Irma Voth Read Online Free PDF Page A

hair until my arms ached and then I draped it over my breasts like Eve when she was being flirty in the Garden.
    I still had no power. I couldn’t find the flashlight. The silver eye of God was right outside my bedroom window. I heard music coming from the filmmakers’ house, by now Marijke the German actress would have arrived, and I fell asleep alone and naked in my bed.
    The next morning there was a knock on my door. It was a boy wearing narrow black jeans and enormous white sneakers. He said he was Miguel, Diego’s assistant, and I should come to the house immediately. Diego needed to explain things to Marijke before they began shooting and he needed me to help him do that. Miguel was very polite. When you are ready, he said. I told him I had to milk the cows first and he frowned. He asked me if he could help because Diegowas already vibrating and we needed to hurry. There are sparks flying off him in every direction, he said.
    What’s that? I asked him. He was holding something in his hand.
    A two-way radio, he said. Listen. He pushed a button on the radio. He put his finger to his lips.
    We heard voices, one in particular.
    Who’s that? I said.
    It’s Diego, said Miguel. He pointed at the filmmakers’ house.
    Is he angry? I asked.
    No, said Miguel, it’s a motivational speech.
    I told Miguel I’d do my milking fast but alone and be at the house in half an hour. I told him that if Diego needed to tell me things before that he could come see me in the barn and talk while I milked. He could bring Marijke if he wanted to.
    Roger, said Miguel. Is that how you say that?
    Roger? I asked.
    Yeah, in Canada. They said you were from Canada?
    I left when I was thirteen, I said. Maybe over and out?
    Over and out, Irma, said Miguel.
    Okay, I said.
    Miguel took off and I stood in the sunshine for a couple of warm seconds trying to think of other coded ways to say yes, I understand, goodbye.
    Half an hour later I averted another attack from Oveja by befriending him with wieners and applesauce. For a soldier turned artist he was still surprisingly aggressive.
    The filmmakers had tied plastic bags filled with water all around the front porch of their house to keep the flies away. The bags of water sparkled in the sunlight like little chandeliers. I stood outside the door poised to knock while Oveja lay on the ground beside me devouring my leftovers. Then the door opened on its own, well, not on its own but from the inside and all the shouting stopped and Diego came over and kissed my cheek and took me into the huge kitchen to meet the crew.
    The house that used to belong to my shy farmer cousins was now inhabited by tattooed artists who lay around smoking and drinking espresso and arguing about politics and camera angles. Diego asked me if I liked the music. I nodded. Have you heard of Tuberculosis? he asked. I nodded again. They’re my favourite band, he said.
    One by one they all got up and kissed me on the cheek and introduced themselves to me in Spanish or English or both. I didn’t see Miguel anywhere. Diego explained to me each of their responsibilities. The camera, the sound, other things I had never heard of. We are creating a small world, he said. A world that is more real than the one we know. He told me that he had just discovered that a very important piece of the camera was missing. Show me your thumb, he said. I held it out to him. It’s this small, he said. But it’s the difference between life and death. Can you do your farm work without your thumb? he asked me. I shook my head. I thought of how annoyed Jorge would be if I lost my thumbs. Diego told me that two of the filmmakers, including Miguel, had driven to El Paso to pick up a replacement part that was being sent from Los Angeles.
    It’s an old Russian camera from the sixties, he said. It’s difficult to find parts. Now we have to wait for them to come back. It’s excruciating but we must be Zen about it.
    I was so nervous. I felt like a moron. I stood