Monkey Boy by Francisco Goldman (best self help books to read .TXT) 📕

Yandra if they want to make a music video they better hire some dancers though. Right now their big move is when they all turn around and shake their butts at the audience. I don’t think seeing that on a video will make a lot of people buy tickets for their shows. Monica laughs with glee.

I hear a woman’s voice explode in the background. Fucking Yandra, you can’t even put the fire on under the fucking frijoles! Not even that! Fuck you, Madame! Fuck you!

Oh-oh, here we go again, Monica says into the phone. Don’t worry, this happens all the time around here. Oh wow, and now here comes Yandra down the stairs.

Madame? She means my sister?

In the background: Lagranputa always the same excuse. Oh I have a show. I have a rehearsal. I have to go and see my mother. Oh, I have this. I don’t give a fuck, Señorita Candil de la calle, oscuridad de la casa. It was your turn to make the cena, but Madame can’t even put the fire on under the frijoles.

Maki, please, just a minute, I know I know. It’s my brother, please … I hear my sister’s pleading. Now Lexi loud in my ear: Frank! Is this really you? What a surprise! But Maki, in the background: Give the patojos Domino’s again, eh, Madame? When all are fat diabéticos, don’t blame me!

Yes, it’s me, hi Lexi. Sounds like—

Maki: So fuck you, Madame!

Frankie, let me call you back—

Sure, Lexi. Sounds like you have a situation—

Maki: Not going to your fucking dyke-ass show tonight, either.

Yes, a situation, says Lexi, sounding a little panicked. Frankie, I’m sorry, honestly, it’s not so bad as I’m sure it sounds, I’ll call you right back.

Yandra? Fuck you, Madame Yandra? What was all that? It’s like discovering a new civilization, not in the Amazon but deep inside your own family.

I stand waiting on Tremont, near Boylston, on the sidewalk at the edge of the Common. A Dunkin’ Donuts right across the street. Every time I see a Dunkin’ Donuts, I’ll be like one of those Mexico City taxi drivers who crosses himself whenever he drives past a church, except I’ll be thinking of Lulú. The dusk is a soft, rosy brown, a pink-tinged light that’s making the hard scraps and patches of snow in the Common glow like distant icebergs. Even though it’s a Sunday evening, there are plenty of people out on the sidewalk and in the Common, traffic moving slowly down Tremont. The phone rings in my hand. Hi Lexi.

Hi Frank, I forgot to put the fire on under the frijoles, as I guess you heard, says Lexi in a tone of affected, mortified culpability. Frijoles and rice is a staple around here, she says, just like in Guatemala. Do you remember how we always had frijoles at Abuelita’s house? But it takes hours to cook. Good thing we have tortillas, turkey hot dogs, and Kraft macaroni and cheese in the house.

Okay, Lexi, sounds good, I say—so often this stingy brusqueness when I talk to my sister. Stop it, I tell myself. Be sweet to her. Tell her about the damn arrowhead.

I’m so glad you got to meet Monica, she goes on. I mean by phone, at least. Isn’t she great, Frank? She was born in Guatemala but she was only one year old when her parents came here. She’s going to go to Harvard, you wait and see. Lexi is making an effort to keep her voice bright, as if to compensate for all that uproar I was just listening to.

Yes, Monica seems pretty amazing, I say. But wow, Lexi, your house seems pretty lively.

Oh it sure is, says Lexi. Maki is who you heard shouting about the frijoles. Maki and I are good friends. So don’t let all her fuck yous give you the wrong impression, Frank. Madame Yandra, that’s just her nickname for me. Maki just talks like that, because when she first got here she heard so many people saying fuck she just thought that was English. Do you get what I mean? This is a fishing port, Frank, full of fishermen, rough guys, so you can guess how people talk around here.

I get it, I say. Hey, I have a surprise for you. But I didn’t manage to pronounce that with much enthusiasm.

Maki’s really been through a lot, Lexi goes on. But she’s so strong. Well, she’s strong and not so strong, like all of us, I guess. She’s been in New Bedford twelve years. She’s a bruja, you know. She has powers, so be careful, haha. Well, she isn’t really, it’s her abuelita who was a real Maya bruja. Maki learned from her. She can tell you all about this 2012 thing that’s coming and how some of the old shamans prophesize the world is going to end in five years. Do you know about that, Frank?

I’ve heard of it, I say. Is this the bruja you asked to help find me a wife?

Mom told you about that, didn’t she, says Lexi. I did ask her not to tell you, Frank. I’m a little upset with Yoli that she told you.

Don’t be upset, Lexi, I say. I was surprised when Ma told me, but then I thought it was really nice of you.

A brief silence, followed by a little falsetto laugh. Did it work? she asks.

Well, I thought it was working, for a bit, I say. Maybe not anymore, though.

I’ll ask Maki to do it again, she says. When she’s in a better mood, okay? This will blow over by tomorrow, you’ll see.

Okay, sure, thank you, Lexi. So what’s going on, these cool kids in your house, mothers who work in factories and fish-processing houses. Are you running a boardinghouse?

No, it’s not a boardinghouse, she says. It’s a not-for-profit venture, she says. So no, you can’t call it a boardinghouse.

A commune?

A commune? Her laugh is amused but abrupt. Oh Frank, it’s such a long story. I’ll have to tell you in