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All Night Movie

All Night Movie

Overview

An irreverent picaresque, All Night Movie follows the adventures of a young woman determined to conquer the world. A rogues' gallery of labor union leaders, cultists, lesbians, murderers, ne'er-do-wells, prostitutes, and visitors to a disconcertingly erotic telephone booth accompany the picara as she pushes the limits established in patriarchal postdictatorship Argentina. With lyric prose, Alicia Borinsky creates a hypnotic kaleidoscope of voices—a tantalizing and illuminating mix of the pop culture, politics, sexuality, tango, and cinema of an enigmatic society that celebrates its own demise.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780810119543
Publisher: Northwestern University Press
Publication date: 12/18/2002
Edition description: 1
Pages: 224
Product dimensions: 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.70(d)

About the Author

Alicia Borinsky, winner of the 1996 Latino Literature Award for Fiction, writes in both English and Spanish. Her other books published in English include the novels Mean Woman (Nebraska, 1993) and Dreams of the Abandoned Seducer (Nebraska, 1998), the poetry collections The Collapsible Couple (Middlesex, 2000) and Timorous Women (Spectacular Diseases, 1991), and a volume of literary criticism, Theoretical Fables: The Pedagogical Dream in Contemporary Latin American Fiction (Pennsylvania, 1993). She is currently professor of Latin American and Comparative Literature at Boston University.

Cola Franzen is the recipient of the 2000 Harold Morton Landon Prize in translation for Jorge Guillén's Horses in the Air (City Lights, 2000). She has translated Borinsky's Timorous Women (Spectacular Diseases, 1991), Mean Women (Nebraska, 1993), and Dreams of the Abandoned Seducer (Nebraska, 1998). She lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Read an Excerpt

All Night Movie

By Luisa Valenzuela

Northwestern University Press

Copyright © 2002 Luisa Valenzuela
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0810119544
Her story told by me, not even eyewitness

Sad but good for dancing

She says good-bye in black and white

You'll say it's outrageous it can't be that she walks free after such a light sentence after such a pleasant stay in a cute little cell with air conditioning, a garden in front and view of the lake. It's the kind of thing I overheard in the warm air of the siesta when I came out of the bathroom, and we women would see as the very truth of our lives. You danced, my dear neighbors, danced eyes bulging and hair hidden by a kerchief. It's not just words. It's a blast, a pleasure and now she, poking fun at our deepest hopes, admits it and says: I'm happy because I'm leaving. I'm moving. Going off to another neighborhood. Alone. She could feel every single sound, the fury and disgust they had for her because she said it: I'm leaving.

Bye. Bag in hand. You want to come with me to the station? Now you I'm going to miss. Want to come along? Carry this bag for me, it's not too heavy, my darling. After all, I wouldn't want you to get a hernia on my account. And then you laughed because you found it funny the idea that I might get a hernia or maybe because you were thinking of one of the nurses in the hospital, in those starched uniforms thattwenty years later would weave through my destiny day and night. Maybe you already knew about the accident and then you laughed because why do anything else. Fine, let's go, kid, if we say good-bye like in the movies, don't make me wait.

I followed close behind you, almost out of breath, guessing that you were sweating beneath those nylon stockings, my intuition telling me that a little higher up you were gradually getting wet from enthusiasm. I followed you closely, mean hot bitch, letting me go off to school like a sick puppy so that I'd think of how you looked at my classmates. Later I followed you from a distance and tried to keep out of sight but we were living in the same neighborhood with insolently new trees and too much sun and you saw me. Come on, we don't have too much time. When the train arrived you said to me: I'm not leaving you my telephone number. And I'm not leaving you my address because I'm going to make a new life for myself but I wish you lots of luck, enjoy yourself, hope you have many sweethearts, don't forget your divorced neighbor who taught you so much and then didn't whisk you away. I held your cheeks and in front of everybody gave you a kiss, I know you felt my tongue and know you liked it because you whispered in my ear baby girl, sweetie, mummy's little pet.

The world moves fast and in straight lines when you go by train. There were businesses, small shops built by their owners with plastic knickknacks and cheap jewelry for sale, fruit and vegetable stands, and stores reeking of salami and cheese. The seasons were changing and when they reached the city it was already winter, she had to put on her fur coat, as for her nail polish, it was chipped, her garter belt stretched and if I'd been looking at her I would have guessed the rolls of fat already gathering around the waist. But she was walking alone now along a street lit up by signs that said GIRLS A THOUSAND GIRLS HUMAN SAUSAGE DANCING COCA-COLA THE BEWITCHED PANTHER she was walking alone because she was looking for trouble walking alone looking for action and needed money walking alone but she wasn't yet because for that she needed to be independent she needed a nice bank account without a mortgage without fees for this and that. It was a different time and she was parading herself like someone on the lookout for business but nobody came near her. The Invisible Woman, she said to herself. She was invisible because for the others yes, of course, men came up to them wearing anonymous disguises, jackets smelling vaguely of cologne and cigarettes, gray trousers, wrinkled at the fly from anticipation, with one or another spot already foretelling the future failure. To the other women yes but to her no. No matter how wide she opened her coat to show off her body. No matter how much she swiveled her hips to say I'm in the market.

May I help you, miss? What would you like? When he bent over to write TEQUILA WITH A DROP OF WARM LEMON JUICE IN A TALL CHILLED GLASS she took his hand while moving her big toe up his leg all the way to the groin, grazing the rough gray serge pants. He reached down, grabbed the sole of her right foot, and delivered a message: At the exit there is a telephone booth with a seat and if you know what's coming you'll wait for me there until I show up but you'll have to be patient, get some cash together because my lessons do not come cheap. He said all this without moving his lips. She knew it. She was good at these things and besides there were some clues such as the unmistakable trickle of saliva coming down the left corner of his mouth.

His name was Felipe. She saw it on the ID bracelet he wore around his hairy wrist. And you, miss, what do they call you?

What's it to you? Are you going to ask me for a date? Or maybe you want to see if I'm in the directory?

He didn't hesitate even a second. He hit her so hard with his gloved hand that she fell at his feet and then heard the question clearly. What's your name, bitch? As she answered she felt a kind of intoxication, unknown new shivers running through her body urging her to learn, be a good girl, do a complicated tango step in which she would pull up her bent legs to give birth to a smiling crocodile. FELIPA and she was happy beyond measure. Now she licked his shoes, her stomach singing with street dirt, a bitter taste of grass blades and discarded paper wrappers. FELIPA at your service, sir. He crouched down and stroked her ass, stuck a finger inside that suddenly seemed to grow longer while she said more more yes deeper and with his free hand covered her face with something soft, smelly, vaguely familiar. FELIPA FELIPA at your service sir she said time and again as her fine airs turned into sighs, throbs so he would say I'll give it to you out of pity you shit, you nobody filthy bitch she wasted no time unbuttoned, stepped out of her clothes, and crouched naked in the telephone booth out of sight from passersby she insisted please please because, screaming at the top of her voice, she realized that now finally she had started something. The long road was about to open.

Each time she went into this telephone booth wearing sandals she could feel the caress of the black fleshy tulips that grew on the floor and the walls. There was something in the booth, a whiff, that changed people's conversations. Without anybody noticing, voices were lowered. Women fondled their breasts as they talked to their mothers, the most pious teenage girls told their sweethearts about certain nocturnal yearnings and suggested meetings in daring locations abuzz with drug deals and child prostitution; some boys would turn up scared but excited only to find that the girls had not come because, their hearts pounding, they crossed themselves as soon as they left the booth and were cleansed by the air of the square; traveling salesmen interrupted the driest business deals to suggest blackmail schemes for imaginary rapes with much clicking of tongues and lewd enticements; some rejected the offers but many got into the game creating a real lottery that changed the nature of business in vast parts of the city.

For Felipa, heart beating with wisdom, the booth was a nuptial chamber. With each Felipe she lured in, her body got better attuned to the corners, the uneven surfaces, and the distance between the receiver and her back. After several months of practice with the waiter she gained a skill but lost a passion.

She's in an empty room. The voile curtains let in light and a sea breeze that worked its way into her armpits. She's happy. She can measure it, prove it with every inch of the white wall and now she will close her eyes so she won't see who is coming near her, smelling of tanning lotion and iodine. She doesn't want to see him because she stretches out her hand and now feels the sand stuck to his skin, at a touch she knows he's been in the sun, his skin is warm, tight and then she has to massage it so he'll be grateful and will give her what she's after. Matilde, I've brought you the orchids you asked me for. And here's your manzanilla tea. I won't put it down because I want to serve it to you myself. Sip by sip, dear darling Matilde. Apple of my eye. Let's see, open your lips, let me see your beautiful rosy palate. I'll make you well again.

The music begins almost immediately. You can hear kettledrums among the palms, tinkling of cocktail spoons in crystal glasses. And then he says to her: Matias, for you I will always be Matias. They dance with eyes closed. His curly eyelashes tickled Matilde's cheeks. She feels he pulls away because he's a man and wants to keep his passion in check out of respect but she pursues him, presses near insistent, says don't be ashamed it's only a dance but he repeats I want to get married have kids send them to school, cook seafood casserole every day for you. She has taken off her clothes. She's dancing before him while he pulls out a marriage contract and asks her to sign it but she lets him smell her perfume, grope her, wants him to forget it and just when he's about to put the contract away the telephone rings.

She hadn't gone crazy but was getting close. In the mornings she brushed her teeth and attended a temple of a vague religious sect where she met with women wearing dark skirts and gray blouses and little knitted wool jackets in contrasting colors. They talked in hushed voices before prostrating themselves at an altar where they'd placed offerings of food and embroideries. They always left before the chorus of girls abandoned by their aunts arrived. They didn't like the spectacle. They weren't interested in the emotion of the moment when they sang of their misfortunes screaming in loud voices so that Felipa Matilde would give them the signal and they could rush to eat and offer the apples that the women had brought. They played Eve, girls in paradise, but they knew they were in a neighborhood fueled by illusions of smuggling, tax evasion, and discreet muggings done with gloved hands. The girls adored her. They recognized her every time despite the disguises and although she'd not yet given them anything, they did compute and hatch plans for their life savings that would not include charity since this was a realistic cult, based on observation of human nature and not on the imagination of some half-crazed eccentric visionary.

Inside Matilde Felipa stopped being herself to play with them at Eve and the apple; they became drunk with guilt, did a dance shot through by gasps, rapid changes of rhythm that left them breathless, on the floor, sweaty, lying over the chest of a companion who sometimes insisted on easing the fatigue with a slow repertory of caresses. They were her bunnies, baby girls, but also her judges and heiresses. Matilde kept her duties in the telephone booth a secret because by that time she had already learned it was better not to speak about certain things and when she went out wearing her reversible coat, the fur hidden inside, modest brown side on view, she would say: I'm going to buy cookies or I have an appointment with the dentist or they're waiting for me this minute at the consulate. That last was to prepare an eventual change of booth because the bribes she had to give the police so they'd let her keep up with her activities had shot up due to the economic crisis that had now spread throughout the country.

What to do with her mail?

It really gets to her

She decides to act but above all read it

Dear daughter,

I've been expecting you for many years. Your letter was a surprise because I thought that by now you'd forgotten all about me and the family that always remembers you. It's not that we don't want to see you but this is a diffcult moment for us, some unexpected expenses have left us with few resources, so with a very sorrowful heart, my dearest daughter, I have to tell you that we cannot send you the ticket you ask for. Perhaps you can save a little money from your job as telephone operator, perhaps I can get a litle extra somewhere, and after some years we'll have a sufficient amount. We pray that you are enjoying good health at the moment. With a loving embrace, your mama who never forgets you.

Occupant of telephone booth No. 6758B:

We hereby notify you that the space that you have been occupying illegally since the month of March of the present year must be vacated at the date of receipt of this warning under penalty of incarceration and the payment of a fine of 1,000 pesos per day starting from the date of this official warning.

Lic. Raimundo Massotti

Deputy Director

Department of Public Morals and Telecommunications

Dear consumer:

We regret to inform you that we can no longer continue to provide you with the 20 mm. weekly dosage of Fontamil you have ordered and prepaid due to the present ban of its sale to the public. If you wish to retrieve your deposit, please come in person during the next 90 days to the office where the original order was placed. If the refund due you is not claimed within the stated time period, the monies will become the property of our company.

Yrs. truly,

Rosamaria Campodonico

General Director

She was sure. She could bet her life on it. That Rosamaria and that Raimundo must know one another and are out there somewhere making fun of her. They're in a secluded place, in a small restaurant with violin music, she would order pheasant stuffed with nuts and raisins while he would extol the virtues of the duck with orange sauce. But please, what bad taste. To act so mean toward a divorced woman who had moved into a telephone booth. Be so mean for no reason because what could it matter to them that she threw out people who wanted to make telephone calls if there are so many other booths in the city, if not exactly on that corner. The black tulips, that must be it. Jealous that they should breathe and flutter with no earth whatsoever. No understanding of that garden that came out of the metal and hard rubber of the telephone, filtered through the holes of the speaker, and caressed the ears of the users. She tended her garden with words and gestures, aided by clients who now had passwords:

Operator

Operator

May I please make a brief call? How much for the first ten minutes?

LONG DISTANCE, EVERYTHING INCLUDED, FIFTY FOR A HALF-HOUR. LOCAL, TEN MINUTES THIRTY OR TWENTY-FIVE DEPENDING ON THE AGE.

said the sign she showed them with a wink. She was a charmer. Had an enterprising spirit and that's why all this makes us so sad that she's more in the street than before, poor woman, thrown completely on her own without a protector to take charge of things. But let's not get upset. She had resources. She hadn't forgotten the place where she'd deposited her savings had not blown her money on trinkets. She is, despite appearances, a modern woman up to the challenge of her circumstances. She walks and walks first of all to find pen paper and stamps:

My dear dear mama,

I don't need a ticket but I could use a nice warm bed to protect me from the winter and my poor health. You don't have to provide my food but I would like you to invite me for some empanadas like the ones you used to make on Sundays after the game. I'll see you as soon as you let me know you've received this letter and my room has been redecorated.

I love you, your daughter

Estela Ramona del Carpio

Dear Bochita,

Your father's death left us almost bankrupt. I had to make do as well as I could and now that you know the truth you won't be surprised when I tell you I found myself in the position of having to rent rooms. The house has been converted into a pension. I fixed up a place for myself in the basement and there with my futon and a heater I spend my days coming and going with work I do for the residents. They're all nice people, one is a teacher, there's a bank employee, and a dancer. If you're not disgusted by the idea, I can offer you a corner of the basement. We can put in a futon and until you find something better you could keep me company, help wih the chores. How nice it would be if you came back in time for the picnic on the first day of spring! I know this news may make you feel very sad but I didn't want to keep hiding the truth of my situation from you.

As always, your mama

Dearest ones! THE LAW!

Raquel comes noiselessly into the bar. She carries a wine-colored leather briefcase, wears heels, skirt with a slit that comes to just above her knee, and a green wool jacket with gold-zippered pockets; on the left side one can see the tip of a thin red-dyed snakeskin whip.

--I've come to check on neighbors' complaints. They say prostitutes' services are sold from here.

--Miss, you are very mistaken. This is a decent bar. Pastries. Sherry. Vermouth. Cheese. Olives. Peanuts. Raw ham and salami snacks. Red wine. A bar. We even had codfish for the Spaniards who will not give it up. Although I bet they know how bad it is for you.

--Give me a glass of red wine and start singing because I don't have much time.

--What do you want me to sing? Ask me anything of Caruso because I'm a learned man and know all the classical repertory. I mean the one of the artists of the past. Because now they're all corrupt. What can I tell you. It's not worthwhile even to listen to them on the radio. Money, money, and more money is the sound that comes from their chest. I want money they sing because now there's nothing of art left. Just a deal here, another there, this one got me to sing at La Scala, the other arranged a concert at Carnegie Hall, they'll go to Manaus, the Colon, San Isidro, Bangladesh, it doesn't matter. Today, baby, it's all about money. Myself look I appreciate you so much that this wine I serve you is on the house so you'll see I'm not like the others. A decent guy. You won't see many like me. I like your classy looks. Do you always dress like this? Those heels must be extremely uncomfortable but they give people ideas, they go to the head and make you dizzy and that little whip, my God. For a few minutes of punishment I'll give you the entire repertory of Agustin Lara and Sinatra together because I like you, I find you irresistible, I smell elegance, virtue, hard work, honesty.



Continues...
Excerpted from All Night Movie by Luisa Valenzuela Copyright © 2002 by Luisa Valenzuela. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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About Alicia Borinsky's All Night Movie

All Night Movie

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Related Subjects

Fiction
Literature
World Fiction
Fiction Subjects
Latin American Fiction
Literary Styles & Movements - Fiction
Argentine Fiction
Picaresque Fiction
Fiction
Literature
World Fiction
Fiction Subjects
Latin American Fiction
Literary Styles & Movements - Fiction
Argentine Fiction
Picaresque Fiction

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