PEN America Best Debut Short Stories 2018 by Jodi Angel

Author:Jodi Angel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Catapult
Published: 2018-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

IN THE MORNING, the night nurse opens the hatch and a little ray of sunlight pours into the basement. Come, she breathes, hurry before they all fly out. And I do. My grandmother sees me crawl out, covered in butterflies—purple, orange, green spots on my naked body—and yells that I look like the plague. Stay out of my room; you’ll kill me with your breath! You’ll bring this country to ruin!

Sometimes I feel sorry for my grandmother, listening to her grotesque rants. She used to tell me about the days when her waist was smaller than her hips and men would take her to dance salsa at the bars in the city where she was born, and about the times when cities were made up of houses rather than apartment buildings and she could roam through both city and countryside without fear of strange men kidnapping her. And she spoke of the time she felt her past and present intermingle and she became confused with the timeline of her life. She found it hard to tell the difference between what was old and new, ugly and beautiful, whether the men on the street were flirting with or threatening her, which was why she came to this valley where the confusion of the city could never reach her. This valley is a place where time becomes stagnant, she said, and it weighed down on her until her body grew to be as round as a guava and her body sagged like sandbags and she never stood up straight again. Now, from her bedroom, she screams, Girls! Butterflies! Clean up my fat!, her words becoming more insufferable and incomprehensible as time goes by.

As I prepare to begin my chores for the day, I notice that my grandfather has placed new objects around the house again. Expensive-looking silverware and a golden candelabra decorate the dinner table now. The landkeeper’s framed family portraits have been placed on our walls, as though they were those of our ancestors. The new decorations make us look like we’re cultured and have good taste in art. It feels, somehow, like a special occasion. I don’t want to break any of it. Looking around, I think, Maybe this year will be a year of decadence. I imagine the house filled with men and women in fancy clothes. I listen for the sound of women’s heels against the tile. And even my grandmother might participate—we could cover her in lace and serve tea and cookies on her broad belly, if she behaves.

I’d hate to soil my nicest dress with the grime from my chores, but I wear it anyway, for the new year. There’s a butterfly latched onto my sleeve and I slap it off in a hurry. How awful, I think, these winged vermin.

Through the window I notice some men in green army suits hiking up the hill toward our house. They carry guns, and ammunition dangles around their necks like jewels, glistening in the morning light. They are radiant.

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