Sleight of Hand Read Free

… don’t you need me to stay, babe?”
    â€œPourquoi ?” he asks, sealing the joint, and then, picking the flakes of grass from his chest and putting them back in the box he adds, in English, “I have to go Bogotá tomorrow. There’s no point you stay here.”
    â€œBut don’t you … I mean, shouldn’t I come with you?”
    â€œWhat for?” he asks, lighting the joint, and taking a deep hit. I’m not sure if he’s on the verge of tears or if it’s the smoke that is making his eyes glisten.
    â€œWell to help with … stuff.” With my pitiful Spanish, I’m not sure what I could help with, but all the same.
    Ricardo shakes his head. “No need,” he says. “And you can’t come to the …
l’enterrement …”
    â€œThe
funeral,”
I tell him.
    â€œSure. You can’t come to that. You know this.”
    â€œI know you don’t want … I mean … I know you
didn’t
want her to know. But surely
now?”
I can feel my anger rising.
    â€œIt’s a family thing,” Ricardo says. “A latin thing. Trust me.”
    â€œI’m not family?”
    â€œYou know what I mean,” he says, offering me the joint. “It’s for cousin and nephew and …”
    â€œHusbands and wives,” I say.
    â€œWell yes.”
    â€œBut not boyfriends.”
    Ricardo shrugs.
    â€œJuan knows I’m here,” I say. “He must have spoken to me at least twenty times. Federico does too.”
    â€œBut they don’t know who you
are
,” Ricardo says.
    â€œWell, who do you think they
think
I am?” I say. “The cleaner? The
gardener?”
    Ricardo shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s up to them. That’s the point. You have to leave people the space to understand what they want to understand. It’s the latin way.”
    â€œThe Catholic way,” I say. “The closeted way.”
    â€œIf you want,” Ricardo says. “Look. We’ve already …” He turns to look out of the window and sighs.
    I blow out a column of smoke. If I go any further this will now turn into an argument – an argument we have indeed had repeatedly. And I think that this really isn’t the right moment.
    Ricardo takes the joint from me and says, “And you don’t really want to win this anyway. You want to go see Jenny.”
    I shrug.
    â€œYou need to decide, Chupy, if you want to win this argument or be happy,” he says.
    I take a few seconds to think about this and then decide that he’s undeniably right. “Sure,” I say. “Whatever. If that’s what you need. Really. It’s fine.”
    He winks at me and then pushes me gently towards the end of the bed. “Go book the flight,” he says. “And book one for me for tomorrow as well. Use my card. We can take the same.”
    â€œAs far as Bogotá?”
    â€œYes, to Bogotá”
    â€œReturn?”
    â€œOne way. I don’t know how long.”
    â€œSure,” I say standing. “Are you sure you’re OK?”
    Ricardo shrugs again. “I told you. I don’t know,” he says, flatly. “But I have to go to Bogotá tomorrow – this I know. So do the booking for me.”
    â€œRight,” I say. “Sure. Oh, and the cat?” I ask. “What do we do about her? Where is she anyway?”
    â€œUnder here,” he says, pointing down at the bed. “I’ll call Maria. She can spring-clean and feed Paloma.”
    â€œAutumn-clean.”
    â€œOK, Autumn-clean …” Ricardo repeats, then, with an almost quizzical expression, he says again, “So I have no parents now.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say.
    He shrugs. “I suppose it is better than visiting them in an old person home.”

A Trip with Lolita
    At first sight, I decide that my neighbour for the flight to Madrid is a transexual.