Yo-Yo Boing!

— Yo te dije que me hipnotizaras. Eso es lo que hacía Jabalí: me ponía las manos en la frente. Y me apretaba fuertemente las sienes.

— Ahora un redondel como si fueras Dulcinea. Qué bella.

— No, me voy a caer. Me voy a romper la pierna.

— Un redondel. Un brinquito. Detrás del redondel, un paso de merengue and back again. Now upsy-wupsy for a piggyback ride.

— Ahora, cómo voy a escribir. Estoy mareada.

— Ahora, otro galopito más.

— Shut up. I’m the one giving the orders now. Llévame hasta mi escritorio. Siéntate en mi silla. Así.

— That’s not your chair.

— Sit.

— It’s over there.

— Pues llévame y siéntate y no te muevas.

— Get ready.

— Cállate y no te rías.

— Atrévete a decir que no te inspiro. I bet no writer has done it yet. Not even Henry Miller, who bragged about his whoring the whores with pen in hand, with both instruments moving along. Who could be simultaneously writing and fucking. It was a lie. He wrote alone seated with his legs crossed under a typewriter. This is unique. I inspired you, not with dope, just with a sweatband over your eyes. I set you up, hypnotized you, and then, to prove that I’m totally potent, I became the chair of the woman writer. Virginia Woolf would have a fit — a chair of one’s own. Didn’t I tell you that I had an artist inside me. And a thinker, Paco Pepe told me so.

— I had a dream that I was pregnant.

— Don’t worry, it means new ideas are coming. Do you realize what we are doing. Never in the history of literature. James Joyce didn’t write Ulysses seated in Molly’s lap.

— Nora’s.

— Hurry up. My leg is falling asleep. I’m not made of wood. I’ll call my autobiography: My Life as a Chair.

— I always knew that what you want is to write your biography: your life, your chair. How can I write with my chair bumping and grinding. And the worst. ¡Ay! The dog is coming out of my mouth. Me ahogo. Ábreme la quijada. ¡Ay! save me.

–¿Qué pasa? ¿Quieres agua? Déjame darte unas palmadas por el pescuezo.

— Ay, me ahogo. The dog is coming out of my mouth. Save me.

–¿Qué estás diciendo?

— Se me atraganta en la garganta la flema de la ilusión. Galopa y galopa como un caballo que se convierte en un puppyzuelo que salió por mi boca y yo estaba tan y tan contenta de haber parido un puppy por la boca.

— A qué te refieres, loca.

— Bruto, no te acuerdas que te dije that I had a dream I was pregnant.

— Good news. It means new ideas are dawning.

— But, I had a little black Dulcinea who came out of my mouth, wet and curly y que se deslizó por mi lengua.

— Que por cierto es muy grande.

— Movía su colita como hélice chocando con mi paladar y mis encías. Me hacía tanta y tanta cosquilla en la boca. Almost a feast. I clapped and clapped when I saw her leap from my lips and start giving me kisses of affection, my mother, she thought I was her mother, kisses of affection on my neck, my cheeks, my eyes. Mostrando sus colmillos, aullando, moviendo su colita, trepando su patita por mi nariz, rasguñándome, arañándome. Yo, madre, al fin, de un scottish terrier. Te imaginas lo que eso significa.

— Of course, it means I’m a father. You’re giving birth through your mouth, through your tongue to another fragment. Tell me, did it scream or did it bark?

— What do you mean?

— Well, you’re a barking bitch biting my tongue and my tail.

— It’s obvious you’re missing the shot again. I went to the Met, and saw a Lion Chasing a Dog and Children Playing with Fire. Then I saw Siqueiro’s Echo of a Scream. Siqueiro’s boy gives birth to a scream that has a body. You don’t hear the scream through your ears. You hear it because another boy comes out of his throat. Voices of silence. Anyway, I gave birth thinking of these paintings, and I was not in agony thinking of you. What a relief to find a healthy pup, wagging her tail. She immediately started poking for my tits. Look for your mother someplace else. I was astounded. I woke up with my eyebrows suspended in surprise, and I repeated to myself in disbelief:

I had a puppy, can you believe it,

I gave birth to Dulcinea,

so small, so, so, beautiful, all moving,

all turning, and stretching, all tender,

I had a dog, can you believe it.

I gave birth to a puppy.

And I was happy, happy, happy that I woke up from my dream, thinking with great relief:

— Thank God it was a puppy. What the hell would I have done with a baby? At least I know what to do with a dog, but with a baby. And weird enough it was through the mouth.

Pon el lavabo a correr ahora mismo. Escúchala caer. ¿No te dan ganas?

— No, todavía no.