Don't Come Back Here Any More

by Pedro Menchén

  “Stop! Police! Stop or I’ll shoot!” I heard someone say in a nearby location.

  I remained quite, expectant, but the police, instead of approaching me, headed off to the other side of the street, so I inched along, squatting, toward a blue car that I saw parked on the corner. I raised my head a moment and I saw J.J. trying to start it. I was very glad to see him safe and sound, but I wasn’t all that sure that he’d be glad to see me.

  “What are you doing here?” he muttered with a sign of rejection, lowering the window. “Go on, get out of here!”

  “This is not the red Ford that I ordered,” I said in an almost inaudible voice.

  “Yes. I can see that.”

  “They sent a different one ... I thought you wouldn’t find it ...”

  Suddenly there were two bursts of fire and some shouts at the end of the street. Somebody had been shot. Next everything was calm. J.J. opened the car door and said to me, “Okay, get in the car. Don’t stay here.”

  I slid onto the seat, curled up into a ball, with my head between my legs. Little by little, the car started to move, slowly, very slowly, so as not to attract attention, and, when I realized it, we had gotten a good distance away. Then I sat up. I looked toward the end of the street and saw that nobody was following us.

  “Those guys were waiting for me out there,” said J.J., “and they suddenly sped up, but so did the police, and when the Colombians drew their weapons, the police fired on them. I think one of the Colombians is dead.”

  “You left without saying good-bye,” I said, settling into my seat. “I’d like to know why, J.J., if I ...”

  “Somebody tipped off the cops,” he continued, without hearing me. “It wouldn’t have been you, would it?”

  “Me? No! I thought we were friends, you know? I know you don’t love me, that you can’t love me, but at least ...”

  “I wonder who would have tipped off the cops,” said J.J., turning sharply, in the direction of the M-30.

  “It was so disappointing to see you go like that, in such a way, without saying good-bye ... I thought we were friends.”

  “Friends?” J.J. looked at me suddenly with a sinister smile. “You don’t know me! I tried to tell you before, but you didn’t want to listen to me! I’m nobody’s friend! I don’t have friends!”

  CHAPTER IX

  I didn’t know where we were heading, nor did I care, although I could sense that we were traveling along a secondary road, through the province of Cuenca or Guadalajara. J.J. drove in silence without speaking to me. He didn’t look at me either and there was a moment when I started to think he had forgotten me.

  “Why ... why are you here?” he said, suddenly becoming aware of my presence. “Why didn’t you stay in Madrid?”

  “You asked me to get in. Don’t you remember?”

  “Yes, but ... I can’t take you with me. You have to get out somewhere.”

  “Okay,” I said with dejection. “But where?” And what am I going to do by myself, if I go back to Madrid? Who am I going to spend Chrsitmas with? I thought.

  “I don’t know.”

  “J.J.,” I said, after a moment’s reflection, “I don’t have anything to do until Monday and neither do you, I suppose. Why don’t we look for a hotel somewhere and spend Christmas there?” J.J. didn’t say anything, and I continued: “Besides, it’s a good idea for you to go with me for the moment. If the police are looking for you, you won’t be able to give your name anywhere without getting arrested, but if I go with you, we can register under my name and nothing will happen, get it? I ... I’ll take care of all the expenses. I’m not rich, as you already know, but I can afford a little vacation ...”

  “Vacation? The last thing I’m thinking about right now is a vacation! I have more important things to do.”

  “All right. If you don’t like my idea, let me out somewhere and I’ll make arrangements to get back to Madrid,” I said, slighted.

  “They’ve got me confused with somebody else,” said J.J., after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, as if he were talking to himself. “They’ve got me confused with the other man ...”

  “But what really happened? I didn’t understand anything. You say the police were there ... but didn’t they try to arrest you?”

  “No. Everything happened very fast. I’m not sure what happened either. The police were keeping watch. Somebody tipped them off. Besides, somebody accidentally went by there as I was coming out the door. Yeah, that’s what happened. The police thought they were going for him. All of a sudden the shooting started. I don’t know if a cop got hurt, but the Colombians got the worst of it. One of them was shot down in the middle of the street and it looked to me like he was dead. The other one took off running and it looked like they got him. I think there were only two. The one who was walking down the street I think took a bullet. I ran as quick as I could for the corner, I clicked the remote several times, the door of this car opened, and I got in. The cops had too much to do there, with all those wounded, to pay any attention to me.”

  “Well you sure lucked out!” I said with a sigh. “Are you sure they didn’t get you?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “They didn’t get me either. Even though I was in the middle of the shooting. I felt the bullets whistling over my head. Fuck! I felt death so close! In a certain way, I was excited. But I’m alive! It’s a miracle that I’m alive! It’s a miracle that we’re both alive, J.J.! We should celebrate! It’s a good thing the cops arrived!”

  “Yeah. Somebody called them. They were tipped off and the Colombians were taken by surprise.”

  “They must have thought they were dealing with a rival gang or something like that, don’t you think?” I said, laughing. Were the cops in plain clothes? I didn’t even see them. In fact, I didn’t see anything.”

  “You’re the one who called them, aren’t you?” said J.J., stepping a little harder on the gas. “You’re the one who called the cops. Come on, tell me!”

  “No. It wasn’t me.”

  “Then who was it? You’re the only one who knew they were waiting for me. I don’t like cops. Not here or anywhere. This time they saved my neck. Come on, tell me! It was you who called them, wasn’t it?”

  “No. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it wasn’t me.”

  “Then who could it have been?”

  “Someone does occur to me,” I said, thoughtful, “but I don’t ...”

  “Who?”

  “No! No way! Forget it! It’s absurd! How could he have known that the hitmen were waiting there?”

  “But who are you talking about? Your friend doesn’t know anything about my life. Unless you’re the one who told him ...”

  “No! I didn’t tell him anything! You saw yourself that I didn’t even talk on the phone with him all night!”

  “But then ... who called the cops? It must have been somebody!”

  “Well somebody who loves you a lot.”

  “Nobody loves me a lot.”

  “Man, your friends ... Benito, Harrison ...”

  “Harrison? No, it wasn’t Harrison. Only women love me. While I’m making love to them. After that, they end up hating me too.”

  What a strange place. So big and so lonely. There’s nobody here. Oh, yes, two people. And the waiter. How cold! Coffee. I’m not in the mood for tea today. “I’m going to stop here for gas, mate. I have to get gas. Can you lend me some money ...?” Yes, of course. I’m going to see how this comes out. “I have almost no cash. I ... But we can pay with a credit card. Although ... Look, I think there’s an ATM over there. And also a restaurant. Do you feel like having a coffee?” What a strange place. He is acting stranger all the time. I don’t trust him. His eyes don’t ... The truth is that I have never trusted him. I don’t know what he’s thinking or what he’s capable of doing. The card. The money. That’s the only thing that ... “I’m going to the rest room, mate. Order me a coffee.” Yes, of course, and then me. I’m going too. But how much? How much? Enou
gh for dinner and gas and the hotel. But where are we going? You can’t pay with a credit card everywhere, especially in isolated areas like this. Or can you? I don’t know. And how far? Or how long? He doesn’t want me to go with him. He’s wanting to dump me somewhere, but he doesn’t know how or ... or ... He needs my money. Oh, yeah. He can’t run off without money. “Can you lend me some money ...?” Why does he insist on the verb “to lend.” He’s not going to pay it back! But so what? Money is the least of it. Wow, he’s taking too long. Where could he have gone? I can’t see the car from here. He couldn’t have gone off somewhere and started it? The worse for him. I don’t believe it. He won’t get far with no money. But who knows? J.J., I’m not finished ... Don’t go. Damned idiot, the kiss fucked us up! J.J., please. No, it can’t be. He’s gone. He’s already gone. Fuck, he’s not coming back! “Two coffees, please. With milk.” I suppose he wants his with milk. Or maybe he wants it black. Red. Ah, yes, he calls it red. Two double reds! Fuck! But why is he taking so long? What could he be doing? Oh, my God. I should have stayed. I should stay here. Paid for the gas and that’s all. Let him go. But no ... I can’t go back to Madrid tonight. I don’t think there’s a connection from here. This is not a town. It’s only a service station. A rest stop with a restaurant and all that. But very big. And very ... Where are the rest rooms? He went down there, down that hallway, behind that screen. Very American. It seems very American. Please, J.J., come back now, okay? What the fuck ...? J.J., don’t play games with me! “Ah, here you are. I ordered yours with milk. Now I’m going.” Yes, I’m going. I’m taking a piss. Fuck, I need to take a piss right away. Won’t he slip something in my coffee? Some kind of drug, some ... Because he’s dark and has eyes like that, I don’t trust him. That’s all prejudice. All the dark-skinned ones ... witchcraft, superstition. Prejudice. Race prejudice. Racist. Yes. No. I’m not like that. But ... Yes, there he is. There, at the end of the hallway. I don’t see him any more. He doesn’t see me either. And if he goes? And now if he goes? He’s killed more than one. And when you’ve killed once, it doesn’t matter if you keep killing. That’s what they say and I believe it. Killing is a habit like any other. I’ll give him the money. I’ll give him ... He’ll need enough. Would 300 euros be enough? Oh, wow, the ATM won’t give me any more. Enough for the hotel, dinner and the rest. I’ll give him ... What do I care about money? And let him go. I want to be ruined. So I’ll have something to be sorry about. I always wanted to be poor and finally I will be. Poor. But I’m already poor! Where ...? What am I thinking? But I can’t go back to Madrid like this. I couldn’t stand being locked up there all weekend. Christmas, fucking Christmas! And Pedro. Fuck him! He left me. Fuck him! I don’t love him any more. No, I no longer ... I loved him, but not any more ... He had no pity on me. Fuck him! Does he have a record? Are the police looking for him? So this boy is crazy about that girl. No, I don’t like boys who are in love ... I don’t want them if they’re not free to ... Alone. I’m alone. Oh, yes, here. Fuck, what a relief. This is just what I needed. Dickhead. Why ...? Why do people entertain themselves by writing foolishness in urinals? “I eat ass ...” “I eat Moorish ass.” God, how powerful! But just any Moor? And why the Moors? Fuck, how powerful! I wonder if he pissed here? Would he have read that? There must have been a lot of Moors through here, a lot of Moroccans and Algerians, working in the fields, and maybe some crazy queen was walking behind them. In some construction project or other. They usually come here to ... “I eat ass ...” Moors are dark-skinned ... the asses of the Moors ... Yes, dark-skinned. But what’s special about Moors’ asses? Oh, now, what a relief! Now, here it is. “... the Moors.” And if he’s gone? Sure, sure he’s gone! He took advantage of the situation and made his escape. I’d have to stay here and spend the night. “I eat ass ...” Is some Moor going to come here for this guy to eat ...? No. He hasn’t gone. He couldn’t have gone. Yes. He’s gone. He’s not there. He’s not there. He’s gone, he’s gone! No. It can’t be. Ah, no. He’s here, he’s here! “Coffee’s getting cold, mate.” He put something in the coffee. I’m sure he put something in. But I’ll have to drink it. Even so, I’ll have to drink it. Racist. I’m a fucking racist. No. It’s still hot. “What do I owe you?” It tastes of ... “It’s already paid.” Oh yeah? And now I’ll have to go to the ATM. “Well thanks. But why did you pay?” He’s pretending to be the good guy with me. He’s trying to confuse me with his manners. And now he’s going with me, of course. He’s going to see the number that I punch in. And how do I get rid of him? How ...? And what if he memorizes my PIN? ... Oh, I’m lost. He’ll kill me, he’ll dump my body anywhere along the road. And in the meantime he’ll keep spending and spending. He knows that nobody will report my disappearance. He knows I’m alone and that ... He knows that weeks will go by before anyone thinks to investigate and by that time he will have used up all my money. All the fucking money that I’ve saved since I started working when I was seventeen. Idiot, what an idiot! I’m sure he’s killed others for less. “Ready?” No, I can’t tell him to turn away and not look. I can’t say that to him. It would be rude, a show of distrust or, still worse, of insecurity. He’s got me by the balls and he knows it. “Yes, let’s go.” How cold! And now I have to go to the ATM. How cold! I’m shivering. And my hands are trembling. I’m showing too much fear. “The ATM is over there, mate.” Don’t call me mate. I’m not your mate. Not if you’re going to kill me, bastard. I see it in your eyes. To you I’m just a fucking faggot, a fucking shitty Spaniard that you’re going to kill to steal his money. The only thing you care about is my money, you fuck, so don’t come to me with this claim of mate. “Don’t you have to pump gas?” Let’s see if that gets him away from here. I have to find a way to get him away so I can take out the money. Is it raining or snowing? It looks like sleet. Is that snow falling? “Yes, but I need money.” Of course, fuck, he needs money, but couldn’t he back away a little more? Come on, get out of here, get away and don’t look, fuck. The card. It’s time to stick the card in. I can’t delay it any longer. And he’s not moving! What a guy! Stay there! Right behind me! I’ll try to block his view with my shoulder or my sleeve. But it makes no difference. He’s looking over my shoulder. He’s looking and I can’t tell him ... Fuck! He has no shame. And I’m an idiot. I’m being led to the slaughter without being able to do anything to ... The number. Let him see it. Yes, let him see it. Let him kill me. It’s all the same to me. Pedro, please, Pedro. I should be somewhere with you now, not with this guy. You’re the one I love. I’m sorry. When they find my body ... Oh, and I won’t even have told you that ... Yes, you’ll always hate me, because I didn’t want to listen to you. I rejected you. But he knows it! Yes, he knows I love him. But I don’t know if he’ll forgive me. You’re right. You warned me. You warned me of the danger. You’re so smart and so ... Oh, look how you warned me, but I ... “OK, I’m ready. Let’s go.” Yes, let him get a good look at where I put the money. Oh, but I had more money in my wallet! I could have paid with that! About a hundred euros. And I think I have more in one of my pockets. What a dickhead I am. And he saw it. He saw it all. And besides that he knows the PIN to my card. He saw it, I have no doubt. I’m a dickhead. It’s all the same. I don’t care. I don’t want ... I don’t want to live any longer. I’m tired. Uglier and uglier. Older and more alone. Sadder and more ... Sooner or later, Pedro will leave me. Yes, he will leave me again, and I’ll be left alone and I won’t be able to find anybody else and I don’t want to be like those disgusting guys who go from toilet to toilet, writing graffiti and eating the dick or the ass ... of some Moor. I want to live always with the same person. I want always to love the same person. To be at peace in my own home ... And it’s not easy. No, it’s not easy to find somebody else who ... I’m so tired. Let him kill me, yes, let him kill me. I do not give a damn about life. It’s all the same to me. I couldn’t stand being cooped up at home and spending the holidays there by myself. I’m tired of suffering and feeling so pathetic! Life was not made for me. They
didn’t teach me how to live, fuck. Why didn’t they tell me that life was so ...? Of course, mate, make an end of me, mate. Come on, mate, fucking finish me off, mate. But do a good job, mate. Have a little elegance when you deliver the coup de grâce, mate. Do a good job, please. Do it well and quickly, like you know how to do.

  “It seems that we’re in a natural park or something like that. I think this is the place where Owl Creek begins. Or the River Mundo. I don’t know ...”

  “There it says Crow Creek, mate. There was a sign on the side of the bridge.”

  “Yes. Crow. Not Owl. I was thinking of An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge ... I heard people talk of these places many times, but I never knew how to get here. Look, it’s snowing! What a beautiful place! So lonely and so sad!”

  “Why sad?”

  “Beauty is always sad, don’t you think? To contemplate it produces a kind of desolation. I don’t know why. You’re afraid to lose it, that somebody might damage it, that it won’t last ... I don’t know. You fear that you won’t be able to capture it, that you won’t be able to give it its true value ... It’s somewhat irrational, isn’t it? Beauty speaks to you of eternity, although you know that this is impossible, since nothing it eternal. Besides, when you contemplate beauty, you feel as if something is breaking inside of you. You feel fragile, useless, superfluous. You suddenly lose the connection with reality. Beauty can provoke even the urgent desire to cry. I cried once contemplating a valley ...”