All of the Days Behind

8/8/2019 All of the Days Behind

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All of the days behind

By

Antonio Ramos


2/70

Translated by Nancy Quionez ReevesTo my parents,

Roberto Revillas and Martha Ramos.

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Sierra del Negro

To Eliada

The border of the road was similar to the sharpness of a knife. Ramn stopped

putting pressure to the accelerator and the Valiant64 motor took a breath that

put it at ease. Under the horizon, the asphalt escorted by the electricity posts and

the dark earth, dry, beaten in parts and in parts smooth as a cheek walked with a

firm stem towards the hill, that at far dealt with the attacks from the sun.

- Sierra del Negro said Ramon when he saw it, remembering the words

that the old man from the gas station told him, miles behind.

- That hill has a reputation for its ghosts, sir. It is better for you to take

another route.

Ramn turn the handle of the window and a brush of fresh air sneaked in

refreshing him. He condemned the heat. Raquel was sleeping in the sit next to

him, under a blanket. Ramn asked himself, how could she close her eyes when

the sun sat itself in the heart of the car? He extended his hand with the intention

to move her but in the middle of the attempt he gave up on the idea.

There was not much left to reach the border. They would get married on the

other side to take advantage of her double nationality. Ramn was going to sell

the car and with that money plus their savings, they would go to Chicago where

she had family. The Lpez Castro family would grow.

The plain, like a magnetic force, was making him sleepy, it was throwing him

against the dirty flank of the road. After some hours Raquel told him that they

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should stop in order to sleep but Ramn refused. He had been driving for hours,

barely interrupting them for a brief rest, when they had stopped at the gas

station. Next to the pumps, at the end, on the side of the road there was a motel.

Raquel kept telling him to rest but Ramn said no.

- Listen to your woman, it is not bad to take a little shuteye interrupted the

old man.

- The sooner we get there the better he answered. He was anxious to

leave the country forever.

He had felt strong during the whole trip, but now his eyelids were slipping y every

time that they fell, there was a sensation that he was falling from a tree. And

then, if I fall asleep we get off the road and we have a wreck. The idea became

appealing. Goodbye to all the worries; Raquel and the stupid weeding. We

would become ghosts. The thought made him smile. Then his eyes turn back to

the asphalt that under the sun looked as if it was dissolved in mod.

Small and with red hair that sometimes covered her face, Raquel moved at times

but she was still submerse in a sleep that at moments made Ramn jealous. He

again thought about the hill that was far away.

- The place is full of caves. They buried a famous black man around this

area. He murdered kids. That is what people said, but that is a long time

ago, sir.

He thought about his son. He was not going to fill his head with ghosts stories,

gods, nor sins. His son was going to be a practical man; he was not going to be

running away to other cities because he got his girlfriend pregnant. He

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remembered the night when Raquel told him that she was expecting and then

when they had decided to escape from the festivity of los Toscana, while the

scent of carne asada snuck in the patio.

- The black man the old man kept telling the story while a wave of

whirlwinds arose and Raquel was drinking her coffee was found there

with a little girl. He had opened her in two, and had her eyes in a spoon.

From that day they prepared everything for their life change, Ramn quit his job

and Raquel changed her bank account for one in the U.S. They would move

there. They would find a future in that land, Ramn would tell himself and

imagined the buildings, the advanced technology and futuristic gadgets shown in

the magazines. The afternoon before Ramn picked up Raquel to go out for

dinner, they never went to the restaurant instead they took the road to the border.

- They killed a lot of people there. The black man could be a ghost, but the

myth comes from all the people that were killed there during the

Revolucin.

The old man took out the hose of the car and put it back in the pump and he

stopped, as if he was thinking about his words. Ramn had never seen such

broken eyes.

- The battle of the Eyes. Almost one thousand deaths in one night said

and Ramn remembered the words as if he had just heard them now that

he was beginning one turn and the hill was outlined in front of him How

many of coronel Parra were killed? One hundred?

Ramn felt the fire of the platoons and saw the colonel tied down with the tawny

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beard with the blood that ran down from the face; the coupe de grce, the dirty

pants, the dead bodies piled up in the caves.

- There are evil places. There is no doubt about it.

He looked at the time. It was not to far for midday. He took out the first cigarette,

but he thought about Raquel and his son. He left it in his mouth without lighting it.

The sun began to bother him. Raquel had cried hours before, but he didnt do

anything to calm her down. Sometimes it was good for women to cry, dry

themselves up, and then without water, to them. Ramn tried to imagine his son,

barely a piece of meat that could be destroyed with his fists.

- It is not easy for me said Ramn, like that, dry, now that Raquel was

looking at him attentively; she looked as if she had never slept I also had

a life there.

Raquel moved and sat straight.

- But we have to continue.

Ramn accelerated. They found themselves close to the hill. He put his hand on

the sit and started popping his fingers. Raquel made a gesture of frustration. She

hated that noise. Ramn ignored her. His sight bumped into a sky, which is

barely covered with elongated clouds with the shape of vipers huddled by the

sound of the car.

- it is both of our problem. We are going to have a kid, what are we going to

do!

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the other side of the hill, there was a plate on a big soldier with a cartridge belt

guarding the flat carefully, in memory of the dead soldiers from the battle. The

Valiantslipped. Ramn put his hand on Raquels chest trying to avoid for her to

fly outside the window and with the other he held the wheel tight but he didnt

stop the car to haste towards the ditch, sparks came out and then the rims. He

heard how the tires exploded, then he saw the metal rail twisting itself and in the

back, screams. When they stopped, his heart had a convoy of adrenaline.

Raquel looked like a puppet in her sit.

They got out of the car slowly and he saw the futuristic car miles behind and the

man and the woman were running towards them. The sun was hitting their faces.

Behind, the animal with the neck twisted to one side, broken legs and its shinning

blood coming out of its muzzle.

- Are you ok? The man asked them.

- Yes, thank you Ramn answered. His mouth was dry.

Raquel nodded her head and looked for the woman who was coming back with a

first aid kit. Ramn leaned on the car and then hugged Raquel. Automatically he

touched her stomach with the desire to feel his baby. Then he leaned again to

the car. He lit a cigarette but it had no taste. He felt a punch in his stomach and

his knees couldnt hold him. The sun hit his forehead and he saw the electric

posts ran to the side as if nothing had happened. It was then when he noticed

again the car of the future with the doors open. He swallowed because the thirst

had already taken place over his palate. He had to tell something to the man

aside from thanking him, even though nothing came to his mind.

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- Your car is very strange said after a shameful silence I have never

seen one like that.

The man turned his head confused and looked at his car.

- Are you sure, you are ok? He asked.

Ramn nodded. Neither Raquel nor his son mattered at that moment. The silver

car, the curve lines of the taillights and the round hubcaps of the wheel have

caught his attention. He began to get sick of being there, Raquels tears y her

stupid embryo. He was disgusted of being born, growing up, reproducing and

dying. How can you escape from such sentence? He wanted to throw up but he

contained himself. He felt his body getting numbed, his blood tingling, and his

eyes burning because of the sun. When the air brought dust to his face, he felt it

familiar as if it was something that had always lived with him. The only thing that

appeared in front of him was the silver car and for a moment that was the most

important thing. Still with disgust, he asked:

- How much do you want for it?

The man didnt answer. Then he focused on Raquel.

- Is she all right?

Ramn straighten up and said:

- I have money to buy it. How much do you want?

The car in the middle of both lanes seemed as an illusion. Behind, the plain

expanded to the horizon.

- It is a model from two years ago and I am attached to it said the man

disturbed -. The one from this year, to let you know, is a wonder: breaks

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abs, computer, flat screen, and airbags in the back seats.

- We are going to have a kid answered Ramn and looked at Raquel

- Are you ok?

- Your car, How much do you want for it?

- Man! let it go. Mi car is ugly. Yours on the other hand is a beauty. The new

cars fall apart with a break, but the cars from previews times, those ones,

those ones dont fall apart.

Ramn put his head down. His eyes were burning and a stabbing pain was

claiming over his knee. He fell to the floor, dizzy over the glare of the sun. When

they got him up, he looked at the track of the breaks in the pavement. He sun hid

itself in the clouds and the road cooled down.

- Are you going to the border? he asked we were going there.

- Do you want me to take you?

Ramn went to look for Raquel and found her crying on the womans shoulder.

He remembered that there, behind the border the future, the buildings, the silver

cars and life were found. He began to feel far from that land when he said:

- Can you take my wife and call the tow truck when you arrive?

- No problem.

The man took out of his pants a phone that for Ramn seemed like a toy: it was

thin and small. He dialed and spoke loudly. He heard him say persistently: Yes,

it is the 47, a Valiant, in the Sierra del Negro. An accident! I am seeing the other

driver. Then he hung up. The sun was still strong and for moments the air lifted

trails of dust that galloped throughout the plain, images of dead revolutionaries

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that hasted towards them.

- They will be here in an hour.

Ramn looked for Raquel while the hatred grew from the center of the life that

they were living behind, and of the life that he had lost because of her clenched

his throat.

- We are going to be ok Ramn said. Leave.

- Whatever you say. It is hot as hell.

Now he wished that Raquel would leave with them but she didnt want to. Ramn

stayed with his arms crossed while the strangers said goodbye and got on their

cars. The car went around the body of the animal and stopped in front of them for

a moment before they left the road. Ramn followed it until it disappeared in a

curve and then he felt that the pain in the chest grew, spreading towards his

mouth. He had lost the opportunity of leaving in that car and for a moment he

figured that it would take longer than expected to reach the border. They didnt

say anything, away from each other, sunk under the sensation that they will take

forever to reach their destination. They got into the Valiantand they kept quiet

until Raquel said that she was not going to get married instead she was going to

have an abortion. Ramn was in shock but he didnt say anything. Far away from

the hill there was a monument in honor of the soldiers and then there was a

desert. Far away there was a life of peace, a better future. Raquel asked him:

- You are not going to say anything to me?

- Death is probably an exquisite pleasure he said, but no one answered.

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The driver from the tow truck picked up the Valiant64 from the trailed hitch. After

they finish with the maneuver they headed to the north. They men were whistling

a song from the radio and one of them said that rich people had strange taste

and that they spend money on silly things.

- Come here for a piece of trash. Who knows how long it has been here. It

has been a long time that they dont make them, right?

- Yeah, a long time answered his friend In a little bit we are going to

pass the statue. Put attention to that. It is not that many times that we

come by this place.

- This is the Sierra del Negro, right? asked the co-pilot, but this time the

driver didnt answer, he was paying attention to the road.

In the Bay of Auckland

Alfredo knew that he was going to become a millionaire the moment that he saw

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the lottery ticket from Oro raspadito. There was the price that was going to bring

back the peace. With false indifference he looked at the man that waited on him.

- And those, how much? he asked

- There are some of five and some of three.

He pointed towards the ticket almost at the end of the strip. He paid. He put it on

his shirt and kept it there with the certainty that he had the winning ticket.

Weeks passed by since he noticed his gift, he could see the winning tickets from

Oro raspadito, the Red Cross, and Atnale. First, he was suspicious and then he

had the sensation that someone was playing a joke on him. But he could see the

numbers clearly, without knowing how.

He always mocked the people that went over the world from lottery ticket to

lottery ticket as if they were gypsies walking on broken glass. Now, while he was

returning home, with so many things happening since, he was anxious for not

having taken that first ticket. There is nothing worse than a guy without luck to

have it all, of the sudden he said -, as if the beautiful woman of the movie stays

with the ugly frog.

He remembered the old man outside the subway and that memory brought

another. The bitch with her dragging tits, the store that smelled like coffee where

he bought the tickets for the boys, the Cougar bopping in the air before it fell in

the river and finally the words from Liliana, his girlfriend: maybe, when you take

advantage of this, your gift will be gone. Nothing would have happened if I

hadnt decided to be charitable, he thought. Poor guys! Who would have

thought?

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When he got home he didnt believe it: the ticked that he was looking for, the one

million price was there. He could see the three identical numbers, the seven

figures repeated in the tree columns, hidden, covered.

He hid the ticket in the drawer of the forks that had a disinfectant smell. In a

couch from the living room, the book about the advantages from New Zealand

was still there. He looked at the picture of the Mount Cook of New Zealand next

to a picture of the Wellington fountain. When he cashed the price, they would go

there. With the book at hand, he called Liliana and when he heard her voice he

impatiently wanted to tell her.

- You found it? she asked

- Yes

- And?

- Can you see it, right? How much is it for?

- A million

- Dont tare it. Are you going to tare it?

Alfredo kept quiet. It was a bad idea to help the old man. I never had bad luck, I

have no clue when and why I had the desire to help people. I am glad that it was

only him.

- No, not this one he answered, - We had agreed.

The deep breathing of Liliana was felt through the speaker. He could see her in

the yellow couch while playing with the cord, dressed with some jeans, a bottom

up shirt, and her hair pulled back. He could almost hear her clothes rubbing the

couch, see how she bit her lips due to the anxiety of winning that price; small

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of the veterans, who died the day that they had won the lottery. Fortune. Once he

almost won an American football pool. He didnt know anything about the game.

It is easy; they told him at the office. There is not much to it. The teams either win

or loose. There are no ties; only two options. He saw the names, the list, he

wrote down his favorites. Next Monday they called him. No one could believe

how he could have gotten all of the answers wrong. He hated people with luck.

Once, an uncle of his had won the tsuru. Nothing gave him more pleasure than to

hear that he had a wreck a few days later. He went to the hospital with a smile

stapled on his jaw.

While he was waiting for Liliana he sat in the living room. The green and fresh

valleys of New Zealand were amazing; he kept saying it to himself while looking

through the pages of the book from the island. He didnt finish the phrase when

he remembered the boys. He saw them again like in the afternoon when he had

decided to help the old man.

He had barely had a couple of days with the gift. After cashing a ticket for two

hundred pesos he had devoted his time into looking for a bigger one so he could

cash that one. That morning he found one for a hundred thousand pesos but he

didnt cash it, he was certain he was going to find a better one. He had found the

old man close to a store close to the place were they sold the tickets. It was one

of the many businesses that hid themselves in the adjacent streets to the stands

of the Hugo Valds Street. The old man smelled like alcohol and urine; a thick

and amalgamated sent floated miles around the old man. A skinny bitch, with

bitten ears, licked his hands. Far away, there was the store with a red tarp that

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received the rays of the afternoon sun. Some tickets seemed torn on the

sidewalk. A silent alarm rang inside Alfredo when he felt pity over the man. He is

like that because he wants to, dont feel sorry, he said to himself, but then he

imagined the thirst that he would have under the sun, with the dog licking his

hand, which he thought would be sticky. He imagined the gratitude of that skin

when they would take a good bath. He went to the store. Doubted. He found a

ticket with a price of five thousand pesos. He bought it with the certainty that he

would do a good thing. For a moment, while he was getting closer to the old man,

Alfredo thought that with that he could help a lot of people. It was just an idea. He

threw the ticket to the old man that didnt move, not even because it was hot. The

old man was shocked when the ticket fell on his legs. Suddenly he regretted it.

Something bad is going to happen, he said, but he only heard the bark of the

dog.

-Scratch it he said and he hadnt finish saying those words when he completely

regretted it.

He barely turned and when he heard the sound of joy from the man something

similar to peace embraced him, something more than the heat, than the bark of

the dog. He was walking away when the other scream reached him. When he

turned his head he remembered that he didnt had luck. A couple of boys were

fighting with the old man.

- Let it go! they were yelling

One had yellow chains on his wrists. Alfredo ran and arrived when they snatched

the ticket from the old man. He never knew where the bravery of trying to take

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the ticket away from the boys came from. While he was struggling with one, the

other took his hand to his belt. The jackknife came out, small, but as if it came

out of the air. It seemed harmless, panting, sweaty. It seemed to block the

rhythm of the words.

- What do you want asshole, huh, what did you loose? Now, go fuck

yourself, leave.

He stood still. The people around them started walking fast.

- Are you deaf? Stupid ass.

The one with the jackknife took some steps towards him. Alfredo didnt move.

He was probably no older than eighteen but with the jackknife he seemed

older.

- Hey, bitch, can you listen? he picked him with the knife.

- I can give you a ticket with more money.

He said it like that. The kid reacted and Alfredo felt his blood pressure drop.

- Men

- Yes, I can, but give him that one.

- And if not?

- I know were is one for a hundred thousand pesos

- A hundred thousand? the eyes of the boy were wide open and he nudge

his friend

- Are you serious man?

- If not, you can come back and you can take the money from the old man.

- One goes and the other stays.

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- Sure.

The eyes of the dog gave him chills. Most likely it had lost a lot of puppies in its

life. They walked a lot of tents down until they arrived to Jurez Avenue. The

ticket with a hundred thousand pesos, if no one had bought it, should be in the

store by Isaac Garza. The boy was right next to him, silent, impatient; the handle

of the jackknife showed itself obscenely on top of the belt as if the blade had

dived into the pants. They didnt walk far to find the store. Alfredo was relieved

when he found the ticket.

- That one from the corner.

- Ok, go ahead get it he heard.

On their way back, he gave it to him. The boy scratched it with the knife and

when the amount showed up three times, the jackknife jumped out of joy. A

sensation of annoyance emerged in the street and Alfredo had no clue on what

to do even when he saw the look of happiness in the boy. When they arrived the

old man was still on the floor. He started to get nauseas because of what had just

happened. He should have let them go. I know how to find other tickets. I should

have let them go. Damn luck. I am so stupid. The boys ran down the street and

they got lost between the shops. They had also taken the ticket with the five

thousand pesos.

Before knowing about his gift, he liked going to the stores. Upstairs the people

bought their tickets. There they would scratch it and throw them in the trash. Poor

fellows, he thought, they should work. They would have more fun at lottery. One

time he had lost at YAK and he was so happy when he was left with no money.

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He didnt like loosing but he hated surprises. He was certain, that deep down

inside everyone knew that in lottery you play for loosing; you see how much you

loose and not see how much you win. But still people will showed up with a wave

of hope, ticket at hand. Now I am going to screw them he said, when the kids ran

away with both tickets, with the price. When he left, the old man and the dog

looked at him with displeasure. I have never had luck; now let the others have it.

He used to leave early to the lottery stores, and walk without a particular

destination, visiting groceries, stands and booths. Sometimes, during the

afternoons, he could see in the asphalt a warm wave expand when the trucks let

out the air, the smog something warmer than the heat of the afternoon, an

overheated air inside the machines, shredder, and swallowed by the combustion.

Until he found the winning ticket without a care of how much it was, He would

buy it. He would throw it in the first trashcan. Sometimes he would pile some and

burn them in his house. Luck. Blah. When he ran out of money, he would cash a

winning ticket and he would buy another. It didnt take long for the venders to

recognize him, in separate him the strings. Lets see, which one do you want

today sir? They would ask him happily. Lets see, which one? This one? Of

course, sir. he will put up the ones that you want. For the next time. Yes, he

would answer, for the next time. He never counted how much money he threw in

the trash; the more, the better.

He would tare up the tickets as he wished. He would go to a vender. How many

do you want, sir? Do you want five more? You are going to take them all? Sir!

Thank you, you made my day! He will tore them into pieces and throw them to

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the streets. When is this going to end? He would ask impatiently to himself but

the winning tickets will keep showing themselves to him and he kept tearing

them, with pleasure when he remember those two boys and with annoyance

when he thought that nothing would have happened if he hadnt felt sorry for the

old man. Liliana kept reproaching him, but her words didnt stop him. Pity is

trash, he would tell himself. Poor devils, he would make fun of people who would

scratch their tickets with hope and frenzy; scratching but they would never find

luck.

One afternoon, while he was going to a store on the newspaper a story caught

his eye. In an accident two guys had killed themselves. He recognized them

immediately. They had turn over in a dry bed of the Santa Catarina River. The

news had the comments of the mother: nothing would have happened to her kids

if it wasnt for the money they won in one of those lottery tickets in which you

scratch to find fortune. The picture showed the thief with the jackknife when he

was younger, when he was fifteen and next to him the shot of the car on the

rocky bed. The blood was all over the twisted grill and the rocks. He arrived

home depressed, upset. He only got up to continue looking for tickets and tearing

them up.

- You havent torn it, right? Liliana asked the instant she arrived.

- No

- Ok, lets see

- Is it going to be over? asked Alfredo while Liliana was scratching the

ticket. He remembered the fallen tits of the dog, the crashed car in the bed

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of the river. It took them more than two hours to take the bodies out. He

went to the funeral and the only thing that it occurred to him was to give

the mother of the two kids another ticket. The woman tore it in front of the

coffins.

- I am certain Lilian told him, who didnt stop scratching. The numbers

appear little by little.

A million. He could do wonders with a million. Alfredo asked himself if they had

that type of games in New Zealand, while the coin was scratching the area and

Liliana was letting her hair loose. When she finished scratching, they cleaned it

carefully. They both looked at the surface. He could still see the poles of the

yachts in the bay of Auckland, but these ones disappear little by little as a mirage

that vanished between the numbers without pairs.

Archers from Babylonia

To Hctor and Pepe, my cousins.

We liked the street Salazar Malln because it was wide and because barely any

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cars passed by when we played soccer. During rainy afternoons it became a

strait of hopes that a truck will pass by and will bring up some waves. In this

street we were happy and owners of the four blocks. We discover Salazar

Malln, almost by accident, while we were taking an alternative route to the

school. Before, every time that we dare to walk further from our block either the

kids from the Gardenia or the Camelia Street, were the tortillera is at, will chase

us with their bikes. We would always end up running away.

Sometimes, during the afternoons, the sky will turn red and black while someone

would read about ancient heroes. The oldest ones, we wished to be Ulysses or

Hector and the youngest wanted to be our squire. In brave archers of Babylonia

we would become when, riding their Apaches, the kids from Camelia street would

show up. We would throw them invisible darts that didnt do anything to them. But

when we found Salazar Malln everything was different. Finally a neutral

territory, what we always wanted, but all of it didnt last long: the kids from Limn

lived near by. Not only did they take strolls, but they also threw fireworks and

stones at us. We always ran away from the horseman from Limn, Gardenia, and

Camelia.

After a fight, when one of us fell while running away and glass got into his arm,

we left our block. We anxiously wanted the war every time we will see the

bandage but the fear imposed itself. Something different, said one. We need

something different.

Around those days Jorge arrived to our block, he was an older boy. We liked him

because aside from lending us his toys and climb the fig tree of doa Esther, he

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would talk to us about his town. He liked us because we would listen to him. He

said that he would have like to have met us in his town. He moved from the town

to the city because they didnt want his mother anymore. They would say things

to her, he would tell us; one time they slapped her in the main square. That is

why we moved here.

His voice described big fields with the sent off fried corn during the cold weather

and were dogs ran until they were tired. He would tell us about rabbit hunting

season, ponds were you could easily see fishes, trucks, and other things. He was

always the first one to come out and play and the last one to leave. His mom

worked during the nights and Jorge went home when he wanted.

With him, we finally became Ulysses and Hector, in fiercely archers from

Babylon, and we went back to our old habits. We went back to Salazar Malln.

The war began one afternoon and ended one week later, with the fight of the kids

from Limn, Gardenia, and Camelia. Jorge was always in the first line ready with

the pellet gun or the tirafichas. All of us behind him. The stones rose lightly and

they fell. More than one cried. With our victory we didnt had to hide any more

when we had to go get the tortillas nor run from any stone. We even dare to walk

by Camelia when all of the kids went out to play marbles. It was like that, with

that war, how we conquer Salazar Malln.

The street had no houses, aside from the neighborhood, a factory, and a

hardware shop. Jorge praised it: ideal partner to be with rolling wagons and start

running. During the afternoons we would go there to play soccer. I am Rito Luna,

shouted one when they received the ball. I am Wislon Tadei, yelled another

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kicking the ball. I am abuelo Cruz. We would give each other name: Reinaldo

Geldini, Hctor Becerra, the Wama Contreras, and the unforgettable Baha.

We were the Pandilla from Monterrey, champions after defeating the Tampico

Madero.

We stopped going to catechism. From the neighborhood, we rarely saw anybody.

The youngest one would check the door and he will yell if any of the drunks

would come out and who sometimes would give us money. One afternoon one of

the ladies from the neighborhood offered us a job. Since then, she will let us go

to the houses to kill rats and any other insect that we found. It didnt last long. We

would always scream and the women that were taking naps would wake up mad

with their almost see-through robs, like the veils of some saints at the church.

Next to Salazar Malln there was a pasture, some trees that gave green and

small seeds. We gather a lot of ammunitions and we perfected our weapons.

With the help of books, we practiced the movements of Hannibal of Cannes and

Alexander the Great in Arbela. Jorge was the general and technical director.

There goes Hannibal against the Limn. There goes Reinaldo Geldini on one

extreme. One Saturday we finished the weapons, the practices, and we went to

war. We forced the Gardenia to lock themselves. With canons and rockets, the

latest fireworks from Christmas, we blocked the way out for the kids from

Camelia. Then we went after the Limn. It was raining this afternoon and the

water was over the sidewalk. We found them playing. It was a piece of cake, said

one and that was our first mistake. The second: spread out. They confronted us.

They attacked with stones. We looked for shelter behind a wagon, while the kids

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from Limn were hiding and approaching, approaching and hiding. The rest of us

were backing up, while the screams were reaching us under the rain.

- Hit him! Hit him in the head! Hit him! The tallest one.

We had no idea at what moment it happened, maybe when we were running to

our homes or when we turned our backs to re-group between the cars. We left

him. When we he arrived to the street, Jorge had a hand on his neck. His face

was pale. The blood mix with water had messed up his shirt. Someone said to go

and get his mom but he said not to. He looked at his house, where no one was

there and he began to cry. No one said anything when Jorge grabbed a rock and

threw it to the door of his house. After we went home and dried ourselves, more

than one saw that it took a while for Jorge to walk inside his house. Then he

didnt come out for a while.

After a week we went to see him. His mom opened the door: a very elegant

woman that had a lot of perfume. She had a short dress; you could see her legs.

She smiled at us very kindly but then she left. In the living room we heard when

she said goodbye to Jorge, and then we heard him screaming and then her. It

seemed as if she was hitting him. When she left she was still smiling but

something in her eyes scared us.

The walls of the room didnt have a Christ or Virgins. It smelled like a prison.

Jorge was watching television. He was glad that we had visited him and he

couldnt avoid the fact that we found him crying. The little one gave him the

result of the war: the kids from the Gardenia went back to their old habits, we

didnt have ammunitions for the pellet gun, and a rolling wagon kept messing up.

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Jorge listed as if he didnt care. Someone asked just to ask something:

- Where did you mom go?

Jorge spit on the side of the bed. It was as if his eyes had grown from a sudden

wrath and then shook his head from one side to the other, without saying

anything. We felt an immense pity for him, there, all by himself, weighed down by

our looks and with his mom mad. Nevertheless, the silence that followed our

question became into something sharpening, warm, as a blow in the face.

Jorges lips were shaking and we felt uncomfortable with his anger. We were

leaving when she came back. She stared at us annoyed. Behind her, a man

walked in. He was smoking.

- They are a couple of kids the lady said just like my son and the man

showed a yellow smile and crushed his cigarette with his shoes.

Then the mom looked at us.

- It is time for you to leave she said, then Jorge got up from his bed and

they started screaming at each other again.

We left the room scared because of screams and the smile of the man that took

us to the door. He had some keys in his hands and he was playing with them. He

had just barely showed us out, when he looked through the window as if to check

if we were still there. Then he started laughing really loud and closed the window.

We stayed there without doing anything and then we sat in front of the house.

The youngest one asked:

- And Jorge?

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After a while the lights on the block turned on but in the house they were off. It

was dark for a long time; while we were silent we were amazed at the hatred of

Jorge and his mother, of Jorge who had showed us to think beyond the world of

our small neighborhood.

Quiet! You are not like Anita

Said Javier, her husband.

Martha watched in the television when Ana reached the goal. The Mexican had

won. Once again she was going to kiss her biceps to show her power. Martha

extended her arm to reach the cup with peanuts, which was on top of the table;

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they tasted sour.

Since the Mexican had won the Golden League, Javier kept running around.

Martha could barely remember the triumphs of Ral Gonzlez the

mathematician in the 1984 Olympics but Javier made it a point now to kept her

inform of all of the news regarding Gacela de Sonora that would come in

Milenio and in El Norte.

Like a quiet rumor, as a championship of the sonorense was near Javier would

come home with some news about Anitas childhood. That was the name that

she had given her and the name floated in her lips with pride: A n i t a. And now,

when he got comfortable in the couch, the competition was over, after giving a

sip to his beer, Javier continue the comparison.

- You have never had any dreams. Do you think that the dream of a

champion is to get married? Yeah right - he attacked while Ana was

receiving flowers, while she took a deep breath, while she recovered

herself You only think about going to your mothers. Like that, seriously,

you cant. Anita is not with her mother every place she goes. She goes,

she shows to the track, puts on the aerodynamic glasses, she leaves, she

runs, and she wins.

Javier took another zip to the bottle. Desperately, even though the windows

and the door, where the light comes through, were open the heat attached

itself to the walls. There were no more nuts and Javier burped when he

unbuckled his belt. The fan on the side blew out a breeze that disappeared

with the stillness of the afternoon. Martha got up and walked to the kitchen.

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On the table, with shaky hands she said:

- Damn Ana

It didnt take long for Javier to get anotherIndio

- The problem with women like you speaking sarcastically is that you

are never happy. But I tell you. There is the door

- One day

- Comon, go ahead.

Javier played soccer every Sunday. He would get up early and would leave

either cold or hot to the fields in Len XIII dressed for the game: his soccer shoes

with their tongues out, the socks on top of the shin guards, red shorts, his shirt of

the Rayados de Monterrey; and he wouldnt return until late at night, half drunk

half stubborn and wanting to make love.

Martha hated Sundays. When they were dating she would go to the field with

him. She was curious about fat dark skinned soccer players dressed in colorful

uniforms. It is like a carnival, she would say, when men sheathed in sky blue,

orange, black with bright yellows, red with green stripes, or purple with black

number t-shirts paraded themselves in front of her; men with sudden blazes of

fire, with furious tigers in their chest. Javier had strong legs. He wanted to play

for the Rayados.

One Sunday, years ago, she went back with him. The field seemed as if they had

disappeared invaded by the housing state. At the end, where they use to buy

tostadas and orange juice, houses were being built under a black cloud. Also

Javier had changed. Her husband, with a robust beer belly, now moved with the

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stubbornness and an infuriating slow pace as that as of an armadillo. He would

take the lonely ball to loose it in the touchline. If not, they would take the ball

easily from him or it will hide between his feet. The old habits and the pain

gestures had grown into a theatrical performance that they surprised no one. At

the second half he didnt return to the field and from the touchline, he paid

attention to the in and outs of the players and ball with the midday sun over his

back. He stayed there with his head down, nostalgic, doubting if he should stay

or go and see how the others played.

- Where would you go? Javier told her in the living room, when he saw

her by the door with a wrinkled brown dress and a shell bracelet in her

wrist. Let me see, with your mother?

- I wished and you would leave she answered, - with another I would

have

- What would you have? Huh?

- Kids! I would have kids.

- You dont understand he answered and Martha remembered the

insomnia, the sticky sweat in the bed You dont understand.

When she returned she sat next to him and began reading a magazine. The

drowsiness made her sleepy. Javier was flipping channels rapidly, indecisive. In

the streets a person selling balloons passed by and in the open door some red

and yellow balloons appeared with their silly and round happiness.

- But as much as you hate it you are my beautiful Martha Javier told her at

then he turned off the television. Martha cursed herself the moment that

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he put his arms around her waist and brought her close to him.

The smell of beer was on her face while she was reading the magazine with the

gossip of the actors. Javier interrupted her while she was finishing the test: How

much do you stand your boyfriend? She let him take her by his hands. The first

kiss felt as a marathon run with a lot of effort, a languishing marathon, without

water, with sun. While Javier was kissing her, she imagined the mathematician

giving that last turn in the Coliseum in L.A. The magazine was on the shoulder of

the couch and in the page there was a woman smiling unaware of anything,

motionless.

She didnt close her eyes when he was kissing her. She was bored. She looked

at the door and she noticed that the street was empty, the ash trees were

providing shadow for the pavement, and at the end the popular hill was extremely

green. I wish I could leave, she thought while Javier was kissing her and pressing

her breasts.

- The door is open he told her -. I am going to close it.

- No she answer -. Leave it like that, let them see us.

On a Saturday, weeks before, while Martha was finishing washing the clothes

Javier arrived before usual. He couldnt hide his content, when he showed her an

envelop with a strip. When she got up to cook and prepare the meal, Javier

slapped her on the butt.

- We are going to eat out. Go and get ready.

- How come?

- I am going to leave some papers with some friends, lets see if Anita is

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going to win another race and then we got it.

- Is she going to run at this time?

- She is in Europe and it is nighttime over there.

She didnt feel like getting dress. Anita, Anita, hopefully and you will break your

legs so he could leave me alone, she told herself while putting on her earrings.

The clear sky allowed her to recognize from far away the antenna of the

television on of the hill of Silla. Who knows how long it will take for Ana to run all

the way up? Forty-eight seconds? Two days? Could the mathematician clime

up there without getting tired?

They got on a taxi and Javier sat in the front, happy like a kid. He told the driver

to take them down town, to Ocampo and Zaragoza.

- Where are we going? she asked

In the Reforma Javiers friends had reserved a placed close to the television. She

stood for a while in front of the door while he was going to say hello to his friends.

- What are you doing there? Come on, come her he said smiling.

The place was more or less empty. The conversation was getting lauder and the

fans were throwing the words to all of the corners. Before starting to get bored

she noticed a table of three men, hitting almost forty, and a kid, who was not

older that twenty-five, which caught her attention. There were some books on the

table but their eyes were stuck on the television. Javiers friends were unsure of

how to begin the conversation they began with the forwardness of an unfortunate

tie in the world cup in 1994 between Mexico and Italy. Martha had fallen into a

profound boredom without anyone to talk; all of the sudden in the television Ana

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Guevera showed up running to the infinite. Hopefully she will loose. I should have

stayed home. If it wasnt because he is taking me to dinner afterwards.

- She comes out of the 3rd lane. It is not the best one but from that one she

can see her rivals. Mainly the Jamaican. That one can be a problem said

Javier with a sense of great concern-. She ran with the deer from her

island.

Martha closed her eyes and wished she wasnt there instead she was running

those forty-eight seconds far away from her life. The darkness seemed eternal. It

seemed that in that time, if it measured, a lot of things could happen. She tried to

imagine Ana as a house wife but she couldnt. She was always running. How

long would it take me to run 400 miles? She asked herself? She made the

calculations. She tried to get comfortable in the chair. She even calculated that

nine moths would last too long; they would be like a second. She tried to guess

how many races Ana could win in nine months y figured out that they would be

alot. She didnt set an exact number nor how many miles she needed so she

could beat Anita but she did compared the number of attempts for getting

pregnant, how many times she heard: you are not like Anita

- I hope she falls she said when she heard that the race had barely

started and she covered her eyes, Javier stared at her in shock.

Applauses were heard and every one turned their heads to the television. Ana

got the first place. Without taking off her glasses, the runner kneels to the ground

and kissed her biceps while the television cameras lighten up her face.

Martha couldnt stop watching the images even though the pinch was burning her

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leg. Javiers fingers had easily found her skin and now he gave her two and then

three fast pinches but the fourth one was slow, so slow like forty-eight seconds

without a hurry, with delay, meanwhile on the table they toasted for the triumph of

the gacela de Sonoro, the world champion of 400 miles.

The house had drowned in the light of dusk. Now she looked at the door closed.

The sound of the kids playing in the streets came inside the house through the

window. She imagined them hiding between the cars, chasing the ball. She

raised her skirt up to her waist and watched carefully her smooth skin and soft

muscles. How many times I could have left? She asked herself while she smelled

her hands with the scent of semen.

She had at hand the gossip magazine. She opened it where the answers of the

tests were. How much do you stand your boyfriend? She had left it inconclusive.

If the majority is a you are an independent woman. You set your limits. Dont

forget that love is for the two. Keep it up. If the majority is b Be careful. Your

space is defined but sometimes you cannot allow others to intrude in your life.

Remember that you are important. If the majority is cDanger. You allow too

many intrusions from your boyfriend. If you continue like that you will allow

injurious behavior. Get away from that person. Martha didnt close the magazine.

They should put that test under the name of: Dont dazzle yourself with the first

ass; she said it quietly, as if she was saying it to someone.

She got up and prepared dinner. Javier came down right after taking a shower.

She gave him a plain kiss and asked herself how much longer she could stand all

of that. Then they went to eat in the living room but Martha went and opened the

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door.

- So that the air can flow she said I am tired of this imprisonment.

In the television they were showing the same old shows but at moments there

was one that talked about what the antelope of Nairobi ate, which caught his

attention. Javier hugged her and didnt let her go until he fell asleep and then she

was able to leave his side. She heard his snores and gases. He nodded when

she sent him to bed and then she came into terms with Ana Guevara. Who

knows where the runner was at that moment, in what wonderful part of her

glorious life. After that Martha checked the answers from the test, most of the

answers were a but in reality the majority were c; she imagined the child that they

didnt had and never will. She raised her skirt but she couldnt find traces of the

pinches. She could barely remember the fingers squeezing her. You are not like

Anita. You do not have dreams, nor aspirations.

She entertained herself for an hour cleaning the kitchen and when she came

back, she watched television going quickly through the channels where they sold

girdles, knifes, and batteries for the kitchen. She left it in one of those channels

where they were selling shaving creams. A beautiful actress was walking in a

levee while she was talking about the benefits of the product. There were

interviews of famous and everyday people. She slid her hands between her legs.

She turned off the television when she opened the door to the bedroom. Javier,

with his underwear walked right in front of her. She listened when he went to the

kitchen and when he came back to bed. Far away up high on the hill, the red light

of the antenna blinked. She wanted to have a kid, longing to have dreams. She

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looked in the streets for a reason to escape. She would run forty-eight seconds

through that street. She would run away as fast as she could to a different life, to

another world where the tests from the magazines where true, where Javier

could stand playing sixty minutes every Sunday. She was thinking about that,

when the headlights of a car appeared in the street and minutes later they

stopped in front of her house. The driver called her.

- How do I get to La Pastora Avenue? he asked and sounded frustrated,

as if he had been lost for hours.

- Is that way she pointed to the end of the street, towards a street from the

neighborhood go all the way to the end, after that turn to your left and

there you will see a church. It is over there she told him that aware that

there was no left turn or a church -. There take Acapulco and then you are

on your way.

- Thank you answered the man.

She saw him leave. She waited a couple of minutes for him to come back but he

never did. While she went inside she wonder how much longer he would be lost

in the neighborhood and it seemed to her that a whole life would be insufficient to

be lost in those streets, a life without triumphs. Before she walked inside, she

saw the houses. A lot of them had the windows open so the fresh air would get

in. In the dark, the front of the houses looked like somber skeletons. She

imagined the beds and the men like Javier and the women like her, sharing the

same roof and she thought of the kids sleeping in small beds and she caressed

her womb that was as empty and dark as the streets. Then she went to sleep,

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she turn off the light, she went up the stairs without looking back towards the

door where the cold air of the dawn snick in, the door where you could see the

antenna in the hill that sometimes seemed far and others further away.

TO SEE THE CLOUDS

To Cordelia

- Protect me on this day said Perla quietly.

She wanted to see well inside even though there was not a lot of light and when

her eyes got used to it, she was able to find her calendar with the picture of some

grey clouds under the altar of Saint Jude Thaddeus.

When she got up, the cold air of the house hit her neck.

- And dont let me make any mistakes she added.

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Today was the day that she had to visit Ignacio. She put on the worn out

sandals, she went to the closet, and took out a green dress that she loved so

much, one in which she looked so beautiful and attractive. She glanced at her

child watching his sleep and then looked at the door waiting for someone to

knock on the door. She saw him moving under the sheets. In other occasions

the sleep of her child her put her at ease.

She pulled the dress from the hanger and ironed it. After that she warmed the

water in a pot and when she prepared the coffee the smell of Ignacios life

invaded the room. She went to the table and sank a concha inside her mug. She

let it sit there until the damp part of bread was detached from the dried one; she

had breakfast while waiting. The dawn was rocking itself on the street and the

silence went through the wall of the house breaking itself in front of her, in front of

her green dress that had obtain a different color the night before, a change that

didnt suit it and had turned it into a dull brown, without life. She went to extend it

and put it on a chair. Bored but not sleepy, she walked towards the window and

pulled the curtain a little bit. Her breath fogged the window. In the street, the

streetlights lighted the path of the workers heading to the Axa Yazaki factory. The

men passed by quickly under the warm light of the streetlights and they will

vanish in the dawn. Sometimes the dogs will bark and the bark will get stuck in

the air.

During the week the name and the image of her husband tormented her. She

would remember him during unexpected moments: Ignacio with the newborn

baby, lying down while watching television, Ignacio waiting for her at the table

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with his hands together. Sometimes, against her will, she would hum to songs

that they would whistle. She went back to the table and when she sat down she

wanted to listen to something new, a new sound. She wanted to get up, go to

bed; she didnt want to stop for anything or anyone, nor anywhere. Then she

thought about her kid. She could still remember the first days without Ignacio.

The house had drowned itself in an unresponsive silence that didnt find room

between the furniture. The neighbors had marked their distance from her but a

few days later they started talking to her and showing their concern for the little

one. One day, Perla went to the factory to apply for a job but they rejected her.

She made ends meet with her sewing. The remnants came together in the

singer.

The kid moved in the bed and the folded green dress over the chair regains at

moment its known light. It almost shined in the shadows with the memory of an

immortal youth, with the strength of unaltered promises. She stared at it for a

while until a sudden knock on the door brought her back to reality. Nervous, she

walked towards it and showed her face. She found Marcial.

- You are going, right? the man said

He was wearing a uniform from the factory and under his arm he had a paper

bag with his lunch.

- Yes

- You are going to tell him? Asked Marcial and after that his hand made and

attempt to caress Perla

- I dont know

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- I am not going to knock on this door again. Tell me right now.

- If you like me you will come back.

When the sun came out Perla woke the kid up. While she was dressing him up,

she looked for the calendar with that blue sky and those big plump clouds, not

white thanks to the light. The sky took her breath away. Clouds so surreal, thick,

white, they must be fake. She went back to see the altar. The lid of the candle

was off. She prepared the kid some eggs that spread all over the pan with a

pleasant scent. Perla went into the bathroom while the kid was having lunch and

when she went outside she was wearing the green dress, it was impeccable. In

the bag, the calendar with the clouds.

They left without a hurry and they board the bus. The city disgusted her. The bus

went through an abandon land and at the end Perla saw the towers of the

factories. In the street she saw the taco booths, a newspaper vendor, and the

doors of the schools with noisy and screaming children during the week that

cheered a life that she felt so distant to her.

Perla looked at the cleared sky and, at moments, maybe one, Ignacio appeared

and disappeared in front of the pounding words that Marcial had told her before

she left.

- Ignacio is in jail and he is not coming out any time soon. They are going to

give him a lot of years for what he did. Come with me. The child needs a

father.

- The child has his father she answered -; instead you should tell me that

you need a wife.

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Downtown they boarded the prisons bus. Behind the dirty glass the sun burned

the interior of the old Dina. Perla opened the window and took her arm out

without taking her eyes off the blue sky. It looked like a smooth bead spread

almost falling to the earth.

They got down in front of an old building with an empty area and behind it the

walls of the prison. The walls were crowned by wire fencing and it had six thick

towers as its fists. In the main door the women swirled around. Here is where life

stops, they told her once, in those doors. For a moment she panicked when she

saw herself as a thin, old woman with the illusion of freedom, then she grabbed

the corners of her dress to calm herself. She didnt consider herself as an ugly

woman. She wasnt tall but she wasnt short. Sometimes, she amazed herself in

front of the mirror. She liked her dark skin; her small breasts, her small and

coppery color nipples, her firm and not so big butt. She liked her womb, a little bit

wavy. Maybe she would change her nose for a straighter one. She evoked

Marcial and remembered that she liked the way that he spied on her, without

missing any movement, any step, keeping the pace of her hips when she swayed

them.

She hated the rudeness of the inspection. The hands marked from the fights and

the job, with the smell of guns and bars, examining the child with a meticulous

rudeness. They went to a common room where families waited for the prisoners.

She moved her lips and straightened her dress when Ignacio came through the

door and then Perla let the child go, who ran towards his father.

- You didnt come last Sunday

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- I couldnt, the kid was sick.

- Oh! - said the man and put his hand on the childs head. thats why.

- Yes, thats why.

Ignacio laid his back on the chair and looked at the neckline of Perlas dress.

- I told Nestor and his mother if they could watch the kid for a while. I

reserved us a place.

Perla moved her face and took out the calendar with the image of the sky, then

placed it on the table.

- I got you this she said and gave him the paper I dont want to see any

more clouds.

The white clouds roughly brighten her face. Attached to that sky in the calendar,

Ignacio counted the Sundays marked in red from October until December.

- Maybe that calendar gives you hope. It doesnt work for me anymore

she said.

- What?

Ignacio put the paper back in the middle of the table.

- Marcial wants me to go with him.

The tension became unbearable while the noise of the crown was flooding their

ears like a distant outcry of others lives crashing theirs, brought and taken away

like the birds from the barred windows. Ignacio was red, he started to get

agitated. His fists were closing while listening to Perla but he didnt do anything

even though he looked like a bull ready to attack. He only took her hands and left

her. His hands were burning. The child kept quiet.

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- A lawyer came to see me. He can get me out in a couple of months. The

sentences can be reduced. He says that I have an opportunity and that

the boss is not going to let me die alone. I only have to have hope. You

still have the Saint Jude?

Inconvenient, the words began to crumble Perlas arguments. And if he gets out?

And if Marcial gets tired of waiting? And if I get fat and ugly? And if Marcial is not

nice to my kid? She felt so small in front of that man and remember that she was

a single woman with a child that needed to be fed, with a husband that was going

to get out of jail soon.

- I think about you everyday Ignacio said.

Then she remembered the birth of their child, the night that she first saw him in

the factory, and that trip to Tampico. The hope inside her began to grow and

expand itself as the sky and the clouds of that calendar. The child had a father.

She had a husband.

- What is the deal with Marcial? asked Ignacio firmly, when the visit

ended.

- I came to see you, right? and she grabbed his hands, with confidence.

- That dress looks very nice on you.

The calendar went back with her and she felt at ease to have it again under her

guard. She walked home; the printed sky in the paper overflowed the pocket of

her dress. When she went into the neighborhood with the sun of dusk to her back

and she closed the door all her hopes disappeared. The calendar went back to

its place with the missing Sundays of the month and the year surrounded by a

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red circle. She counted the missing dates and she told herself that she needed to

buy a new calendar and accordingly she would add Sunday by Sunday. The

annoyance overwhelmed her. This was never going to end, she told herself. She

unzipped her dress slowly and she remembered that with that dress she always

looked beautiful and attractive. She was going to change clothes when they

knocked on the door. She stood still while the knocks became persistent, like wild

heartbeats. The saint was kept hidden. The kid was playing under the niche with

a tow truck and he looked at her without saying anything, waiting for an order.

When they stopped knocking she felt like she had lost something. She was going

to sit down, then lid a candle for Saint Jude when someone yells:

- Perla! And the voice came from the deepness of the sky, the sleepless

nights, from the newspaper where it showed when Ignacio was captured

and the blood was all over.

- Should I open mom? said the little one.

Without knowing what to answer, Perla put her head down and looked at her

dress: it was really beautiful.

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THIEVES ON THE ROAD

Solitary. On top of the black cards I place the red ones. To a seven a six follows.

A queen of black hearts covers a red king and then a thief riding a horse covers

her. One over the other you match them in the computer screen; dragging to their

places, unaware of my task of finishing the report.

Ruben Soto, my boss, that pretended to be astute, came in the morning to

remind me:

- And the report, Reolita?

Reolita. That is how they call me. I dont like it. I prefer my name, my last name

but they never call me by my name: Alfonso Arreola. Instead, every single day I

heard, Reolita here, Reolita there. You are almost thirty years old, they see that

you are working as an assistant and they still call you reolita, toito, andresito,

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felipn, Mi boss, who is around twenty-five, took time to tell me about his new

conquest. He goes out with aperrita, which is how he likes to call his women.

- She is aperrita he said tight and with big breasts. She likes for me to

grunt like a pig when I want to kiss her.

Soto is not a bad person. He is a nice guy in which the job demands for him to be

an asshole. He likes to read, watches good moves, works out but his ego is

huge. Soto has his eyes on the executive jobs, he is always trying to get his way

up, seeking the prestige; but he lets others do his dirty job. I have heard him talk

with his friends, complaining about the pressure of his work. Of course, he never

tells them that we help him.

- No princess I heard him say to one of hisperritas dont worry, stop

working that is what the slaves are for.

That was my boss. He is going to walk inside the room with my great report.

Sometimes, when he gets bored he comes and tells me about his triumphs and

about what he has read. Right now, a novel: The thieves of Ro Frio and he is

there talking to me about Evaristos who put on their hats a la lorenzana before

they go and attack.

- It is impossible that a thief can always get his way Soto told me one time

while he was making his plans I am not a thief, but you will see how I will

make it in this business.

I would only listen to him and for a moment I wanted to put on the hat and ride a

horse and go and conquer all the little perritas that were not of my age, but

younger so I could teach them new things. Pick them young, Soto would say, the

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old ones have a frustrated soul for a man they couldnt find when they were

young. But I couldnt, the Evaristos and Soto where leaders, I was a subordinate

of a man that grunts like a pig when he kisses hisperrita. I look at the clock: four

fifty.

I dont like this job. But I cant complain. Sometimes I escape and I walk through

the avenue. I hunt women and if I see one that I like I tell her things. A nice

flirtatious remark could be a complement. I stop and when she leaves me behind

I turn so I can look at her with curiosity, motivated with the simple pleasure of

seeing a beautiful woman on the street, any day. Then I go back to the office and

I sit in front of my desk with the papers navigated from corner to corner, drowned

in formulas, faxes, and bills to collect.

I leave at six oclock and there is nothing bureaucratic about that. I had a friend

in the Secretary of Transportation, it was barely five fifty and that was already a

party, he would tell me. I opted for the happiness of six oclock in the afternoon.

Those are the little details that I like.

What I dont like. That can be listed easily. I dont like the lines to get inside the

bus, get always to the back of the bus so I dont have to give my sit to a woman. I

hate arriving at eight oclock in the morning and see those happy faces of the

women pasted with blush and lipstick with honest optimism and faith in men,

which will turn into decayed corps with the nuisance of the day, the reprimands of

the boss, the errands, the sun that comes through the dirty windows, and the

suffocating urine smell of the bathroom. At the end the coin will fall inside the well

and only a stifle sound will be heard, of something that could never be saved.

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You always loose, that is the truth; the important thing is how to hide the defeat.

At least, the data that I have to submit has to do with massaging the quarterly

losses. I only implement a chart to hide the other amounts. He got into a fight

with the suppliers, he covered the gross utility to get a better liquidity, decreased

the cost of what was sold, he cheated on the net sales, and finally everything

went smoothly. Oh yes how much we like to lie.

It is four thirty. They only call me to his office. He looks nervous behind his desk,

lost behind all that power. He doesnt smile to anyone while talking by the phone.

When he hangs up, he was calmer.

- Is the perrita he tells me. There is a funeral. Do you have the reports?

- Almost I answer and I wish I was far away, I wish I was one of the

bandits from Ro Frio tying the wagons.

- Well, hurry up boy and he smiles with his lips of a twenty-five year old, to

me a thirty-three year old man.

The other two managers dislike Soto. Ramos and Palomares have it against him.

His only salvation is the board. I go back to my place. The afternoon is so slow. I

barely got a 4221 in solitary. Maribel walks by anxiously taking a glance at me.

She notices in my face that I dont have nor share her worries.

I like Maribel for responsible and concerned. She wants to be someone. She told

me that one time that when we had coffee. She sat at the table, crossed her

strong legs, tight because of the stockings and told me, Reolita, I want to be

someone in life. I sat next to her. And what do you want to be? I asked. She

doubted for a bit. The avenue was full and the sun was hitting the buildings. I

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dont want to be like them, she said, and she pointed far, further from the large

window. I dont want to be always running around. I want to have interesting

friends, a degree, go to Europe, visit France, Paris.

I understood her. One time I wanted to be someone in the world, know places

and not be this expert at solitary, this one that sees the minutes pass like

horsemen when they chase the wagons down the road, bandits without scruples

eating their life away, killers giving massive blows. I wished that they had arrived

earlier or during the time that I wanted to eat the world, that time when I was in

love with Teresa.

Maybe is true love makes us be better. I remember the afternoons that I will

leave that office. The tumbledown sun agonized all over the horizon under the

dusty rain. The light slowly descended over on the buildings and lightened the

old and the new walls without distinction. The motors of the cars and the buses

whispered stories about the industry and progress.

He was leaving the school with Teresa imagining their future. I wanted to put my

own office and she wanted to put her elementary school. I am ashamed just by

remembering it, one afternoon we went to see an office for rent. It had a small

kitchen that smelled like pinol and a window that gave way to a terrace. The

place had a lot of potential despite the fact that it was narrow. I would only think

about the small kitchen. There would be a table for the coffee, an electric stove

so my employees could warm their food. My employees. Remembering about it

made me ashamed. But we didnt come back. I didnt have the money. You are

going to be a great accountant Teresa would tell me.

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After a while, we stop seeing each other and I never knew anything about her

and I doubt that I will now anything at all. It hurt me, but I recovered. I dont

understand those men that because of rejection they let their lives go. I pity them;

yes, I have to tell the truth. Here in the office there is no day that one of them

comes with his a long face because his girlfriend left him. They are sleepwalking

during weeks and then, even though they are active and radiant, something in

their eyes still shows their defeat.

It took me a while to learn that to live without complications it is necessary not to

bet in any dream. I have taken too long. Sometimes I think that my place in

society is always at the end of the bus, the last sit, live all the days behind, on

hold, with the sweet certainty of anonymity. But sometimes I get tired. I have

twelve years of being Roelita: damn name. Sometimes I wish to get out on the

road, to drive horses, assault the state-coach that goes to Veracruz and take the

money from the passengers. I am thirty-two years old and the truth, I have let a

lot of state coaches pass but I can still steal from the last convoy that goes by the

Ro Fro, I can still take any woman and dive in the fields.

The bad thing about the bosses is that they never see underneath them. They

are concern about what falls from the top, what they can catch, what they can

save at five oclock. It is going to be time. The sound of the traffic is the same

every single day. I get close to the window. Under there the cars are stock as if

they were bighting each other, rear-end against rear-end. There are people

sitting on the white benches of the plaza. There it is. The fight between my boss

and Ramos filled the dinning room with gossip. He was fighting over a new

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perrita from the loading area. Maribel gets up and comes to me.

- Do you have it?

- I am giving it the last revisions.

- They are screwed here she said bravely Hopefully they will give me

the job at that other place.

Hopefully they hire her anywhere. I remember her in the kitchen while she was

telling me about her aspiration. I hope her dreams come true. A lot of mine

havent come true and I have no problems, even though now I have priorities. I

just met a woman. Her name is Monica. She is twenty years old. She works in

some laboratory. Sometimes her look is like she had twenty thousand golden

pesos kept in the womb. I told her that I was a librarian. I told her about a novel:

the bandits of Ro Fro, of Payno. How much we like to lie. She doesnt read but

she liked to be with someone that did. It was five oclock. Soto got up, turn off his

cigarette, and smiled nervously. For twelve years they give a good settlement.

Her name is Monica, I already said it. I like her glasses, her thin body; I like how

she opened her eyes when she was surprised when I told her that one of the

thieves from the novel, the leader, needed to kill the lover of a woman and he

only had two ways: kill him with punches or kill the love of the lover with more of

love.

Soto comes out of his office. While he comes to me, he was straightening his suit

and tie as if he was tightening a hat a la lorenzana. The light of dusk brightens

half of his face.

- Did you finish it?

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- It is in the file.

- Good boy, I am behind.

I wish I could hear what Ramos and Palomares would tell him when they find out

about the files. I wish I could be there, when the pride of Soto fell when they

noticed all of the adjustments in the file. Then they will call me. I will plead. They

will fire me. Blah. It is the last breath of dignity before I sink again, one more

breath so I can then live with a dignifying air for the rest of my life. Or maybe not,

maybe it was the beginning of something else.

When the door of the meeting room closed I got up. I turned off the computer,

say goodbye, and leave before they call me or look for me. In the plaza I meet

with Monica. I told her to meet me there. I hugged her and she timidly accepted

the gesture. While walking I think of how much money they are going to give me

or if the perrita is not going to listen to the grunt of the pig.

- You didnt tell me Alfonso she told me, while we were walking to the

movies How did the guy from the gang of Ro Fro killed the lover of the

woman?

I didnt tell it to her since Soto didnt tell me anything anymore but how much we

like to lie to our perritas. How much we like to see them happy.

- He killed the love or her lover with more love he answered, and she grabbed

me tighter as if she wanted to protect herself from the sun that hides in the city. I

raise her chin and kiss her. I hope that Monica never reads. I dont want

surprises at this moment. Hopefully I am wrong and he leader of the gang

decided to kill the love of that woman the only way possible: by punches.

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THE SLOPE OF LOS TIRADOS

1

Can you see the slopes? Lets go farther. In the hot summer days when the skin

dries, the sweat burns, and be careful of carrying anything with your hands or

back, because then what you carry at the moment you go through the slopes it

gets heavier. People get extremely tired. They let go of their things, their bags.

That is why they call it the slope of los tirados. There are those that can throw

their bodies at the slope and never pick it up. It is a treacherous road, of people

that run away who carry the weight of blood on their shoulders. Are you going to

tell us when we are leaving? Passing those hills, can you see the three hills of

the slope? a road oftepetate that seems soft but that it is hard as metal follows

the road. The land was clear, even the rocks wanted to break themselves in two.

Only the alcayates grow there. Who knows where they get their water from? I will

tell you something: that slope owns the years that it has. Who knows how much

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blood it has drunk? Who knows the strength that it has drain from the travelers,

like the one that sips the last drop of juice from the oranges? There are no

vultures because it even takes their strength to fly. And that girl? You look in

love. You can see in her eyes that she has faith in you. Even though you can see

that you are afraid. That you can see it easily, feel it. When I saw you walk in the

cantina, I told myself: that one is running away. It is a special feeling. Yet one is

curious to know what you did. Go ahead you are not going to need a gun. You

shouldnt show her too much, is pretty the little thing.

Traveling light? That is not right. Those horses that you bring, those ones you

should change them, mainly the dark one, that one is not going to last and that

one is a problem. If you are running away I dont care; but I am not going to lend

you my saddle. We should have things straight since the beginning. Should we

go? Wake the girl up. Men! She has beautiful eyes, if you dont mind. It is better

to start when the sun hasnt come out yet. It is better to find it while walking out of

nowhere, waiting for us since the beginning. The road goes through the slope, it

goes up, it intertwines, it fights; but you can see it, it never stops. And if the road

never stops then we have a hoax in our hands. And what was her name again?

Dont get all worked out, it is just to know with whom I am traveling. Carolina?

Carolina what? hum! Look at that. That is a well-known name around this area.

2

There were two horses tied to a medlar-tree: one thin, dark, eaten by the flies;

and the other chestnut, sickly as well. I was walking, without anything on my

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shoulders. Hunger was my only treasure. I told myself: look at those horses and

now you need them. They seem not to have an owner. It would be a good time

for you to accomplish things. I sat in front of the horses. I like the eyes of the

horses. They look like peoples. I paid attention to the countrymen and the house:

the old house of Gaspar. Beautiful like any other. One time I went inside to

deliver some errands. The old man Samuel Gaspar is still alive. The boys and

the little girl were playing in the patio. It was a pity that the luck of Samuel ran

out. That happens.

Out of nowhere it got dark. The sky overcastted, overcast like those that bring

miseries. The dark and clumsy clouds tumble against each other. It began to

rain. People started to run while the dirt became as soft as cream. The water

turned into a shower. Three horsemen galloping stopped in front of don Samuels

house. Then they grabbed the horses and took the road to the down side of the

town. The cold air got in every breath I took. Ready, I told myself. I walked

towards the horses. Right in the middle of the road I heard the shot. The noise

came out of the house. In its good all times known as Casa Canela, because of

its color and the cinnamon trees in the patio. The horses got rowdy. A door from

the entrance was open and two people came out. I wanted to recognize them,

mainly the woman. The animals arrived. The man let them free and put the

woman on top of the grimy one, he got on the dark one. The animals behaved.

They barely felt the weight on their backs and they sharpen their ears, kicking the

ground with their forelegs as if they were injected with fire. Then they headed to

the upper part of the town. I heard the hoofs hitting the mod. That house is

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haunted, I said to myself. I remembered Don Samuels son: Felipe Gaspar. They

killed him in the patio of his house. The mourning lasted a while and they never

founded the killers.

On the streets the neighbors put the bars on the doors and closed the windows.

Under the heavy rain there was one that was not shot. The door looked black. No

one came out to put the bar down. The window whipped the door without closing

it once and for all. The slams of the door gave a deep sound, like shots under the

rain. I walked towards the house and stock my head out. I got chills. Inside, the

darkness had devoured everything. I saw the ladder, the hall that lead to the

main patio, a man on the floor. I got near. The blood came out of the hole from

his back. I didnt have anything in my stomach but I contained myself from

throwing up. The house still smelled like gunpowder and cinnamon. When the

wind closed the door behind me, three men showed up, the horsemen from

earlier. One had drawn his pistol. I thought, Felipe Gaspar, was killed right there.

Then one that had his pistol at hand got close and spit next to the body. He

glanced at me. The he turn right back to the others. Surely they knew whom they

had just killed.

3

I knew that you would come. I told myself. Maybe not. Maybe she will let me

down and not show up at all, but when you showed up from the corner of the

plaza with the horses I even respected you a little. I knew about your treason

because men like you, one can see treachery in there eyes even though they

arrive with fear. I knew it, Pepito. Dont forget it. And I waited for you. I am not

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afraid of you. I sent Nabor and his brothers far for that, so you wouldnt say, He

waited for me with the Revillas. That is going to hunt you forever. Nor even that

rain that is coming down is going to find you alive. I still remember the fist time

that you came here, to the Casa Canela. You seemed like a little animal, like

those that can be chocked with one hand. I have no clue when your claws came

out. I dont know when you got courage, or who stuffed your ears with arrogance

like pigs when they stuff themselves up with cob, the nerve to come and wind the

heart of my sister, you, a dead beat. Who would have said that someone would

come and challenge me in this house? Are you armed? They have taught you

well Pepito, but I will tell you one thing; it is going to be hard to kill me. Where

have you seen an ash tree fall with a blow? I buried my father, put back the

landmarks of the ranch, I build houses for the workers. With effort I built up again

the reputation of the familys name, Gaspar. I also gave an education to that one

that surely is listening right now. She is still blaming me for the death of Felipe.

She was always with him, right next to him, watching his sleep. One day I found

them kissing and imagined worse things. Curse our blood. Do you know what is

loath, how it climes from your stomach? You got nervous. Did I say something

that you didnt know? Be careful with the gun, Pepito. Dont let a loose shot

escape like it happened to me with my brother. It doesnt seem that you carry the

pants in this situation. Dont let me down. Felipe cried when his life was slipping,

All of the Days Behind

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Transcript of All of the Days Behind