Texto en español en Breves no tan breves: "Tan hombre".
Traducido al inglés por Alejandra D'Atri.
What can I do? Estela said to herself. What can I do to hide the bruise spreading under my eye?
Okay with the morning punch. But, when Joaquin returned, she would already know how to avoid the afternoon one: as stupid as she was, Estelita had conceived a plan.
She looked around her, that shaggy room. What an irony. All her life waiting for the party, the dress, the wedding ring, and what for? To feel embarrassed when going out of the house?
But things were not going to stay that way; things could not stay that way. She will teach him how to treat women. The skillet was ready, she was sure.
Friday, Joaquin. Today is Friday. You will arrive at eight.
Estela went towards the entrance door and turned the key twice. And she left the key in the keyhole.
Your heavy steps will stop on the other side, at the doorstep. And you won’t be able to come in. Only like that. You will have to do what drives you crazy: you will have to ring the doorbell; you will shout my name as loud as you can, and you will thump your fist against the door… But it will all be useless: I won’t come out to meet you. So you will kick the door, you will call me again, you will call me names. And this time the silly asshole —whom you might also be cheating on, let me add— will not respond to the master’s call, no sir. You will fidget into your right pocket for a cigarette and you will stay there, waiting. You will take off your jacket —just to do something—, you will throw it to the floor, you will start yelling again open the door you idiot and go fuck you. But I won’t come out to meet you. Instead, I will be waiting for you behind the door, with this iron skillet in my hand, holding it as I’m holding it now and I will put it up before opening the door for you, the iron really hot after an hour over the burner.
First, already recovered from the surprise —not every day the entrance door opens by itself—, you will stick out the edge of your boot, cautious —Buenos Aires is becoming more and more dangerous, isn’t it?—. After that you will say my name in a low voice —I, right behind the door as in the movies, will not move—, you will stretch out an arm feeling for the switch. You will try to push the door wide open to come in; you will not understand why it does not open. And the moment you turn round to me… I will press this red iron skillet right in the middle of your handsome little face, your stupid, disgusting, male chauvinist face, take that. And we will see who the loser is then. Because I may not know how to put up with your “heavy touch”, but you… I don’t think you’ll be able to resist mine, more if I hit you with the edge. Not only will your face be wasted because of the bruise: the burning hot iron does not spare good looking guys.
I’m opening. There you are —here I am— just in time.
“¡Estela!”, the voice of the brute got to her as a slash. “Estela, where are you, you bitch. ¡Estela!”
“Here my darling, I’m right here. I was going to the kitchen. I was thinking I was going to prepare you a juicy steak, my love.”
No way, thought Estelita. Every time I see him, so manly, this man wins me over.
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