B004QGYWDA EBOK (11 page)

“You can leave me here,” she said. “I know a girl, a friend of mine, who lives on the next block. Thanks for everything.”

“No,” Alberto said. “Why?”

“You’ll have to excuse my aunt,” Teresa said. She was looking at him now, and seemed calmer. “She’s very kind, she’ll do everything she can so I can go out on a date.”

“Yes,” Alberto said, “she’s very nice, very friendly.”

“But she talks a lot,” Teresa said, and laughed.

She isn’t pretty but she’s got beautiful teeth, Alberto thought. How did the Slave get to be her boy friend?

“Will Arana be mad if you go out with me?”

“He isn’t my boy friend,” she said. “This is the first time we had a date. He didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

They were still at the corner. They could see a few people at a distance on the streets around them. It began drizzling again, and a fine mist drifted down on them. They were silent for a moment. Alberto dropped his cigarette and stamped it out.

“Well,” Teresa said, reaching out her hand, “good-by.”

“No,” Alberto said. “You can visit your friend some other time. Let’s go to the movies.”

Her face grew very serious. “Don’t invite me because you think you ought to. Really. Haven’t you got something you have to do?”

“Even if I did, I’d invite you,” Alberto said. “But honestly, I don’t.”

“All right,” she said. She stretched out her hand, palm up, and looked at the sky. Alberto could see that her eyes were gleaming.

“It’s raining.”

“Just barely.”

“Let’s take the express.”

They walked down to Arequipa Avenue. Alberto lit another cigarette.

“You just put one out,” Teresa said. “Do you smoke a lot?”

“No. Only when I’m on pass.”

“Don’t they let you smoke in the Academy?”

“Strictly forbidden. But of course we smoke anyway, in secret.”

As they approached the avenue the houses were larger, the streets wider. Groups of people went by. Some boys in shirt sleeves shouted something at Teresa. Alberto turned around to go back, but she stopped him.

“Don’t pay any attention to them,” she said. “They’re always saying silly things.”

“They shouldn’t bother a girl when she’s with a fellow,” Alberto said. “That’s an insult.”

“You cadets from the Leoncio Prado, you all like to fight.”

He reddened with pleasure. Vallano was right: the cadets really impressed the girls. Not those in Miraflores, but those in Lince. He started talking about the Academy, the rivalries among the Years, the field exercises, the vicuña, the dog Skimpy. Teresa listened attentively, and showed how she liked his stories. Then she told him she worked in a downtown office and that earlier she had studied typing and shorthand in a secretarial school. They got on the express at the Raimondi Academy stop and got off at the San Martín Plaza. Pluto and Tico were there under the arcades. They looked them up and down, and Tico grinned at Alberto and winked his eye.

“Aren’t you going to the movies?”

“They stood us up,” Pluto said.

They said good-by. Alberto could hear them whispering behind him. He felt as if the dirty looks of the whole neighborhood were falling on him like a cloudburst.

“What movie would you like to see?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Any one you want.”

Alberto bought a newspaper and read out the movie ads in a loud, affected voice. Teresa laughed and the people walking through the arcades turned to look at them. They decided to go to the Metro. Alberto bought two tickets for downstairs. If Arana only knew how I’m spending the money he loaned me, he thought. And now I can’t go see Golden Toes. He smiled at Teresa and she smiled back at him. It was still early and the theater was almost empty. Alberto grew very talkative: since he was not intimidated by this girl, he could make good use of all the smart phrases and wisecracks and puns he had heard so often in the neighborhood.

“The Metro’s awfully pretty,” she said. “Very elegant.”

“You haven’t been in here before?”

“No. I hardly ever go to the downtown theaters. I get out of work late, at six-thirty.”

“Don’t you like the movies?”

“Yes, lots! I go every Sunday. But I go to a neighborhood theater near my house.”

The picture was in color, with a great many dance numbers. The head dancer was also a comedian. He mixed people’s names up, he took pratfalls, he made faces, he rolled his eyes. You can tell he’s a queer from a mile off, Alberto thought. He turned to look at Teresa. She was completely absorbed by what was happening on the screen: her mouth was half open and there was a hungry stare in her eyes. Later, when they were outside, she described the whole movie as if Alberto had not seen any part of it. She chattered about the actresses’ dresses and their jewelry, and when she recalled the comedy episodes her laughter was very bright and innocent.

“You have a good memory,” he said. “How can you remember all that?”

“I told you, I’m crazy about the movies. When I’m seeing a good movie I forget everything else. It’s like I’m in another world.”

“Yes,” Alberto said, “I could tell. You looked as if you were hypnotized.”

They got on the express and sat down side by side. The San Martín Plaza was full of people who had come out from the first showing of the movies and were walking around under the street lights. There was a tangle of cars on all sides of the square. As they approached the Raimondi stop, Alberto pushed the button.

“You don’t have to go with me,” she said. “I can get home alone. I’ve already taken up enough of your time.”

He objected, and insisted on going with her. The street that ran into the middle of Lince was dark. A few couples went by. Others were standing together in the shadows, and stopped murmuring or kissing when someone passed them.

“You really didn’t have anything to do?” Teresa asked.

“No, honest.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“But it’s true. Why don’t you believe me?”

She hesitated. Finally she said, “You haven’t got a girl friend?”

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t.”

“I know you’re lying. But you must have had lots of them.”

“Not lots,” Alberto said. “Just a few. And have you had a lot of boy friends?”

“Me? Not one.”

Should I ask her to be my girl friend right now? Alberto wondered. “That’s not true,” he said. “You must have had dozens.”

Arequipa Avenue with its double line of cars was far away now. The street was narrow and the shadows were even deeper. The drops of water that had gathered on the leaves and branches during the afternoon drizzle were gently dripping from the trees onto the sidewalk.

“Is that because you haven’t wanted to?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why you haven’t had any boy friends.” He paused for a moment. “A pretty girl can have as many as she wants.”

“Oh,” Teresa said. “But I’m not pretty. Don’t you think I know it?”

Alberto objected strongly, and said, “You’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen.”

Teresa turned to look at him. “Now you’re making fun of me,” she murmured.

I’m an imbecile, Alberto thought. He heard Teresa’s little steps beside him, two for each one of his, and he glanced over at her. She had her head bent a little, her arms crossed on her breast, her mouth closed. The blue ribbon looked black, and was lost against her black hair; it stood out when they passed under a street light, then disappeared in the darkness again. They walked to the door of her house without speaking.

“Thank you,” Teresa said. “Thanks for everything.”

They shook hands. “See you soon.” Alberto turned away, walked a few feet, and came back.

“Teresa.”

She had raised her hand to knock on the door. She looked around, startled.

“Have you got anything to do tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’d like to take you to the movies. How about it?”

“I haven’t got anything to do. Thanks very much.”

“I’ll come by for you at five,” he said.

Before she went into the house, Teresa watched Alberto until he vanished from sight.

When his mother opened the door, Alberto immediately began to make his excuses. Her eyes were filled with reproach and she was sighing loudly. They went in and sat down in the living room. His mother was silent and resentful. Alberto felt infinitely bored.

“I’m sorry,” he told her once again. “Don’t be cross, mamma. Honest, I did everything I could to get away early, but they wouldn’t let me go. I’m feeling kind of tired. Is it all right if I go to bed now?”

There was no reply. She was still looking at him accusingly, and he wondered, When will it start? It was not long, for suddenly she put her face in her hands and started weeping quietly. Alberto stroked her hair. She asked him why he made her suffer so. He swore he loved her above everything else in the world. She said he was a hypocrite, just like his father. Between her sobs and her appeals to God she told him how she had bought cakes and cookies at the store around the corner, how she had picked out the very best they had, how their tea had got cold on the table, how her loneliness and her tragic grief had been sent to her by the Lord in Heaven to test her moral fortitude and her spirit of self-sacrifice. Alberto raised her head with both hands and leaned over to kiss her brow. He was thinking: Here’s another week gone by and I still haven’t been to see Golden Toes. Then his mother was calmer, and asked him to try to eat the dinner she herself had prepared for him with her own two hands. Alberto agreed, and while he was eating a bowl of vegetable soup she embraced him and said, “You’re the only hope I’ve got in the whole wide world.” She told him that his father had left the house after about an hour, that he had made all sorts of proposals-a trip somewhere, a pretended reconciliation, a divorce, an amicable separation-and that she had turned down all of them without hesitating an instant.

Then they went back to the living room and Alberto asked her if he could smoke. She nodded, but when she saw him light his cigarette she burst into tears and began talking about how time flies, how little boys grow up so fast, how life is ephemeral. She reminisced about her childhood, the family trips to Europe, her friends at school, her good looks, her suitors, the many young men she turned down to marry this man whose only purpose now was to destroy her. Then, lowering her voice, and putting on her most tragic expression, she began talking about his father. She repeated again and again, “He wasn’t like this when I met him,” and she described how good he was at sports, all the tennis tournaments he won, his fine manners, their honeymoon in Brazil, the midnight walks they used to take, hand in hand, on the beach at Ipanema. “But he got into bad company,” she said. “Lima’s the most corrupt city in the world. But I’ll save his soul with my prayers.” Alberto listened to her in silence, thinking about Golden Toes, another week without seeing her, and he wondered what the Slave would say when he found out he took Teresa to the movies, and he thought about Pluto and Helena, and the Military Academy, and the neighborhood he had not visited for three years. At last, his mother yawned. He stood up, said good night to her, and went to his room. While he was undressing he noticed an envelope on the stand beside his bed, with his name printed in big letters. He opened it and took out a fifty-sol bill.

“He left that for you,” his mother said from the doorway. She sighed. “It’s the only thing I accepted from him. My poor little boy, there’s no reason you should have to suffer too!”

He threw his arms around his mother, lifted her off the floor, and whirled her around, saying, “Just you wait, mamma, it’ll all come out all right, I promise you I’ll do everything you want me to.” She smiled happily and said, “We don’t need anybody else.” In the midst of their patting and hugging, he asked her permission to go out.

“Just a few minutes,” he said. “I want some fresh air.”

Her smile died, but she agreed. He put on his tie and jacket again, ran his comb through his hair, and left. His mother called out to him from the front window: “Don’t forget to say your prayers before you go to bed.”

Vallano was the first one to mention her nickname in the barracks. One Sunday at midnight, when the cadets had taken off their dress uniforms and were smoking the cigarettes they had got past the officer of the guard by hiding them in their caps, Vallano started talking to himself in an undertone about a woman in the fourth block of Huatica Street. His eyes rolled in their sockets like two magnetized steel balls, and he sounded very excited.

“Shut up, you clown,” the Jaguar said. “Cut it out.”

But he went on talking while he was making his bunk. Cava, who was already in bed, asked him, “What did you say she’s called?”

“Golden Toes.”

“Must be a new one,” Arróspide said. “I know everybody in the fourth block and I don’t remember that name.”

On the following Sunday, Cava and the Jaguar and Arróspide were also talking about her. They kept nudging each other and laughing. “Didn’t I tell you?” Vallano asked them proudly. “Just follow my advice.” A week later, half of the section knew her and the name of Golden Toes began to ring in Alberto’s ears like a popular song. The vague but suggestive references he heard them make aroused his imagination. In his dreams, her name took on strange, voluptuous, contradictory meanings: the woman was always the same and yet different, a presence that vanished when he was about to touch her or uncover her face, provoking the most extravagant impulses or submerging him in a tenderness so profound that he felt he would die of impatience.

Alberto talked about Golden Toes as much as anyone else in the section. No one suspected that he knew about Huatica Street and its environs only by hearsay, because he repeated anecdotes he had been told and invented all kinds of lurid stories. But he could not overcome a certain inner discontent. The more he talked about sexual adventures to his friends, who either laughed or shamelessly thrust their hands into their pockets, the more certain he was that he would never go to bed with a woman except in his dreams, and this depressed him so much that he swore he would go to Huatica Street on his very next pass, even if he had to steal twenty soles, even if he got syphilis.