The Transmigration of Bodies Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Yuri Herrera
Tags: Drama, spanish, Fiction, Mexico, Hard-Boiled, translation, Love Story, Urban, Novel, Dystopia, gangs, Plague, hispanic, disease, Romeo, blonde, Translated fiction, Yuri Herrera, Trabajos del Reino, Señales que precederán al fin del mundo, Signs Preceding the End of the World, La transmigración de los cuerpos, The Transmigration of Bodies, Latino, Vicky, Three Times Blond, Neyanderthal, the Dolphin, Anemic Student, valeria luiselli, mexico city, The Redeemer, daniel alarcón, mediation, narco-literature, gang violence, la Nora, francisco goldman, herrera, redeemer, the Unruly, the Castros, narcoliteratura, maya jaggi, Ganglands, dead bodies, Transmigration of the Bodies
my man?
It don’t, Counselor, as you can see for yourself.
Óscar was one of the only people he could stand calling him that.
The Redeemer pokerfaced: You know the whereabouts of Romeo Fonseca?
Dolphin’s boy?
Mhm.
Óscar had looked into the Redeemer’s eyes and then stared down the street again, stroking his tash with a don’t-know-jack face: obviously the Redeemer was about to ask him something and he was going to tell but it had to be clear he was not one to simply offer stuff up.
He was here last night, right?
Óscar nodded almost imperceptibly, like it was the natural extension of his tash-tugging.
He started off somewhere else—nodding now toward Incubus—then showed up here; after that I don’t know.
The Redeemer let his true question ripen in the silence of the street.
Didn’t see where but you saw who with.
Óscar finally took his hand off his face and pointed to a spot on the sidewalk, as tho conjuring the scene with his fingers.
Only thing I saw was him sprawled there. Couple kids came and put him in a van.
Kids, what kids?
The Castros.
The Castros, the Redeemer thought. Motherfuck.
How’d Dolphin find out?
You still on that prick’s payroll? Óscar asked.
In his line, people fell all over themselves to say thanks if he fixed their situations, nearly wept with joy when he kept their hands clean of certain matters, they sent small checks and big bottles in gratitude. After that, tho, they didn’t even want to say hey since it reminded them of what they’d been mixed up in. Maybe that was how he felt about Dolphin: just hearing the sound of that agonized wheeze reminded him of that one defining moment he tried to keep buried. But the Redeemer had never stopped repaying the man who’d stepped in to lend a hand at a rough time.
Still on it.
Mmm… well. Must’ve heard because his girl was here too.
The Redeemer eyed him, alarmed.
His daughter? The Unruly?
In the flesh. Up to her eyeballs she was, coming out of Incubus, saw it all go down but didn’t say shit till after they took her sib, then screamed her head off, tho no one seemed to notice.
The Redeemer nodded. He pulled out the masks he had in his pocket, held on to one and handed the rest to Óscar.
These of any use to you?
Everything’s of use to me here, he replied.
He drove back to his side of town, which was also where the Fonsecas were, some six blocks up the hill from the Big House. On the way he saw a train go by. Trains almost never went by anymore since they’d been sold off years back. But here was a convoy of eight sealed cars advancing slowly along the tracks. Carrying out the healthy or the sick? he wondered.
He parked in front of their big sheet-metal gate and slapped it ten times in a row so they’d hear him in the house, which stood beyond the slapdash patio that Dolphin had erected for parties. No one came. He beat on the gate ten more times and waited. Nada. He was about to start slapping again when he heard a bolt slide on the other side of the entryway.
Who’s that? a girl’s voice banged out. Her.
It’s me, he said.
The Unruly said nothing, but the Redeemer could hear her breathing through the metal.
Your pops called.
The girl undid a second bolt and showed half an unfriendly face through the doorcrack—brow arched, nose wrinkled, mouth twisted. She said nothing. The Redeemer repeated Your pops called for me. Go ask him.
Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t do, spat the Unruly. She stared at him and then closed the door. After five minutes, she returned. Come back later, she said. Not right now.
The Redeemer snorted but didn’t move, nor did the Unruly close the door.
Who’d you grab? he asked. Please not who he thought, please not who he thought.
The Unruly narrowed her eyes and said Baby Girl.
Shit. But that wasn’t what he said. What he said was Where you got her?
The Unruly gave a sort of half-smile that said You must be kidding.
Why bother calling if you give me nothing
It don’t, Counselor, as you can see for yourself.
Óscar was one of the only people he could stand calling him that.
The Redeemer pokerfaced: You know the whereabouts of Romeo Fonseca?
Dolphin’s boy?
Mhm.
Óscar had looked into the Redeemer’s eyes and then stared down the street again, stroking his tash with a don’t-know-jack face: obviously the Redeemer was about to ask him something and he was going to tell but it had to be clear he was not one to simply offer stuff up.
He was here last night, right?
Óscar nodded almost imperceptibly, like it was the natural extension of his tash-tugging.
He started off somewhere else—nodding now toward Incubus—then showed up here; after that I don’t know.
The Redeemer let his true question ripen in the silence of the street.
Didn’t see where but you saw who with.
Óscar finally took his hand off his face and pointed to a spot on the sidewalk, as tho conjuring the scene with his fingers.
Only thing I saw was him sprawled there. Couple kids came and put him in a van.
Kids, what kids?
The Castros.
The Castros, the Redeemer thought. Motherfuck.
How’d Dolphin find out?
You still on that prick’s payroll? Óscar asked.
In his line, people fell all over themselves to say thanks if he fixed their situations, nearly wept with joy when he kept their hands clean of certain matters, they sent small checks and big bottles in gratitude. After that, tho, they didn’t even want to say hey since it reminded them of what they’d been mixed up in. Maybe that was how he felt about Dolphin: just hearing the sound of that agonized wheeze reminded him of that one defining moment he tried to keep buried. But the Redeemer had never stopped repaying the man who’d stepped in to lend a hand at a rough time.
Still on it.
Mmm… well. Must’ve heard because his girl was here too.
The Redeemer eyed him, alarmed.
His daughter? The Unruly?
In the flesh. Up to her eyeballs she was, coming out of Incubus, saw it all go down but didn’t say shit till after they took her sib, then screamed her head off, tho no one seemed to notice.
The Redeemer nodded. He pulled out the masks he had in his pocket, held on to one and handed the rest to Óscar.
These of any use to you?
Everything’s of use to me here, he replied.
He drove back to his side of town, which was also where the Fonsecas were, some six blocks up the hill from the Big House. On the way he saw a train go by. Trains almost never went by anymore since they’d been sold off years back. But here was a convoy of eight sealed cars advancing slowly along the tracks. Carrying out the healthy or the sick? he wondered.
He parked in front of their big sheet-metal gate and slapped it ten times in a row so they’d hear him in the house, which stood beyond the slapdash patio that Dolphin had erected for parties. No one came. He beat on the gate ten more times and waited. Nada. He was about to start slapping again when he heard a bolt slide on the other side of the entryway.
Who’s that? a girl’s voice banged out. Her.
It’s me, he said.
The Unruly said nothing, but the Redeemer could hear her breathing through the metal.
Your pops called.
The girl undid a second bolt and showed half an unfriendly face through the doorcrack—brow arched, nose wrinkled, mouth twisted. She said nothing. The Redeemer repeated Your pops called for me. Go ask him.
Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t do, spat the Unruly. She stared at him and then closed the door. After five minutes, she returned. Come back later, she said. Not right now.
The Redeemer snorted but didn’t move, nor did the Unruly close the door.
Who’d you grab? he asked. Please not who he thought, please not who he thought.
The Unruly narrowed her eyes and said Baby Girl.
Shit. But that wasn’t what he said. What he said was Where you got her?
The Unruly gave a sort of half-smile that said You must be kidding.
Why bother calling if you give me nothing
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