was gone, leaving a vacuum that was instantly filled with depression. To top it all off, the opinions about the delegado that she was overhearing were terribly disheartening.

  Once again, Lupita found herself in the hallway of the Delegación Iztapalapa offices, this time waiting to speak with Buenrostro. After Larreaga’s death, Buenrostro had been named interim delegado. There were about a dozen people waiting to see him, and as they waited they all spoke their minds about the current state of affairs. Lupita listened and grew more annoyed. She did not agree with anything she was hearing. She was standing across from Gonzalo Lugo, Mami’s right-hand man, who was in the company of several street vendors. There were two young women in the group, and Lupita judged them harshly. If she had to name one thing that annoyed her most, it would probably be the way that girls from the countryside dressed when they came to the city. They immediately got rid of their huipiles and threw on a pair of hip-hugger jeans and crop tops that only accentuated their bellies and love handles. When she pictured them dressed in the traditional garments of their indigenous communities, the girls immediately recovered their beauty and dignity. Trading the elegance, originality, and grace of their ancestral clothing for the uniformity of imported, sweatshop clothes designed to give a false sense of status to the wearer made those women usurpers. As she stared them down, Lupita asked herself, Why do they cut off their braids and get horrible perms like Mami? Why do they dress that way? Why do they try so hard to be something they’re not?

  FIVE HUNDRED YEARS EARLIER

  The penalty for wearing indigenous clothing was one hundred lashes, a fine of four reales, or prison. The Spaniards had banned indigenous clothing because after the conquest they demanded that the natives speak, dress, eat, and act according to the colonizers’ commands. Those who obeyed were allowed to dress and decorate themselves in the Spanish tradition as a reward for their submission to the new laws.

  Of course, the girls Lupita harshly criticized also had their own opinions about how tight Lupita’s uniform and bulletproof vest looked on her. They were even. As they waited to be received by Buenrostro they carried on their conversation, and Lupita had to listen really hard because they were keeping their voices down.

  “So what does Mami have to say about this?”

  “She’s fucking pissed. We’re not playing games here. They better not try to say that Larreaga never got his cut.”

  “But you gave it to him directly, right?”

  “Of course, bitch. All cash, in a shoebox, like always!”

  Lupita felt a lump in her throat. She refused to believe what she was hearing. A wave of indignation drove her to interject on the delegado’s behalf.

  “Hey, could you please mind your words? Don Larreaga’s body hasn’t even left the morgue and you’re already slandering him? Have a little respect, will you?”

  “Well, with all due respect, mind your own business you third-rate pisser.”

  “Your grandma’s the pisser, asshole!”

  “She may be a pisser but she’s not corrupt like your delegado.”

  “The corrupt one is Mami!”

  “Are you sure she’s corrupt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why don’t you report her?”

  “Because I’m not stupid. It wouldn’t accomplish anything! Don’t be an imbecile.”

  Suddenly everyone fell quiet. Selene, the delegado’s widow, entered the hallway escorted by Inocencio. The street vendors all stood up and hypocritically offered their condolences. Selene thanked them with a slight nod. She was dressed in black and kept her sunglasses on. Inocencio was carrying a box in which Lupita assumed were some of the delegado’s personal effects. On her way out, Selene noticed Lupita and walked toward her.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, ma’am. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. I wanted to tell you that I appreciate you staying with my husband until the ambulance arrived.”

  “It was my duty.”

  “Listen, I was told that you picked up his phone?”

  “Yes ma’am, but I delivered it to my superiors.”

  “Ah! Well, thank you for everything.”

  “At least your husband told you he loved you before he died.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Over the phone, didn’t you hear him?”

  Selene raised her sunglasses for a second and looked at Lupita with tremendous pain spreading across her face. Lupita knew instantly that the delegado had cheated on his wife. It took just one glance to prove it. The look in Selene’s eyes was the same she saw in her mother’s eyes when Trini learned that her husband—Lupita’s stepfather—had molested her daughter. It was the same look she saw in her own eyes when she looked in a bathroom mirror after catching her husband Manolo petting her goddaughter’s pubescent chest at a quinceañera party. The girl was barely eleven years old, but two small mounds were beginning to show. Manolo—completely drunk—had grabbed her from behind and was rubbing her still forming breasts with a disgusting lust. When Manolo realized he had been caught, he shoved the girl aside and she ran in terror to the other side of the patio. A wave of nausea made Lupita seek refuge in a bathroom, and that was when she saw that look of pain in her own face.

  “Excuse me, where’s the restroom?” said Selene.

  “This way, ma’am. Let me walk you,” Lupita said to the widow.

  “Don’t worry,” Inocencio said. “I’ll take her. Thank you.”

  Lupita watched them walk away with tears in her eyes. In that moment Larreaga came crashing down from the pedestal upon which Lupita had placed him. All evidence pointed to him being a cheating husband. What if the delegado had not only cheated on his wife but also committed acts of corruption? That would mean Lupita was wrong. That she wasn’t always right. That she catalogued people according to her own longing instead of reality, and that hurt like hell. Fuck, it hurt! Now Lupita couldn’t rely on her own judgment, which meant she couldn’t even trust herself. She, who had relapsed into alcohol and drugs despite having vowed at her son’s grave to never do it again. If she couldn’t trust her own word, what hope was left in the world?

  Buenrostro’s secretary yanked her out of her moping. She called Lup
ita by name and asked her to proceed to the director’s office.

  “Good morning, Lupita. Please take a seat.”

  “Thank you, Licenciado.”

  “Listen, I received a copy of the suspect sketch based on your statement, and it seems to be a street vendor. He has a booth in the park where he sells obsidian artifacts. Are you sure he had those gauges in his ears and the labret piercing?”

  “Labret?”

  “Yeah, it’s a piercing below the lower lip, usually the jewelry is a pointy shaft instead of a ring.”

  “Yeah, he did.”

  Lupita debated whether to tell Buenrostro that she’d run into the guy at the dance hall. She decided against it because confessing would prove her the worst cop in the world.

  “That will be all. Thank you very much. I’m not trying to get rid of you, but I do have a lot of other people to meet with.”

  Lupita left the office, and on her way to the building’s exit she saw Don Carlos—her AA sponsor. She turned around and headed for a door at the back of the building marked for authorized personnel only. She walked as fast as she could, trying to blend in with the crowd. She couldn’t face her sponsor with alcohol on her breath. Life is ironic: two days ago she would have given anything to talk to him, but now it was pointless.

  Carlos had been searching for Lupita for hours. He had read about her in the newspapers and wanted to offer his support. What worried him the most was knowing that Lupita had reached out to him and he hadn’t been available to help. He had been mugged a few days back and his cell phone had been stolen. That was why Lupita couldn’t reach him. Carlos knew the impact this kind of event could have on the soul of an emotional cripple, and he wanted to help ease Lupita’s pain as much as he could.

  LUPITA LIKED TO OBSERVE THE SKY

  To carefully contemplate the trajectory of celestial bodies. To reflect on how a planet hides behind another during its orbit. Since her son’s death, when she spent the night observing how her own shadow was projected on the child’s face, eclipses had fascinated her. It was quite astounding to bear witness to the disappearance of a heavenly body and its subsequent reappearance in the firmament. If one can no longer see something, or someone, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the object has disappeared completely. Sometimes one is, and sometimes one isn’t. To Lupita it was a phenomenon not unlike being drunk. Those who have seen the eyes of a drunk understand this well. In the depths of those eyes another person appears, and disappears when they sober up.