‘Out of the corner of my eye I saw my sister observing me with her eyebrows arched mockingly; before she or my mother could add anything, my father asked: Who were you with? I didn’t answer. He insisted: Have you been drinking? Have you been smoking? I thought: What’s it to you? But I didn’t say it, and I suddenly felt a great serenity, a great self-confidence, just as if all the confusion of the beers and the joints had cleared in one second and had left only a lucid form of rapture. What is this?, I asked without getting upset. An interrogation? My father’s expression hardened. Is something going on with you?, he asked. Let it go, Andrés, my mother chimed in, trying again to restore the peace. Keep quiet, please, my father cut her off. Now I was staring back at him; my father insisted. I asked you what’s going on. Nothing, I answered. Then why don’t you answer me?, he asked. Because I don’t have anything to say, I replied. My father kept quiet and turned towards my mother, who half-closed her eyes and begged him in silence to let it go; my sister was watching the scene with barely disguised satisfaction. Look, Ignacio, said my father. I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but I don’t like you behaving the way you’ve been behaving: if you’re going to keep living in this house . . . And I don’t like to be lectured, I interrupted; then I continued, fired-up: When did you start drinking? When did you start smoking? At the age of fourteen? Fifteen? I’m sixteen, so leave me alone. My father didn’t interrupt me; but, when I finished speaking, he left his cutlery on his plate and said without raising his voice: The next time you speak to me like that, I’ll knock your teeth out. It felt like a blow to the chest and throat, I looked at my almost empty plate and then at the TV: on the screen, the Minister of the Interior – a man with square-framed glasses and a severe countenance – was condemning the terrorist attack on behalf of the government. As I stood up from the table I murmured: Fuck right off.
‘My father’s shouts chased me to my room. My sister was the first to come to offer her understanding and advice; naturally, I ignored her. I ignored my mother too, although she seemed truly worried. Lying on my bed, trying in vain to read, I felt too proud of myself, and wondered why I wasn’t capable of confronting Batista as serenely as I confronted my father; before falling asleep I promised myself, full of resolve, that the next day I’d go to La Font and speak to Zarco to ask him not to bother Señor Tomàs, and then I’d speak to Tere to ask her if she was going out with Zarco: if the answer was no, I promised myself, I’d ask her to go out with me.
‘The next day I went to La Font without stopping in at the arcade. At the same table as the day before were Gordo, Lina, Drácula and Chino, who didn’t seem surprised when I joined them. Zarco and Tere arrived a little while later. Yesterday you left without saying goodbye, said Tere, sitting down beside me. I didn’t think you’d come back. I apologized with the truth – or half the truth: I told her I’d gone to close up the arcade – and remembered the double promise I’d made myself the night before. Feeling incapable of speaking to Zarco, but not to Tere, after a while I told Tere I wanted to speak to her. What about?, she asked. Two things, I answered. Tere waited for me to begin. I nodded towards Zarco and the rest and said: Not here.
‘We went outside. Tere leaned on the wall beside the door to La Font, folded her arms and asked me what I wanted to talk about. I immediately knew I wasn’t brave enough to ask her if she was Zarco’s girlfriend. I decided to talk to her about the arcade and, after pressing up against the wall to let a drinks truck past that barely fit in La Barca Street, I asked her: Are you guys going to do something to Señor Tomàs? Who’s Señor Tomàs?, asked Tere. The old man who runs the Vilaró arcade, I answered. Are you going to rob him? Tere looked surprised, she laughed and unfolded her arms. Where did you get that idea?, she wanted to know. Yesterday Zarco asked me about the arcade, I answered. And the first day we met as well. So I thought that . . . Second thing, Tere interrupted me. What?, I asked. Second thing, she repeated. You told me you wanted to talk about two things, didn’t you? The first is fucking stupid; what’s the second? She stared at me with all the cruelty her eyes were capable of and her lips curved into a half-ironic half-contemptuous sneer; I wondered where the girl from the arcade washroom had gone and why she’d made me go to La Font, was glad I hadn’t asked her if she was going out with Zarco, and felt completely ridiculous. There is no second thing, I said. Tere shrugged and went back inside the bar.
‘We spent the rest of the afternoon as we had the previous afternoon, back and forth from La Font to the Galligants bridge, smoking and drinking. On one of these comings and goings Zarco grabbed my arm at the intersection of La Barca and Bellaire. Hey, Gafitas, he said, forcing me to stop. Tere told me you’re a bit pissed off. I watched Tere and the rest disappear down La Barca towards La Font. It was Friday and, although it hadn’t started to get dark yet, groups of drinkers were already beginning to arrive in the district. Zarco went on: Is it true you thought we were going to rip off the place in Vilaró? There was no sense in denying it, so I didn’t deny it. And where did you get that idea?, he asked. I told him. He listened to me attentively, but I hadn’t finished talking when he let go of my arm and put his hand on my shoulder. Anyway, what if it is true?, he asked. You told me you didn’t have money, right? Well that’s how you get money: you tell us how things work, we do the job and then you get your share of the take. He paused before concluding: There’s no risk. It’s a great deal. What more do you want? He stared at me waiting for my reply. Nothing, I answered. So why are you pissed off?, he insisted. I didn’t know how to explain it to him. I explained: Well, I’m not really like you guys. Zarco smiled: a hard smile, showing off-white teeth. And what do you mean by that?, he asked. Before answering I reflected. It means I don’t want a share, I said, and added quickly: I don’t want to make a deal. I don’t want anything to happen to the old man and it to be my fault. I don’t want you to rob him. Now Zarco’s expression turned uncertain and his eyes narrowed so much that they were reduced to two slits, just a touch of blue showing through. What’s the deal?, he finally asked. The old man’s a mate of yours? More or less, I answered. Really?, he insisted, opening his eyes wide. I nodded. Zarco took a few seconds to process my reply; then he took his hand off my shoulder and looked somewhat resigned and somewhat understanding. OK, he said in another tone of voice. If he’s your mate that changes things. Does that mean you guys aren’t going to do anything to the old man?, I asked. Of course, Zarco answered, sticking his hands in his pockets. Friendship’s sacred, Gafitas. Don’t you think so?
‘I said I did. We were in the shade, but the air was still hot and beyond the sidewalk the sun was still beating down on the cobblestones. Behind Zarco, the Gerona bar was heaving. People kept arriving in the district. So there’s no job, Zarco decided. Mates are mates. I’ll tell Guille and the rest. They’ll understand. And if they don’t understand, fuck them: I’m the leader of this pack. Thanks, I said. Don’t thank me, said Zarco. You do owe me one, though. He took his right hand out of his pocket and pointed the long, dirty nail of his index finger at me while moving it up and down and adding: I scratch your back, you scratch mine. That said we went back to La Font. A while later, when I was going to leave the district without any further mention of the subject, Zarco grabbed me by the wrist and pointed at me again while Tere watched us. Don’t forget you owe me one, Gafitas, he said. And he repeated: I scratch your back, you scratch mine.
‘That night I made the decision not to return to La Font. I’d had enough: my two incursions into the district had entailed an enormous risk and had been about to lead to a calamity for Señor Tomàs; but most of all they’d been enough to convince me that Tere wasn’t the girl for me and that what happened between us in the washrooms at the arcade could never happen again. Although I’m not so sure of the last bit; I mean I’m not so sure that I was sure of that. Whatever the case, my impression was that I had nothing to show for my walk on the wild side, except the certainty that, on the other side of the river, there was a world that bore no
relation to the one that I knew.
‘I spent the weekend between my house and the Vilaró arcade, reading and watching TV and playing the free games I’d accumulated on account of the help I gave Señor Tomàs, help I knew Señor Tomàs no longer needed, or rather that I hoped he didn’t need. On Monday I continued my new routine. In the afternoon I was at the arcade and at dusk I helped Señor Tomàs close up and said goodbye to him. Then, on my way home, just after I’d passed one of the columns that supported the railway overpass, somebody made a sound behind me. A cold shiver ran down my spine. I turned around; it wasn’t Batista: it was Tere. She was leaning against the overpass column smoking a cigarette. Hiya, Gafitas, she said. In two strides she was in front of me; she was wearing her usual sneakers and jeans, but it seemed like her handbag strap across her white T-shirt accentuated her chest more than ever. How are you?, she asked. Fine, I said. She nodded and rubbed the mole beside her nose and asked: Aren’t you coming back to La Font? Of course I’m coming back, I lied. Tere looked at me inquisitively. I explained: It’s just that this weekend I was tied up. At the arcade?, she asked. I said yes. Tere nodded again and took a drag of her cigarette; as she blew out the smoke she gestured behind her: How’s the old man? I understood that she meant Señor Tomàs and I said he was fine. That’s good, said Tere. I didn’t know you were friends. Zarco told me. She paused and then added: Does he know he owes you one? She meant Señor Tomàs again, but this time I didn’t say anything. Well he does, said Tere. You better believe he owes you one. You should have seen the stink Guille made. He wanted to do the arcade job whether anybody else wanted to or not. Luckily Zarco stopped him. If not for him, the old man would have had a rough time. Thanks to him and to you, of course. At that moment a train started to pass over our heads; the noise was deafening, and we kept quiet for a few seconds. When the sound of the train began to fade into the distance, Tere took a last drag of her cigarette; then she threw the butt on the ground, stepped on it and asked: What were we talking about? You lied to me, I improvised. What?, asked Tere. You lied, I insisted. You told me you guys weren’t planning on hitting the arcade and you were planning it. Tere looked like she was thinking it over; then she made a gesture of indifference; then her expression brightened. Oh, yeah, she said. Now I remember what we were talking about: about how the old man owes you one. She paused. And that you owe Zarco one, she said. Remember? She pointed at me with her index finger the same way Zarco had pointed when we said goodbye at La Font on Friday and said: He scratched your back now you scratch his.
‘We looked at each other for a moment. Tere leaned on the hood of a car parked next to us and explained that Guille had been talking for some time about a housing development in Lloret, that it was the perfect place to rob because it was really isolated and the owners were rich people, and it was the perfect moment too because June wasn’t over yet and lots of houses were still empty, waiting for their owners to come and stay for July and August. Finally she said that Zarco was going to do a job there and needed me to help him. Then she changed the singular for the plural: You’ll help us, right? I had no intention of helping them and, to gain time, for a moment I thought of asking her why Zarco didn’t ask me himself, why he sent her to ask me; instead of beating about the bush I said: I’m sorry. I can’t. Tere opened her arms and looked at me with astonishment that struck me as genuine. Why?, she asked. The only thing that occurred to me was to answer the same way I’d answered Zarco. Because I’m not like you guys, I said. I’ve never done that. You’ve never done what?, she asked. Stolen anything, I answered. Nobody’s asking you to steal, she said. We’re the ones who’re going to do the stealing. What you have to do is something else. And it’s dead easy, so easy that it’s almost nothing. So why doesn’t somebody else do it then?, I asked. Because we need someone like you, she answered. Someone who speaks Catalan and looks like a good kid. Come on, Gafitas, for fuck’s sake: are you going to leave us high and dry after what Zarco did for you? Pay us what you owe and we’ll be even. She fell quiet. The streetlamps of Bonastruc de Porta had been on for a while and they tinged Tere’s dark hair, her green eyes, her red, full lips with their golden light. What do you say?, she asked. I looked behind her at the closed blinds of the Vilaró arcade and thought that, if I said no, I’d never see Tere again; I felt my legs go weak as I said: What do I have to do?
‘I don’t remember exactly what Tere’s reply was; only that she assured me that the next day Zarco would explain what I had to do and that she said goodbye with two sentences. Be on time. Tomorrow at La Font at three. I spent a horrible night wondering whether to go or not, deciding not to go and then a minute later deciding to go. In the end I went, and before three in the afternoon I was already at La Font. A little while later Zarco arrived and Tere, wearing a pair of shorts that revealed her long, tanned legs; Guille was the last to show up. Zarco wasn’t surprised by my presence there, didn’t explain what it was we were going to do, and I didn’t ask him either; I was too worried. As we left the district, Zarco, Tere and Guille started checking out the cars parked along the streets and, when we came up to a Seat 124 parked in a solitary alley that led out onto Pedret Avenue, Tere took a small sawblade with a hook on one end out of her bag and handed it to Zarco while Guille took off running up to the next sidestreet; then Tere ran to the one behind us. I stayed with Zarco and saw him stick the sawblade into the slot between the Seat 124’s door and window and, after feeling around for a couple of seconds with the blade, I heard a click and the door opened. Zarco sat in the driver’s seat, yanked the steering wheel around, reached underneath it and brought out a handful of wires, connected one wire to another, touched another wire to them and the engine immediately started. The whole operation lasted a minute, maybe less than a minute. A little while later we were on our way out of the other side of the city riding in the 124.
‘We arrived in Lloret around four. We drove in on a wide street that led to the centre, flanked by souvenir shops, cheap restaurants, closed discotheques and groups of tourists in flip-flops and swimsuits, and when we came to the sea we turned left and followed a promenade dotted with patio bars that ran parallel to the beach. Finally we turned left again, drove away from the sea for a moment and then came back towards it up a winding road that clung to the cliffs, until we saw a sign that said: La Montgoda. It’s here, said Guille, and Zarco parked the car on a slope, at the entrance to the housing development; then he turned around to face the back seat and started to explain what I had to do while Tere took a comb, an eyebrow pencil and lipstick out of her bag. I don’t know if I understood Zarco’s whole explanation, but when he asked me if I’d understood I answered yes; then he said: OK, now forget everything I told you and just do what you see Tere doing. I said yes again, and at that moment Guille caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. Gafitas is shitting himself, he scoffed. All the bastard can say is yes. Zarco told him to shut up while I turned and looked helplessly at Tere and Tere winked at me while carrying on combing her hair. Zarco added: And you, Gafitas, don’t let it get to you: do what I told you and everything’ll be fine. OK? I was about to say yes again, but I just nodded my head.
‘Once she’d finished getting ready, Tere put her comb, eyeliner and lipstick back in her bag and said: Let’s go. When we got out of the car she took me by the hand and we started walking up the badly paved slope. The housing development seemed deserted; the only noise we could hear was the sound of the sea. When we saw the first house appear among the pine trees, Tere instructed me. Let me do the talking, she said. Nobody’s going to say anything to you, but, if someone speaks in Catalan, you talk. If not, keep quiet. Do what I do. Most of all, whatever happens, stay with me. And one more thing: is what Guille said true? My heart was beating through my ribs like a caged bird; I’d started to sweat, and Tere’s hand was slipping in my soaking wet hand; I managed to say: Yes. Tere laughed; I laughed too, and that simultaneous laughter filled me with courage.
‘We got to the first house, walked through the g
arden and Tere rang the doorbell. The door opened and a woman who looked like she’d just got out of bed questioned us in silence, with her eyes half-closed against the strong sun; Tere answered the questioning look with a question: she asked if Pablo was home. Unexpectedly friendly, the woman answered that no one called Pablo lived in that house, and Tere apologized. We left the garden and walked down the street. How’s it going?, asked Tere. How’s what going?, I asked. How’s everything going?, she clarified. I don’t know, I said, truthfully. Does that mean you’re not nervous any more?, she asked. More or less, I answered. Then stop squeezing my hand, would you, she said. You’re going to break it. I let go of her hand and dried mine on my trousers, but she was soon holding it again. We didn’t call at the house next door or the next one, but at the one after that we tried again. This door opened too, this time an old man in a T-shirt with whom Tere exchanged a series of questions and answers similar to the exchange she’d had with the first woman, only longer; in fact, at one point it seemed to me that the old man, who couldn’t take his eyes off Tere’s legs, was undressing her in his mind and that, instead of trying to cut short the dialogue, he was trying to lengthen it.
Outlaws Page 4
