Fury by Clyo Mendoza

Author:Clyo Mendoza [Mendoza Clyo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: women in translation; literature in translation; oral tradition; award winning; debut novel; dystopian fiction; dystopia; latin literature; latin american literature; latin america; mexican literature; mexico; world literature; fiction; literary fiction; novels; dystopian; fiction books; literature; dystopian books; books fiction; realistic fiction books; science fiction; sci-fi; post apocalyptic; fantasy; horror; war; future; romance; german; mystery; short stories; collection; magical realism; school; classic; thriller; apocalypse
ISBN: 9781644213728
Publisher: Seven Stories Press
Published: 2024-01-22T17:30:00+00:00

I know my father had a son, a man who must have been a lot older than my mother. I know he turned up one day and asked to be invited in, but my mother said no, and that was the only time I heard her refuse a person entry. Who is he? I asked, and she said: Your brother. Nobody mentioned the visit again.

No, I hadn’t known that I had a brother until that day. I was always alone. I thought I’d have liked to play with him, get to know him and become his friend. I imagined him as a second father, perhaps because I understood that mine was ageing fast. From the time I came to know him, I was certain that my father’s body would start to decompose long before his death, and that’s how it was: he was plummeting earthward. The very weight of his sparse flesh indicated the road ahead: he gradually became more hunched, smaller; it seemed like at any minute his face would come up against his knees and then, with the dark, wrinkly texture of the very last apple on the tree, he’d clutch his shins and die.

That’s why I wanted to meet my brother. And that’s why I went to talk to my father. He explained the situation:

I slept with that woman once. I can’t give you any further details, but I can say that it was a mistake, a terrible mistake. She got pregnant. She used to meet other men on the sly. I know, because I spied on her one night from a tree and saw her flesh glinting in the streetlight under the body of someone else. But the child was mine, I’m sure of that. He looks just like me; we’re like two peas in a pod. But you can’t get to know him, it would only do you harm.

After that, I said nothing more about my brother. After that, my mother was killed. After my mother died, my father followed her. Then María and I met.

I’m not complaining: that’s the timeline of my life.

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