Nothing Shall Hurt You and Other Stories
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NOTHING SHALL HURT YOU AND OTHER STORIES A thesis submitted to Kent State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts by James Winter May, 2012 Thesis written by James Winter B.A., Kent State university, 2009 M.F.A., Kent State University, 2012 Approved by ____Robert Pope____________________, Advisor ____Robert Trogdon_________________, Chair, Department of English ____John R. D. Stalvey_______________, Dean, College of Arts and Sciences ii TABLE OF CONTENTS EL PUEBLO VENCERA…..…………………………………………………………….1 NOTHING SHALL HURT YOU…..……………………………………………………24 WHAT CANNOT BE BOUGHT IS NEVER FREE..…………………………………..45 NOBODY……………………………………………………………………………….79 NO MONEY………..…………………………………………………………….…….101 PYRO….………………………………………………………………………………..132 TRAITOR...…………………………………………………………………………….153 iii El Pueblo Vencera Argentina, 1977 Beatriz heard them pull up to her house. Her husband, Adelmo, did not stir. He slept soundly, his stink filling the room. She heard truck doors open and shut, and men talk in hushed voices below her bedroom window. Beatriz looked at the watercolor portrait of the Savior hung above her headboard and prayed for Him to drive the men away. He usually watched over her with warmth and caring, but that night He had lifeless, empty eyes. Over the past year, whenever Beatriz heard these men whispered about at her diner counter, she dismissed it as mere stories and gossip. Articles about the men did not appear in the newspapers. The radio did not broadcast these horror stories nor were they reported on the evening news. Who was to say they had taken place? But as these stories moved closer to San Miguel, Beatriz grew afraid. Mr. Rizian, a former suitor of one of Beatriz’s high school girlfriends, left the paper mill one Sunday and was not heard from again. Rita, the bright girl who managed the summer market, disappeared from her apartment. The previous autumn, Luciana’s son was snatched from his bed. Luciana, Beatriz’s best short-order cook, quit work and now lived in Salta with her sister. On Christmas the men came to Beatriz’s neighborhood and took Eva Numez’s girls. Numez’s shrieking brought the entire neighborhood outside to see what had 1 2 happened. When Beatriz realized what did, she counted her blessings and went back to bed. Still, Beatriz never truly believed the men would come for her family. She and Adelmo ran a barely profitable diner. Their oldest son, Ignacio, a philosophy major at NU Cuyo, was by no means the sharpest boy of his class. Their oldest daughter, Marcena, had not yet graduated high school. Their baby boy, Pichi, could not yet sit up. The men had no reason to come here. But they had. Beatriz sat up in bed when she heard the men march up her front stairs. Then it sounded as if her front door exploded. Beatriz was already on her feet and in the living room when the men invaded her home. One grabbed her by her hair and clubbed her to her knees. He kicked her in the stomach until she doubled over, screaming. He put his boot to her back and pressed her to the floor. She craned her neck, everything in her body afire, and looked toward the bedroom hallway. Adelmo stood there, gripping the walls. Stamping his bare feet, he gave a high- pitched shout and charged the men. A baton lashed, lifting her husband off his feet. Stumbling like a drunk, he fell face-first to the floor. As one of the men slipped a black bag over Adelmo’s head and handcuffed his wrists behind his back, Beatriz saw the man was in uniform. He wore high boots and jungle fatigues. He was a soldier. A soldier knelt near Beatriz, stabbed the couch, and spilled its stuffing. He examined the cushions, yelled “Nada,” and then stabbed the recliner. Beatriz heard 3 another soldier smashing plates in the kitchen. A third one, the one who’d assaulted Adelmo, went down the hallway to the back bedrooms and Beatriz heard her children scream. A man behind her barked an order and the soldiers who’d been pinning her to the floor and destroying her furniture jogged down the bedroom hallway after their comrade. Beatriz got to her knees and looked at the fifth and final soldier at her front door. He was undoubtedly the commanding officer. Numerous stripes and bars were sewn on the collar of his shirt and he had a white cross pinned to his red beret. He was handsome. Thumbs hooked in his belt loops, his tall frame stood ramrod straight. He had a square jaw and a block-head, but a thin nose and high cheek bones dotted with pockmarks. The officer’s eyes darted toward the bedroom hallway, where there came the sounds of a scuffle, but they came back to her as she knelt there, trying to catch her breath. She thought he pitied her, so she leapt to her feet and grabbed his uniform front and pleaded, “Don’t do this. Don’t do this.” He pushed her and she tripped. As she fell, she saw him stop himself from reaching out to catch her. She heard a man cry, “Damn it,” from the back bedrooms. There came a gunshot. Beatriz lay frozen, her mouth open. She dug her fingernails into the floorboards. One of the soldiers dragged Ignacio from the back bedrooms. He wore only white briefs with the black bag over his head. He was fat; everything on him jiggled as he 4 struggled against the handcuffs. Another solider followed, cradling baby Pichi. Pichi screeched and kicked his legs. The solider whispered, “Shhh, child. Everything is fine. No tears, please.” The soldiers brought their quarries to the commanding officer. Beatriz reached for Pichi. The soldier holding him kicked her. She held her side, weeping, and called to Adelmo. “I’m here, honey. I’m here,” he croaked through the black bag. Beatriz watched the soldiers take Ignacio and Pichi down the front steps and out of sight. The last two soldiers came into the living room, one pressing his hand to a bloody gash on his shoulder. The other holstered his pistol and said to the commanding officer, “Little bitch stabbed Alomar.” “Get in the truck,” the officer told them. The soldier with the pistol snatched Adelmo off the floor by his manacled wrists and pushed him toward the front door. “Fucking pigs!” Adelmo cried. “Goddamned sons of whores. Goddamned cowards.” The soldier kicked Adelmo’s feet from under him. “Shut up,” he ordered. “It’ll be easier for you.” “Fuck your mother!” Adelmo bellowed. Beatriz watched the soldier hoist Adelmo to his feet and throw him down the front stairs. Screaming, she hurried on her hands and knees to the front window and saw her 5 husband lying on the sidewalk. The soldier hustled to Adelmo, baton held high, and struck his head until it bounced off the pavement like a futbol. “Stop,” the officer barked to his man. “Victor, stop!” With a sly grin, Victor put away his baton. He dragged Adelmo to the humvee parked on the street and tossed his body in the back of it. Beatriz heard her children screaming inside the humvee. Victor stepped into the back of it and closed its doors. All was silent. The commanding officer jogged down the front steps, but stopped midway to look at Beatriz through the living room window streaked with previous washings and flecks of dirt. He looked at her almost as if he wished to apologize for the inconvenience he’d caused. The front stoop light came on at the house across the street. Its sudden brightness blinded Beatriz, and by the time the light went out, the officer and the humvee were gone. She stared out the front window, cotton-mouthed, surrounded by upholstery stuffing. The soldiers did not return for her. The night dragged on. Though Beatriz watched the sun peek above the houses across the street, she did not see the dawn. She did not see her neighbors crowded at her front door. She did not see her sister arrive or feel her take her by her shoulders and lead her to bed. Instead, her world flickered like a movie skipping frames, like at the Cine de la Luz, where she, Adelmo, and their children spent so much time giggling at Harpo’s faces and at Chico’s fingers tumbling over piano keys. 6 The Cine de la Luz had been their favorite spot in San Miguel before the government closed it. Beatriz’s family loved Westerns. Ignacio had become fascinated with John Wayne at a young age. He mimicked his drawl and hefty, surefooted stance wherever he went. He’d waltz into his parents’ bedroom and say, “Well…what’re you makin’…for dinner?” Beatriz and Adelmo would laugh and applaud and Ignacio would waltz back out of the room and return for another performance. Beatriz dreamed of Ignacio. In her dream, her son leaned against her bedroom doorjamb and did his John Wayne impression, but she couldn’t hear him. There were too many people talking in the room, yet when Beatriz told them to shut up they only talked louder. Finally, Ignacio turned and went back down the hall, his shoulders slumped and head hanging. Beatriz slept late the following morning, and started her day like any other. Groaning, her hands pressed to her sides, she knelt at the foot of her bed and prayed. Her sister came in with a cup of tea and pleaded for her to get back in bed. Ignoring her, Beatriz went to Marcena’s bedroom. Marcena’s slim body had been wrapped in white sheets.