Cuento de Mi Id

“A Scream Within a Scream”

(It would be nice to pretend this tale was inspired by a recent Doctor Who episode but actually I wrote it back in 1991. I will admit that a certain Ray Bradbury short story inspired one part, but aside from that, I'm not saying...)

“Hey, Monica,” said Tad. “It looks just like you.”

Monica snapped out of her brief daze in time to respond to her husband. “It does not!”

“It does too," he said, pointing to the mummy. “Note the highly pronounced jaw structure. The full arch of the Castilian nose. The all-too-wide-and-yet-still-stylish hips -- ”

“That’s enough, wise guy,” she said. “I don’t go making fun of your ancestors.”

“That’s because I have no ancestors to make fun of,” he said. “I’m an orphan.”

“Gimme a break,” said Monica. She laughed. “This is supposed to be our honeymoon, remember? Not Anthropology 101.”

“I thought you wanted to see the Tombs of Guanajuato,” said Tad. “That’s why we came down here.”

“We came down here because staying at my Aunt Eva’s house was cheaper than Niagara Falls. Anyway, Guanajuato is a more romantic place any day of the week.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Tad. “Niagara Falls still has a little spice to it. And where can you find a decent waterfall in this place?”

“Gimme a break, you goofball,” Monica said.

She laughed again as the two of them left the tombs and re-entered the sunshine. Then she frowned.

“That mummy back there didn’t really look like me, did it?” she asked.

“Who ever said it was an 'it'?” said Tad. He did a quick John Hurt imitation. “I am not an animal. I…am a human being!”

“You’re something, all right,” Monica said. Tad laughed as she punched his shoulder.

“How about making for the Street of the Kiss?” she asked.

“I’ve got a better idea. How close is the nearest motel?”

*************************************************************************************************************

Monica lay back upon the bed and stared at the white ceiling. Moonlight flooded in through the tall, thin Spanish windows and she could see the pattern of their iron bars reflected upon the opposite wall.

This was much better than Niagara Falls would have been, she decided. Even if it did mean spending her honeymoon at her aunt’s house. And Tad had proved to be a more loving husband than she had ever thought he’d be.

Oh, he had been amusing enough when they were still single. But there had always been that nagging question about what their parents would think about a Mexican like her dating an Anglo like him and vice versa. Things like that were not supposed to matter anymore. But they did. And then there was that weight problem she had struggled with all through high school. God knows that did not exactly build up her self-confidence even after she got over it.

Yet, in the end, things had clicked for her and Tad. Tad Arian didn’t have to choose her -- yet he did. God knows he could have found a more attractive wife among all the women he had dated, but then maybe he had not been looking for a pretty spouse. Or maybe Monica had been just attractive enough to suit his needs.

It did not really matter, did it? Monica had won and the others had lost. Now she and Tad were here in Guanajuato, enjoying the afterglow of a beautiful session of lovemaking. Which had been another thing Monica had worried about. But why bother?

Monica had always had a bad habit of worrying too much about the wrong things. Half the disasters she had predicted never occurred. So why be so uptight?

She sighed and turned toward her sleeping husband. Funny how he always fell asleep so quickly. Must be a male trait.

She gently burrowed her way into his arms, taking care not to wake him. His bristly chest hairs felt deliciously rough against her own smooth skin. Playfully she explored them with her fingers. His skin felt so warm and smooth beneath her fingertips. Then she encountered a small, circular depression in his skin. A chest scar. A childhood reminder of chicken pox, no doubt.

Or else an early symptom of AIDS.

She froze. She felt her own face grow pale. She drew back from her husband, all the while trying to remember how many times they had made love. Many times. After all, it was the third night of their honeymoon. And they had used no protection.

Monica touched her own chest and screamed --

*************************************************************************************************************

-- only to find herself once more staring at a white ceiling.

She was in bed again in Aunt Eva‘s guest bedroom. The moon still shone in through the tall, thin Spanish windows, and she could still see the pattern of their iron bars reflected upon the opposite wall.

It had only been a dream, she realized. Yet it had seemed so real.

The oldest cliché in the world, she thought as she reached for Tad. And encountered in his place a noseless Guanajuatan mummy...

*************************************************************************************************************

She awoke with a start. The sun was shining. She and Tad were standing outside the entrance to the tombs.

“What’s the matter?” said Tad. “For a moment there, you looked kind of distant.”

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “I guess I was just daydreaming.”

“About yours truly, I suppose.”

“No, actually -- er, yes, you’re right.” She clutched his arm. “Let’s go back to the house.”

“But we just got here.”

“I know,” she said, nuzzling him in the chest. “That’s why I want to go back.”

“Women,” he said.

They started to walk back.

A thought occurred to Monica. “That mummy back there. It didn’t really look like me, did it?”

She waited for his inevitable comeback, but he merely shrugged and said,” You saw it yourself.”

“I know. And it didn’t look a thing like me.”

“Then why all the curiosity?”

“I don’t know,” said Monica. “I just have this strange feeling.”

“Comes from reading too many Ray Bradbury stories.”

“No, seriously,” she said, picking at his chest hairs. To her relief, his skin was unscarred. “I’ve been having the strangest daydreams.”

“You have?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. She looked him in the face. “I have.”

“Well, too bad you can’t go back there and check that mummy again. You’d have to pay all over again just to look at it again.”

“Yes, I know. But still -- you have no nose.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You have no nose,” she said.

It was true. He did have no nose.

“I didn’t notice it until now but you have no nose,” she said.

“Well, you know what they say about the size of a man‘s nose, hey, querida?” he said with a leer.

He reached for her.

Monica screamed...

*************************************************************************************************************

“Never seen you that excited before,” a voice in the darkness said.

She blinked. She was naked now. So was Tad, the man above her. They were both in Aunt Eva‘s guest bedroom again.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “ I must have blacked out.”

“Never had that effect on women before,” he said. “Must have been my new technique.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “It won’t happen again. It’s just that everything today has been like a dream.”

“It has, hasn’t it?”

She ignored the question. “And this is real,” she said. It was more a question than a statement.

“Indubitably,” he said, caressing her breasts. “By the way, you have the cutest little scar on your right breast.”

“Oh, no,” she said. Her hand flew up to check her breasts. It was true. There was a scar on her right breast. Just like the one she had seen on Tad in one of her dreams. But how --

“Had any chicken pox lately?” Tad asked.

Monica pushed him away --

*************************************************************************************************************

-- and found herself facing an open grave. They were burying someone here; she didn‘t know who. The sun had been obscured by clouds, and there was a young man in a black suit standing by her side. It wasn‘t Tad. He was way too young to be Tad. Yet he held her hand as if he knew her.

She turned to look into his face and saw that he had no nose.

Then she screamed --

*************************************************************************************************************

-- in ecstasy as her left hand found once more the secret spot that only she knew about. She did not want to do this. After all, she was a good Catholic girl. But it was dark and she was lonely and she was all alone in the room she shared with her sister Magda. Besides, Tad was out with another girl and it was either do this or eat like a pig. She did not want to eat like a pig. She had done so all throughout high school in order to escape her problems, and it had only made her problems worse. But she could not help it. It was one of the few things besides masturbation which relieved her loneliness and made it bearable. One of the few things that made up for all the times boys like Tad Arian had walked right by her without saying a word, only to fall all over a cheerleader or somebody else right down the hall.

But it was no good. The pleasure was fading. The fear was returning. She still wanted to eat -- not just little portions but whole banquets. Her hand withdrew from her underpants and she stared up at the ceiling --

*************************************************************************************************************

-- which was now gray sky. It was a gloomy day and she was looking out the window of her little private room, waiting for company. But no one -- not even her little grandniece Letitia -- had come to visit her today. No one ever saw her here at the nursing home, it seemed, save the head nurse and the nurse’s aides, and she wished quite dearly that it did not have to be that way.

If only she had married someone like her sister Magda and her brother Narciso did. Someone like that cute Tad Arian she had known back in college and high school. Then she would not have to die alone like this.

But Tad had had to drop out of college and marry that other girl he had been seeing. Monica never did find another man as kind and gentle as Tad, and now Tad was dead and she was alone and not even her own family came to visit her.

But wait.

Someone was entering her room now.

A tall man.

With no nose...

*************************************************************************************************************

She nearly fainted into Tad’s arms in the bright sunshine outside the entrance in the tombs.

“What’s the matter, honey?” he said. This time he had a nose.

Monica did not want to answer. By now, she was wise to the tricks reality was playing upon her. The only question was: “Why?” What had she done to deserve all this?

“I’m sorry, Tad,” she said -- and she sounded just like an actress in a play, she realized. “I guess I must have just fainted.”

“That’s all right,” said Tad -- and this time she watched his nose to make sure it did not disappear again. But it was staying put this time. She smiled. Back to reality, she thought.

She leaned forward and kissed him --

*************************************************************************************************************

-- and then someone slapped her face --

*************************************************************************************************************

-- then she kissed him again --

*************************************************************************************************************

-- then someone slapped her face again.

*************************************************************************************************************

She kissed him again.

And he murmured sweet nothings in her ear.

“That mummy back there didn’t really look like me, did it?” she asked.

“Why do you ask?”

*************************************************************************************************************

The slap came again. This time Monica opened her eyes. Her own mother was slapping her on the face. But why?

Her father was on the phone in the other room, an empty pill bottle in his hand. He appeared to be talking frantically to someone, but she really could not tell because she was so woozy and her brother Narciso kept holding her up and dragging her around the room.

“C’mon, sis,” he kept saying. “You can make it.”

Make what? She was so tired that she just wanted to sit down and rest, but every time she did so, Narciso pulled her to her feet again and started dragging her around the room. And every time she started to close her eyes, her mother would slap her on the face again.

Then she glanced again at her father and recognized the bottle he was holding. It looked just like the one that contained her sleeping pills. The same sleeping pills she had taken when she realized that Tad Arian was going to marry another girl. A girl he had already gotten pregnant. Her best friend, in fact.

“Tell them to hurry, Papa,” said Narciso. “She’s starting to slip back.”

That’s why they were doing all this. They were trying to revive her. But she did not want to be revived. Not if it meant spending the rest of her life without Tad. Not if it meant abandoning all the hopes and dreams she had had about their future life together. Not if --

Her mother slapped her again. But it did no good. She still felt woozy. Let me sleep, she wanted to tell them. Sleeping never hurt anyone...

*************************************************************************************************************

“Hey, Monica,“ said Tad. “It looks just like you.”

*************************************************************************************************************

Her mother slapped her face again.