A Boy Named Neither by Vincent Antonio Rendoni

Vincent Antonio Rendoni

A Boy Named Neither

When I was born, my name was Tampoco.

My mother, was a prostitute. She died in childbirth. Her favorite customer was the bear that haunted our mountains late in the Profiriato. Bears were everywhere then. The bear, who was my father, payed my mother in fish. In return, she gave him her pearl. We’re all animals with needs. One day, transaction became conception, and our fates were cast.

The labor was long. Though I was just emerging into our burning world, I felt what my mother felt. Saw what she saw. Lights. Shooting stars. The voices of her own mother and father, long passed. As I was born, I got a glimpse of the end.

In labor, I took many forms.

At first, I was the magpie, screaming in the womb, trying to bargain and cheat out of the inevitable.

Then, I was the armadillo, short-sighted and tenacious, rolling to evade capture.

But then, at last, I was the wolf. A pup. But a wolf nevertheless.

As I crowned and my mother expired, the midwife saw me with my eyes yellow and wild teeth drawn. She reached into the maternal expanses, grabbed by my snout, and slapped me until my whimper became a cry, and I became who I was. She snipped my cord. She snipped my tail. My fur shed, I was tamed and pink with no mother or beast to claim me.