SEGUNDO ACUARIO / SECOND AQUARIUM
SEGUNDO ACUARIO / SECOND AQUARIUM


I passed the first twenty-four hours without sleep crouched in the shower, or lying on the floor. I spent a few hours trying to swallow my own tongue after I realized it never stopped moving inside my mouth, which made me feel a bit confused. I figured my tongue would feel a little more comfortable inside my body, but I never got it to slide down my throat enough to find out. I tried to take it out of my mouth with my hands to keep it in a Tupperware inside the refrigerator, but when I tried to grab it, it slipped from my fingers. It must have been because of the heat. I also spent a long time in the kitchen, organizing Tupperware by size or color, but I stopped doing it when I found a huge empty plastic jug. I filled it again and again after drinking all the tap water that it could hold inside. I did that three or four times until I felt sick. I threw up a little in the toilet bowl in the bathroom and then continued in the garden, because being there I could keep doing it standing, or even looking at the sky or walking around. I thought about going outside to watch the cars go by, but I only thought about it. When I finished vomiting all the water in the jug I went back to the house, and laid down on the sofa in the living room. When I woke up, I looked at my phone and saw that I had only been gone for twenty minutes. It did not feel like twenty minutes. It did not feel like more than twenty minutes either. I did not feel it at all. But I felt a little more awake, as if I had turned up the brightness of the screen of my eyes. Then I began to sleep in blocks of twenty minutes after twenty-four hour intervals. I fell asleep in a strange position sitting on the staircase, as if my head weighed too much and fell between my legs. When I woke up, my feet were full of lobsters. I hopped into the garden and laid down on the grass. I stared at the sun for an hour or two. My head was an aquarium. I thought I could hear my eyeballs move. I also felt my ears growing and my blood vessels dilating. Towards the end of the second hour under the sun, I heard the clatter of lobster claws on the grass and I ran back to the house. I opened the refrigerator door and slept for a while under the kitchen table. I remember the time I went to Pátzcuaro with my family. I didn’t know we were in Pátzcuaro. The windows of the houses at night looked like patches of an embroidered blanket. Something like that it seemed. Black cats surely ran through the alleys. At the lobby of the hotel, my grandfather’s wife, a woman who was actually bald, told me that there was something between the tiles behind a pitcher painted purple. It’s the chive worm, I said. It’s a rather large worm, about one or two meters long, fat, which feeds only on onions, and its head also looks like a pale and sickening onion. That night I soaked in a bathtub full of blue marbles, as if I was a chicken breast marinated with honey and mustard. The floor had those black and white tiles like a chessboard flipped sideways. Under my nose I had a thick black mustache that I could twist as if I was thinking something very important. The next morning there was nothing under my nose but dry snot. We went for a walk on the edge of a rocky valley. I wasn’t breathing through my nostrils as I usually do, but my dog-print shorts did it for me. The valley was snorting up my brown leather huaraches. Down below I could see something like the inside of the Earth, breathing like a sleeping boar. There were craters full of boiling lava all around us, but I felt cold. My guts felt like they were wrapped in bubble paper in front of the fan of an office cubicle with too much light. That night my grandfather was in a bad mood. I can’t remember why. I remember when he turned his head towards me in an alley on the way back to the hotel. His head looked like a coconut from Acapulco split in two, and from one half dripped a thick liquid of a bright green from another planet. Something like that happened in Pátzcuaro. Sometimes I think I can write about that, or about any other thing. But I’m not sure if I know how to write, because I don’t know how to read. I imagine that I walk in a straight line without stopping for anything. If I run into a car, I pass it over. If I run into a dog, I pass it over. If I run into a house, I pass it over. If I run into a baby, I pass it over. I imagine that I keep going straight until I reach the Andes mountain range, and there I disappear little by little. At each step I take, a part of my body disappears, starting with my fingers. My fingers disappear. My hands disappear. My wrists disappear. My elbows disappear. My forearms disappear. My arms disappear. My shoulders disappear. My armpits disappear. My sides disappear. My chest disappears. My neck disappears. My navel disappears. My thighs disappear. My knees disappear. My shins disappear. My heels disappear. Only my feet and my head remain. My head disappears. I take three or four or five blind steps. My feet disappear. I am in the Andes mountain range and nobody realizes that I’ve disappeared.

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