Please Talk to Me: Selected Stories

JOCASTA

When will night be over? Tomorrow all this will seem so foolish. All I need is morning when he will come and wake me, though God knows if I’ll be able to sleep through the night. Just like any other child in the world, isn’t he? Jumps out of bed as soon as his eyes are open and comes running very fast, otherwise maybe Mother will have gotten up already and we’ll miss the best part of the day. Only at night can one believe something so monstrous; only at night, and I feel sick imagining him now, jumping on my stomach and singing Horsey, horsey, don’t you stop, let your hooves go clippety-clop; just a little longer, Mommy. And how can one refuse, Just a little longer, Mommy, when he’s playing; who would have the courage to say no, after he looks at you, with longing in his eyes. No, that’s enough, Daniel; it’s very late. It’s enough because tonight your mother felt filthy, once and for all, and now she knows that she’ll never be able to kiss you like before, tuck you into bed, let you climb up onto her knees whenever you like; from now on it’s not right to demand that mother look after you alone and speak only to you, tell you stories and nibble your nose, and tickle you so much you laugh like crazy, and we both laugh with your funny somersaults. He does them carefully, the imp, so you won’t take your eyes off him, and then you forget the rest of the world.

I do what I can. I told them today, I do everything possible so he won’t be around me all day. They laughed; you know, it looks funny when you’re stuck with me all day, watching each of my gestures, scowling like a miniature lover every time I pay attention to one of my friends. They call you Little Oedipus, and even I laugh at the joke. Little Oedipus, I tell them, gets furious — furious — when I’m in bed with his father; it’s terrible. But it wasn’t terrible, Daniel; nothing that happens beneath the trees in the garden on a lovely summer’s day during a restful afternoon with a group of friends is terrible. Your odd ways even add a certain charm; we can spend the hours talking about you without the slightest uneasiness. Of course, my love; it’s all right to want to be with Mommy, to enjoy her; she is young, she is pretty, she guesses our words before we say them and knows how to hold us in her arms and make us laugh more than anyone in the world; and she’s silly, stupid, to feel so dirty tonight, to think that never again will she be able to stroke you, or let you climb into her arms. She’ll put you away, in a school, the sooner the better.

That’s a lie, Daniel; it’s the night, you know; it transforms even the purest things; loving you as I do becomes awful. But tomorrow it will be the same as before; you’ll see when you come in, horsey, horsey, don’t you stop, just like any day. Or did it ever matter? I’ll let you jump in my arms even if they keep on talking: But that child, Nora; he doesn’t let you out of his sight even for a second. See what I mean? I said. But you kept on hugging my neck and putting your fingers on my lips, my little tyrant. You said, Don’t talk, and then I explained, What can I do? He’s my little tyrant. Don’t you think you should do something? I do everything I can, I swear, but there’s nothing to be done, and I pushed you gently, go on, Daniel, sweetheart, trying to put you down. But it was just another joke; like calling you Little Oedipus beneath the trees in the garden, when the hideous part was far away. They’re funny words we use, words we like listening to: That child is in love with you, Nora. Or saying to them, He’s jealous of his father, the little monster. Everything proper, correct, even saying, But get down, Daniel, you see Mommy has something to do. Go and play with Graciela, sweetheart. So what was to come later would have its place. Because, you know, I myself would have put you down, I swear it. Because sometimes I do get angry and say, Well Daniel, that’s enough, and I carry you in my arms over to Graciela. Graciela, here’s this little rascal for you to look after. I don’t know if she liked the gift. Before she used to play alone, quietly, and now she has to look after you, make the effort of holding you back because you, the young gentleman, of course want to go with me but in the end, thank God, you stay there quietly and I can go back to my friends who are still talking about how strange you are. You see, I say, he has me very worried. I don’t know what to do; I try to get him to play with other children but immediately he comes after me, running in circles around me like something demented.

Did you see how he kisses me? One would say he’s making love to me, lecherous little rascal, and I must say that for his age, he does it wonderfully! And we all laugh because we are spending such a splendid afternoon. All except you, my poor Daniel; while we talk I watch you from the corner of my eye. Graciela is trying hard to entertain you, but you won’t take your eyes off me. ‘What a devil, do you think he’ll be alright with Graciela? He won’t take his eyes off you…’ Of course; you’re fighting to get away and however hard Graciela tries to hold you back, she can’t. But, now you’ve freed yourself; you are running towards me; the respite was brief; you’ve climbed back into my arms; here you are, and it’s useless to try to get you down again. You’ll stay with me, growing quieter and quieter, until sleep comes over you, and I have to climb the stairs with you in my arms, half asleep, and tuck you into bed. Goodnight, Daniel. Goodnight, Mommy. But there are no good nights for Mommy, Daniel. Never any good nights again. Never again to kiss you and nibble at your nose and tell you stories and wait till morning for you to climb all over me and sing horsey, horsey. It is useless to wait for daybreak: there are things that neither day nor night can blot out. And today, maybe just a second before taking you over to Graciela and allowing everything to happen as usual, I thought, Graciela, that devil of a child, standing there, at a distance from us. Yes, that’s what I thought: Devil of a child. Yes, Daniel, the shame of thinking that, the hate that comes from seeing you make faces at her, this doesn’t go out with the light. Because I knew you were looking at her: at her wicked and marvellous eyes, her black strands of hair falling this way and that, her pug nose, her naked legs all the way up to the forbidden place. You loved it, Daniel, you loved it.

My God, why did I think something like that, how did I ever imagine she was provoking you with her charming cheekiness? Yet I knew she was wicked and that she was challenging me. We were fighting over you, Daniel. And she was so far away, so free and naked; alone and something to be jealous of, telling you: I can show you my legs up to where I want, I can eat you up with kisses, if I want, we can roll around in the grass, right there, in front of everyone, because I’m a little girl and you can see my knickers, yes, without people thinking things; they’ll just say, How lovely, look at them play, happy is the time when one can do those things; and you pull my hair, you tangle yourself in my legs, and I’ll lift you up, and we’ll both roll, both, because I’m nine years old and I’ll do everything for you, so you can have fun. She stood there so invulnerable, all odds on her side, sticking her tongue out at you and calling you with her eyes: Come, Daniel. You smiled at her. The others were still saying, That child, Nora, is really in love with you, but I saw how you smiled; I knew that in a secret way, a way I couldn’t reach, you two understood each other. You knew how to say yes to her, if she accepted you as her tyrant, and she answered, Yes, you are so lovely with your blond hair, your blue eyes and your unabashed way of being tender. So here I come to Graciela, you thought: she and I are the same and we love each other.

You went, Daniel. You slid out from my arms without even looking at me; as if you’d climbed up on something like a bush and seen Sebastian behind the hedge and gone off to find him. It’s so easy when one knows nothing about betrayals, isn’t it Daniel? One is in mother’s arms, the best place in the world, wishing to spend one’s life like this, huddled up, letting yourself be loved; one feels one would die if anyone tried to tear us away; and then Graciela appears with her devilish eyes and sticks out her tongue, and rolls around in the grass, the best place in the world. One feels one could live like that, rolling around in the wet clover; nobody could ever stop us from playing together, from pulling her hair until she screams, from making her come running from far, far away to make me fly up in the air; laughing out loud at her faces that no one can pull as well as she does. They will never take me from her side; it’s useless to watch us, Mommy; it’s useless to feel like you can’t take your eyes off me and that you can barely hide it with a smile from your friends when they tease: He betrayed you, Nora.

Yes, all men are the same, and you fake a voice as if you were saying something funny, but you’re not even looking at them; you’re still waiting for my eyes, just one of my looks to let you know that everything’s the same, and you’ll be calm again; so I can go on playing with Graciela, but I still love you more than anything else. But if it weren’t so? But if I loved Graciela more, Graciela who can lift her legs? And you can’t. Who can yell like Tarzan. And you can’t. Who can fight with me in the grass. And you can’t. Who can smear her whole face with orange juice. And you can’t. Who can kill herself laughing at the grown-ups all sitting there, looking so stupid. And you can’t. So it’s useless to smile every time I turn my head; and to make funny faces to win me over. I’m not amused by those faces; I don’t even notice them. I don’t see you even when you pass by my side. And you’ve passed three times now; and you’ve touched me; I felt how you touched me but I didn’t turn around. And I know you make noises for me to hear, and you sing that song about the bumble-bee because I like it best. But I don’t like it any more. Now you know. Graciela can sing much better songs, pretty Graciela, nobody will take me from her side even if it’s night-time and we have to go to sleep. She’ll come, earlier today than all the other days, with more cuddles and more promises. But I won’t. And I won’t. I’ll resist up to the last minute; I’ll scream and kick when Mommy wants to hold me in her arms. Yes, Daniel, you want to be with Mommy, of course you want Mommy to put you to bed. It’s night-time, can’t you see? You must remember we love each other so much, Daniel. That I’m the best in the world for you, Daniel. You can’t climb the stairs screaming and kicking that way; don’t you see you are betraying me, my little monster who doesn’t understand betrayal? Don’t you know that Mommy does understand and that her heart aches, and she can’t stand letting you fall asleep in tears, remembering Graciela? I didn’t want to hurt you, my darling. I didn’t hurt you, it’s not true. You fell asleep in peace and quiet and I’m sure that you’re having lovely dreams now. Only I am not sleeping. Only I’m afraid of the kisses I gave you, of the caresses, of the terrible way we both played on the bed till you fell asleep, happy and exhausted, thinking of me, I’m sure. And it’s useless for me to repeat over and over again that I always kiss you, that I always caress you, and that we always play, both of us, because my little Daniel must be happy. It’s useless to say that little Daniel is happy now and he’s dreaming lovely dreams; that he doesn’t know anything about his miserable mother’s ugliness. It is useless to repeat that night turns everything horrible, that tomorrow it will be different. That you will come running to wake me, and everything will be lovely, like every day. Horsey, horsey, don’t you stop, let your hooves go clippety-clop. Like every day.