Conversation in the Cathedral (4 page)

“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 told 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
Bustamante
’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.”

“Is it real?” Popeye asked. “Couldn’t he have given you a little salt or sugar?”

“I tested it with the tip of my tongue,” Santiago said. “It hasn’t got any smell, it’s a powder with a little bite to it.”

On the street there was an increase in the number of people who were trying to get into the crowded taxis and express buses. They didn’t stand in line, they were a small mob waving their hands at the buses with blue and white grilles that passed without stopping. Suddenly, among the bodies, two tiny identical silhouettes, two heads of dark hair: the
Valler-riestra
twins. Popeye pushed the curtain aside and waved to them, but they didn’t see him or didn’t recognize him. They were tapping their heels impatiently, their fresh and tanned little faces kept looking at the clock on the Banco de Crédito, they must have been going to some matinee downtown, Skinny. Every time a taxi approached they went out onto the street with a determined air, but they always lost their place.

“They’re probably going by themselves,” Popeye said. “Let’s go to the matinee with them, Skinny.”

“Are you dying for Teté, yes or no, turncoat?” Santiago asked.

“I’m dying only for Teté,” Popeye said. “Of course, if instead of the matinee you want to go to your house and listen to records, I’m all for it.”

Santiago shook his head without enthusiasm: he’d got hold of some money, he was going to take it to the Indian girl, she lived around there, in Surquillo. Popeye opened his eyes, to Amalia? and began to laugh, are you going to give her your allowance because your folks threw her out? Not my allowance, Santiago snapped the straw in two, he’d taken a hundred soles from the piggy bank. And Popeye put a finger to his temple: heading right for the booby hatch, Skinny. It was my fault they fired her, Santiago said, what was so bad about giving her a little money? Even if you’d fallen in love with the Indian, Skinny, a hundred soles was a lot of money, with that we can invite the twins to the movies. But at that moment the twins were getting into a green Morris and Popeye too late, brother. Santiago had started to smoke.

“I don’t think that Sparky gave any yohimbine to his girl friend, he made that up to look like a devil,” Popeye said. “Would you give
yohimbine
to a decent girl?”

“Not to my sweetheart,” Santiago said. “But why not to a half-breed girl?”

“So what are you going to do?” Popeye whispered. “Are you going to give it to someone or are you going to throw it away?”

He’d thought about throwing it away, Freckle Face, and Santiago lowered his voice and blushed, then he was thinking and he stammered, that’s when he got an idea. Just to see what it was like, Freckle Face, what did he think.

“So stupid there’s no name for it, you can do a thousand things with a hundred soles,” Popeye said. “But it’s up to you, it’s your money.”

“Come with me, Freckle Face,” Santiago said. “It’s right here, in Surquillo.”

“But then we’ll go to your house to hear records,” Popeye said. “And you’ll call Teté.”

“You really are a shithead suitor, Freckle Face,” Santiago said.

“And what if your folks find out?” Popeye asked. “What about Sparky?”

“My folks are going to Ancón and won’t be back until Monday,” Santiago said. “And Sparky’s gone to a friend’s ranch.”

“Be prepared in case it doesn’t agree with her, in case she faints on us,” Popeye said.

“We’ll only give her a little bit,” Santiago said. “Don’t be chicken, Freckle Face.”

A small light went on in Popeye’s eyes, do you remember when we spied on Amalia in Ancón, Skinny? From the roof you could see the servants’ bathroom, two faces side by side in the skylight and below a hazy outline, a black bathrobe, delicious, the half-breed, Skinny. The couple at the next table got up and Ambrosio pointed to the woman: that one was a hooker, son, she spent the day in La Catedral looking for customers. They saw the couple go out onto Larco, saw them cross the Calle Shell. The bus stop was deserted now. Express buses and taxis passed half empty now. They called the waiter, split the check, and how did he know that she was a hooker? Because besides being a restaurant and bar La Catedral was also a pickup place, son, behind the kitchen there was a little room and they rented it for two soles an hour. They went along Larco, looking at the girls who were coming out of the shops, the women pushing carriages with crying babies. In the park Popeye bought
Última
Hora
and read the gossip aloud, thumbed through the sports pages, and as they passed in front of La Tiendecita Bianca hi, Lalo. On the Alameda Ricardo Palma they crumpled the newspaper and took a few steps until it fell apart and was abandoned on a corner in Surquillo.