‘Told you that fuckwit would forget to call,’ El Tampón says, turning his attention from the pack of hounds to the former municipal garbage truck: ‘I knew he’d forget!’ But El Topo cannot hear these words and his mind warps them into something different: it is because he thinks, because he believes that El Tampón needs him to get out of the truck and back him up, that he opens the door and impulsively jumps down. Instantly he hears the blaring horn of a vehicle that all but knocks him down as the tyres skid to a halt.
The shriek of rubber on asphalt elicits a laugh from the brothers who manage El Infierno and startles the hounds. The dogs — who all carry the same defective gene: each has one blue eye and one brown — scatter, hiding behind the drums and the skeletal frames of cars, while the dog whose penis is still stuck in the bitch scrabbles frantically, dragging the bitch behind him, her muzzle scraping the dirt of El Infierno.
‘Get back in the cab, you fucking idiot!’ El Tampón bellows, turning back and taking several steps towards El Topo. ‘Why the hell did you get out? Didn’t you hear me tell you don’t get out?’ Hearing their commander shouting, the six soldiers caged in the back of the truck panic and, glancing at each other, wonder: What the bloody hell is happening out there? For their part, the two elderly men in charge of Tres Hermanos laugh like drains as their anger melts away as El Tampón walks back to the gates: ‘Good evening!’
‘What the devil are you doing here?’
‘…’
‘Well, answer, boy, or didn’t you hear my brother’s question?’
‘He was supposed to talk to you … Sepelio … but I think maybe …’
‘Always the same story,’ says the white-haired triplet, shooting his brother a look.
‘He told me he was going to call you … that either he or Father Nicho would talk to you,’ El Tampón says, leaning against the railings.
‘No one called us,’ says the brother who dyes not only his hair but his beard and his moustache.
‘Why don’t they ever come up with another excuse?’
‘They were supposed … They were supposed to ask you to let us through to the sierra … that they would take care of the cargo later.’
‘Nobody phoned here, nobody,’ repeats the white-haired triplet, leaning against the gates.
‘Not Sepelio, not the priest,’ agrees the other, taking his brother’s hand in his own and whispering, ‘Calm down, you’ll do yourself a mischief.’
‘…’
‘You really have shit for brains if you think you can use our right of way.’
‘Get back in your truck and get gone!’
‘We can’t … I’m sorry but I can’t do that,’ El Tampón says, then adds, ‘They were also going to say that they’ll pay more than last time … I swear, Sepelio was going to tell you.’
‘Why should we believe you? … Sepelio has never even mentioned you,’ Encanecido says, leaning against the railing next to his brother.
‘Nor has Father Nicho,’ Teñido adds. ‘Why should we take your word that you’re working with them?’
‘We can phone them if you like,’ El Tampón suggests, all the while thinking: Shit … I just hope they answer.
‘No sense you calling them now … it’s too la—’
‘Hello … Sepelio?’
‘What the hell are you thinking calling me?’
‘Just listen for a minute.’
‘How can I get it through your thick skull?’ Sepelio says. ‘Don’t call me when I’m with Epitafio. I’ve told you a thousand times. I’m the one who makes the calls, not you.’
‘I’m at El Infierno,’ El Tampón splutters. ‘I just got here, but nobody’s called them.’
‘Jesus fuck … El Infierno.’
‘Exactly … and we’ve begged and pleaded, but they’re saying that we can’t go through!’
‘Those old bastards and their manias.’
‘That we can’t pass through and that they won’t accept the cargo later.’
‘Let me talk to them,’ Sepelio says, then quickly adds, ‘and don’t call me again … The only reason I answered is that Epitafio is in the toilet … I decide when we talk.’
‘Agreed, right, I’ll pass you over,’ El Tampón says, taking the phone from his ear and handing it through the railings.
‘Hello?’
‘Sepelio?’ says the white-haired triplet.
‘Indeed.’
‘What the devil is going on?’ Encanecido asks, huddling next to the phone that has been handed to Teñido.
‘I’m sorry … I should have called you earlier,’ Sepelio says. ‘We need … I need you to let them … to let these morons … use your road … and to accept a cargo on their way back.’
‘Well … only because it’s for you and Father Nicho,’ Encanecido concedes.
‘Is it true you’re bringing back a shipment?’ Teñido asks, leaning close to the phone.
‘That’s right … from the sierra,’ Sepelio says. ‘And we’ll be paying you a lot more than usual.’
‘We’ll see when it happens,’ Encanecido interrupts.
‘I swear … It’s the least we owe you.’
‘Should I hand you back to the moron here?’ Encanecido asks, looking El Tampón up and down.
‘Just tell him not to call me again … Tell him if I want to talk to …’
Sepelio’s words dissolve on his tongue as he hears the line go dead at the other end. Fucking retards … always want you to call and when you do they’re too busy to talk to you, he thinks, then pockets his phone and looks up into the darkness at the night that has entombed this place where he is standing.
Having allowed his eyes to wander the firmament for a moment, Sepelio’s gaze slips down to the tallest treetops, along the leafy branches, then down to the place where trunks split into branches, and in the background, the aerial on the roof of Epitafio’s house. He studies the cables, the tiled roof, the badly painted walls, the windows and the door.
Getting off the swing on which he has been sitting, Sepelio broods: He said he was only going to be a minute and we’ve been waiting here a fucking age. Moving quickly across the unkempt grass of Epitafio’s lawn, Sepelio reaches the path leading to the toilet where HewhosolovesEstela is still holed up, then, turning around, he orders Mausoleo: ‘Go back and get in the trailer … Maybe that will hurry him along!’ and at the same time he is thinking, Motherfucker … everything is always done his way.
Surprised that Sepelio is addressing him, Mausoleo digs his heels into the ground to stop the swing that, with great effort, he managed to sit himself on and jumps to his feet. Why has he started talking to me now? the giant wonders, crossing Epitafio’s garden, and, as he does so, he realises that it is something else that is troubling him: Why has he been talking to these people on the telephone while I’m sitting next to him?
Why does he not care that I was right beside him? … Did he want me to overhear? Mausoleo worries, a few metres from the Minos, but, rather than come up with an answer, he stops in his tracks and turns to face his doubts: He probably thinks I don’t understand what’s going on … Maybe he thinks it doesn’t matter that I overheard? Clenching his fists and chewing on his rage, the giant turns back towards the garden, but there is no longer anyone there: Sepelio is about to reach the toilet in which Epitafio has locked himself.
VII
Trapped in their cages, six dogs and a pair of parrots start as Sepelio rushes to the door of the outhouse on this patch of land that is home to Epitafio, the wife Father Nicho imposed on him and the son she gave birth to at El Paraíso, and roars: ‘What the hell are you still doing in there …? You said, “I’m just going for a quick piss then we’ll get back on the road!”’
‘We’ll go when I say we go … Stop busting my balls,’ Epitafio says and, like lightning flashes from the heavens, his words blast
from this shack that only recently was a simple pit latrine. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are to be telling me to hurry up?’ HewhosolovesEstela says, and Sepelio’s face flushes with rage and the parrots anxiously ruffle their feathers.
‘Who do I think I am? … You bastard … Who do I think I am?’ Sepelio mutters and is about to explode when Epitafio roars: ‘You’re nobody and you’ve got nothing to say! You’re nobody. Nobody!’ Epitafio repeats, paying no attention to his words, since his whole body, his whole mind, is focussed on the telephone he is holding: Estela called him a little while ago, but he was not able to answer.
He had been in the house, explaining to Osaria — the woman whom Father Nicho abused so often — that he had just stopped by to drop off a few crates, when his phone vibrated. Epitafio had felt a whirlwind of anger whip through him: he knew that the call could only be Estela. At least you made it past La Cañada, he thought, patting his pocket, his eyes still fixed on Osaria, hating her a little more than usual.
Though the phone did not vibrate again, the simple fact of having to remain calm left Epitafio’s nerves on edge and, quickly finishing what he was doing, he put Osaria’s son to bed, said goodbye to this woman he has never learned to love and went out into the garden, where Sepelio and Mausoleo were waiting: ‘I’m just going to the toilet, then we’ll set off.’ In the toilet Epitafio took out the telephone he is now holding in his hands and confirmed what he already knew: the call earlier had been from Estela, who had stopped on her way down the mountain.
Now you’re really going to be pissed off, had been Epitafio’s first thought when he had seen Estela’s number on the screen of the little phone in his hand: You’re going to think that I don’t want to call you, that that will just make you angrier, HewhosolovesEstela muttered soundlessly and decided that now was the time for him to call her. But just then he had heard footsteps approaching the outhouse and Sepelio’s voice asking: ‘Why haven’t we set off? … You said, “I’m just going for a quick piss then we’ll get back on the road!”’
‘Who the fuck do you think you are to be telling me to hurry up?’ Epitafio had shouted furiously, his fingers fumbling over the keypad. ‘Who do you think you are, Sepelio … you dumb son of a bitch?’ HewhosolovesEstela had insisted, leaning closer to the door of the toilet that only recently had been a pit latrine and slipping his phone back into his pocket. But before he can turn the door handle and storm out to confront Sepelio, Epitafio stops, remembering that he needs to talk to Estela, so instead of opening the door, he orders: ‘Go back to the trailer right now! … Stop annoying me … We’ll leave when I say so!’
‘When I say so!’ echoes one of the caged parrots, and Sepelio, who has turned on his heel and is walking towards the trailer, thinking: Fucking bastard … I won’t have to answer to you for much longer, then turns his anger on the bird and roars: ‘Who the fuck asked you?’ ‘What do you mean who the fuck asked me? … You asked me!’ Epitafio bellows as he takes out his phone again and sits on the toilet, only to embroil Sepelio in the misunderstanding.
‘I wasn’t talking to you!’ Sepelio says by way of explanation, only to be interrupted by Epitafio roaring: ‘Get back in the Minos and stop busting my fucking balls … dumb fucking shit!’ ‘Fucking shit!’ echoes the parrot and Sepelio stalks over and glares into the wooden cage, his pride wounded not so much by the parrot’s words, but by the loud belly laugh from Epitafio in the toilet, who has heard everything.
I’m not going to be insulted by a parrot. Sepelio slides open the cage door, thrusts both hands inside and, without thinking, he says menacingly: ‘Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?’ ‘Who the fuck do you think I am, talking to you like that?’ Epitafio shouts, laughing heartily at what is happening outside, but then Estela’s face floats back into his mind and he picks up the thread of his thought: ‘I’ll be out in a minute, and you’d better be in that bloody trailer!’ HewhosolovesEstela warns, closing his eyes.
‘You and Mausoleo better both be ready!’ HewhosolovesEstela says again, conjuring on the dark screen of his closed eyelids the image of the woman he so loves: ‘And you’d better answer me!’ But Sepelio does not hear Epitafio’s threat: he is already crossing the garden, the parrot fluttering wildly in his hands. Meanwhile, inside the house, Osaria — the woman to whom, like so many others, Father Nicho became a father — is turning on the television that it might provide a constant noise.
As though she does not want to listen to anything else today, Osaria turns the volume up as far as she can and the jostling, overlapping voices fill the darkness, joining the chorus of whispers from Epitafio, Sepelio and Mausoleo, each in their several places. For their part, the nameless who have long since exhausted their tears and spurred by the thought that there-is-nothing-left-to-lose have begun to recount their pasts fall silent for a moment and do not speak again until they realise that the voices they hear now are coming from a television.
‘It makes me furious that you’re just waiting to leave’ … This is what my father said to me … ‘You should stay here in your own country … with those close to you, the living and the dead … There is nothing waiting for you out there … See how many people come back humiliated … How many never return and never get there’ … But I did not listen to him … and now here I am.
Protected from the others by the noise of the television, the three men who arrived here half an hour ago plunge deeper and deeper into what each is doing: Epitafio is exercising his thumbs and, hoping that Estela will not be furious, is wondering how to greet her; Sepelio is placing the parrot on the swing where he sat earlier as it screeches ‘Hijo de puta!’, and Mausoleo is sitting in the cab of the Minos feeling sorry for himself: lifting his head, he looks out into the garden and sees Sepelio as he picks up a rock: What the hell is he doing? ‘Fucking parrot,’ Sepelio yells, swinging the rock higher and brutally bringing it down, crushing the parrot like an origami bird: ‘Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?
‘No parrot is going to insult me,’ Sepelio roars, raising the bloody rock and, clubbing the bloody mass of bones and feathers, adds: ‘Pretty soon now, no one will get to insult me!’ Sepelio’s words drift across the space to reach the giant’s ears, but they do not reach the ears of Epitafio, still locked in the toilet, scrabbling to dial Estela’s number.
Epitafio’s heart stops and his whole being sinks into the chasm of silence which immediately opens up next to his left ear: I just hope you answer me … that you’re not angry. The words passing through the mind of HewhosolovesEstela as he listens to the ill-omened buzz of the engaged tone lose all meaning when a voice at the other end of the line announces: The number you have dialled is currently switched off or is out of signal range.
Disappointed, Epitafio gets to his feet and is about to hurl his phone onto the floor, but at the last moment changes his mind: but the telephone slips from his fingers and falls into the cistern, whose lid has been broken since the day the toilet was installed. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ HewhosolovesEstela roars, searching for something on which to unleash his impotent rage, and finding a target in the noise from the television Osaria is watching.
‘Stupid bitch … You know how much I hate that thing, but you can’t even wait until I’ve left,’ Epitafio shouts, throwing open the door to the outhouse. ‘And it’s your fault that I couldn’t answer my phone before!’ Unaware that the rage now propelling him towards the house is the result of many years and not the setback life has just visited on him, Epitafio races along the path towards the garden from where Sepelio is watching him, still holding the bloody remnants of the parrot: Where the hell is the moron going now?
Mausoleo is paying no attention to watching Epitafio. Sitting in the cab of the Minos, he is sobbing over the dead bird, not knowing why he is crying: Bastard fucking Sepelio! The giant fiercely wipes his eyes and, with great effort, manages to compose himself and, looking up, his gaze drifts out the window: he ca
nnot understand why the contempt he suddenly feels has not already spattered Epitafio or Sepelio, the man who has just taken the path back towards the outhouse.
Opening the cage, Sepelio place the carcass of the bird inside and returns to the garden, even as, in his mind, two phrases flutter, collide and intertwine: A bird in the hand is worth a bushel of learning. Now back in the garden, Sepelio watches as Epitafio goes back into his house and calls to him: ‘Are we going or what? How much more time are we going to waste hanging around here?’
What the hell is he doing going back in there? Sepelio thinks; then, walking towards the threshold Epitafio has just crossed, he opens and closes his hands. When he reaches the door, however, Sepelio stops: it is not that he does not want another showdown with HewhosolovesEstela, but that he does not want to have to see Osaria, the woman with whom he shared his life before the orphanage in El Paraíso, the woman he had been unable to protect from Father Nicho and from Epitafio.
Osaria, this woman who gives a start when she notices Epitafio in the darkness of her room, and, startled, says: ‘I didn’t realise you were still here. Weren’t you supposed to leave a while ago?’ she asks, getting to her feet as surprise gives way to fear: this husband imposed on her by Father Nicho is furiously coming towards her.
Forcing himself to adopt the mechanical gait he uses when motivated by the anger of the past, Epitafio pushes past Osaria, crosses the room lit by the glow of the television, rips out the cable powering the flickering images, the words, the clapping and the laughter, turns one hundred and eighty degrees and, striding over to his wife, who has gone from fear to sheer terror, breaks her nose with a headbutt.
‘Bastard!’ Sepelio shouts from the doorway and, although the future and his black fury urge his left foot forward, habit and the past keep his right foot rooted to the spot. ‘What the fuck are you doing sticking your nose in?’ Epitafio says, turning and moving towards Sepelio, whose left foot, memories and plans for vengeance keep him stock-still, even as his right foot and his desires try to force him to retreat if only a single step: ‘I thought I told you to get in the trailer?’
Among the Lost Page 15
