Caramba!: A Tale Told in Turns of the Card - Couverture rigide

Martinez, Nina Marie

Couverture rigide

ISBN 10 : 0375413758 ISBN 13 : 9780375413759

Editeur : Alfred a Knopf Inc, 2004

A propos du livre

Extrait

Chapter 1
Tabla 1

An Introduction to the Players

LIKE-MINDED INDIVIDUALS

Natalie and Consuelo were best friends since the second grade when the latter stuck a piece of ABC gum in the former's hair while they were engaged in a fistfight over a boy whose name neither of them could remember. When Natalie had to cut her then waist-length hair up to a chin-length bob, Consuelo followed suit. Both girls realized at the early age of eight, a man is the last thing that ought to come between friends.

On a Saturday night Consuelo called Natalie, not for any of the usual reasons, but to inform her that she had just killed a man. This scared Natalie even more than the time she was shoe-jacked by a mental ward escapee who made off with her favorite pair of black platform slides. Consuelo forwent the details, but implored Natalie to "come quick."

Natalie ran to her closet and pulled out her favorite dress, which was long and black with spaghetti straps, and her favorite sweater: a pink mohair cardigan with pearly buttons. She threw on a strand of faux pearls she had bought after watching Breakfast at Tiffany's on late-night TV-trouble she normally wouldn't have gone to, but it was a Saturday night, and if it really was true, if Consuelo really had committed the crime she had spoken of over the telephone, then it was all the more reason why the girls ought to have a good time while they still could.

On the way to Consuelo's, Natalie considered herself lucky to have eight cylinders on her side. She had worked every summer between the second and ninth grades either picking or cutting apricots, and sometimes both, in order to earn enough money to buy the car of her dreams: a 1963 convertible Cadillac El Dorado. As she pulled into Roscoe's to fill up, she was struck by a sense of pride and sentimentality. In that day and age as well as any other, a girl needed all the advantages she could get, and Natalie was happy to have a car that was on the one hand beautiful and elegant, and on the other, responsive and powerful-characteristics she strived for in herself. With that sentiment in mind, she eased into the full-service island and said to the attendant, "I'll take a tankful of Super Unleaded, and be sure to top it off, please." Common sense and the movies told her that when two girls go on the lam, a full tank of gas is an essential starting point.

The dust followed Natalie down the back roads while Eydie Gorme y Los Panchos hummed "Mala Noche" from the AM radio. When Natalie arrived, she was surprised to see Consuelo sitting on the wooden steps which led to her front porch, idly smoking a cigarette. Consuelo did not appear the least bit vexed, her composure failed to resemble that of a murderer or even a man slaughterer. With her long black hair parted down the middle and sectioned into two neat ponytails, she wore a white tank top and a pair of red terry cloth shorts.

As Natalie approached Consuelo, she looked into her eyes and tried to find the dancing devils Consuelo's mother insisted dwelt within, but all she saw were two mossy puddles. Consuelo claimed her mother was crazy, a point Natalie wouldn't argue against, but the fact is, most Mexicans don't get green eyes, so when one does, it's a big deal.

Natalie remembered something Consuelo once told her. When Consuelo was four years old, she met her tía Concha for the first and only time. Taking the child's chin in her hand, Concha looked into Consuelo's eyes saying, "You only get one life, chica. Live it up." With those words, claimed Consuelo, it was as if Concha had planted a seed within her, then, momentarily opening her up, she had shed sunlight and rainwater upon it, causing it to grow and grow, wrapping its vines around her innards, seeking its escape.

Consuelo considered this her most formative moment. She would always remember her tía with a strange mixture of reverence and fear, as if Concha were a member of the clergy who commanded respect while inciting fear, and was so close to something so powerful and irresistible, it could not be overcome. It might have been completely coincidental, but Concha had single-handedly been responsible for the de-frocking of seven priests in her hometown of Culiacán, which is in the Mexican state of Sinaloa. A devout sinner, but a Catholic, Concha believed in confessing her sins as well as the other Sacraments. It might be relevant to mention, Concha also had green eyes.

"Consuelo," said Natalie taking a deep breath. "I got a whole tank of gas if you feel like gettin on out of here."

Consuelo took a long drag off her cigarette. Natalie scooped up the soft pack of mentholated Marlboro®s, removed one, and let it dangle from the corner of her mouth. A nonsmoker but a fidgeter, it gave her solace to have something to chew on.

"I may have gotten you more worked up than the situation calls for," said Consuelo. "Not to say that it ain't shockin, because it is. Only it ain't probably nearly as bad as you're thinkin."

"Give it to me straight and start from the beginnin," said Natalie, tossing her long, naturally curly and naturally auburn hair.

"¿Promise not to laugh?" Consuelo began.

Natalie crossed her fingers, held them up, and nodded, then sat down on the steps next to Sway.

"A few days ago I decided to start exercisin. In case you haven't noticed, I'm growin quite a gut and I just can't imagine givin up the finer things in life such as menudo or carne asada." Consuelo pinched her abdomen and held it. "So, I figured I'd start out slow. Maybe just walk around the block or somethin. It's hard for a girl like me to know where to begin when it comes to a thing like physical fitness. For starters, I ain't got no walkin shoes, so I put on my most comfortable pair. ¿Member them suede platforms I got on sale last spring at Leroy's?"

"Think so," said Nat.

"Well I don't own no sweats either, so I put on a pair of cutoffs and a T-shirt. No makeup mind you. You might say I was keepin a low profile. I'm about to walk out the door when I start hearin the voices." Consuelo scanned Natalie's face for a reaction, seeing none, she continued. "¿You ever hear voices, Nat?"

"Not usually. Which isn't to say I haven't, because I have. Only mostly I don't usually hear voices unless somebody's talkin to me, and even then it's questionable."

Consuelo moved closer to Natalie and lowered her voice. "Sometimes I hear voices, and usually it's my momma that's speakin. My tía Lila says it's a gift, the voices that is, but I'm not so sure about that. I'm on my way out the door when I hear my momma as if she's standin right behind me and she's sayin, 'A girl dressed like you can't have no good intentions, you little sinvergüenza.' It shocks me, but only for a second, because it ain't the first time I heard my momma say that, and it don't matter that she's gone to that other world either."

"Geez, Sway, that's purty incredible and a bit creepy if you don't mind my sayin so," said Natalie.

"Not in the least. The best things in life are just a little creepy," said Consuelo. "I walk out the door and around the corner. Purty soon I notice this guy slowin down in his car to take a look, but I don't pay him no mind because I'm thinkin about all them calories I must be burnin. Plus I got my Jackie O shades on, which always makes me feel sorta protected. The eyes bein the windows to the soul and all, I prefer to keep the shades drawn. I was mindin my own business."

"And the world would be a better place if everybody did the same," contributed Natalie.

"Out of nowhere there's a screechin of the brakes, and the next thing I know, there's a dead man in the street," said Sway. She bit her bottom lip, then elaborated, "There was this little old guy tryin to cross the street and he got himself runned over because some pervert was busy checkin out my nalgas. He was even usin the crosswalk." Consuelo dropped her cigarette to the dirt, stretched out one of her long long legs, then extinguished the Marlboro® with the wedge heel of her sandals.

"¿That's it, Sway?" said Nat.

"I'm afraid so," said Consuelo. "¿Were you expectin somethin more action-packed?"

"Oh, no," said Natalie swatting at the air in front of her. "Well I hope you're not feelin bad about it, because it ain't by any means your fault. That's just the price of bein purty."

The girls sat silent for a moment staring off into the not so distant fields where a slight breeze rattled the pepper plants.

"You know it's funny," said Nat. "People turn the wrong way down one-way streets all the time, but that don't always spell disaster."

"No it don't," said Sway. She knew precisely what Nat meant: that the world was a place where anything could happen and everything did, and that even the most simple and well-intentioned acts could provoke disaster.

"May the good Lord rest that poor man's soul, but it's Saturday night, and I was just wonderin, ¿what's the plan, chica?" said Nat.

"Was thinkin maybe we could head on out to the racetrack for some watch and wager horse racin," said Consuelo.

"¿You feelin all the sudden lucky?"

"Not hardly, but that ain't never stopped me before. Wait on me while I go in and change," said Consuelo rising to her feet.

"Before you go, I just want you to know that you really scared me there for a second," said Natalie waxing suddenly sentimental. "I figured you'd be sent up and I'd be lucky to see you maybe once or twice a year. And with your fear of public transportation and long car rides, you might go crazy on the bus ride over. It ain't often a person runs into a lik...

Revue de presse

“Endlessly inventive . . . very funny. Martinez’s deadpan perspective on faith, romance and the uneasy bonds of family is truly wonderful.” --The Washington Post Book World

“An absurdly entertaining first novel . . . . With a born-again mariachi and his witchcraft practicing mother, a vixen recently jailed for her involvement in moving tamales stuffed with mala hierba, a beautician who’s part mamacita, part papacito, and a volcano that could blow at any moment, Caramba! is a dizzying Mexican hat dance . . . . "--Los Angeles Times

“A triumph of whimsy and imagination–Monty Python meets 100 Years of Solitude” --San Francisco Chronicle

"May be the most entertaining, hilarious and thoroughly enjoyable reading experience many folks will have this year." --St. Petersburg Times

Détails de l'édition

• Éditeur: Alfred a Knopf Inc
• Date d'édition: 2004
• Langue: anglais
• ISBN 10: 0375413758
• ISBN 13: 9780375413759
• Reliure: Relié
• Numéro d'édition: 1
• Nombre de pages: 359
• Coordonnées du fabricant: non disponible
• Personne responsable: Authorised Representative Service; ar.info@doceupoint.com; ; 77 Camden Street Lower; Dublin; Dublin; D02 XE80; Irlande