CHAPTER XII
Where did I put the fucking key? I’m drunk. Too drunk. I’m going straight to bed. So he has a girlfriend. Now that I like him, it works out that he has a girlfriend. What luck some people have. The bitch. She knew that I liked her boyfriend and even so ... Of course she knew it. They always know it, the girls. But women are so affectionate and tolerant with gays ... He would end up telling me, “I don’t love you and I can’t be your boyfriend.” I’m fed up with all the boys that tell me ... No, Pedro no. But Pedro ... Pedro was ... And he has so much class. Nothing, nothing of ... But he’s not for me. No, not any more. I don’t love him any more. I can’t forgive him for leaving me for the other guy, for telling me that he never desired me. How is he going to desire me now? How is he going to love me, if he didn’t love me for two years? He was kind and all that, but he didn’t love me. He loved me as a friend, not as a lover. Oh, here’s the key. Thank goodness. I was starting to think I had lost it. Three hundred euros, five hundred thousand pesetas! An expensive roll in the hay. And on top of renting the car! Will the rental agency get it back? When the rental is up, I’ll have to call and say that ... that it was stolen? I suppose there’s insurance and all that. But I have to say something if I don’t turn it in. I’m not going to pay for the car. How crazy! How stupid! I’m a fool. Oh, it’s a miracle that I’ve survived. After all, I was lucky. I really believe that. And he really deserved the punishment. What eyes! What a body! What skin! I will never be able to forget the taste of his skin! Or his lips! You never know what can happen to you, if he’s going to kill you or what. But the poor guy, like everyone, also has his little heart. I think he even felt affection for me. He wanted to tell me about his life. He wanted to tell me something ... something more, but I didn’t let him. Why? Why ...? Bah, so he killed someone, that ... Something very truculent. And for what? So I would hate him? That boy was a luxury. Too much for me. I’ll see him again some day. No. I don’t think so. It’s better if I don’t. He’ll have to hide or they’ll ... People like that don’t forgive. I hope they don’t come here. They’ll think that I ... and I ... The Madrid Cartel. Fuck! The mailbox. The fucking mailbox. It looks like they fixed it. Yes, although you can still see where the sheet was bent. What a beast! He destroyed the mailbox! It’s your fault, damned idiot! That’s my kind of man! Who needs a paper clip? No, he’s not disabled. Brave idiot! And that one who was bigger than a baseball player! Who could ...? Who would fall in love with a guy like that? He should be ashamed of himself! Useless! The door is still in one piece, but what’s it like inside the house? No, no, no. I don’t want to go in. I don’t want to see the leftovers from breakfast and all that. I don’t want to see the scene of my solitude and my frustration. My God! What’s going to become of me? P.T.M... But if they didn’t come in through the door, then where ...? P.T.M... Who is this P.T.M? And what does he have to do with J.J.? Oh, no! P for Pedro ... (wouldn’t it be Pedro?) ... and T for ... Torres! Pedro Torres Méndez! No! Of course it’s Pedro! I must have imagined it! How is it that I didn’t fall into it before? And how does he ...? Let’s see, let’s see. Oh, yeah! Of course! He’s the one who called the police! He, the Spanish citizen whom the hitmen were going to attack! That’s what the newspaper says, but that’s absurd. What was he doing there, at that hour of the morning? Was he watching me? Critical, he’s critical! No, please! J.J. said that a guy crossed with him and that guy was Pedro. Of course! He was going toward him. Maybe he wanted to talk to him. Or he wanted to tell him to leave me alone. What do I know? And that’s when he got shot. He got it, instead of J.J. So P.T.M. is Pedro! Pedro, of course! How could I not have realized this before? And he’s in the hospital! The newspaper said “wounds of varying degrees of severity.” Not of varying seriousness, but “of varying degrees of severity.” Then why does the newspaper say he’s the victim, the target of the hitmen? Maybe he said that to confuse the police. Or it could be a misunderstanding, a newspaper’s mistake. Pedro, yes, of course, Pedro! As well as I know him, nothing surprises me. Timid, generous, but at the same time cold and calculating. And selfless ...! Maybe he’s the one who called the police. If he was watching me, he would have seen the hitmen who were also watching the door. Guys like that have no inhibitions any more. Or maybe ... But where ... where would they have shot him? In the chest, no, please! In the head? Oh, no, please! I don’t mind waiting. I want you to know that. Yes, that’s what he said. And I remember very well what I said to him. I said, “I don’t love you any more!, do you hear me? And don’t come back here any more! Quit watching me or I’ll call the police!” Pedro, Pedro.
The phone was ringing when I entered the house. Without even closing the door, I ran to it and picked up the receiver.
“Hello!” said a familiar voice. “Merry Christmas!”
“Pruden!” I exclaimed. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear your voice! And please forgive me ... I’m the one who should have called you some time ago. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I acted the other day. I ...”
“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”.
“Thank you. You are always so kind. Is your mother well?”
“Yes. Thank you. And you, are you well?”
“Yes. Well, but ... Do you know about Pedro?”
“What are you referring to? Are you two back together?”
“Then you don’t know! He was wounded in a shootout!”
“What? Pedro wounded in a shootout? What are you talking about?”
“Yes. I saw it in the newspaper. I saw his initials. I’ll tell you the whole thing very slowly later. I’m afraid that Pedro was gravely wounded, you know?, and I ... I ... I don’t know what to do!”
“Gravely wounded! Does this have something to do with that business with the Colombian?”
“No. Well, yes, but no ... He’s gone. We’re finished. I don’t know what to do to find Pedro.”
“Call his father or his sister. Maybe they know something.”
“No. I don’t think so. He was very much disconnected from them lately. Even so, I’ll give it a try.”
“And afterwards you can call the hospitals or the police ... Do you want me to do it?”
“No. No. I’ll do it. I prefer to do it. Thank you.”
“All right, but keep me posted, okay?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll call you later. Thanks.”
I closed the door and wandered around for a moment in the house. I wanted to be sure that nobody had come in during my absence, that everything was in order. And it was, or so it seemed. I quickly gathered up some things and took them to the kitchen: the thermos of coffee, a plate with leftover food, glasses, cups, the bottle of Four Roses ... Suddenly I remembered the answering machine. I ran to the phone again. I saw the little red light blinking. Yes, there were messages! I pressed the play button. A recording with no words. I heard noises in the background. Whoever it was had not left a message. Next, a call from Pruden, probably left in the middle of the morning or at noon. And another one from Danny wishing me a Merry Christmas and asking what happened with the Colombians. Danny is very kind to remember me. I would have to call him later. After that, a message from my sister Nuria calling from Oviedo asking me what was going on, why I don’t call her. She left me another message a while back and she doesn’t know anything about me. It’s true, I never called her and I would have to call her now. Regards for Pedro and bla, bla, bla. She doesn’t know we’re separated. Once more, another recording with no voice, this time with no background noise. Pedro? Impossible. He’s in the hospital. Although it seemed to me .... The Madrid Cartel? Maybe they think I know the whereabouts of J.J. and ... But no ... That can’t be. The reality is much more prosaic. How and why are they going to watch me? Fantasies! Perhaps the Madrid Cartel doesn’t even exist.
Pedro’s sister’s phone, a landline, rings for a while, with nobody picking it up. She’s married and has kids, but nobody’s home. Suddenly I hear the answering machine. But I don’t leave a message. I look up th
e listing for his father. Will he be there? Will he be out? He doesn’t pick up either. Could he have gone to the hospital? Maybe they’ve all gone to the hospital. Should I call La Paz? Should I call the Twelfth of October?
I don’t dare call the police. Only several hospitals, but he’s not in any of them. And the funeral homes? No, that can’t be! Nowadays they don’t let anybody die in a hospital after an attack. It’s almost impossible. But if the bullet reached the heart or the head ... No, please! It can’t be! I’m an alarmist! I’m getting hysterical! Pedro is not dead! He can’t be!
Unable to control myself, I collapse on the sofa and start to cry. Now I know I love him, I tell myself, now I know that I have never loved anybody in my life like I’ve loved him, and that I’ll never stop loving him! I simply can’t imagine my life without him. If he’s dead, I want to die too, I tell myself. What foolishness! I never loved J.J. I only desired him sexually. I had illusions about him, possibly, but that was because I was alone and bored. Maybe I liked him, but I didn’t love him. Love is a very different thing. J.J. was right. “You still love him,” he told me and it was true, damn it! But I didn’t know it. I didn’t want to realize it. I was resentful, it’s true, and in that Pedro also was right. Pride, damned pride. How much harm pride does to us! Nevertheless, he didn’t mind humbling himself. Because of love, surely, since he loves me. He loves me! I don’t mind waiting. I want him to know it. And I, with my stupid pride: I don’t love you any more! Do you hear me? And don’t come back here any more! Quit watching me or I’ll call the police! Pride, damned pride.
When I awoke, it was already completely night. Not even forty minutes had passed, but I had the sensation of having slept for several hours. Five after eight in the evening. Drunkenness, fatigue, sadness, especially sadness, which greatly exhausts you and plunges you into a deep slumber. I thought I had awakened by myself, but no. After a tense silence, in full darkness, I heard the doorbell. Maybe it had been ringing a good while. Hitmen. The Madrid Cartel. They’re coming to look for me. They want to know where J.J. is. I don’t know, but they’re not going to believe me.
Groping, hardly seeing anything, I made my way on tiptoe toward the door. I struck lightly the corner of the table with my leg and the noise was inevitable. I tried to cushion it quickly holding down the table, but it was too late. Damn! No, surely nobody could hear outside. Nobody had to know that I was at home. Although, if they had seen me come up ... I kept advancing through the living room, now a little more carefully so as not to bump into any furniture. I came out of the hallway, and, just as I got close to the door, the bell rang again. I trembled involuntarily and I stood paralyzed a moment, almost without daring to breathe. Next, I put my right eye up against the peephole. Darkness. Total darkness. Whoever it was, he didn’t want to be recognized. Bad, very bad. Could there be another eye on the opposite side of the peephole? I tried to make out something on the outside. Nothing. Total darkness. Nevertheless, I heard a noise on the landing. A light went on suddenly and I saw a body from the back going down the stairs. I hitman. He had all the appearance of a hitman. Some friend or some enemy of J.J. But what was he carrying in his arm? It looked like a weapon! Could it be a cop? Then I thought I could recognize certain details of his dress, something ... something very unique to him. His hair, the nape of his neck ... Pedro! Or not? Yes, Pedro! It’s Pedro! But now I don’t see him any more. He’s gone! What was I thinking, a weapon? He’s got his arm in a sling! So he’s not in the hospital! ¡They let him out! Then he only had some minor injury on the arm! Pedro! I opened the door desperately, terrified of missing him, and I ran down after him.
“Pedro!” I shouted. But Pedro didn’t answer. “Pedro!” I kept running down the stairs two at a time until I got almost to the end, just when he reached the lobby. “Pedro!”
Pedro turned suddenly and looked at me with an expression of apology, as if he was afraid to hear, one more time, my reproaches. I was paralyzed on the landing and I studied him, moved and incredulous, trying to hide my joy.
“I was asleep,” I said. “Come upstairs, if you want.”
We went up side by side without speaking or looking at each other. As soon as we got inside, Pedro handed me a cardboard box that he had in his left hand.
“I brought you Christmas pudding,” he said, blushing. “I think you like it, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I said, also blushing. “Thank you very much!” I took the box, but I didn’t know what to do with it, and, after balancing it for a moment, I deposited it on the table. “You’ve been very kind to remember me ... Of course I like Christmas pudding!” I was quiet for a moment and then I added, “But come in, please, come in and sit down. What’s the matter with your arm? You look a little pale! What happened to you?”
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