- •The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
- •It’s perfectly fine if you don’t believe in these ‘superstitions’. In fact, it’s better than fine — it’s perfect. Because no matter what you believe, fukú believes in you.
- •The moronic inferno
- •Oscar is brave
- •Oscar comes close
- •I’d kill him first.
- •Amor de pendejo
- •It was Ana. Standing in his foyer, wearing a full-length leather, her trigueña skin blood-charged from the cold, her face gorgeous with eyeliner, mascara, foundation, lipstick, and blush.
- •Oscar in love
- •I feel it, you say, too loudly. Lo siento.
- •I always hated obvious dreams like that. I still do.
- •La chica de mi escuela
- •It’s your fault! she swore, meant in more ways than one.
- •I don’t like him, Beli said. He looks at me.
- •Hunt the light knight
- •I love you! she wanted to scream, I want to have all your children! I want to be your woman! But instead she said, You be careful.
- •I’m allowed to do anything I want, Beli said stubbornly, with my husband.
- •El hollywood
- •The gangster we’re all looking for
- •I do not lie. How many rooms do you want?
- •I don’t need a job. He’s going to buy me a house.
- •It was La Inca who saw it first. Well, you finally did it. You’re pregnant. No I’m not, Beli rasped, wiping the fetid mash from her mouth. But she was.
- •Revelation
- •In the shadow of the jacaranda
- •I don’t know who in carajo—
- •Hesitation
- •La inca, the divine
- •Choice and consequences
- •Fukú vs. Zafa
- •I met something, Beli would say, guardedly.
- •Back among the living
- •La inca, in decline
- •I want to leave. I hate this place.
- •I wish I could say different but I’ve got it right here on tape. La Inca told you you had to leave the country and you laughed. End of story.
- •The last days of the republic
- •I’m thinking of going to Nueva York.
- •It was pretty horrible. As for punkboy, apparently dude jumped right out the window and ran all the way to George Street. Buttnaked.
- •I’d be sure to have ugly daughters.
- •I mean someone, Abelard said darkly.
- •Santo domingo confidential
- •The bad thing
- •I know, I know, Lydia, but what should I do? Jesú Cristo, Abelard, she said tremulously. What options are there. This is Trujillo you’re talking about.
- •Chiste apocalyptus
- •If the stories are to be believed, it all had to do with a joke.
- •The fall
- •Abelard in chains
- •It wasn’t long after that visit that Socorro realized that she was pregnant. With Abelard’s Third and Final Daughter.
- •The sentence
- •Fallout
- •The third and final daughter
- •The burning
- •I am your real family, La Inca said forcefully. I am here to save you.
- •Forget me naut
- •Sanctuary
- •Oscar takes a vacation
- •The condensed notebook of a return to a nativeland
- •It was also reported that Oscar drooled on himself and didn’t wake up for the meal or the movie, only when the plane touched down and everybody clapped.
- •La beba
- •I don’t need your help. And she ain’t a puta.
- •A note from your author
- •The girl from sabana iglesia
- •Oscar at the rubicon
- •I got one, he said. She’s the girlfriend of my mind.
- •Last chance
- •Oscar gets beat
- •Clives to the rescue
- •Close encounters of the caribbean kind
- •It wasn’t completely egregious, he said. I still had a few hit points left.
- •Part III
- •I might partake. Just a little, though. I would not want to cloud my faculties.
- •Curse of the caribbean
- •The last days of oscar wao
- •On a super final note
- •Veidt says: ‘I did the right thing, didn’t I? It all worked out in the end’. And Manhattan, before fading from our Universe, replies: ‘In the end? Nothing ends, Adrian. Nothing ever ends’.
- •The final letter
- •Acknowledgments
- •Table of Contents
La beba
She lived two houses over and, like the de Leóns, was a newcomer to Mirador Norte. (Oscar’s moms had bought their house with double shifts at her two jobs. Ybón bought hers with double shifts too, but in a window in Amsterdam.) She was one of those golden mulatas that French-speaking Caribbeans call chabines, that my boys call chicas de oro; she had snarled, apocalyptic hair, copper eyes, and was one whiteskinned relative away from jaba.
At first Oscar thought she was only a visitor, this tiny; slightly paunchy babe who was always high-heeling it out to her Pathfinder. (She didn’t have the Nuevo Mundo wannabe American look of the majority of his neighbors.) The two times Oscar bumped into her — during breaks in his writing he would go for walks along the hot, bland cul-de-sacs, or sit at the local café — she smiled at him. And the third time they saw each other — here, folks, is where the miracles begin — she sat at his table and said: What are you reading? At first he didn’t know what was happening, and then he realized: Holy Shit! A female was talking to him. (It was an unprecedented change in fortune, as though his threadbare Skein of Destiny had accidentally gotten tangled with that of a doper, more fortunate brother.) Turned out Ybón knew his abuela, gave her rides whenever Carlos Moya was out making deliveries. You’re the boy in her pictures, she said with a sly smile. I was little, he said defensively. And besides, that was before the war changed me. She didn’t laugh. That’s probably what it is. Well, I have to go. On went the shades, up went the ass, out went the belleza. Oscar’s erection following her like a dowser’s wand.
Ybón had attended the UASD a long time ago but she was no college girl, she had lines around her eyes and seemed, to Oscar at least, mad open, mad worldly, had the sort of intense zipper-gravity that hot middle-aged women exude effortlessly. The next time he ran into her in front of her house (he had watched for her), she said, Good morning, Mr. de León, in English. How are you? I am well, he said. And you? She beamed. I am well, thank you. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he laced them behind his back like a gloomy parson. And for a minute there was nothing and she was unlocking her gate and he said, desperately, It is very hot. Ay sí, she said. And I thought it was just my menopause. And then looking over her shoulder at him, curious perhaps at this strange character who was trying not to look at her at all, or recognizing how in crush he was with her and feeling charitable, she said, Come inside. I’ll give you a drink.
The casa near empty — his abuela’s crib was spare but this was on some next shit — Haven’t had the time to move in yet, she said offhandedly — and because there wasn’t any furniture besides a kitchen table, a chair, a bureau, a bed, and a TV, they had to sit on the bed. (Oscar peeped the astrology books under the bed and a collection of Paulo Coelho’s novels. She followed his gaze and said with a smile, Paulo Coelho saved my life.) She gave him a beer, had a double scotch, then for the next six hours regaled him with tales from her life. You could tell she hadn’t had anyone to talk to in a long time. Oscar reduced to nodding and trying to laugh when she laughed. The whole time he was sweating bullets. Wondering if this is when he should try something. It wasn’t until midway through their chat that it hit Oscar that the job Ybón talked so volubly about was prostitution. It was Holy Shit! the Sequel. Even though putas were one of Santo Domingo’s premier exports, Oscar had never been in a prostitute’s house in his entire life.
Staring out her bedroom window, he saw his abuela on her front lawn, looking for him. He wanted to raise the window and call to her but Ybón didn’t allow for any interruptions.
Ybón was an odd odd bird. She might have been talkative, the sort of easygoing woman a brother can relax around, but there was something slightly detached about her too; as though (Oscar’s words now) she were some marooned alien princess who existed partially in another dimension; the sort of woman who, cool as she was, slips out of your head a little too quickly, a quality she recognized and was thankful for, as though she relished the short bursts of attention she provoked from men, but not anything sustained. She didn’t seem to mind being the girl you called every couple of months at eleven at night, just to see what she was ‘up to’. As much relationship as she could handle. Reminds me of the morir-vivir plants we played with as kids, except in reverse.
Her Jedi mind-tricks did not, however, work on Oscar. When it came to girls, the brother had a mind like a yogi. He latched on and stayed latched. By the time he left her house that night and walked home through the Island’s million attack mosquitoes he was lost.
(Did it matter that Ybón started mixing Italian in with her Spanish after her fourth drink or that she almost fell flat on her face when she showed him out? Of course not!)
He was in love.
His mother and his abuela met him at the door; excuse the stereotype, but both had their hair in rolos and couldn’t believe his sinvergüencería. Do you know that woman’s a PUTA? Do you know she bought that house CULEANDO?
For a moment he was overwhelmed by their rage, and then he found his footing and shot back, Do you know her aunt was a JUDGE? Do you know her father worked for the PHONE COMPANY?
You want a woman, I’ll get you a good woman, his mother said, peering angrily out the window. But that puta’s only going to take your money.