“How much?”
“Whatever you wish.”
6. In this way, my father and I managed to save enough to buy a VCR, and now the two of us can enjoy old movies brought back to life, clean, remastered, and in Dolby Digital, together we can see Edmundo Dantés escape the Castle of If in the shroud of Abbot Faria, D’Artagnan presenting the jewels of the Duke of Buckingham to the queen, Emilio de Rocabruna approaching the coast of Maracaibo under the black flags of the corsairs.
“Who’s the girl who falls in love with Zorro, Father?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I think she’s very pretty.”
“She’s just a foreigner, Sandokán, a bit player, a soubrette, as they used to say in the old days. She’s of no importance.”
Fito bored sunday afternoon
he’s unfailing
he doesn’t pass unnoticed
he’s good-looking
he’s superfine
a terrific time incredibly stoned
high as an eagle
cool cool cool
but he’s bored
he comes from a decent family nice fine
he has manners
he has servants
his mom and dad call them rude coarse untrustworthy trash bums
indians
but would never say it
his mommy and daddy feel more than disgusting
disgust: mexica louts
that’s why he organizes the group of pissers
to water the roses for them and give enough to their vegetables
the ones who are unfailing the nice ones the crème hey hey
now guys we fly over the wall
don’t fly over it, better aim at it
wanna see who has better aim hey?
no Fito my friend, hold on a little, drink another magnum all by yourself and when you can’t
hold it anymore we’ll aim at the wall but just remember that first we drink
until we die and before we die we aim at the wall to see who pisses more and better
because Fito got bored with sunday afternoons with the society girls at the cool
parties where he’s very good-looking and superfine
where everybody has a terrific time
except him
he wants strong sensations
to tell all the nice people like him to go to hell
all the society girls
and that’s why he comes to pee on his father-in-law’s wall
with his golden buddies
aiming at the wall
whoever pees the farthest wins a trip to las vegas with babes who make you stand up and salute hey hey
and that noise?
and that noise ay?
and that ay — dammit!
naco guys with their knives and machetes assaulting the children of good families
hey where’d they come from?
from penitenciaría and héroe de nacozari and albañiles and canal del norte
how did they get here?
by subway my fella citzens
since there’s been a subway we come out like ants scorpions moles from the black holes
of the siddy
with knives and machetes to assault
come to cut
in one slice the ones that have stopped
to slash the ones that are sleepy
to cut cock you bastards
now get them together
the pigs
let the boars in and the dogs
let the animals eat sausages
let them bleed
look at them vomit
look at them covering the wounds
look at the blood running down their thighs
look at them look at them look at them
sunday afternoon what a handsome birthday boy in the show on the tube everything very lively
a terrific time
an unbelievable time
at the father-in-law’s wall
and whoever shouts put his own chile in his mouth
you never thought about that bastard
about sucking yourself bleeding bastard
and now what will your girlfriends say a bunch of rich fuckers
and now how will you father more fucking children rich castrated fuckers
sons of mufuckin
it’s a dream right?
it’s a nightmare isn’t it?
seal off all the subway exits
let’s go with the cute girls for the weekend
let’s run away
to get married have children go to the club fly to nuyor
send the children to school
fondle their nursemaids
and now the only children will be ours
fucking children
there are millions of us
nobody can stop us
The Discomfiting Brother
1. Don Luis Albarrán had his house in order. When his wife, Doña Matilde Cousiño, died, he was afraid that as a widower, his life would become disorganized. At the age of sixty-five, he felt more than enough drive to continue at the head of the construction company La Pirámide. What he feared was that the rear guard of that other security, Doña Matilde’s domestic front, would collapse, affecting his life at home as well as his professional activities.
Now he realized there was nothing to fear. He transferred the same discipline he used in conducting his business to domestic arrangements. Doña Matilde had left a well-trained staff, and it was enough for Don Luis to repeat the orders of his deceased wife to have the household machinery continue to function like clockwork. Not only that: At first the replacement of the Señora by the Señor caused a healthy panic among the servants. Soon fear gave way to respect. But Don Luis not only made himself respected, he made himself loved. For example, he found out the birthday of all his employees and gave each one a gift and the day off.
The truth is that now Don Luis Albarrán did not know if he felt prouder of his efficiency in business or his efficiency at home. He gave thanks to Doña Matilde and her memory that a mansion in the Polanco district, built in the 1940s when neocolonial residences became fashionable in Mexico City, had preserved not only its semi-Baroque style but also the harmony of a punctual, chronometric domesticity in which everything was in its place and everything was done at the correct time. From the garden to the kitchen, from the garage to the bathroom, from the dining room to the bedroom, when he returned from the office, Don Luis found everything just as he had left it when he went to work.
The cook, María Bonifacia, the chambermaid, Pepita, the butler, Truchuela, the chauffeur, Jehová, the gardener, Cándido. . The staff was not only perfect but silent. Señor Albarrán did not need to exchange words with a single servant to have everything in its place at the correct time. He did not even need to look at them.
At nine in the evening, in pajamas, robe, and slippers, when he sat in the wingback chair in his bedroom to eat a modest light meal of foaming hot chocolate and a sweet roll, Don Luis Albarrán could anticipate a night of recuperative sleep with the spiritual serenity of having honored, for another day, the sweet memory of his loyal companion, Matilde Cousiño, a Chilean who had until the day of her death a southern beauty with those green eyes that rivaled the cold of the South Pacific and were all that had been left to her of a body slowly defeated by the relentless advance of cancer.
Matilde: Illness only renewed her firm spirit, her character immune to any defeat. She said that Chilean women (she pronounced it “wimmen”) were like that, strong and decisive. They made up for — this was her theory — a certain weak sweetness in the men of her country, so cordial until the day their treble voices turned into commanding, cruel voices. Then the woman’s word would appear with all its gift for finding a balance between tenderness and strength.