‘But you didn’t have to: you’d paid Zarco back the favour in La Montgoda and you were even.’
‘Yeah, but there was Tere.’
‘You mean you joined Zarco’s gang for Tere?’
‘I mean that, if it hadn’t been for Tere, I most likely wouldn’t have done it: although I’d arrived at the conclusion that she wasn’t the girl for me, I wanted to think that, while we were near to each other, what had happened in the Vilaró arcade washrooms could always happen again; and I think I was willing to run any risk in order to keep open some possibility of that happening again. That said, you’re a writer and must know that, even if we find it very comforting to find an explanation for what we do, the truth is that most of what we do doesn’t have a single explanation, supposing that it even has any.’
‘You told me before that robbing the house was a rush. Does that mean you enjoyed it?’
‘It means what it means. What do you want me to say? That I loved it? That the day I stole stuff in La Montgoda I discovered that there was no way back, that Zarco’s game was a very serious game, where everything was at stake, that I could no longer be satisfied playing the Rocky Balboa pinball machine, where I had nothing at stake? You want me to say that playing that game I felt I was getting even with my parents? Or you want me to tell you that I was getting revenge for all my humiliations and the guilt that had been accumulating over the last year and that, as Batista represented absolute evil for me, this game that liberated me from Batista represented absolute good? If you want I’ll say it; maybe I’ve already said it. And it may be true. But do me a favour: don’t ask me for explanations; ask me for facts.’
‘Agreed. Let’s get back to the facts. The robbery in La Montgoda was the first in a series of robberies you participated in with Zarco. You told me before that when you got to Gerona that day you went to sell what you’d stolen. Where did you sell it? Who did you sell it to? Because I can’t imagine it would have been easy.’
‘Selling it was easy; what wasn’t easy was getting good money for it. There was only one fence in Gerona, or at least only one serious fence, so since he had practically no competition, he did whatever he wanted. He was the General. They called him that because he bragged about having been an officer in the Spanish Foreign Legion; also because he wore long bushy sideburns like a comic-strip general. I only met him three or four times. He lived in an Andalusian-style house in the middle of an open field in Torre Alfonso XII and he was a peculiar guy, although maybe the peculiar thing was him and his wife as a couple. I clearly remember the afternoon we went to sell him the loot from La Montgoda, which was the first time I saw him. As I told you before, it might have been the same afternoon as the robbery, but it might have been another, because we often stashed what we stole and took a few days to sell it. As a precaution. The thing is that day we — Zarco, Tere, Guille and I, the same ones who’d gone to La Montgoda — went that day, parked the car in front of the General’s house and Zarco went to the door and soon came back and announced that the General was busy although his wife said he’d soon be finished and we could go in shortly. They want to fuck with the guys who are with the General, Zarco said. Guille and Tere laughed; I didn’t get the joke, but didn’t think anything of it either. Between the four of us we carried all the stuff into the house guarded by the General’s wife, a skinny, scraggy woman, with vague eyes, messy hair and a grey housecoat. When we went out to the yard we saw the General and a couple of men at one side in front of a large cardboard box with a radio-cassette player sticking out of it. The men looked angry when they saw us and immediately turned their backs. The General seemed to be trying to placate them; he greeted us with a slight nod. We left our load in the middle of the yard (at the other side there was a jumble of bed frames, bicycles, scrapped motorbikes, furniture and appliances), and waited for the General to finish what he was doing. He soon did, and the two men left in a hurry without even looking at us, accompanied by the General and his wife.
‘We were left alone in the yard, and Zarco amused himself by looking through the big cardboard box with the radio-cassette sticking out of it while Guille, Tere and I smoked and talked. A while later the General came back without his wife. He seemed cheerful and relaxed, but before he could say a word Zarco pointed to the gate. Who were those guys? he asked. The ones who just left? asked the General. Yeah, answered Zarco. Why do you want to know? asked the General. Zarco shrugged. No reason, he said. Just wondering what that pair of dickheads were called. The answer didn’t seem to annoy the General. He looked at Zarco with interest and then turned for a second towards his wife, who’d come back out to the yard while they were talking and was standing a few metres away, with her head leaning on one shoulder and hands in the pockets of her housecoat, apparently oblivious to the conversation. The General asked: What’s up, Zarquito? Did you come here to piss me off? Zarco smiled modestly, as if the General was trying to flatter him. Not at all, he said. Then would you mind telling me what you’re talking about? said the General. Zarco pointed to the cardboard box he’d just looked through. How much did you pay for what’s in there? he asked. What’s it to you? replied the General. Zarco didn’t say anything. After a silence the General said: Fourteen thousand pesetas. Satisfied? Zarco continued smiling with his eyes, but pursed his lips sceptically. It’s worth a lot more, he said. And how do you know? asked the General. Because I know, answered Zarco. Anyone other than those two dickheads knows it; what a pair: as soon as they saw us they shat themselves and could only think of how fast they could get out of here. He paused and added: What a bastard you can be. Zarco said this calmly looking at the General, with no malice in his tone of voice. As I told you, it was the first time I went to that house and I didn’t know what Zarco’s relationship was with the man he was talking to or how to take that verbal sparring, but I was reassured by the fact that neither Tere nor Guille seemed anxious or surprised. The fence didn’t either, just scratched a sideburn thoughtfully and sighed. Look, kid, he said afterwards. Everyone does business the way they like, or the way they can. Besides, as I’ve told you many times: in this world things are worth what people pay for them, and in this house things are worth what I say they’re worth. Not one peseta more. And anyone who doesn’t like it shouldn’t come here. Is that clear? Zarco rushed to answer, still a bit mocking but conciliatory now: Crystal. Then, turning to the merchandise that we’d left in the middle of the yard, he asked: And according to you how much is this worth?
‘The General looked at Zarco with distrust, but soon followed him, just as Tere, Guille and I did; then his wife followed. For quite a long time the General was examining the stuff, crouched down, with his wife standing beside him: he’d pick something up, describe it, list its defects (many, according to him) and virtues (according to him, few) and then he’d move on to the next. As I watched the scene I understood that the General was listing and describing more for his wife than for himself, and for a moment I thought his wife had trouble with her eyesight or that she was actually blind. When they finished the inventory and valuation, the General and his wife moved a few steps away, exchanged a few inaudible words and soon the man returned, crouched down again beside the Telefunken television set, passed his hand over the screen as if he wanted to get the dust off it, pressed the on-off button a couple of times to no effect and asked: How much do you want? Double, answered Zarco without a thought. Double what? asked the General. Double what you paid those dupes, answered Zarco. This time it was the General who smiled. Then he placed his hands on his knees, stood up with a groan and looked his wife in the eye; his wife didn’t look at him; she was staring beyond the fences of the yard, as if something in the sky had caught her attention. The General looked at the empty sky and then looked back at Zarco. I’ll give you sixteen thousand, he said. Zarco pretended to think it over for a moment before turning to me. Hey, Gafitas, he said. You’ve been to schooclass="underline" is sixteen thousand double fourteen thousand? I shook my head slightly and Zarco turned back to the General and copied my gesture. You’re crazy, said the General without the smile leaving his face. I’m making you a good offer. It doesn’t seem that good to me, said Zarco. Nobody’s going to pay what you’re asking, insisted the General. We’ll see about that, replied Zarco. He immediately signalled to Guille and the two of them picked up the television while I carried the record player and Tere the speakers, but we hadn’t even started walking when we saw that the General’s wife was waiting for us at the door to the house, as if she wanted to say goodbye or rather as if she wanted to prevent us from leaving. Twenty thousand, the General said then. Carrying the television, Zarco looked at him, looked at his wife, looked at me and asked: Is twenty thousand double fourteen thousand? Before I could answer, the General said: Twenty-three thousand. It’s my final offer. Then Zarco gestured to Guille that they should put the television down and, once they’d done so, went over to the General, held out his hand and said: Twenty-five thousand and there’s no more to be said.