“But was Freddy the hobo?”
“No, the hobo was somebody else. I don’t know what the hobo’s name was. You’re not listening. You don’t get what I’m telling you. It’s better if you go to sleep. Forget it.”
“No, no, please, tell me. It’s just that sometimes I don’t understand you. It might be because of your accent or the way you talk. I’m sorry. Come closer.”
“No. I’m good here.”
“Come closer so I can hear you better.”
“Let me go. Forget about my hand. It’s okay.”
“What happened to Freddy?”
“Freddy was very happy. A real joker, as you might say. He was twenty-five years old. Yes, married with two kids, two boys age six or seven. He loved his wife very much and he was very happy. He had his own machine shop and, sometimes, after eating, when he wasn’t very busy, we would sit with him, other boys and me, and we’d play a game of poker. Freddy, good guy Freddy. But then he met the Indian and his life got fucked up. He wasn’t the same person any more. You know what I mean, mate? You get what I’m trying to tell you?”
Of course I get it. Same as always. The same deal as always. He also changed when he met Dora. And so did I! I changed when I met him!
“That’s love, you know? Love changes people. It has a lot of power, love. Love is the energy that moves the world. You wouldn’t be here, if it weren’t for love. You wouldn’t be put in this mess if it weren’t for love. You told me so yourself.”
“Yes, I told you ...”
“And we’re born for love. But many people die for hate (that stupid and unwarranted hate which also moves the world).”
“What are you talking about?”
“Death.”
“What would you know about death? It has nothing to do with love.”
“How many people have you seen die? I’ve seen a lot of people die.”
“Okay, keep going. What happened with Freddy? What happened with the Indian and the hobo?”
“He saw her walk down the street. He saw her one day and went crazy for her. We all liked the Indian, sure, but for Freddy it was stronger. He lost his mind for that woman. The Indian was one of those strange and mysterious women. She looks at you and ... you know. You tremble. Your underwear falls off. You know what I’m talking about. Freddy went crazy for her. She cast a spell on him. Sure as anything. She had to be a sorceress too. He became distant, introverted. He stayed away from home and came back quite late. He no longer cared about his wife and his kids. He didn’t show up at the workshop. Sometimes he’d disappear. And his wife started to get jealous. She shouted and cursed. Sometimes she’d go down the street talking to herself. Freddy and the Indian were meeting somewhere. The whole neighborhood knew it, even though nobody had seen them together. Her husband had to go to work at night at the bakery and she was left alone. They said he didn’t know anything, that he didn’t suspect anything. One day we were sitting in the doorway of the shop, sitting around a wooden table. All four of us were playing cards and Freddy used to hang around the place from time to time. He wouldn’t stop fooling around with me, making fun of me. He was slapping me on the shoulders and all that, he moved my chair and would hardly let me play. He was very happy that day for some reason. Freddy, fuck, that’s enough. I was sure he had a date that night with the Indian and that’s why he was so happy. Freddy! He wouldn’t stop kidding around. He was keeping me from concentrating on the game. Freddy, that’s enough, Freddy! So I was glad when I heard a motorcycle driving up to the shop. Now he’ll be busy and he’ll leave me alone for a while, I thought. ‘Freddy Álvarez, the mechanic?’ I heard a boy ask. We kept on playing, we were so absorbed in the game that we didn’t even see the new arrivals. Freddy raised his eyes when he heard his name and then the shot rang out. It was something so sudden that, by the time we realized it, the motorcycle had taken off up the street and Freddy was lying on the ground with a hole in his forehead. A second befor, Freddy was shaking my chair kidding around with me and now there he was thrown away, with a puddle of blood around his head. A woman came out to the street, and when she saw Freddy on the ground, she started screaming. The people from the next houses came out also to see what had happened. Children and women started to scream and cry. How could we have thought that Freddy... Everybody loved him. That’s the way hitmen kill. They usually go two to a motorcycle. One drives and the other one fires the weapon. They ask for the one they’re looking for, and, even before he replies, as soon as he looks up, they already know who he is and they shoot him.”
“And nobody arrests them? Nobody investigates the case?”
“What case? You don’t know what you’re saying. That’s Colombia.”
“Then all those crimes go unpunished forever?”
“Of course.”
“Fuck! And how can they kill like that and stay so calm? What kind of people are these hitmen?”
“They’re street kids. They live from hand to mouth and they don’t care about anything. When they go out to kill, they do it high or drunk. Nobody can do anything like that without taking something. And those boys take something.”
“What happened with the Indian and the sorcerer? Did he hire the hitmen?”
“Nobody knows why they killed Freddy. Everybody in the neighborhood loved him. Nobody had anything against him.”
“But if everybody knew he was involved with the Indian ... or was it his wife who ...?”
“His wife cried for him a long time.”
“So she really loved him ...”
“The Indian was never the same as before. When she went out on the street, at the end of a week, she had already turned completely old and ugly.”
“Oh come on! This is starting to sound like a story out of García Márquez! If she was young and pretty before Freddy died, she would have stayed that way for a long time, I tell you!”
“No! Not at all! She turned old and ugly in a week. Everybody could see it. They said the sorcerer had put a curse on her.”
“Ah, now I get it. If she was old and ugly, no other man would want to go to bed with her, would they? Nobody except him, of course. But why didn’t he put this curse on her before he killed Freddy? If she had been old and ugly, Freddy would have grown tired of her and left her alone.”
5:40 A.M. J.J. had stretched out on the sofa and sleep or fatigue was also starting to close his eyes, but he didn’t want to fall asleep and he was trying to distract himself by conversing with me. The incident with the hustler amused him and he was laughing heartily.
“Sixty euros for a kiss!” he says. “How much would you give me for a kiss?”
“Nothing. One of your kisses I want for free.”
Silence. This is the moment. What am I waiting for?
“If you want something to eat ...” But why am I talking about food now? Am I stupid or what? “A sandwich of smoked salmon or ham and cheese?”
“No. I’m not hungry. You Spanish are always eating. I eat very little. Sometimes I go several days without eating and it never bothers me.”
“Wow! I forgot what a hard-ass you are! Forgive me! Of course, you don’t like anything about the Spanish, do you? So then why did you come to Spain?”
“Because of Dora. I already told you that.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right!”
“What are you doing there?” says J.J. after a while, as if stretching from sleep. “What’s the matter with you?”
This is the moment. Now, now.
“It’s kind of cold. Should I turn the heat up?” But why am I so evasive? “It seems like it’s getting cold here, doesn’t it? Or do you want a blanket?”
“No. I don’t want a blanket. You know I’m a hard-ass.”
Now. This is the moment. Now. If I move close to him, he won’t reject me. Yes, I can tell from here. He wants it. Fuck, all I have to do is move closer to him and ... What am I waiting for? Why am I such an idiot that I don’t go for it?
“Do you want more coffee?”
/> “Okay. You too?”
“No, thanks. I don’t care for any. There’s the thermos. Help yourself.” And now I’m getting antipathetic. Why am I like that? Why?
“What are you doing there?” says J.J. “What’s wrong with you?” He wants to provoke me.
“Go to sleep, please. Tell me what time you want to get up and I’ll call you. What’s the point of sitting up watching all night?”
“No. I don’t want to sleep. I have to think,” says J.J.
“Think, think ...” I say, taking his hand.
“And that friend of yours, that ex-boyfriend or whatever ... why does he follow you? What happened between you that he ...?”
“Bah! He’s a pain in the ass! I don’t give a fuck if he follows me or watches me. He says it’s for my own good. He thinks that he can move me or something like that. Now he says he loves me. But he doesn’t love me, he needs me, which is something very different. He got used to me, or, rather, he’s got no place to go. He can’t go back home to his dad, since, apart from the fact that he can’t stand him, it would be a failure and a defeat for him. He has to live alone, since his other boyfriend dumped him, but Pedro is not the sort of person who knows how to live alone. I know him very well. He needs somebody to lean on. If only his mom were still living ... I met her and she was a good woman. Very affectionate and loving. We got along well from the beginning. His dad, however, is a homophobe and can’t stand the sight of me. He thinks I perverted his son. I know all that is ridiculous, behind the times, but there are still parents like that. Pedro’s mom, like any other mother, accepted her son’s homosexuality right away, but his father ... not him! “A faggot in my house!” I think he said. “No way! If you’re a queer, you’re not my son!” And he threw him out in the street. I met Pedro by chance the same night that his father threw him out of the house. He was introduced by a friend of mine who had just met him in a bar shortly before and to whom he had told all his troubles. Pruden remembered that I was alone and thought maybe I’d be interested in him. Pedro was twenty-two years old and I was almost thirty. “Listen,” Pruden said on the phone, “I met a guy who’s just your type. His father kicked him out. He left with nothing but the clothes on his back and he’s got no place to go. He’s completely trustworthy. If he weren’t, I wouldn’t be recommending him. Why don’t you take a look at him and then decide? You only have to put him up two or three days until the boy works something out. You know I can’t take him to my place.” I turned up at the bar, led by curiosity, but as soon as I saw Pedro I felt disappointed. I didn’t like him at all. I even think that I disliked him. He did not attract me physically. He wasn’t my type. He had long hair and I like guys with short hair. He was pale and weak-spirited and I like dark-skinned guys who are somewhat cocky, as you know. I didn’t like his bulging forehead either, or his slightly twisted nose. What a responsibility to take on this guy! I thought, and I cursed Pruden for getting me in this fix. Nevertheless, Pedro seemed like a good kid, very serious and formal, and I felt sorry for him, so I took him home. Just out of courtesy, I spoke to him as we were going down the steps to the subway. I said “What a hot night!” or something like that, without looking at his face, since his face displeased me so much that I couldn’t bear to look at it, and he made a comment that surprised me. It was something funny, something with common sense. It wasn’t a stock phrase, but one of those comments that denote sense and intelligence, and at that moment something moved in me and I changed my attitude toward him. He had such a pleasant voice and his words were so sensible and coherent, that I began to listen to him with more and more attention and to appreciate him, if not as an object of desire, at least as a person. And at home, during dinner, Pedro was truly charming. He ate very little and incredibly slowly (I arrived at the conclusion, later on, that he had a biological rhythm different from that of most people) and, meanwhile, he looked at me with sweet eyes, filled with gratitude. He was such an uncomplicated boy and so kind, that I couldn’t help feeling affection for him. During those first days that he was with me, he behaved himself excellently. He helped me with everything and even avoided pestering me with his personal problems. Only if I would ask him, would he tell me some amusing anecdote of his father or his mother and the two of us would laugh. We slept in the same bedroom, and I remember that, during those days, I felt much happier and calmer having him at my side. I still didn’t like his long hair, that much was true. I didn’t like his nose or his forehead either. I didn’t desire him sexually, but he pleased me somehow in other ways. And so several days passed, until he went back home thanks to the intervention of his mother, who reconciled him with his father. I recognize that I felt relief when he left. He was not the boy I had dreamed of being with, I told myself, so I would keep looking. Pedro was a good boy, a good companion, but I didn’t want a good companion, but someone who would drive me crazy with desire. And, all the same, something paradoxical happened. After he went away, I started to think about him. I missed him more and more every day. In the beginning, as a companion and a friend, but later in another way. I started to remember his gestures, his smiles, his way of speaking … until I realized that I desired him physically. Each day his absence became more unbearable. I got to the point of idolizing him and I even thought he wasn’t ugly, but handsome. I told myself that I had to see him again to resolve my doubts and know once and for all If I liked him or not, if he attracted me physically or not. About ten days went by before I dared to phone him, and when I finally heard his voice, I felt such emotion that I said to myself, “My God, I’m in love!” And I was. I was. Now I no longer had the slightest doubt that I had fallen in love with him. He suddenly seemed to me a marvelous boy. The handsomest and most charming boy that I had ever seen. But how was that possible? How could I have thought that about someone for whom I had felt such physical rejection? It’s unusual for taste to change that much. The fact is that I told him that I wanted to see him and he promised to pay me a visit, although he didn’t give me a specific date. I spent one anxious terrible week hoping for him to come. And one day, finally, the doorbell rang and it was him. I almost didn’t recognize him. He had cut his hair and he looked gorgeous. I learned that I was really in love with him! He was the boy of my dreams, I told myself, the boy I had been looking for all my life. I invited him to dinner, we spent a delightful evening, and, when we were finished, I went directly to the point and suggested that he come to live with me. It was not very hard to convince him, since it was what he wanted as well. I don’t know if he really liked me or if he just found me easy to get along with, but what is certain is that we spend two happy years together, really happy, until he met somebody else and left me ... Now I know that he never felt real desire for me. Perhaps I wasn’t his type, although I pleased him in other ways. But he says he loves me. Who knows! When he left me, I sank into the deepest desolation. I thought I was going to die, and all that. I found no meaning in anything, as you know ... Like always ... I let myself go physically. I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep. Until that day that Pruden came to look for me and took me to the hustler bar, that day that you and I chanced to get on the same bus ... Now Pedro says he loves me. He says that he didn’t realize it until he went away. Maybe it’s true. I don’t know. Perhaps the same thing happened to him that happened to me, but two years later. Although now I’m not sure that I loved him. Feelings suffer these sorts of changes. We can’t control the impulses of our hearts and sometimes we love those who deserve it the least ... But Pedro is one of those people who do deserve someone who loves them. If you know him, you can’t help loving him. And I loved him so much, oh, J.J.! It almost makes me tremble to think of it! Nevertheless, I felt so much rejection for him when I met him, that I almost couldn’t look him in the face because I disliked him so much! But how is that possible? I thought he was ugly and later he seemed so beautiful to me! Sometimes I can’t stop wondering how it’s possible that I loved him so much, to that degree of insanity. I breathed for him, I adored each one
of his gestures and movements, each one of his words, the way he slept, the way he walked, the scent he left on his clothes ...! Oh, J.J., you can’t imagine how much I loved him!
“You loved him, and you love him, mate.”
“No. I don’t love him any more. I love you, J.J!”
“You love him. You still love him ...”
CHAPTER VII
7:45 A.M. It’s already starting to get light. J.J. and I are having breakfast in the kitchen. Ham and eggs, toast and butter, and coffee.
“A car. That’s all I need,” says J.J., dropping the knife and the fork on the plate. “A car and I’ll get out of here. Can you lend me a car?”
“Eat! Finish your breakfast! You’re going to need your energy for the rest of the day. Who knows when you’re going to eat again.”
“I don’t feel like eating any more. Thanks. Can you lend me a ...?”
“No! I haven’t got a car.”
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