She also wore her plaid dress and her jacket on Monday nights, because her aunt took her to the Bellavista theater, the ladies’ section. I’d ask my mother to lend me a magazine, then I’d go to the plaza to wait till the movie let out and I could see her go by with her aunt, talking about the picture.
On the other days she wore a maroon skirt. It was old and rather faded. Sometimes I saw her aunt mending the skirt and she really did a good job, you could hardly see the stitches, she wasn’t a seamstress for nothing. If Tere mended it herself, she kept her uniform on after school and put a newspaper on the chair so her uniform wouldn’t get soiled. She wore a white blouse with her maroon skirt: it had three buttons but she only fastened the bottom two, so it showed her long dark throat. In the wintertime she wore her jacket over the blouse, without fastening any of the jacket buttons. I thought, What a knack for keeping well dressed. She only had two pairs of shoes and there wasn’t very much she could do about them. At school she wore a pair of black shoes with laces, that sort of looked like men’s shoes. But she had such small feet you didn’t think about that. They were always brightly polished, without any dust or spots on them. I’m sure she took them off and polished them as soon as she got home, because I’d see her go in her house with the black shoes on and then a little later, when I went in to study with her, she’d be wearing her white shoes, with the black ones in the doorway to the kitchen, shining like mirrors. I don’t think she put shoe polish on them every day, but at least she wiped them off with a rag.
Her white shoes were old. When she forgot herself, when she crossed her legs and had one foot in the air, I could see the bottoms were worn out, and one time she stubbed her toe against the leg of the table and let out a cry, and her aunt came over and took off her shoe and began to massage her foot, and I could see there was a piece of cardboard doubled up inside her shoe. I said to myself, She’s got a hole in her shoe. One day I watched her clean her white shoes. She went over them very carefully with a piece of chalk, as carefully as she always did her homework. They looked like new then, but only for a moment, because as soon as she brushed against something the chalk rubbed off and you could see the stains. I thought, if she just had enough chalk, her shoes could look new all the time. She could carry a piece of chalk in her handbag and as soon as they got dirty she could take the chalk out and fix them. There was a bookstore in front of my school and one afternoon I went in and asked them how much for a box of chalk. The big one cost six soles, the little one was four fifty. I didn’t know it cost that much. I was embarrassed to ask Skinny Higueras to lend me more money because I still hadn’t paid him back the sol. We were friendlier than ever now, even though we only saw each other off and on in that same cheap bar. He told me jokes, asked me about my schoolwork, gave me cigarettes, taught me how to make smoke rings and how to hold in the smoke and let it out through my nose. Finally I got up the courage to ask him to lend me four fifty. “Of course, man,” he said, “whatever you want,” and he handed it to me without even asking me what it was for. I ran to the bookstore and bought the box of chalk. I was thinking of telling her, “I’ve brought you a present, Tere,” and when I went to her house I was still thinking of saying it. But as soon as I saw her I changed my mind and just said, “They gave me this at school but I haven’t got any use for it. Would you like it?” And she told me, “Yes, of course, let me have it.”
I don’t believe in the devil but sometimes the Jaguar makes me wonder. He says he doesn’t believe in anything, but that’s a lie, a mere sham. You could tell it when he hit Arróspide for saying something bad about Saint Rosa. “My mother was very fond of Saint Rosa and if you say things about her it’s like saying things about my mother.” A mere sham. The devil must have a face like the Jaguar’s, the same kind of smile, the same sharp horns. “They’re coming to get Cava,” he said, “they’ve found out all about it.” He started laughing, and Curly and I couldn’t think of anything to say. Then the soldiers came. How did he guess? I always dream that I go up behind him and knock him cold and then keep pounding him while he’s on the floor, biff, bang, pow, and let’s see what he does when he comes to. Curly must be thinking the same sort of thing. “The Jaguar’s an animal, Boa,” he told me this afternoon, “the worst there is. Did you see how he guessed about the peasant, and the way he laughed?” If I’d been the one that got screwed, he’d’ve pissed his pants laughing about it. He almost went crazy afterward but not on account of the peasant, just himself. “They did this to me, but they don’t know who they’re messing with.” But Cava was the one who was in the guardhouse, and my hair stood on end because what if the dice’d picked me for the job? I’d like to see them screw the Jaguar, I wonder how he’d look, nobody ever screws him, that’s the worst of it, he guesses everything ahead of time. They say animals can sense things from the smell, they just take a sniff and there it is, they can tell what’s going to happen. My mother says, “The day we had the earthquake in 1940 I knew something was going to happen because all of a sudden the dogs in the neighborhood went crazy, they ran around and howled as if they could see the devil himself. A little while later the earthquake started.” It’s the same with the Jaguar. He put on one of those faces of his and said, “Somebody’s gone and squealed. I swear by the Virgin that’s what’s happened.” And that was before Huarina and Morte came in, before we even heard their footsteps or anything. What a dirty shame, none of the officers could’ve seen the peasant do it, none of the noncoms either, if they’d seen him they’d’ve kicked him out three weeks ago, it makes me sick, it had to be some squealer of a cadet. A Dog, maybe, or somebody from the Fourth. The guys in the Fourth are Dogs too, bigger and smarter but still Dogs. We were never Dogs, not really, because the Circle made them respect us, hard as it was. When we were in the Fourth, would anybody from the Fifth dare to tell us to make their beds? I’ll knock you on your ass, I’ll spit on you, hey Jaguar, Curly, Cava, come and help me, my hands ache from punching this asshole from the Fifth. They didn’t even bother the midgets in the tenth section, all on account of the Jaguar, he was the only one that didn’t let himself get initiated, he set the example, a real honest-to-God man, but so what? So we had some good times, better than anything that’s happened since, but I wouldn’t want to go back, I’d rather get out, and I hope we don’t get screwed on account of all this, I’ll kill that peasant Cava if he gets scared and drags us into it. “I’ll bet anything on him,” Curly said, “he won’t let out a word no matter what they do to him.” It’d be just my luck to get screwed right before final exams, on account of a lousy pane of glass. No, I wouldn’t want to be a Dog again and take it for another three years, not after knowing what it’s like, no, not after knowing all about it. Some of the Dogs say, I’m going to be a soldier, I’m going to be an aviator, I’m going to be a sailor. All the light-skinned ones want to be sailors. Okay, just wait a few months and we’ll see.
The room looked out on a wide garden full of many colorful flowers. The window was open all the way, and they could smell the wet grass. Babe put on the same record for the fourth time and said, “Get up, don’t be such a fool, it’s for your own good.” Alberto had collapsed into an easy chair, exhausted. Pluto and Emilio had come to watch the lessons, and spent the whole time cracking jokes, making insinuations, mentioning Helena’s name. In a few moments he would see himself in the tall mirror, swaying very solemnly in Babe’s arms, his body as stiff as before, and Pluto would say, “There you go, you’re dancing like a robot again.”
He stood up. Emilio had lit a cigarette and was sharing drags with Pluto. Alberto looked over at them: they were sitting on the sofa, arguing whether English or American tobacco was better. He ignored them. “Let’s go,” Babe said. “This time, you lead.” They started dancing again, slowly at first, trying very carefully to follow the rhythm of that Creole waltz, one step to the right, one step to the left, turn this way, turn that way. “You’re doing better,” Babe said, “but you’ve got to do it a little faster, with the
music. Listen, tum-tum, tum-tum, turn, tum-tum, tum-tum, turn.” Alberto was feeling more relaxed, more at ease: he stopped thinking about the steps and his feet no longer collided with Babe’s.
“You’re doing all right,” Babe said, “but don’t dance so stiffly. It isn’t just a question of moving your feet. When you turn you’ve got to bend a little, like this. Watch me.” Babe showed him how, a forced smile on his white face. He turned on his heel, and when he finished the turn his smile had disappeared. “It’s just a trick, like changing steps or doing figures, but you’ll learn all that later. Right now you’ve got to learn how to lead your partner correctly. Don’t be afraid, she’ll know how to follow you. Put your hand behind her shoulder good and solid. Let me lead you for a moment so you’ll see. Do you get it? And you squeeze her hand with your left, and about halfway through the dance, if you think she’s willing, you slip your fingers between hers, and you bring her closer, little by little, pulling her toward you with your right, but slowly, gently. That’s why you’ve got to have your hand in the right place from the very beginning, not just your finger tips, your whole hand, the way I showed you, just under her shoulder. Later on, you can start sliding it, but you pretend it’s an accident, as if your hand slides down by itself each time you turn. If the girl starts to pull away or tighten up, then quick, talk about something, keep talking and laughing, but never slack up with your hand. And take lots and lots of turns, but make sure they’re in the same direction. If you spin to the right you won’t get dizzy, you can spin fifty times in a row, but she’ll be spinning to the left and she’ll get dizzy right away. You’ll see: once you’ve whirled her around a few times she’ll be leaning her head against you to steady herself. Then you can slide your hand down to her waist without being afraid. And you can even put your cheek against hers. Do you understand?”
The waltz had ended and the record-player kept up a monotonous scratching. Babe turned it off.
“He knows all the angles,” Emilio said, pointing to Babe. “He’s as slick as they come.”
“We’re all set now,” Pluto said. “Alberto knows how to dance. So let’s play some Happy Neighborhood.”
The old name for the neighborhood, which had gone out of use because it also referred to the red-light district on Huatica Street, was revived for the new kind of casino that Tico had invented months before at the Terrazas Club. The whole deck was dealt out to four players, with the dealer naming the wild cards, and it was played by partners. Since then it was the only card game played in the neighborhood.
“But he’s only learned the waltz and the bolero,” Babe said. “He’s still got to learn the mambo.”
“Not now,” Alberto said. “We’ll go on some other time.”
When they went into Emilio’s house at two o’clock in the afternoon, Alberto was full of enthusiasm, and wisecracked along with the rest. But four hours of lessons had worn him out. Only Babe was still full of life; the others were bored.
“Whatever you want,” Babe said. “But remember, the party’s tomorrow.”
Alberto stretched. It’s true, he told himself. And to make it worse, it’s at Ana’s house. They’ll play mambos all night. Ana, like Babe, was a star dancer: she did figures, she invented new steps, her eyes sparkled with pleasure when the others stopped dancing to watch her. Will I spend the whole evening sitting in a corner while the others dance with Helena? I wish it’d be just for the neighborhood.
For some time the neighborhood had ceased to be an island, a walled fortress. Outsiders—boys from Miraflores (from the 28th of July, Francia Street, Reducto, La Quebrada), boys from San Isidro and even from Barranco—had suddenly appeared in the neighborhood. They were after the girls, and talked with them in the doorways of their houses, ignoring or defying the resentment of the neighborhood boys. Also, they were older, and sometimes they even threatened them on their home ground. The girls were to blame, because they encouraged these invasions. Sara, Pluto’s cousin, had become the girl friend of a boy from San Isidro. Sometimes he brought along a couple of his friends, and Ana and Laura chatted with them. The outsiders came most often on days when there were parties. They appeared as if by magic. They hung around outside from the very beginning, joking with the mother, flattering her. If they were not successful in getting her to invite them in, they stayed outside with their noses pressed to the windows, eagerly watching the couples as they danced. They made gestures, faces, jokes, they used every trick they could think of to attract the attention of the girls and make them feel sorry for them. Sometimes one of the girls, one who had fewer dances, asked the hostess to let an outsider come in. That started it: in a few minutes the room was full of outsiders, who ended up by taking over the record-player and the girls. Ana was especially disloyal, her feeling for the neighborhood was very weak if she had any at all. She was more interested in the outsiders than she was in the boys who lived near her. If she had not invited the outsiders herself, she found a way of getting them in.
“Yes,” Alberto said, “you’re right. Teach me the mambo.”
“Okay,” Babe said, “but first let me smoke a cigarette. You can dance with Pluto till I finish.”
Emilio yawned and nudged Pluto with his elbow. “Get up and show your stuff, you’re the king of the mambo.” Pluto laughed. He had a splendid laugh that shook his whole body.
“Yes or no?” Alberto asked peevishly.
“Don’t get sore,” Pluto said. “I’m coming.”
He stood up and went over to put on a record. Babe had lit a cigarette and was tapping his foot to the rhythm of some song he remembered.
“Listen,” Emilio said, “there’s something I don’t understand. You were the first one that started dancing, I mean during the first parties in the neighborhood when we began to go around with the girls. Have you forgotten?”
“That wasn’t dancing,” Alberto said. “It was just hopping around.”
“We all started out the same way,” Emilio said. “But then we learned how.”
“But he stopped going to dances for a long time,” Pluto said. “Don’t you remember?”
“That’s right,” Alberto said. “That’s what messed me up.”
“It looked as if you wanted to become a priest,” Pluto said. He had finished picking out a record and was turning it over and over in his hands. “You hardly even left the house.”
“Bah,” Alberto said. “It wasn’t my fault. My mother wouldn’t let me.”
“And now?”
“Now she does. Things are getting better between her and my father.”
“I don’t get it,” Babe said. “Where does he come into it?”
“His father’s a Don Juan,” Pluto said. “Didn’t you know? Haven’t you seen him when he comes back at night, how he wipes his mouth with his handkerchief before he goes inside?”
“Yes,” Emilio said. “We saw him once in La Herradura. He had a real beautiful dame with him in his car. He’s a lady-killer, all right.”
“He’s a good looker,” Pluto said. “And a sharp dresser.”
Alberto nodded with a pleased expression.
“But what’s that got to do with their not letting you go to parties?” Babe asked.
“When my father starts running wild,” Alberto said, “my mother keeps me in so I won’t be like him when I’m older. She’s afraid I’ll be another skirt-chaser, a heller.”
“Great,” Babe said. “She’s all right.”
“My father likes the women too,” Emilio said. “Sometimes he doesn’t come home at all, and his handkerchiefs always have lipstick on them. But my mother doesn’t care. She laughs and says, ‘You old tomcat.’ Ana’s the only one who bawls him out.”
“Look,” Pluto said, “when are we going to dance?”
“Wait a minute, man,” Emilio said. “Let’s talk a little. We’ll get more than enough dancing at the party.”
“Every time we talk about the party,” Babe said, “Alberto turns pale. Don’t be such a fool, man. This ti
me Helena’s going to say she’ll go around with you. I’ll bet you anything you want.”
“Do you think so?” Alberto asked.
“He’s head over heels in love,” Emilio said. “I’ve never seen anybody so far gone. I could never do what he did.”
The Time of the Hero Page 17
