And Now, It Will All Go Downhill

by Jonay Quintero Hernández

Before the glass of “ron miel” (literally rum-honey in plain English), Edelmiro stared carelessly at the clients nearing the premises. He always chose, whenever possible, a table from which he could have a good view of the entrance, so he could see everyone coming in. A trace of his former trade/profession. Edelmiro liked to have a wall behind his back for protection and as much range of sight as possible so he could be aware, at any time, of either who was entering the bar or what was happening and being said at each of the tables.

Decoration wasn’t the strong point of locals – nor of the bar’s owner, as a quick look around was enough to confirm the suspicions of even the most clueless who had never ever had a copy of Homes & Gardens or Ikea’s catalog fall into their hands. Undefined yellowish color paint for the walls, tacky U.D. Las Palmas scarves, old pictures from local football teams or simply people from the village – all of it coupled with motley mismatching furniture and a sticky ceiling. This place, over the course of several owners, had existed since….eternity. But Edelmiro remembered with a warm heart the times when he was a child and this was the only bar in the village of El Mocanal. Then, it was most widely known as Julia’s bar, after Julia, its owner.

At that time, Julia was already eons away from her youth, but no one could deny that she was a real character. She had more experience from the real world than most men around, more stories and gossip to tell than teeth in her mouth… always had a sassy or irreverent comment for clients or passers-by and one or two sweets for the child Edelmiro. The usual clients were farmers, builders or fishermen among other professions.

The beautiful glitter of the golden liquid returned him to a past which wasn’t necessarily better than the present but still caused him some degree of nostalgia. His granny used to offer either wine or ron miel to anyone who came to visit. In a time when TV or radio weren’t common, “to pay a visit” to friends or relatives was part of entertainment. Locals used to spend some time at somebody else’s house or gather in public places. Granny Inocencia preferred receiving people at home, but grandpa Andrés, Edelmiro’s good old giant, was very fond of chatting with the local intelligentsia at the bar.

He used to take his grandson by his tiny little hand, which looked even smaller inside his long strong fingers that resembled the big claws of an animal, and walk all the way to Julia’s bar. Grandfather and grandson would hang out with the old man’s colleagues. Because of their age, many of them had fought in the Spanish Civil War or other conflicts. Most of them had travelled to far-off places or even worked in the merchant marine. They would tell bizarre anecdotes which the child imbibed. Some of them were first person narratives and others were almost like myths that had become local lore.

There he heard a story told by Fructuoso, one of the guys at the bar, “… and believe it or not there it was – a roundish, elongated, dark, steely kind of tin sardine can, a contraption that happened to be a boat,…a boat with neither masts nor decks – what they called a sobmarine.” The audience looked at him in awe, and suppressed expressions of astonishment were heard all about; however, none of them evinced as much surprise and curiosity as the boy. “A sob… what?” asked someone. “A sobmarine!!!, you definitively have never left this village nor opened a book in your life,” replied Fructuoso with impatience. “The point is that the sobmarine was moored to the dock in the naval base in Las Palmas, the crew disembarked, all dressed in black and with faces like lambs going to the slaughterhouse.” “Shake hands with our German brothers!” said our officer, and so we did, even though we couldn’t communicate with them since no one spoke Christian…” “Aren’t Germans Christian?” After rolling his eyes Fructuoso decided to illustrate to his not so cooperative audience… “Some are and some aren’t. I haven’t had the pleasure of talking to all of them, anyway. I think at that time they mostly believed in a man called Jitler. Apparently, this man wanted Franco to do things that Franco didn’t want to do. So the only thing he got out of him was to supply the German sobmarines in the Atlantic Ocean, that, and to send thousands to fight in something called the ‘División Azul’. The pay was ok, or so they say, but at that time I decided I would leave for Venezuela.”

That random piece of funny memory had come to mind in the morning while reading the news on the Internet. One of the headlines said, “Did Nazis have a naval base in the Canary Islands?” The sensationalism in the Internet newspapers was unbelievable. Fructuoso had explained it very well many years ago. He showed everyone black and white photographs of the deck of a German submarine in the harbor of Santa Cruz de Tenerife. Also had pictures showing the dance that the authorities organized for the German crews. He had pointed to a big poster in the front of the ballroom which declared, “Willkommen in Spanien.” Local youngsters were very jealous about the interest the German sailors had generated among the local female population.

For some reason Edelmiro was starting to remember random things from the past…Was it because he was turning fifty-one? Who knows. Furthermore, what had become of Aunt Amalia and Uncle Restituto, missing for several years? It remained an enigma. Their disappearance had worried everyone in the family, but time is a healer, and the piercing pain over the first few days had abated with the passing of years. The agony of losing them, considering their advanced age, might have been obscured by the fact that they would have inevitably been passing to the other life soon. Both had lived a long time, and finding them alive now was becoming more and more utopian. The mysterious part progressively shadowed the emotional one, especially if the rumors circulating the village of El Mocanal were taken into account – those about lights and UFOs involved in the event.

Well, at least I’ve got Luisa, thought Edelmiro to himself. Even though he had lived on his own for most of his eventful life, the presence of his partner had brought a feeling of relief that he did not count on, but enjoyed. Things may not have been the same as they were when he was younger. The older you get, the more you appreciate the company and tenderness of your beloved ones, and Luisa had always proved to be a brave and supporting partner for him. He felt like going home and sitting next to her to have an irrelevant chat while watching tv or maybe a series on Netflix.

As Edelmiro stepped out of the bar, he accidentally stumbled on a passer-by who mumbled “Entschüldigung.” Edelmiro looked at him. His clothing drew his attention – the man wasn’t wearing the usual shorts/T-shirt/sandals/white socks so common among tourists, but an elegant suit, much too elegant for the bar.

It was always a mystery to me how quickly I had adapted to rural life. It is not that I didn’t miss Madrid’s vibrancy. Sometimes I am frustrated by how slowly things get done here, but I guess each place has its own pace. However, now in my forties, I was increasingly thinking about my past life on the mainland and, frankly, there are no reasons to feel nostalgic about it.

No matter how far back in time I go in my mind, there’s nothing I miss about Madrid. Maybe that is because nothing really good ever happened to me while living there, except the birth of Amelia, of course. But, honestly, my life there was far from the trendy neighborhood of Malasaña, the old traditional terraced buildings of Lavapiés or the elegant ones on la Gran Vía or Serrano street. In the working-class area of San Blas where I was raised, there were no lush green parks like el Retiro. My childhood was spent in the six-storey, grey buildings constructed by the government several years before my birth.

I never knew my father and lived alone with my mother in a tiny little flat. She was a cleaner and worked herself to death in order to provide for our tiny family. The good ones always die young. My youth took place in the billiard hall on my block. There I met my later husband, Amelia’s father. I’ve always wished I had spent more time studying than playing billiards, but…hey, then I wouldn’t have my daughter, my real treasure. Her father was very handsome at that age – cocky, fun, slightly hyperactive, but to most girls in the area he was very attractive. I felt really lucky when we started to date. Not much later I would discover how wrong I was. Early on, I found out that he was involved in some fight with another guy, but boys tend to be little bit rough towards each other when young, or at least that’s what people say. I didn’t pay it any heed.

There was nothing that made me feel scared of him, or maybe I didn’t notice the small tokens of information I was receiving about him – tokens suggesting that he was not being good to me. My mom had already departed, so I had nobody to advise me, and all the people around me didn’t stop telling me how lucky I was to be marrying such a nice, fun and sweet guy. And at the very beginning he was that. Only later did the screams, insults, slaps, blows, punches, kicks and beatings begin to monopolize our relationship. Of course, I would have left him if I could but then I got pregnant… I began to feel worried about my future, my child’s future… where would I go? Who would support a pregnant woman for months?

Moreover, I must admit that I expected my pregnancy to appease him somehow. That wasn’t the case. That’s what people say we women always think is going to happen. We think we can change the guy; we imagine the guy will feel the same way we do about the new child. Then I had Amelia. But that all felt like centuries ago. Edelmiro and the island of El Hierro had completely changed my whole life.

Edelmiro was like a different world from Amelia’s father, as different as day and night. But even Edelmiro had a dark side or, better to say, a dark past. I knew perfectly well what he had done for a living before knowing me. It seemed like destiny always put violent men in my way. But maybe it was unfair to refer to Edelmiro as such. In his case, violence was something he had been trained in and something that paid his bills. The rest of the time, he was the kindest person, and he had always been good to me. Unfortunately, he was spending too much time in the bar lately. Things appeared to have been cooling down between us too. I guess routine takes its toll, and none of us were kids any more.

Amelia and Armiche had started a life together, fortunately giving up that polyamory thing. That might be okay when you are young and want to have fun, but they were obviously in love and wanted to create a family. Now that I had a grandson of my own, I was really starting to feel old. Tiny little lines in the corners of my eyes and a few striae in my belly didn’t help much either. Why didn’t men have this sort of issue? They grow old and become “interesting,” so they don’t have to worry about their appearance. Women simply get old.

Twenty years have passed since I arrived on this island, and it has turned my life inside out. I have become entrepreneurial and have created my own company. Now I have employees of my own and I could be called “the boss.” I guess that I’m now what they refer to as an “empowered woman.” I have my own income, don’t depend on anybody. I don’t take orders but dictate to others what they have to do.

If only things with Edelmiro could be just like they were when we arrived here on the island… Hey! Whose cute little white dog is that sitting in front of our house and looking at us so seriously? It is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen…

III

“Sir, I must admit that I’m a little bit disappointed with heaven…I expected something more…I don’t know…” “Are you disappointed, daughter?” “Just a little, sir, will I be able to stay here and see the face of God?” “I’m sorry but you won’t.” “There’s one last mission we must entrust you with.” “What? Haven’t I had enough troubles in my life? My body isn’t even buried in holy soil! This is unacceptable!” “Amalia, my daughter, this isn’t a client service, and you aren’t asserting a claim because of a washing machine. This is heaven’s door and I am Saint Peter!” “But!…” “You will go back down to earth and do one last service for us.”

This morning, after shopping, I returned to the sloping parking lot and got in my car. I thought I put the stick shift in “Reverse” but was still in neutral. As soon as I moved my foot from the brake to the accelerator, the car rolled forward. Before I was able to figure out the problem, I bumped into the one in front of me. I got out and left a note with my number on the damaged vehicle’s windshield. As I was getting back into my car, before me, like out of nowhere, appeared the same little white, cute hairy dog I saw at our house the other day. His tiny little serious face nodded from side to side in disapproval. When I tried to pet him, he just left.

That same afternoon I was at my company and decided to move a heavy load by operating the forklift myself. I happened to grab the load incorrectly and it fell off, almost killing one of my employees. When I turned around, I again saw the same judgmental, white, cute, hairy puppy, nodding again in disapproval.

Late in the evening, I arrived home carrying several bags and packages and stumbled on a lousy tile in front of my house. All the bags and packages were scattered across the ground, and I sprained my ankle. I noticed that the little, white, cute, hairy dog was in front of the door, nodding again. This time he came and licked my ankle. “Hey, apart from being such a tough critic, have you got a home of your own?”

I had suffered miscarriages, assassination attempts, diseases, alien abductions, unfaithfulness, but it seemed like life, or death, had one last indignity in store for me. I thought that at my age I would be allowed to find some rest, but apparently, I had been thrown back to earth again. This time in the shape of an animal.

I’d been told that my mission for this new life would be to get my nephew Edelmiro and his wife Luisa, who hadn’t been loving each other as much lately, together again to beget a girl who would be crucial for the safety of mankind in the future. Since Edelmiro is 51 and Luisa 47, this mission is starting to look more like a miracle.

Saint Peter thinks that the perfect shape for conducting this mission is that of a cute, white, hairy doggy because both partners love pets, especially cute little dogs. “That will make it easier for you to get into contact with them and penetrate the house,” said Saint Peter. “Yes, it’s all about penetration, isn’t it?” I replied with a twinkle in my eye and an elbow to his arm. Saint Peter didn’t laugh and looked at me with a grave expression…

I suggested that a pigeon would be preferrable, better trained and more experienced than myself for the task, but Saint Peter didn’t seem to have much sense of humor and threatened to find me some room in a much worse place down there…

Now, actually, I’m starting to value this new physical appearance since everyone seems to like me. They talk to me as if I were a 1-year-old toddler, but they caress me and offer all kinds of food. The ability to lick your own penis and testicles isn’t something to be underestimated either. The whole genitalia thing, so new to me, is starting to look like one of the greatest advantages of being male. I can literally piss wherever I want…

Now that I have infiltrated, not penetrated, the house, I have started to gain their trust and love, and I think I’m doing pretty well as far as that aspect is concerned. But the mission still remains difficult. Every time they’re together, I’ve tried to leave subtle signs of what is expected of them. I have brought them dirty magazines and VHS tapes (apparently nobody uses these things anymore), handcuffs, sex toys, provocative lingerie, but apart from some weird looks I haven’t gotten anywhere.

VII

Tonight is the night.

I’ve locked them in a room and…¡Look! ¡Oh my Holy God! They seem to be… yeah, you guessed it. Now is my chance… Saint Peter told me that at the right moment I had to baptize them with the holy water of God.

I carefully open the door….. I sneak into the room. ¡Wow! ¡My gosh! ¡What things people do nowadays! ¡Hush, hush! I need to approach without being noticed. Yes, the good thing about being a dog is that I can move about agilely and silently. Yeah, now I’m on the bed….I have to concentrate a little, just a little….¡Yeah! ¡What a relief! ¡I’d been holding it in all day! ¡There you go, waters of the holy Jordan river!! ¡Ow! ¡Ow! ¡Hey!! ¡There’s no need to get violent! ¡Don’t be angry at me! You’ve been blessed by the holy yellow waters of God and now you will procreate, ahh… ¡Help! ¡Help! ¡Saint Peter! Mission accomplished! ¡Mission accomplished!

VIII

“Of course, my sweet daughter. Mission accomplished. A beautiful girl will be born who will change the ways and destiny of mankind. ¡Come back here, Amalia! ¡God bless you!”