Swift as Desire (5 page)

His understanding of this phenomenon provided him with an explanation for his having been born with a pointed skull, which acted as a powerful antenna and served marvelously for connecting with the cosmos. And for his erect member, which connected him with the deepest and most sonorous matrix in the world: his wife’s. This was the basis of Júbilo’s ability to establish a strong connection with people, even across distances. More surprisingly, he could connect with objects too, and even with something as abstract as numbers. A possible explanation for this lay in that Júbilo, being a high-frequency
antenna, not only intercepted subtle vibrations from all things but also was in complete harmony with them. In other words, he not only perceived the vibrating waves but became one with them, vibrating at the same rate and frequency. Like the sound of a guitar cord being strummed and then echoed by another cord tuned to the same note. The second cord, even though it hasn’t been touched, will vibrate at the same time as the first. For Júbilo, echoing was the best way to respond to a vibration that said, “Here I am.” It was his way of saying, “Here I am too, and I am vibrating right along with you.”

And so it wasn’t so strange that Júbilo could communicate with numbers. In his extensive study of Mayan numerology, he had discovered that writing the number five wasn’t the same as writing the number four. And not just because they represented a different accumulation of elements, but because each number had its own distinct way of resonating, just like a musical note. So, just as he could clearly recognize the difference between do and re, Júbilo could also determine with great precision the number of a playing card lying facedown on a table. This made him an exceptional card player, but, curiously, he rarely played, and never with his friends, because it seemed dishonest to him to take advantage of his ability to connect with numbers. The only time he made an exception was in Huichapan, a tiny, peaceful pueblo in the Sierra de Puebla, when he was standing in for the local telegraph operator who was on vacation.

A persistent rain had fallen all day. The houses had
wide eaves so people could walk along the narrow streets without getting wet. The climate induced a sort of melancholy that clung to the bones of the pueblo’s inhabitants and was much worse than the constant dampness. In the two weeks that Júbilo and Lucha had been in the town, Júbilo hadn’t felt the slightest urge to explore this popular tourist destination. He preferred spending his free time frolicking in bed with his wife. But one afternoon, one of his most frequent telegraph clients, a young local named Jesús, had come to send his regular telegraph to Lupita, his girlfriend, who lived in the city of Puebla. Lupita and Jesús were getting married in two weeks. The preparations for the wedding were already well along and Júbilo had been sending a flurry of telegrams to the bride-to-be informing her of the details of the religious ceremony, how many flowers and candles would adorn the church, the number of chickens that would be sacrificed for the banquet, in short, Júbilo even knew how many kisses Jesús was planning to give her and, most important, where. Of course, this last bit of information had not been divulged by the groom-to-be. But it had been present in his mind and Júbilo, without wanting to, had simply received the confidential message while he was watching Jesús write his telegrams, which made him an unwitting accomplice to Jesús’s love affair.

But that morning, as soon as he saw Jesús walk in the door of the telegraph office, Júbilo knew something serious had happened. Jesús entered with his head hanging, sad and distressed. Because his sombrero was tilted, rainwater
ran off it, soaking the papers on the desk without Jesús even noticing. It seemed that he had even forgotten his good manners, because he didn’t bother to remove the sombrero from his head. Timidly, Júbilo rescued a few forms from disaster and moved them out of harm’s way while Jesús made several attempts to write a telegram that invariably ended up in the trash can. It was clear to Júbilo that whatever Jesús had to tell Lupita, it was certainly not pleasant. Wanting to help him, Júbilo spoke to the lovesick youth, little by little winning his confidence, until he finally got Jesús to confess his problem.

It turned out that Jesús was a hardened poker player and usually played at the cantina on Friday nights. But the previous week he had made a fatal decision. He had changed the day of his game from Friday to Saturday, to make the most of his last days as a bachelor, with disastrous results. He had lost everything. Everything! The
rancho
where he planned to live with Lupita, the money for the church, the banquet, the bride’s dress, even the honeymoon trip that he had dreamed about for so long! It was obvious that the man was completely destroyed. Worst of all, he had lost his fortune at the hands of don Pedro, the local cacique, a landowning tyrant, a man who besides being rude, coarse, and evil-looking was abusive, exploitative, and a thief, among other charming traits.

Júbilo couldn’t understand how it was possible that, knowing this about don Pedro, Jesús had still chosen to play with him—he simply couldn’t believe it. Jesús tried to excuse himself by arguing that it had been impossible
to avoid, that don Pedro had arrived at their poker table out of nowhere and asked if he could join the group, and none of them had been able to refuse. That was understandable. But what was still unclear was why Jesús had risked everything he had. Júbilo felt there must have been a very good reason. And while he listened to Jesús’s long tale of woe, during which he blamed everything that had happened on an excess of alcohol, Júbilo focused on entering into harmony with Jesús’s suffering to try to find the real answer. He discovered that what his friend was hiding behind his sad and glassy gaze was the flimsy hope of defeating, for once in his life, the man who had taken all of his family’s possessions from them. This revelation certainly explained Jesús’s irrational behavior. The feeling of injustice was so deeply buried within his soul that it made him feel totally powerless, the impotence of several generations of campesinos who had suffered terrible abuse at the hands of the large landowners. Júbilo was so in tune with Jesús’s pain that he felt in his own body the offense, the humiliation, the impotence. And in that instant, he knew he had to avenge this poor man who didn’t know how to tell his fiancée, just two weeks beforehand, that they had to suspend the preparations for their eagerly anticipated wedding. Especially since in just a few days’ time Lupita was to leave Puebla, together with her family, to come to Huichapan, where Jesús’s entire family was anxiously awaiting her.

How could he explain the situation? How could he apologize? Jesús couldn’t find the right words. Júbilo convinced
him that the sadness that had settled in his heart wasn’t the best condition in which to try to communicate, even to write a complete sentence, so he sent Jesús home, promising to write it himself, and send the telegram on Jesús’s behalf. And so he did, but of course he didn’t cancel the wedding, rather he told Lupita, in Jesús’s name of course, how much he loved her. He didn’t think it was necessary to say anything else. At least for the moment. There was still a lot that could be done and he was convinced that Jesús’s problem must have a solution. The only thing he needed was time, and since there wasn’t much of that, he decided not to lose another minute, and began plotting his revenge.

If there was something Júbilo couldn’t stand, it was the abuse of power. In the short time he had been living in the pueblo, he had already heard about all the unimaginable horrors don Pedro had committed. How he had deflowered young virgins, exploited his workers, stolen money from the campesinos, and rigged cockfights and, as Júbilo had just seen, poker games. Júbilo was so indignant that, despite being the most peace-loving person in the world, he began to rue the fact that don Pedro had survived the Mexican Revolution. It would have been so perfect if the
revolucionarios
, in midrevolt, had shot him in the head! They would have done society a great favor and, above all, it would have saved Jesús a lot of pain. But, because of the inefficiency of the
revolucionarios
, he had no other choice but to confront the scourge himself.

He waited impatiently until Saturday night, and went
to the cantina. At eight o’clock sharp he made his appearance and immediately headed for don Pedro’s table, prepared to bet an entire month’s salary and all of his savings. Don Pedro received him with open arms, like a vampire would a fifteen-year-old virgin. In Júbilo, he saw a fresh source of money.

It only took Júbilo a few hands to learn how don Pedro exercised his power at the table. If the first card dealt him was an ace, they were all screwed. Don Pedro had such self-control that many other players left the game prematurely, and one needed to have really cold blood to stay and play the high bets. To make matters worse, in addition to being a good player, don Pedro was very lucky. If someone laid down three of a kind, he would match it with a higher set. If someone had a straight, he would kill it with a flush. And on the rare occasions that he didn’t have a good hand, he resorted to bluffing, placing a huge bet to make the other players think he had a strong hand. And in general, although they doubted his honesty, no one was prepared to pay to find out. They preferred to remain in doubt rather than lose the money in their pockets. It was very expensive to investigate the kind of game that don Pedro played. And the idea of defeating him was not stimulus enough to risk losing a large amount of money, since what was being risked at the moment of betting was one’s personal fortune, modest as it might be.

Don Pedro didn’t like to lose, so he drew upon any number of intimidation tactics to win, depending on the
situation. And to make his choice even easier, he possessed the great skill of being able to read his opponent’s reactions, no matter how subtle, in a fraction of a second. For example, if he saw a man hesitate before matching his bet, he knew he didn’t even have a single pair and would seize the advantage. If, on the other hand, don Pedro saw the man was eager to cover the bet, he would conclude that he had a good hand, which warned him that he would have to be careful. And if his adversary not only set his chips on the table with a firm hand, but upped the bet, then he would refuse to go higher, he would fold. It was that easy. He never took risks. He never allowed himself to grow excited. He carefully calculated each bet and, of course, he always won.

Júbilo skillfully let him win the first few hands, even while holding a better hand. It didn’t matter. The night was young and he wanted don Pedro to gain confidence over him. Don Pedro fell into the trap. After an hour of playing, he was more than convinced that Júbilo was a mediocre player who posed no real threat. Suddenly, Júbilo began to change the rhythm of the game. He took advantage of the fact that it was the turn of César, the pharmacist sitting on his left, to deal. This way, Júbilo would be the first to receive his cards, and he could clearly sense what they would be. They were waiting for the fifth cards to be dealt. It was don Pedro’s last opportunity to place his bet. Each of the players had four cards on the table. Three faceup and one facedown. Don Pedro showed a jack, an eight, and a three, and had another jack
facedown. Júbilo had a nine, a seven, and a king showing, and had another king facedown. Which meant he had the better pair, but don Pedro didn’t know this. In an attempt to investigate, don Pedro raised his bet, expecting Júbilo, if he had a pair of kings, to match and raise, but he didn’t. He knew that if don Pedro suspected he had a pair of kings, he would probably fold, and that was the last thing Júbilo wanted.

He desired with all his heart to tear don Pedro to pieces, and this was his chance. Júbilo limited himself to matching don Pedro’s bet, and did so with some hesitation. That was the signal don Pedro needed to guess that Júbilo had only a ridiculous pair of nines. Don Pedro grew calm. The pot that had accumulated on the table was considerable, and he wanted it. Before the fifth card was dealt, don Pedro revealed his pair of jacks to force Júbilo to show his pair of nines, but Júbilo kept his king hidden, which forced César to deal the fifth card faceup. Júbilo was sure he was going to get another king, and that don Pedro was going to receive another jack, but he didn’t care, because three kings would beat three jacks. When César dealt Júbilo’s fifth card, a gasp of surprise arose around the table. The magnificent king fell in slow motion, before don Pedro’s impassive gaze. From what he could tell, Júbilo, who was now showing a pair of kings, was hiding a pair of nines. He didn’t like that at all. It put Júbilo’s hand above his. He set down his cigar and concentrated on receiving his last card. Since he had four cards showing, this one would be facedown. Don Pedro picked
it up slowly and looked at it cautiously. He almost smiled with joy when he discovered he’d been dealt another jack. He now had three jacks! That meant he had won. He should have bet against the pair of kings, but he didn’t. He passed. His pulse accelerated. He was already anticipating his victory, and, without hesitating, bet ninety pesos. That was what Júbilo was waiting for. He calmly matched the ninety pesos, and raised the bet again with the last twenty pesos he had left, the balance of his capital. Don Pedro was surprised by Júbilo’s audacity. He assumed that Júbilo’s inexperience had caused him to be overconfident about his two pairs, preventing him from guessing the truth, that Júbilo had another king in his hand. And so, sure of his triumph, he calmly matched the bet, and asked, according to protocol:

“What do I have to beat?”

“Three kings,” replied Júbilo, laying his cards on the table.

Don Pedro couldn’t bear losing. He grew red with anger and from that moment on he lost all compassion for Júbilo. He used all the tricks he knew to try to wipe him out. When Júbilo bet, he wouldn’t follow. But when don Pedro bet, Júbilo had the misfortune of holding a good hand, and was forced to follow. Little by little, don Pedro took back all of Júbilo’s winnings. Júbilo began playing badly. He was nervous. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate, he couldn’t see which card he would receive next, much less what don Pedro was holding. He couldn’t understand it. He had lost his communication
with the numbers, and he was playing blind. His hands began to sweat and his mouth grew dry. In just a few hands, he had lost nearly all the money he had won, and was now betting the last pesos that he had left.