A rabbit’s question

“Maria, our US-army girl!” my friend sighed.

For me, Maria’s name brought to mind memories of leisurely years, economic boom,
unlimited expenditure and cloudless horizons. Many years had passed since we hosted
weekend parties in our villa in the Northwest of Madrid. Something my wife and I truly
missed. Things hadn’t turned out bad for us. But so much had changed. And our parties
went missing. With the parties, so did our youth and friends.

If we hadn’t had that summer of 2003 we would never have made it further. From an
historical perspective that fiesta year wasn’t of a particular importance. None of us got
married, died or gave a birth. We hadn’t witnessed a single new or broken couple. But it
was a year of the best fun ever. “This year is the year,” we used to shout before jumping
into a swimming pool at six o’clock in the morning. We emptied more bottles of whisky
than coke. Our only concern was to stock enough ice in the fridge. We just partied and
any day of the week was good enough. The culmination of the year of years came when
summer arrived. We were on the guest lists of Pacha club in both Madrid and Ibiza.
During the nights we raced cars on motorways; eighteen glasses of whisky coursing
through our veins. We dated working class girls; in Pacha we flirted with foreigners and
locals who had been augmented by breast plastic surgery. Although we were never
drunk enough to stroke their breasts in a private setting; we masturbated until it hurt
recalling their tipsy eyes and huge tits.

We were a group of twenty-five friends. We all went to the same school, to the same
church, suffered similar humiliations and triumphed in similar sports. Inhabitants of the
poorer parts of Madrid considered us clones, stupid children of the upper middle class.
We were called “Pijos”, snobs that were born, lost their virginity and died in the same
place. The northwest of Madrid.

Now, when I attend a baptism, communion or remaining wedding I do see a boring

likeness in outfits, expressions and opinions. Our wives all buy Carolina Herrera and
Loewe. For us Madrid’s map is highly segregated, leaving only a few areas suitable for
life. The foreigner we’ve come to know the best is a Romanian or South American
woman who cleans our house. But in truth we know nothing about her, apart that she is
in a constant financial trouble and cannot get used to modern durable electric goods.
Our English is horrible, even though we learnt it in the UK or the US. We have several
Master’s degrees but insignificant working experience. In spite of our relative wealth,
we spend our holidays in Spain, complaining of uncontrollable “guiris”. For us Spanish
food is the best, although the only other food we really know is Italian.

Maria was one of us. As the years passed however, she grew to be an outsider, an
unhappy observer who was more obliged than pleased to hang out with us. But she was
always the centre of attention; she challenged everyone and everything. She didn’t let
anyone escape her criticism. We called her “super pesada” and she responded with
endless tirades about idiocy and arrogance. She was the best friend you could pray for,
but she lived in the world of extremes where apologies flew uncaught and mistakes lay
unforgiven.
Maria’s relationships never survived two weekends. In the nightclubs she went to the
extremes of kissing random girls, all of us stared at her with a desperate lust. Maria also
possessed the weirdest degree of all – she studied veterinary science. She didn’t even
have a dog, so why did she opt to cure animals. It was something she never bothered to
explain.

During the fiesta summer, my closest friend fell for Maria. Most of us liked her at a
certain point in our lives. There were only five girls in our group, one for each four guys.
So it was statistically acceptable that over the years each of us would have a crush on
Maria. The other four girls had had a similar rate of success, but by the time 2003
summer had arrived they weren’t single anymore.

My friend wasn’t creative when it came to girls; he just did everything to please Maria.
He would refill her glass of whisky; he would find her an empty chair or put on her
favourite song. Eventually they ended up in the same bed. Maria’s parents were away
for summer holidays and she had the run of their big house. The couple left in a small
VW well past sunrise. No one really noticed their departure. Half the group had left
before them; the other half was drunk and almost asleep.

It wasn’t until mid summer in 2009 that my friend would tell me what had happened
that night. He came over to my house on Friday night. My wife was out for dinner with
her girlfriends and I was happy to catch up a bit. He wasn’t in a great mood, some office
politics were weighing upon him that week. I had a small fridge in the backroom stuffed
with ice-cold beer and I’d bought two kilos of king prawns to treat him. We sat at ease
in the garden, watching rabbits searching for food behind tall pine trees. The rabbits
were an integral part of our garden, something that bothered and pleased us at the same
time. Rabbits are animals which don’t co-exist easily in a garden. But having them
jumping around made us feel we were close to nature and far away from a city’s hassle.

“Do they always stay in the same garden?” My friend said referring to a rabbit on the
left side of the pool.

“I don’t know. I guess they live where the food is.”

“So since there is always food in your garden, they don’t bother migrating. Right?”

“I am not so familiar with rabbit’s habits, I can only assume they value stability.
Animals don’t like changes.”

“Neither do humans.”

“I guess not.”

“We’re like rabbits than. We care for stability, food and fuck. The only difference is in
condoms.”

“I would add we do care about the quality of the last two points.”

“Not necessarily. I haven’t had a good fuck for ages, and I am not that concerned.”
“Uhh, no complains here.” I said.

“You’re lucky man. I have to take by pleasure by masturbating whilst thinking of those
tattooed blonds from Pacha.”

“Ah, those Swedish girls. Right, they were such prick teasers. God, what a time we had!”

“Sometimes I feel I should have died that summer. You know, life sucks.”

“Not always! Anyway that proves you’re not a one hundred percent rabbit. You care for
fun! If Maria was here, I am sure she would give us more insights into the rabbit’s
physiology. Probably they also party.”

“Maria, our US-army girl.” He sighed, as you would for someone already dead. “She
was crazy. Maria did all sorts of things.”

“What is it about anyway, the whole fuss about the US-Army? Did she go to the US
army?” I chuckled.

“It’s a long story. I’m not sure I should be the one telling it.”

“Each story should be told sooner or later. Otherwise how it can sustain being a story?
And someone like Maria does things to craft a history, or at least to plot a good tale.”

We were done with prawns; I brought two more beer cans, a pack of fried pistachios
and a bag of potato chips. He sighed again and then started.

***

On the day of love making, Maria and my friend woke up very late. Sleeping through
lunchtime wasn’t anything unusual if there were no important sport events on TV. A
hangover erased the best parts of the previous night events; in order to fight growing
emptiness in heart and stomach they drove to nearby McDonalds and bought lunch. It
was right after he’d squeezed ketchup on his french fries whist sitting next to Maria in
her garden, when she asked him if he knew how to fight.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean do you know how to fight? Like can you kick another guy? The question isn’t
if you have been beaten. I already know you have been. I want to know if you can fight.”

He replied that he didn’t know. He wasn’t particularly aggressive and preferred an

escape to violence.

“Shit. Another one,” Maria said totally irritated. She looked as if she had learnt that
someone cheated on her.

“What’s the problem?”

“I’ll never sleep with a guy who cannot fight again.”

"Uh-huh." He twitched and ketchup dribbled on his chin.

They finished their hamburgers over the next half an hour without much enthusiasm.

“But why should we fight in the first place? It’s pointless.” He said. “And in the worst
case I’ll pay someone to fight on my behalf.”

She nodded. “That’s exactly why I won’t sleep with a guy like you again.”

Maria disappeared from his life for many years. Her absence was long enough for him
to change two jobs, two girlfriends and get closer to the planned wedding ceremony in
San Lorenzo de El Escorial. He was getting married to the third girlfriend.

Then one day he bumped into Maria on the street.

“So super Maria. Did you find a man who knows how to fight?” He eventually asked
her. He dared to raise the subject because he was almost certain she had changed. Surely
she must have transformed from an insurgent into a home bird; from a radical to a
conformist.

“Yes.” She said completely seriously.

“So who is he? A karate instructor?”

“No, an army guy.”

“Ah, so you are into Spanish soldiers? I thought girls preferred fire fighters. Of course,
no guarantee they can actually fight humans.”

“An American.”

“American? It’s convenient to practice English. Wow, are you married now or
something?”

“No.”

“Ah, yes I should have guessed. He is stationed somewhere far away and you make love
to him though the Skype.”

“Indeed, he is far away. He is dead. Skype is useless.”

***

Maria didn’t need an invitation to talk. She was the one who suggested they went to a
nearby “Geographical Club”. Once they got inside, with her typical directness she
recounted her news from the past years. Whilst she was speaking, she emptied several
pints of Guinness, smoked a pack of Fortuna and swore only in English. She seemed
tougher than before. Her voice was lower and her arms had acquired muscles and
strength.
***

Maria was serious about one thing. She didn’t want a guy who couldn’t fight.

“Don’t take it personal,” She told my friend. “When I feel a desire for something I
cannot just pretend and walk away. I have to have it.”

She didn’t know anyone like that. The tattooed guys she met in the gym either scared
her or turned out to be gays. Dominican gangs didn’t reconcile back to her other values.
Day after day she was desperately watching Madrid’s crowd until she saw a TV
program about the US army. She disliked the US and labelled it as an evil culture. But
the young soldiers in sexy uniforms created the image of courage and strength she was
longing for.

First she tried online dating. She took her time to respond to framed questions about
favourite books, movies and food. She grew irritated when she was taken for Latin
American all the time. “I am Spanish, not Hispanic. Spain is a whole different world.”
She persistently wrote in her replies.

There was nothing else she could do but to make a list of US military bases around the
world. She struggled to decide between Air Force, Army, Marine Corps and Navy. She
decided to choose the Air Force just because it was the first on her list.

She split her available holidays evenly through out the year and picked up the starting
point. She would begin her quest in Japan. The country was safe and hosted three
airbases – Kadena, Misawa and Yokota. She invested in a good digital camera with an
extending telescopic lens. She also bought a casual traveller outfit from “Coronel
Tapiocca”.

Her first trip was the worst. In Tokyo she hung out mainly in the Roppongi district. In
her search for US soldiers she bumped into English teachers and foreign tourists looking
for a female. When she got close to a soldier she had to compete with prostitutes. On the
second weekend she did score. She met Brian from Denver. Since she had only two
days left, she went straight to the core and had Brian in her hotel room the same night.
Brian didn’t disappoint her. After she had left, they stayed in touch for a while. But
Maria decided to cut it short. She could sense it was hard to serve in the army; she
didn’t want to hurt him in case he grew fond of her.

In all, she went to South Korea, Ecuador, Bulgaria and Kyrgyzstan. Each trip brought
new emotions and laid new seeds of frustration. In South Korea she felt the crazy
burden of history. Bulgaria was one big mess. In Ecuador she was astonished after
meeting a local guy who had conducted an in-depth analysis of the impact of US-army
bases on the nightlife entertainment industry around the Manta Base. She got to know
different soldiers. But each time she would meet someone new she wasn’t sure anymore.
What was the whole purpose of her trips? But on the other hand, she was discovering a
whole new world; the world she hardly had heard of before.

She found her love in Kyrgyzstan. Martin. He was tall, had brown hair, not very
handsome but he had amazing sense of humour. She really thought that someone like
Martin was made totally for her. According to Maria, that’s how real life was. You had
to travel far away from home to discover yourself. Once you’d discovered yourself, you
would meet your destiny, your fate. Anything close to home could be only counted as
survival and reproduction. It perfectly suited her to fall in love with an American soldier,
stationed in Central Asia. In order to find him she frequented striptease bars in the
capital city of Bishkek. She got suspicious looks from bar’s staff and dancers; she won
them over with her stories of a fictitious research projects in Central Asia.

The day she met Martin, he came to one of the venues with a group of fellow
countrymen. They were already high. Several local girls accompanied them. The crowd
was loud; beer glasses were randomly toppled over; soldier’s girls danced rivalling the
striptease dancers. At some point the atmosphere of competition became so heated that
one of the dancers jumped off the stage, dragged the blond soldiers’ friend by her hair
and slapped her on the face. Soldiers laughed. A female manager came and hurried the
dancer behind the scenes. Everyone continued drinking; Maria watching. When the
dancing session was over and customers were leaving for other night bars, the beaten
blond fell on the floor next to Martin. That was the moment when Maria noticed him.
The blond was on her knees, totally wasted. Maria overheard someone shouting at her.
Martin pushed a guy, who was almost standing on top of the blond.

“Leave the fucking whore. She is fucking drunk.” One of the soldiers continued to shout.

Martin helped the girl to stand up and virtually carried her to the exit. He apologized to
the manager and said to the guys he was going to see the blond home. The group was
still chatting inside the bar; Maria paid her bill and rushed after Martin.

He was still standing in the entrance hall. The blond was murmuring something drunk,
trying to embrace Martin from time to time.

“Do you need help?” Maria asked.

“Excuse me?” Martin frowned and the unbalanced blond almost fell off his arms.

“I was there in the bar. Looking at you. I am a Spanish photographer. But I am not
interesting in the nightlife of US soldiers, you don’t need to worry. I am interested in
this country in general.” She convinced him to let her into the cab. They drove through
the crappy roads of Bishkek to the residential district where the blond lived. Martin
summarized his impressions of Kyrgyzstan.

“There are ethnic Russians and Kyrgyz prostitutes in Bishkek. The clients are mainly
American soldiers, Turkish, Chinese and Kazakh businessmen. Ethnic Koreans own all
striptease bars here.”

“The country is beautiful, but small but has struggled since the break up of the USSR.
They have strong ties with Kazakhstan.” He concluded.

Maria took it easy and stayed in Bishkek for several weeks. Martin took some leave and
they travelled to the Issyk-Kul Lake. From there they went trekking.
“What do you think about those girls you were together with the night we met?” Maria
asked him one evening while they stayed in a soviet style resort in the Tian Shan
mountains.

“I guess they live the life they can. The only thing I’ve learnt in the years of serving
overseas, that there are so many different realities in the world, that I am not sure it is
useful to give it any further thought.”

Martin was transferred from Bishkek to Afghanistan. It was there he was killed by a
land mine while driving a military truck through the leeway of Afghan Mountains.
Maria got to watch his fiancée crying over the coffin on CNN. Maria didn’t cry. She
didn’t cry for his death; neither did she felt betrayed learning that Martin had a
significant other waiting for him in the US. She just looked through photo shoots she
had done back in Bishkek. For some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking of the drunk
blond prostitute falling on her knees next to Martin.

“Do you still love him?” My friend asked Maria.

“No I don’t,” She answered before getting into the cab. “It would be the easiest thing in
the world to love a dead guy. He’ll always be exactly the way you want him to be.”

***

“Have you seen her facebook page? No? Then bring your laptop.” My friend said when
he finished Maria’s story. “She is in Congo now. A Veterinary doctor in one of the
National Parks. She is a gorilla specialist.”

On her profile picture she seemed younger than our entire group’s total age. Dressed up
in the world explorer’s outfit, she suddenly looked a total stranger to me. She looked
like Indiana Jones’s girlfriend. Her photos featured the Congo’s grassland and smiling
locals. Going though the snapshots of her life, I felt almost proud of the fact she used to
be our friend; she probably even tagged us in some of old pictures. Somewhere in the
Congo, she would show it to people and they would think that we’re cool guys from the
cool side of the world.

I spent some time scrolling down messages on her wall; for a moment I even wanted to
write to her. Saying something like: “Maria, it has been ages! How is everything?” in
the end I didn’t. She became one of those people whose very existence was intimidating
for me. She was like the tallest basketball player in a country of short men. You look at
her with an effort you need to gaze at Corcovada’s top in Rio and wonder. “We ate the
same food, swum in the same swimming pool, how come you are so tall?”

“Do you think it’s fair?” The friend asked when we were done with beers, facebook and
had moved on to Gin Tonic.

“What’s fair?” I said.

“The only one who has achieved something is Maria. She is looking after gorillas in the
Congo. Half of our friends aren’t making a thousand euros a month and all of us are still
bound to our parent’s pocket? Things have changed, the world has changed. Stuff that
our parents have envisioned for us is impossible. And we were supposed to have a good
life. ”

“It’s a rabbit’s question.” I made a gun with my fingers and shot at the rabbit, half
visible behind magnolia’s trunk.

“A rabbit’s what?”

“Basically, if I remove all trees and turf tomorrow, what do you think the rabbits will
do?”

“Gosh, no idea! I guess they’ll move to another garden, another district. What the hell!”

“So?”

“Come on! Rabbits don’t create added value! They eat, shit and reproduce.”

“Really, and us? We’ve agreed before, the difference is in condom.”

“It cannot be as simple as that.”

“So imagine the rabbits once again. Do you think the rabbits will complain? Imagine,
would they say that their parents lived in a nice garden; they ate nutritious trunks of
palm trees; their life expectancy had risen dramatically since the swimming pool had
been fenced?”

“Okay, got it. Cut it there. So where do you suggest we should go, to the Congo? I am
sure there isn’t enough food for gorillas.”

“Not in this century, but who knows. Anyways, I’ve told you it’s a rabbit’s question.

A silence.

Then his fiancée called him. He went to the swimming pool to answer the phone. He
spoke for ages about his day in the office, giving her all kinds of details. While he was
talking, he walked around in the measured steps from left to the right, back from right to
the left. I wondered what did rabbits think of humans? Like what did they think the guy
was doing moving up and down the same line? Probably that he was hungry.

I prepared another round of Gin Tonic. Someone told me to add a slice of an apple to it.
Some years ago we added a slice of lime; then it changed to a cucumber. I wasn’t a fan
of cucumbers and vegetables in general, so apples seemed a better choice.

“Gosh, always the same.” He said when he came back to the table.

“What’s up? Sweethearts are quarrelling?”

“I feel like I am in a couple just to report to someone. Like what time did I have lunch
etc. Why on earth someone would be interested to know what time I had lunch? How
can it affect anybody’s being? The only one concerned should be the restaurant owner
to plan the waiter’s capacity.”

“Well, people should talk of something.”

“Should we have a fight instead? Like let’s go to the centre of the village and chase
some guys?”

We both laughed.

“Do you think Maria had a point, I mean with the kind of guys we are. The guys that
cannot fight?” I said.

“I don’t know. But sometimes I think, that night with Maria, if I did something dramatic,
stupid yet impressive; things would have turned out differently for me. Not that I would
end up being Maria’s darling forever, she wasn’t that kind of a girl. But I could have
become someone else. Someone I would be okay with.”

We clinked glasses, and toasted the fighters of the Planet. We didn’t like the taste of
apple slices in Gin Tonic.

***

My wife came home late. I was almost asleep. Through the night-light I saw her naked
body crawling to bed. She smelt of alcohol.

“So qué cuenta Qique? She asked me.

“Nothing, same as usual. Work, wife etc. How was your dinner?” I murmured.

“Muy bien. Why do you think we don’t have fun anymore? Like each time we meet
friends it’s just too normal?” She turned her back to me and cuddled her pillow.

“We’re at the stage of life when we’re suppose to have quiet dinners and stuff, I guess.”

I embraced her in my arms, kissed the back of her head and wished her a goodnight. It
took me a while to fall asleep again. Through the darkness of the room, I looked at the
trembling curtains until the night breeze let them hang motionless.

I dreamt of rabbits. I noticed that a running rabbit was the very picture of a running
kangaroo. Both species did a jumping run; long ears waved in the air; back legs hurried
ahead of the body. I wouldn’t be surprised if moviemakers used rabbits when they fell
short of kangaroos. And with a good video zoom even I could make my garden to be an
Australian wildlife paradise.

In my dream, rabbits were running away, and as they ran I just stayed behind watching
an incomprehensible migration before my eyes. The packs hurried through streets and
motorways, cars ran over some of them; but not a single rabbit stopped. The entire
livestock of rabbits from the Northwest of Madrid were heading to the unknown.
Rabbits might have looked like kangaroos, but similarities and optical delusions didn’t
transform a little horny rabbit into a gracefulness kangaroo. The astonishing thing about
the rabbits was that they didn’t seem to care. They run and run and showed no concern
whatsoever about the unjust tricks that nature had played with them. They carried out
their resettlement with a determination of marathon runners.

During the next days, I couldn’t stop thinking; if in my next life I was destined to
resemble an animal I wouldn’t mind trying out a rabbit’s skin. Peaceful creature;
without the responsibility of a kangaroo. Rabbits are very timid and scared; they like to
hide in rabbit holes. That’s what I am. But in my current life someone has decided for
me; for whatever reason I have pretend I am a kangaroo.