Socorro Venegas
translation by Toshiya Kamei
Gestation
"I feel wonderful. Ask me how." A chubby little man in a cheap suit pointed his finger at the sticker on my rear windshield. He seized my wrist with his other hand.
"Others got away from me, but not you. Let's see, how? How?"
"Hey, let go of me. I bought this car used. It came with this sign..."
"I don't believe you. Why don't you tell me what you know?"
"But I don't know anything. Whoever put on this sticker was selling something, maybe a health product..."
As we struggled, I looked around for help. I was three months pregnant, but it hardly showed, so we could look like a couple making a scene.
"What product?" he asked.
"How should I know? Seaweed. Viagra. Linseed."
The little man closed his eyes as if he had been slapped.
"Don't make fun of me, lady."
He glared at me with resentment. I began to feel remorse. Why? My mind drifted back to the day I learned I was pregnant. Shock and a feeling of rejection, then guilt. No woman is supposed to be content without becoming a mother, but my happiness was slipping away. Suddenly, it occurred to me that this absurd man clinging to me might have been an unwanted child. I kept still, stared at him, and he spat out. "Don't pity me. Don't you dare feel sorry for me."
His face came closer to mine. I stopped feeling sorry for him and raised my voice. "No wonder your mother didn't want you! She must have known she was going to have a short, potbellied, bowlegged child. And lunatic!"
He burst out laughing. "What do you think about living with this lunatic for the rest of your life? What if I take you with me and never let you go?"
His words didn't frighten me. What terrified me was the echo I heard in what he said, a kind of childhood memory, like when my mother threatened to tell my father about some prank I had pulled. As the little man savored the effect of his words, I yanked my arm hard to free it. It was useless. I didn't surprise him.
He tightened his grip on my wrist and asked me in a calm tone. "Tell me how."
"What?"
"'I feel wonderful. Ask me how.' How?"
What was I supposed to tell him? A young couple passed us. The girl gave the man a nudge, and they both laughed.
I sighed. How hard it is to be a mother! You never stop being a mother as long as your child is alive. Somewhere in the world there was an old woman who had given birth to this miserable wretch. And she was always going to be responsible for her son's unhappiness.
"Let me buy you a cup of coffee," I pleaded.
The little man looked confused. There was a look of distrust in his eyes.
"Coffee? Do you think I'm stupid?"
"Just coffee. I'm not going to do anything. Look, I could have screamed for help. Instead, I'm here, fighting with you."
He seemed to ponder for a moment and loosened his grip on my wrist. Taking a small step back, he looked me up and down as if considering whether or not I was a threat. "Promise me it's just coffee and you'll tell me how," he said at last.
My feet hurt from standing so long. I didn't want to think about what would happen in the next several months. They say varicose veins appear, your feet swell up, and all of a sudden you can't walk. What can I say about the heavy weight on my heart? What if I ended up hating the child? What if I was still bored after giving birth?
"I promise. Come this way."
"Wait," he said. He let go of my wrist and took my hand. "We look like a normal couple this way."
I began to walk, with the little man behind me, his hand clinging to mine. The café was jammed with simply dressed executives and stuck-up women. Before entering, I turned around to look at him. He seemed smaller than before. The place intimidated him.
"It's just like any other café," I said. "Don't pay any attention to these people."
We sat at a table by the window facing the street. He straightened his worn-out green tie.
I ordered a decaf cappuccino. He just grumbled that he wanted the same.
"About your question..."
"Forget it. Tell me later," he cut me short.
From then on, we exchanged not one word. Seated at the table, the little man seemed to have lost interest. I even felt that I was holding him against his will. He felt ill at ease in the superficial atmosphere with perfect bodies in perfect clothes. I sipped my cappuccino feigning interest in what was happening in the street. He mimicked me. Every time I stole a glance at him, he looked younger and...more like me. He looked like me! Or maybe like my father, from whom I had inherited my round face, broad forehead, and thick eyebrows. I gazed at him with curiosity, but he didn't resemble me so much anymore. In fact, his face was becoming a blur, like a little child's. He smiled, revealing two tiny baby teeth.
Socorro Venegas was born in 1972 in San Luis Potosí, Mexico. She is the author of the novels Será negra y blanca (2009) and Vestido de novia (2014).
Toshiya Kamei's translations of Latin American literature include books by Claudia Apablaza, Liliana Blum, Carlos Bortoni, Selfa Chew, and Leticia Luna.