The Fickle Finger of Fate/ Thesis Excerpt: El Perico Eduardo

EL PERICO EDUARDO

 

      Evening                                                                            Thursday 6^th of March 2003

With your feet in the air and your head on the ground
Try this trick and spin it, yeah
Your head will collapse
If there’s nothing in it
And you’ll ask yourself
Where is my mind

~ ‘Where is My Mind’ by The Pixies

 Chaos is the word I think of when I walk into her apartment. There are food crumbs embedded in the carpet, so ingrained they look like they are part of the original design, a cat brushes past me so quickly I just catch a glimpse of its gray tail. Rebecca looks up at me expectantly, “Do you want to say hello to Eduardo, my parrot? There he is…,” she points towards the window. My gaze follows her finger and sees nothing but the heater that sits besides the window. She looks at me intently and I start to say that I see nothing but quickly change my mind and start to humor her delusion. “Oh, he’s very pretty,” I say trying to avoid describing the invisible birds beauty. I learned from psychological journals that you must always humor schizophrenic delusions; there is no point in arguing logic, because we live in different plains of reality. I certainly didn’t want to start an argument, while alone in a paranoid schizophrenic’s apartment, even if she is family.

Tiepolo Battista, Giovanni, 1760-1761.Woman with a Parrot. Venice, Italy; Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. 71 x 53.4 cm, Oil on Canvas.

Earlier that evening, I had given Rebecca a ride home from the hospital. She had accidentally stepped on a rusted nail while walking bare foot in her apartment. On the ride home she told me about her accident and the tetanus shot she had to endure, as well as how dangerous this could be due to her diabetes. Eventually, she began telling me about Eduardo, her perico. A pet she’d had for several years. She expounded on his beauty and the words he liked to say. She told me he said perverted things sometimes and she called him a bad bird. As I pulled up to her building she asked me if I wanted to come up and see him. I considered my options. If I said, “No,” which was my first instinct, she may get upset, and by saying yes; I would possibly be creating ties with her that I hadn’t had in years. I said yes, mostly because I didn’t want her to get upset, story of my life.

So, here I stand in her apartment looking at a nothing, pretending I see El Perico Eduardo. Part of me wants to laugh, because this is a ridiculous situation, kind of farcical and I am going along with it, feeding it. “Yes…yes…very pretty bird”, I continue. “Do you want to hear him talk?” she asks, “Ask him something.”

Okay, now I know I am in a farce. How do I get myself out of this one? “Uhm…he looks kind of sleepy, I would hate to bother him”, I say.

“No…no…he’s not sleepy, right Eduardo?” she asks the parrot. She laughs softly to herself as she gazes at the bird. I need to get out of here, I think. “Well, uh…I gotta get back home…you have a nice apartment here.” I finally notice the cat that brushed past me earlier, it’s coat was white and grey, “Ooooh, cute cat…I hope Eduardo and the cat get along,” I wince as I say this, crap, not a good way to deflect. She glances at me suspiciously and says, “The cat doesn’t get close to Eduardo, he doesn’t like it.” I glance back towards the window and say, off-handedly, “Well, yeah birds and cats,” she stares at me blankly, “Y’know all the cartoons…Tweedy and Tom the cat, he’s always trying to eat Tweedy…” I trail off and look back at her warily. She stares at me with her focused gaze for a minute, then laughs softly and says, “Yeah…that’s right, I remember, we use to watch Tom and Jerry when we were kids,” she laughs heartily as she remembers,

“ That’s right…that’s right…” she finishes. I laugh along with her as I inch my way to the front door, “Yeah…anyways…it was great seeing you…You better take care of that foot, we don’t want you getting an infection,” I open the door. She looks at me and smiles vaguely, “Yeah,” is all she says. I smile back and step into the hallway. She stands at the doorway and waves good-bye, as I walk away…the tension in my body releasing with every step I take. I look back briefly before I enter the elevator and see her standing in the hallway watching me leave with a vague smile on her face. She waves back and I wave as I step into the elevator and sigh with relief. A week later I find out that Eduardo was also the name of a man she claimed sexually assaulted. My parents think it’s one of her delusions. I am not so sure.

Child vs. Machine

Outside, I hear the call of laughing children, playing games of jacks and tag, but I ignore them. My curious eight-year old stare is fastened on the machine in the corner of the kitchen. It must be a machine, because I can see the blinking red button staring back at me…beckoning me to take a closer look.

I approach it cautiously, my paten leather shoes softly shuffling on the floor, my hand already extended, chubby fingers ready to touch and discover what lies before me.

I stop my fingers just inches away.

I study its’ barrel shape and mustard yellow form.

I look inside its’ mouth, at the smooth whiteness within, that reminds me of soap in my eyes and the soft tug of my mother’s hands as she scrubs my hair…but it’s too small to bathe in, I think.

I look up and I see it!

Like two masa rollers, held together by some kind of contraption, attached to the machine.

It looks back at me, and my imagination soars with images of placing bolitas of masa there to flatten into tortillas de harina with frijoles fritos and queso fresco.

My brown eyes scan the small kitchen and living room for signs of my Abuelita. Maybe I shouldn’t touch it, I think, but it looks harmless.  I extend my hands and fingers, reaching up to give it a whirl.

I lean in, the folds of my dress fall against the back of my knees, the soft laced edge tickling me.

My feet poised, their toes balancing as I reach my goal. I rest against the barrel as my hand touches the rollers for the first time. My fingers curl, preparing to give the bottom rollers a whirl with the tip of my fingers.

When suddenly I hear a whirring sound, like something awoken, coming to life!

My fingers are abruptly caught between the two rollers, and I feel a tug that defies all resistance! First my fingers are taken in…

Being wrung

Squashed

Then my hand!

I start to scream, “Abuelita! Abuelita!” a catch in my throat, trying to hold back a sense of panic. I look at my hand, slowly being gobbled up and disappearing, only to come out at the other end looking God know how…

Finally, I sense my Abuelita’s comforting presence, as she leans down to shut off the monster. “Ay, Raquel….que hiciste?” she asks bewilderedly.

I look at her and whimper with my hand caught all the way up to my forearm between the jaws of the rollers. I try to stand more on my tippy toes, to gage the damage on the other side. Visions were dancing through my head of my hand pan caked like the likes of my friend Wiley Coyote, whenever the Roadrunner drops an anvil on his head.  I sigh with relief as I glimpse my hand, still chubby and full, if just a little pale.

My Abuelita unlatches the jaw’s grip from my arm, “Ay Raquel…hay que llamarle a tu tia Angeles para que te lleve a la Cruz Verde,” she says. I just nod as I stare numbly at my bruised and swollen arm. I feel a pinch of pain, but it’s bearable, anything is at this point.

I look back at the machine accusingly.

But it just sits there, quietly.

Blinking its’ red eye at me.

Monster

Bob Fosse Dreaming…(and what is the fickle finger of fate?)

Fosse dancers in 1969 film "Sweet Charity"

I am a BIG musical theatre fan! Yes I am. Instead of sugar plum dreams, my dreams were made of  synchronized dancing and isolating one body part to groove in effortless Fosse style. My penchant for tripping and 12 years of orthopedic shoes prevented me from pursuing this dream, so instead I turned to acting where two left feet are not a hindrance. My fascination with Fosse began, with the 1969 film, “Sweet Charity”, where I  followed every move the dancers made in “Big Spender” and “Rich Man’s Frug”. I laughed at Chita Rivera’s sassiness, felt the urge to join Sammy Davis’s “Rhythm of Life” Church and was moved by Shirley MacClaine’s resilience. The film, an excellent Neil Simon musical, delighted my eyes and sparked this fascination I have with Bob Fosse.  A man who took the suaveness Gene Kelly brought to dance and made it cool.

Sweet Charity also introduced me to the term,”Fickle Finger of Fate”. The Fickle Finger of Fate is about the unpredictability of life. One day you’re up and one day you’re down, taking each blow as it comes. Personally, I like soft blows, like kisses. So, this blog will be as unpredictable and random as life.

A new venture begins…

Vintage Print by artist Poto Leifi

Well, I have officially set up my blog. It took months, perhaps years to get myself to write these words. I hope you will join me and hopefully be entertained, inquisitive, supportive and constructive critics of what I write. I thank you in advance. =)

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