Conversation in the Cathedral Page 3

  “Let’s get this animal inside, he’ll drive the whole street crazy,” and he barely kisses her. “Quiet, Rowdy.”

  He goes to the bathroom and while he urinates and washes his face he listens to Ana, what happened, sweet, what took you so long, playing with Rowdy, at least you found him, love, and he hears the happy barking. He comes out and Ana is sitting in the small living room, Rowdy in her arms. He sits down beside her, kisses her on the temple.

  “You’ve been drinking.” She holds him by the jacket, looks at him, half merry, half annoyed. “You smell of beer, love. Don’t tell me you haven’t been drinking, right?”

  “I met a fellow I haven’t seen in a hundred years. We went to have a drink. I couldn’t get away, sweet.”

  “And me here half crazy with worry.” He hears her plaintive, caressing, loving voice. “And you drinking beer with the boys. Why didn’t you at least call me at the German woman’s?”

  “There wasn’t any phone, we went to a dive.” Yawning, stretching, smiling. “Besides, I don’t like to keep bothering that crazy German all the time. I feel lousy, I’ve got an awful headache.”

  You deserved it, having kept her nerves on edge all afternoon, and she runs her hand over his forehead and looks at him and smiles at him and speaks to him softly and pinches one ear: you deserve to have a headache, love, and he kisses her. Would he like to sleep a little, should she draw the curtains, love? Yes, he gets up, just for a bit, falls onto the bed, and the shadows of Ana and Rowdy busying themselves about him, looking for himself.

  “The worst is that I spent all my money, love. I don’t know how we’ll get by till Monday.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. It’s good that the Chinaman on San Martín always trusts me, it’s good that he’s the nicest Chinaman in the world.”

  “The worst is that we’ll miss our movies. Was there anything good showing today?”

  “One with Marlon Brando at the Colina,” and Ana’s voice, far, far away, arrives as if through water. “One of those detective movies you like, sweet. If you want I can borrow some money from the German woman.”

  She’s happy, Zavalita, she forgives you for everything because you brought Rowdy back to her. He thinks: at this moment she’s happy.

  “I’ll borrow some and we’ll go to the movies, but promise me that you won’t ever have a few beers with your buddies without telling me.” Ana laughs, farther and farther away.

  He thinks: I promise. The curtain has one corner folded over and Santiago can see a chunk of almost dark sky, and imagine, outside, up above, falling down onto the houses and their elves, Miraflores, Lima, the same miserable drizzle as always.

  2

  POPEYE ARÉVALO HAD SPENT the morning on the beach at Miraflores. You look toward the stairs in vain, the neighborhood girls tell him, Teté’s not coming. And, as a matter of fact, Teté didn’t go swimming that morning. Defrauded, he went home before noon, but while he was going up the hill on Quebrada he could see Teté’s little nose, her curls, her small eyes, and he grew emotional: when are you going to notice me, when, Teté? He reached home with his reddish hair still damp, his freckled face burning from the sun. He found the senator waiting for him: come here, Freckle Face, they would have a little chat. They shut themselves up in the study and the senator, did he still want to study architecture? Yes, papa, of course he wanted to. Except that the entrance exam was so hard, a whole bunch took it and only a small few got in. But he’d grind and he’d probably get in. The senator was happy that he’d finished high school without failing any courses and since the end of the year he’d been like a mother to him, in January he’d increased his allowance from twenty to forty soles. But even then Popeye didn’t expect so much: well, Freckle Face, since it was hard to get into Architecture it would be better not to take a chance this year, he could enroll in the prep course and study hard, and that way you’ll get in next year for sure: what did he think, Freckle Face? Wild, papa, Popeye’s face lighted up even more, his eyes glowed. He’d grind, he’d kill himself studying and the next year he’d get in for sure. Popeye had been afraid of a deadly summer, no swimming, no matinees, no parties, days and nights all soaked up in math, physics and chemistry, and, in spite of so much sacrifice, I won’t get in and my vacation will be completely wasted. There it was, recovered now, the beach of Miraflores, the waves of Herradura, the bay of Ancón, and the images were as real, the orchestra seats in the Leuro, the Montecarlo and the Colina, as wild, the dance halls where he and Teté danced boleros, as those of a technicolor movie. Are you happy? the senator asked, and he quite happy. What a nice person he is, he thought as they went into the dining room, and the senator that’s right, Freckle Face, just as soon as summer’s over he’ll break his hump, did he promise? and Popeye swore he would, papa. During lunch the senator teased him, Zavala’s daughter still hadn’t given you a tumble, Freckle Face? and he blushed: a little bit now, papa. You’re too much of a child to have a girl friend, his old lady said, he should still keep away from foolishness. What an idea, he’s already grown up, the senator said, and besides, Teté was a pretty girl. Don’t let your arm be twisted, Freckle Face, women like to be begged, it had been awful rough on him courting the old lady, and the old lady dying with laughter. The telephone rang and the butler came running: your friend Santiago, child. He had to see him urgently, Freckle Face. At three o’clock at the Cream Rica on Larco, Skinny? At three on the dot, Freckle Face. Was your brother-in-law going to beat the tar out of you if you didn’t leave Teté alone, Freckle Face? the senator smiled, and Popeye thought what a good mood he’s in today. Nothing like that, he and Santiago were buddies, but the old lady frowned: that boy’s got a screw loose, don’t you think? Popeye raised a spoonful of ice cream to his mouth, who said that? another of meringue, maybe he could convince Santiago for them to go to his house and listen to records and call Teté just to talk a little, Skinny. Zoila herself had said so at canasta last Friday, the old lady insisted. Santiago was giving her and Fermín a lot of headaches lately, he spent all day fighting with Teté and Sparky, he’d become disobedient and he talked back. Skinny had come out first in the final exams, Popeye protested, what more did his old man and old lady want?

  “He doesn’t want to go to the Catholic University but to San Marcos,” Señora Zoila said. “That upset Fermín very much.”

  “I’ll bring him to his senses, Zoila, don’t you get involved,” Don Fermín said. “He’s at the foolish age, you have to know how to lead him. If you fight with him, he’ll get all the more stubborn.”

  “If instead of advice you’d give him a couple of whacks, he’d pay more attention to you,” Señora Zoila said. “The one who doesn’t know how to raise him is you.”

  “She married that boy who used to come to the house,” Santiago says. “Popeye Arévalo, Freckle Face Arévalo.”

  “Skinny doesn’t get along with his old man because they don’t have the same ideas,” Popeye said.

  “And what ideas does that snotnose still wet behind the ears have?” The senator laughed.

  “Study hard, get your law degree and you can dip your spoon into politics,” Don Fermín said. “Right, Skinny?”

  “Skinny gets mad because his old man backed Odría in his revolt against Bustamante,” Popeye said. “He’s against the military.”

  “Is he a Bustamantist?” the senator asked. “And Fermín thinks he’s the genius of the family. He can’t be much of that if he admires that weak sister Bustamante.”

  “He might have been a weak sister, but he was a decent person and he’d been a diplomat,” Popeye’s old lady said. “Odría, on the other hand, is a coarse soldier and a half-breed.”

  “Don’t forget that I’m an Odríist senator,” the senator laughed, “so stop half-breeding Odría, silly.”

  “He’s got the notion of going to San Marcos because he doesn’t like priests and because he wants to go where the people go,” Popeye said. “He’s really doing it because he’s an againster. If his folks t
old him to go to San Marcos, he’d say no, Catholic University.”

  “Zoila’s right, at San Marcos he’d lose his contacts,” Popeye’s old lady said. “Boys from good families go to the Catholic University.”

  “There are enough Indians at the Catholic University to give you a good scare too, mama,” Popeye said.

  “With all the money Fermín’s bringing in now that he’s buddy-buddy with Cayo Bermúdez, the squirt won’t need any contacts,” the senator said. “O.K., Freckle Face, on your way.”

  Popeye left the table, brushed his teeth, combed his hair and went out. It was only two-fifteen, it was better to go along marking time. Aren’t we pals, Santiago? come on, give me a little push with Teté. He went up Larco blinking in the sunlight and stopped to look in the windows of the Casa Nelson: those deerskin moccasins with brown shorts and that yellow shirt, wild. He got to the Cream Rica before Santiago, settled down at a table from where he could see the avenue, and ordered a vanilla milk shake. If he couldn’t convince Santiago to go listen to records at his house they would go to the matinee or to gamble at Coco Becerra’s, what was it that Skinny wanted to talk to him about. And at that moment Santiago came in, long face, feverish eyes: his folks had fired Amalia, Freckle Face. The doors of the branch of the Banco de Crédito had just opened and through the windows of the Cream Rica Popeye watched the revolving doors swallow up the people who had been waiting on the sidewalk. The sun was shining, the express buses went by loaded, men and women fought for taxis on the corner of Shell. Why had they waited until now to throw her out, Skinny? Santiago shrugged his shoulders, his folks didn’t want him to think that they were firing her because of the business of the other night, as if he was so stupid. He seemed even thinner with that mournful face, his jet black hair raining over his forehead. The waiter came over and Santiago pointed to Popeye’s glass, vanilla too? yes. After all, it’s not so bad, Popeye cheered him up, she’ll get another job soon, they need maids all over. Santiago looked at his nails: Amalia was a nice person, when Sparky, Teté, or I were in a bad mood they let off steam abusing her and she never told the folks on us, Freckle Face. Popeye stirred his milk shake with the straw, how can I convince you to go listen to records at your place, brother-in-law? he sucked in the froth.

  “Your old lady made her complaints to the senator’s wife about the San Marcos business,” he said.

  “She can take her complaints to the King of Rome,” Santiago said.

  “If San Marcos upsets them so much, enroll at the Catholic University, what difference does it make to you?” Popeye said. “Or are they tougher at the Catholic University?”

  “My folks don’t give a damn about that,” Santiago said. “They don’t like San Marcos because there are half-breeds there and because there’s a lot of politics, only for that reason.”

  “You’ve got yourself into a bind,” Popeye said. “You’re always against everything, you put everything down and you take things too much to heart. Don’t give your life a bitter taste just for the hell of it, Skinny.”

  “Put your advice back in your pocket,” Santiago said.

  “Don’t act as if you were so smart, Skinny,” Popeye said. “It’s all right for you to be a grind, but there’s no reason for thinking that everyone else is a half-wit. Last night you treated Coco in a way that made me wonder why he didn’t kill you.”

  “If I don’t feel like going to mass I don’t have to make excuses to that sexton,” Santiago said.

  “You’re playing the atheist too now,” Popeye said.

  “I’m not playing the atheist,” Santiago said. “The fact that I don’t like priests doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in God.”

  “What do they say at home about your not going to church?” Popeye asked. “What does Teté say, for example?”

  “That business about the Indian girl has got me all bitter, Freckle Face,” Santiago said.

  “Forget about it, don’t be a fool,” Popeye said. “Speaking of Teté, why didn’t she come to the beach this morning?”

  “She went to the Regatas Club with some girl friends,” Santiago said. “I don’t know why you haven’t learned your lesson.”

  “The redhead, the one with freckles,” Ambrosio says. “Senator Emilio Arévalo’s boy, sure. Did she marry him?”

  “I don’t like people with red hair or people with freckles.” Teté made a face. “And he’s both. Ugh, it makes me sick.”

  “What upsets me most is that they fired her because of me,” Santiago said.

  “You should have said because of Sparky,” Popeye consoled him. “You didn’t know what yohimbine was.”

  Santiago’s brother was only called Sparky now, but before, during the time he decided to show off at the Terrazas Club lifting weights, they called him Sparky Tarzan. He’d been a cadet at the Naval School for a few months and when they expelled him (he said for having struck an ensign), he drifted around for quite a while, given over to gambling and drinking and playing the tough. He would show up at San Fernando Square and go over menacingly to Santiago, pointing to Popeye, Toño, Coco, or Lalo: come on, Superbrain, with which one of them did he want to match his strength. But since he went to work in Don Fermín’s office he’d become very proper.

  “I knew what it was but I’d never seen it,” Santiago said. “Do you think it drives women crazy?”

  “One of Sparky’s stories,” Popeye whispered. “Did he tell you it drives them crazy?”

  “It does, but if you lay a hand on them you could turn them into a corpse, Sparky boy,” Ambrosio said. “Don’t get me into any trouble. Remember that if your papa catches on to it, I’ve had it.”

  “And did he tell you that with one spoonful any female would throw herself at you?” Popeye whispered. “Stories, Skinny.”

  “It would have to be tested,” Santiago said. “Even if only to see if it’s true, Freckle Face.”

  He was silent, with an attack of nervous laughter, and Popeye laughed too. They nudged each other, the hard thing was to find the one to do it with, excited, worn out, that was it, and the table and the milk shakes trembled with the quivering: they were crazy, Skinny. What had Sparky told him when he gave it to him? Sparky and Santiago got on like cat and dog and whenever he could Sparky played dirty tricks on Skinny and Skinny on Sparky whenever he could: it was probably one of your brother’s dirty tricks, Skinny. No, Freckle Face, Sparky had come home like an Easter angel, I won a lot of money at the track, and what was unheard of, before going to bed he went into Santiago’s room to give him some advice: it’s time for you to shake yourself up, aren’t you ashamed of still being a virgin, a big man like you? and he offered him a cigarette. Don’t be scared, Sparky said, have you got a girl friend? Santiago lied that he did and Sparky, worried: it’s time to devirginize you, Skinny, it really is.

  “Haven’t I been asking you all the time to take me to a whorehouse?” Santiago said.

  “You might catch something and the old man would kill me,” Sparky said. “Besides, real men earn what they get, they don’t pay for it. You play the know-it-all and you’re up on the moon when it comes to females, Superbrain.”

  “I don’t play the know-it-all,” Santiago said. “I attack when I’m attacked. Come on, Sparky, take me to a whorehouse.”

  “Then why do you argue with the old man so much? You get him all upset opposing everything he says.”

  “I only oppose him when he starts defending Odría and the militarists,” Santiago said. “Come on, Sparky.”

  “And why are you against the military?” Sparky asked. “What the fuck has Odría ever done to you?”

  “They came to power by force,” Santiago said. “Odría’s put a lot of people in jail.”

  “Only Apristas and Communists,” Sparky said. “He’s really been gentle with them. I would have shot them all. The country was a mess under Bustamante, decent people couldn’t work in peace.”

  “Then you’re not a decent person,” Santiago said, “because in Bustaman
te’s time you were bumming around.”

  “You’re asking for a whack, Superbrain,” Sparky said.

  “I’ve got my ideas and you’ve got yours,” Santiago said. “Come on, take me to a whorehouse.”

  “The whorehouse is out,” Sparky said, “but I will help you work it out with a woman.”

  “And do they sell yohimbine in drugstores?” Popeye asked.

  “Under the counter,” Santiago said. “It’s kind of illegal.”

  “A little bit in a Coca-Cola, on a hot dog,” Sparky said, “and you wait for it to take effect. When she starts to get a little restless then it’s up to you.”

  “How old do they have to be for you to give it to them, just for example, Sparky?” Santiago asked.

  “You wouldn’t be dumb enough to give it to a ten-year-old.” Sparky laughed. “You can to one who’s fourteen, but just a little. Except that at that age it won’t make it easier for you, you’ll get into a crazy mess.”