The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

said, but La Inca could not do it, her strength leaving her. Hija, if you ever come home late again you’ll have to leave this house, and Beli saying, Don’t worry, I’ll be leaving soon enough. That night La Inca refused to get into bed with her, sleeping in her rocking chair, not speaking to her the next day either, going off to work by herself, her disappointment looming above her like a mushroom cloud. No question: it was her madre she should have been worried about, but for the rest of that week Beli found herself instead brooding on the stupidity of that gordo azaroso who (in her words) had ruined her whole night. Almost every day she found herself recounting the details of the confrontation to both the car dealer and Arquimedes, but with each telling she added further outrages which were not exactly true but seemed accurate in spirit. Un bruto, she called him. Un animal. How dare he try to touch me! As though he were someone, ese poco hombre, ese mamahuevo!

    So he hit you? The car dealer was trying to pin her hand down to his leg but failing. Maybe that’s what I need to do.
    And you’d get exactly what he got, she said.
    Arquimedes, who had taken to standing in a closet while she visited him (just in case the secret police burst in), pronounced the Gangster a typical bourgeois type, his voice reaching her through all that fabric that the car dealer had bought her (and which Beli stored at his place). (Is this a mink fur? he asked her. Rabbit, she said morosely.)
    I should have stabbed him, she said to Constantina.
    Muchacha, I think he should have stabbed you .
    What the hell do you mean?
    I’m just saying, you talk about him a whole lot.
    No , she said hotly. It’s not like that at all.
    Then stop talking about him. Tina glanced down at a pretend watch. Five seconds. It must be a record.
    She tried to keep him out of her mouth but it was hopeless. Her forearm ached at the oddest of moments and she could feel his hangdog eyes on her everywhere.
    The next Friday was a big day at the restaurant; the local chapter of the Dominican Party was having an event and the staff busted their ass from early to late. Beli, who loved the bustle, showed some of her magis for hard work, and even José had to come out of the office to help cook. José awarded the head of the chapter with a bottle of what he claimed was “Chinese rum” but which in fact was Johnnie Walker with the label scraped off. The higher echelons enjoyed their chow fun immensely but their campo underlings poked at the noodles miserably and asked over and over if there was any arroz con habichuelas, of which of course there was none. All in all the event was a success, you never would have guessed there was a dirty war going on, but when the last of the drunks was shuffled onto his feet and ushered into a cab, Beli, feeling not the least bit tired, asked Tina: Can we go back?
    Where?
    To El Hollywood.
    But we have to change—
    Don’t worry, I brought everything.
    And before you know it she was standing over his table.
    One of his dinner companions said: Hey, Dionisio, isn’t that the girl que te dío una pela last week?
    The baller nodded glumly.
    His buddy looked her up and down. I hope for your sake she’s not back for a rematch. I don’t think you’ll survive.
    What are you waiting for, the baller asked. The bell?
    Dance with me. Now it was her turn to grab him and drag him onto the pista.
    He might have been a dense slab of tuxedo and thew, but he moved like an enchantment. You came looking for me, didn’t you?
    Yes, she said, and only then did she know.
    I’m glad you didn’t lie. I don’t like liars. He put his finger under her chin. What’s your name?
    She tore her head away. My name is Hypatía Belicia Cabral.
    No, he said with the gravity of an old-school pimp. Your name is Beautiful.

THE GANGSTER WE’RE ALL LOOKING FOR
     
    H ow much Beli knew about the Gangster we will never know. She claims that he only told her he was a businessman. Of course I believed him. How was I supposed to know different?
    Well, he certainly was a businessman, but he was also a flunky for the Trujillato, and not a minor one. Don’t misunderstand: our boy wasn’t no ringwraith, but he wasn’t no orc either.
    Due partially to Beli’s silence on the matter and other folks’ lingering unease when it comes to talking about the regime, info on the Gangster is fragmented; I’ll give you what I’ve managed to unearth and the rest will have to wait