The Green Pen by Eloy Moreno

Author:Eloy Moreno
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grupo Planeta
Published: 2015-06-12T19:23:59+00:00

Thursday, April 4, 2002, and Friday, April 5, 2002

I don’t think anything extraordinary happened; otherwise, I would have remembered.

I went on hunting for my pen, imagining sick people in every chair, arriving late, my relationship with Rebe fading away … But I do remember, on the other hand, the journey to shame that began that Friday night. How could I forget?

We were still having dinner when the telephone rang: too late for it to be good news.

Rebe and I looked at each other; we both sensed the misfortune in that call. Neither of us got up to grab it; it was a duel in apathy. After five rings, I got up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, could you … Could you pass me to Rebe? It’s important.” On the other line was her mother’s nervous voice.

I knew it was important because of the hour, because she stuttered, and especially because of how I passed the phone to Rebe.

“It’s your mother; it’s important.”

Rebe opened her eyes wider than normal and got up from the chair.

“Hello?” she squeezed the receiver.

For a few seconds, she listened without changing her serious expression. Only a few seconds before she spoke did I see a faint smile, not of joy, but rather of vengeance, of pleasure. After so much time, I am able to recognize every expression of a face that, from years of kisses, glances, and jealousy, I know by heart.

“Well, it’s one less,” Rebe answered, furious, wounded, but above all, defiant.

I lowered the volume on the TV, approached her, and tried to interpret a conversation I didn’t understand.

“And why do I have to go, Mamá? It’s all the same to me; it’s years since I saw him alive. Why do I need to see him in a coffin now?”

As the conversation continued, the rage in her words died down and the argument seemed to go to one side. Rebe’s negotiations lost intensity with her mother’s insistence.

“NO, NO, No, No, no, no …” and finally just a movement of the head.

“Well … I’ll see what we can do … To lose a day for that … Besides, there’s Carlitos, I have to see who will take him. I don’t know. We’ll see. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” And Rebe hung up, knowing she had lost. Rebe either gives no ground or gives it all.

Rebe turned in her chair. I lowered the volume on the TV a little, waiting for her to talk first. She picked up her fork and kept eating. Not wishing to have dinner in silence, I was the one who finally asked the questions.

“What happened, Rebe?”

“Um …”

“What did your mother want? Why did you flip out on her?” And I knew I’d chosen the wrong words.

“Flip out?!” she shouted. But then, she fell instantly quiet.

She looked at me, sighed, left her fork on the table, and began a truce.

“You know who finally died?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. “My son-of-a-bitch uncle Rogelio,” she exploded, exposing her gums with rage.

“Rogelio? Your mother’s brother?”

“Yes, that piece of shit Rogelio,” Rebe answered, grabbing the fork as if she would stab it into the tabletop.

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