by Puig, Manuel
—Don’t stop.
—The days go by, and he’s feeling much better, but he’s disturbed because she won’t let him go to the luxurious hotel where she has been singing every night, or even accompany her as far as the door. Little by little jealousy begins to worm its way into his mind. He asks her why there’s never any ads in the papers for a star attraction like herself, and she says it’s in order to prevent the magnate from pursuing her again, and also the magnate might try to send someone to kill him if he were seen at the hotel, and he begins to suspect that she’s seeing the magnate again. And one day he goes over to the ultra-luxurious hotel with its downstairs supper club, featuring international attractions. And she’s not mentioned anywhere on the billboard, and no one knows her and no one’s ever seen her either—they recall the name, yes, but like a star from some time ago. Then, desperate, he starts prowling the harbor districts, trying to find a cheap tavern. And he can’t believe what he sees: on a corner, under a streetlamp, it’s her: a hooker . . . that’s how she made the money to support him! So he hides, not to let her spot him, and goes back to the house a broken man. When she gets there toward morning, he pretends to be—for the first time—asleep when she arrives. Next day he gets up early to look for work, giving her some excuse or other. And he gets back toward evening and of course without having found anything, but she was really getting worried. He just pretends to her everything is fine, and when it’s time for her to go back out on the street, or as she puts it, to go sing, he begs her not to go, the night feels rife with dangers, and please stay with him tonight, he feels so afraid of never seeing her again somehow. She asks him to control himself, it’s absolutely necessary for her to go out, because the rent has to be paid. And the doctor, without his knowing it, has suggested the possibility of a new, very costly treatment, and tomorrow they have to visit his office together. And she leaves . . . He realizes then what a dead weight he is on her shoulders, to the point that she needs to humiliate herself in order to save him. The guy watches the fishing fleet return to their anchorage at sundown; he walks along the shore, there’s a gorgeous full moon, and the moon quivers apart as it shimmers reflected in the soft surging tide of the tropical night. There’s no wind at all, everything is quiet, except his heart. The fishermen sound like they’re humming together, droning this sad, sad melody, and the guy sings to it; the words seem to be dictated by his own desperation . . . I don’t remember the song much, but it’s something about him asking the moon to take her a message, because he thinks the moon’s going off to spend the night on the town just like she does. And the message is to take care of herself, because those nights on the town cause nothing but pain and in the end only make people cry. I can’t remember the words. Anyway, the next morning when she returns he’s no longer there; he left a note saying he loves her like crazy, but can’t go on being a burden to her, and she shouldn’t try to find him, because if God wants to bring them back together again . . . they’ll meet even if they don’t try to . . . And she sees a lot of cigarette butts lying around, and a book of matches forgotten there, the kind you pick up in the bars along the harbor district, and at that point she realizes he has somehow seen her . . .
—And that’s it?
—No, there’s more still, but we’ll leave the final part for another day.
—You’re sleepy.
—No.
—Then what is it?
—This film really gets me down, I don’t know why I ever started it.
— . . .
—Valentin, I have a bad premonition.
—Of what?
—That they’re going to just dump me in another cell, and nothing else, that they’re not going to let me out of here, and I’m not going to see you again.
— . . .
—I was feeling so contented . . . but telling you this film threw me right back down in the dumps.
—It’s no good trying to anticipate the future, Molina, you don’t know what might happen . . .
—I’m afraid it’s something bad, whatever it is.
—Like what?
—Look, getting out is important to me, but for the sake of my mother’s health mostly. But then I worry, no one’s going to be around . . . to take care of you.
—And you don’t think about yourself?
—No.
— . . .
— . . .
—Molina, there’s something I’d like to ask you.
—What?
—It’s complicated. Well . . . it’s like this: you, physically you’re a man as much as I am . . .
—Mmm . . .
—Sure, you’re not in any way inferior. Then why doesn’t it occur to you to ever be . . . to ever act like a man? I don’t say with women, if they don’t attract you. But with another man.
—No, that’s not for me . . .
—Why?
—Because it’s not.
—That’s what I don’t really understand very well . . . All homosexuals, they’re not that way.
—Right, there’s all kinds. But me, no, I don’t . . . I don’t enjoy it any other way.
—Look, I don’t understand anything about this, but I want to explain something to you, even if I just bumble my way through it . . . I don’t know.
—I’m listening.
—I mean that if you enjoy being a woman . . . you shouldn’t feel any the less because of it.
— . . .
—I don’t know if you follow me . . . how do you see it?
— . . .
—I just mean that you don’t have to make up for it with anything, with favors, or excuses. You don’t have to . . . submit.
—But if a man is . . . my husband, he has to give the orders, so he will feel right. That’s the natural thing, because that makes him the . . . the man of the house.
—No, the man of the house and the woman of the house have to be equal with one another. If not, their relation becomes a form of exploitation.
—But then there’s no kick to it.
—Why?
—Well, this is very intimate, but since you’re asking about it . . . The kick is in the fact that when a man embraces you . . . you may feel a little bit frightened.
—No, that’s all wrong. Whoever put that idea in your head? It’s absolutely wrong.
—But that’s the way I feel.
—You don’t feel that way, you’ve been fed an old wives’ tale by whoever filled your head with that nonsense. To be a woman you don’t have to be . . . I don’t know . . . a martyr. Look . . . if it weren’t for the fact that it must hurt a hell of a lot, I’d tell you to do it to me, to demonstrate that this business of being a man, it doesn’t give any special rights to anyone.
—Let’s not talk about it anymore, because this conversation isn’t getting anywhere.
—To me it is, I want to talk more about it.
—But I don’t.
—Why not?
—Because I don’t, and that’s that. Please, I’m asking you . . .
CHAPTER 14
* * *
WARDEN: Hello, Miss? I’d like to talk to your boss, please . . . Thank you. How are you! How are things there? No, nothing new here. Yes, that’s why I called you, actually.
I see him again in a few minutes. I don’t know if you remember, Molina was allowed another week. In addition, Arregui was given the impression that any day Molina was going to be shifted to another cell, because he was recommended for parole. Exactly, Molina’s own idea, yes. Christ . . . Of course, time is crucial then. Yes, if they want to know before launching a counteroffensive, I understand, of course. Right, I see him in just a few minutes, but that’s why I wanted to talk to you first. Tell me, in case he has nothing . . . absolutely nothing to pass on, in case there’s no progress whatsoever, what then with Molina? You think so? . . . How many days from now? First thing tomorrow? Why tomorrow? Yes, of course, there is no time to lose then. Yes, I understand, not today, that way Arregui has time to plan something. P
erfect, if he gives him a message, Molina can lead us right to their door. The problem will be not to let him know he’s being followed.
But listen . . . There is something strange about our Molina, there’s something tells me, I don’t know how to explain it, but I can’t help thinking . . . that Molina isn’t coming clean with me . . . that he’s hiding something. You think Molina has gone over to them? Right, out of fear of reprisals from Arregui’s people, that could be the thing.
Yes, and Arregui might have been working on him, using who knows what sort of methods. That’s also a possibility too. It’s hard to fathom the reactions of a type like Molina, a pervert, after all. There’s also another possibility: that Molina hopes to leave here without compromising himself with anyone, either with us or with Arregui. That Molina’s out for Molina, plain and simple. Yes, it’s definitely worth the trouble of trying. And there is one other possibility too. Yes, excuse me for interrupting . . .
It’s just this: if Molina doesn’t lead us to anything . . . that is to say, if he doesn’t furnish us with any information today, or at the latest tomorrow before he’s out on the street . . . well, we’re still left with one other possibility . . . And it’s the following: have it published in the papers, or let the word out, whatever . . . that Molina, or perhaps just some agent, has furnished the police with information regarding the activities of Arregui’s group, and that the agent actually operated surreptitiously, as a prisoner in this penitentiary. Then when Arregui’s people hear of it, they’ll come looking for him to square up accounts, and at that point we close in. So it opens up a lot of possibilities, once Molina is out on the street. Ah, well, I’m very glad. Don’t mention it. Of course, I’ll give you a call the moment Molina leaves my office. Perfect, we’ll leave it at that. Fine, fine . . . I’ll call you immediately . . . My pleasure. So long.
WARDEN: Come on in, Molina.
PRISONER: Good afternoon, sir.
WARDEN: That’s fine, Sergeant, you can go now.
SERGEANT: Yes sir, as you wish, sir.
WARDEN: How goes it, Molina?
PRISONER: Okay, sir.
WARDEN: So what have you to tell me?
PRISONER: Well, here we are, sir.
WARDEN: Any progress?
PRISONER: I’m afraid not, sir . . . I thought . . . I wanted so much to . . .
WARDEN: Nothing at all? . . .
PRISONER: Nothing.
WARDEN: Look, Molina, I’ve had everything arranged to obtain your release, provided you brought us some information. I’ll speak frankly: the papers granting your parole have already been prepared. The only thing missing is my signature.
PRISONER: Oh, I see . . .
WARDEN: It’s a pity.
PRISONER: I did everything I could, sir.
WARDEN: But wasn’t there at least a hint of something? perhaps the slightest clue? . . . Because any element would be enough . . . for us to take action. And that minimal element would already be enough to justify my signing your papers.
PRISONER: You can imagine, sir, what more could I want than to get out of here? . . . But the worst thing would be for me to invent something to you. Honestly, you can’t get near him—Arregui is like a tomb, sir, and suspicious of everything . . . I don’t know, he’s impossible, he’s not . . . he’s not human.
WARDEN: Look at me, Molina. Let’s talk like human beings, since that’s what we are, you and I, human . . . Think about your mother, about the happiness you can bring her. And rest assured nothing is going to happen to you once you’re out on the street, because we will be right there to protect you.
PRISONER: It’ll be enough just to be out, never mind the rest.
WARDEN: Honestly, Molina, you needn’t fear reprisals of any kind, we will provide you with twenty-four-hour protection, you’ll be perfectly safe.
PRISONER: I know that, sir. And I appreciate it very much, your thinking about that, that I might need protection . . . But what can I do? The worst thing would be to make something up that wasn’t true.
WARDEN: Well . . . I’m very sorry, Molina . . . In that case there’s nothing I can do for you.
PRISONER: So it all comes to nothing then? . . . My parole, I mean. There’s no hope for anything?
WARDEN: No, Molina. If you don’t furnish us with any information, then I’m powerless to help you.
PRISONER: No recommendation for good conduct? Nothing?
WARDEN: Nothing, Molina.
PRISONER: And my cell? Are they going to let me stay in the same cell at least?
WARDEN: Why? Wouldn’t you rather be with someone . . . more communicative than Arregui? It must be rather upsetting to stay with a fellow who never talks.
PRISONER: It’s just . . . I still have the hope of someday his telling me something.
WARDEN: No, I think you’ve already done enough to help us, Molina. We’re moving you to another cell.
PRISONER: Please, sir, for the love of God . . .
WARDEN: But what’s all this? . . . One would think you were attached to Arregui.
PRISONER: Sir . . . As long as I’m there, I’ll at least have the hope of his telling me something . . . And if he ever talks there’s a hope of somehow getting myself out of here.
WARDEN: I don’t know, Molina. I’ll have to give it some consideration. But I don’t think it’s feasible.
PRISONER: Sir, please, for the love of God . . .
WARDEN: Control yourself, Molina. We have nothing more to discuss. You may leave now.
PRISONER: Thank you, sir. For doing whatever you could for me, thanks anyway.
WARDEN: You can go.
PRISONER: Thank you, sir . . .
WARDEN: So long, Molina.
SERGEANT: You rang, sir?
WARDEN: Yes. You may take the prisoner back.
SERGEANT:At your orders, sir.
WARDEN: But first, I want to say one more thing to him. Molina . . . tomorrow have your things ready to leave your cell.
PRISONER: I beg you . . . Don’t, don’t take away my only chance to . . .
WARDEN: Just a minute, I haven’t finished speaking. Tomorrow have everything ready because you will be paroled.
PRISONER: Sir . . .
WARDEN: That’s right, tomorrow, first thing in the morning.
PRISONER: Thank you, sir . . .
WARDEN: And good luck, Molina.
PRISONER: Thank you, sir. Thank you . . .
WARDEN: It’s nothing, just see that you take care now . . .
PRISONER: But you really mean it?
WARDEN: Of course I mean it.
PRISONER: It’s so hard to believe . . .
WARDEN: Well, believe it . . . and behave yourself, once you’re on the street. Because you had better stay away from any more nonsense with little kids, Molina.
PRISONER: Tomorrow?
WARDEN: Yes, first thing tomorrow.
PRISONER: Thank you . . .
WARDEN: All right, now get going, because I’m very busy.
PRISONER: Thank you, sir.
WARDEN: Don’t mention it.
PRISONER: Oh! . . . one thing, though . . .
WARDEN: What is it?
PRISONER: Even though I’m getting out tomorrow . . . if anyone came to see me today, from my house, or the lawyer . . .
WARDEN: Speak up . . . or do you prefer I have the sergeant leave the room for a minute?
PRISONER: No, I just mean . . . if they came to see me, they couldn’t be so sure I was getting out tomorrow . . .
WARDEN: What do you mean? . . . I don’t understand you. Make yourself clear, I’m much too busy to spend any more time . . .
PRISONER: Well, if they came to visit me they’d bring another package . . . So, to cover it with Arregui . . .
WARDEN: No, that’s not important anymore. Tell him they didn’t bring anything, because the lawyer knew you were going to be paroled. Tomorrow you’ll already be eating in your own house, Molína.