— Imagine. And here I’ve been warming up.
— Is it true you’re gonna sell your soul to the devil?
— Of course not, dummy. If I did, then where would my corridos come from?
— So what are you gonna offer him?
— A pedicure for his rooster foot and a horseshoe for his goat’s foot.
— Ah, sure, Don Paulino, always kidding around.
— Don’t doubt me, güey. I’m gonna make him swallow something that’s not gonna come back up. My sorrel horse. The most beautiful of all my mares. His eyes are gonna pop out. He’s gonna accept the deal. He’s gonna accept because no one — not even the devil — has ever had such a beautiful mare.
10
— Who goes there?
— Me.
— Ah, you. Don Paulino. How are you?
— As good as when I killed the deceased.
— So you’re over your drunkenness?
— Come now, it’s not like it’s contagious.
— What brings you around these parts?
— I’ve come to sell you my soul.
— No, no, no, not in your condition. You’re wasted.
— Well, I’ve been partying, buddy.
— Yes, I see, but I don’t make deals like that. Wait till it passes and when you’ve got your senses, then come back.
— No, just this once. While I’m stoked. Whatever’s gonna happen, let it happen. Why make me come and go senselessly?
— Paulino, you don’t understand, you’ve lost it. How many times have you offered me your soul? And each time, you’re drunk as a skunk. Go home. Sleep it off, like you always do. Come back sober. You know I won’t bargain otherwise. No deal.
— What a fag of a devil you are. Just once. I won’t regret it. Don’t they always say kids and drunks always tell the truth. Goddamn grouchy old man.
11
— Next.
— Good evening.
— Ah, it’s you, Paulino. How are you doing?
— Fresh. Sober. Bathed.
— Now then. What’s your business?
— I’ve come to sell you a mare at a loss for a pair of Cowboy Bible boots.
— Not interested. Next.
— She’s a breed. Pure blood. Look how haughty she is.
— Yes, I see she’s a blueblood, but I’m not good with animals or plants. It’s just gonna die on me.
— Then I offer you my soul.
— It doesn’t interest me either.
— Then my song royalties.
— I’m immune to norteño music. I don’t like corridos or norteño music.
— I’ve got nothing else. I have nothing else with which to entice you.
— Yes, you do: your wife.
— You’re out of your mind, man. If my wife finds out I’m trafficking with her soul, she’d kill me.
— I’m not interested in her soul. I just wanna sleep with her one time.
— You’re hopeless, man. You’re twisted. She’d never accept. And she’d murder me first.
— Insist. Insist until you convince her.
— Don’t count on it. If I even mention it, the least that will happen is that she’ll have me diagnosed as senile and put me in diapers and never let me out of her sight for the rest of our lives.
12 The Kid’s All Twisted
A play in one act
Characters: The devil and Old Man Paulino
A country road, a tree. Dusk. Paulino, sitting on the ground, is filling a tank. He’s exhausted and making a big effort, using both hands. He pauses, so tired, rests, pants, sighs. Repeats same gestures.
Enter The Devil (the audience applauds).
THE DEVIL: Hey. Considering you’re someone so used to liquor and pot, you should be okay, Paulino. How are you doing?
PAULINO: Better, don’t you think?
THE DEVIL: You look tired, mi estilos. What’s wrong, Old Man?
PAULINO: My wife.
THE DEVIL: Oh, Paulino. You’ve totally lost it. With those legs, your wife could make any man ache.
PAULINO: Even you. Satan himself. The least clandestine of all massage-parlor clients.
THE DEVIL: Even me.
PAULINO: Shall we smoke a little weed?
THE DEVIL: Later. To get some balance. But the weed aside, what’s bothering you, dude?
PAULINO: My wife is being subversive. On top of not wanting to take a tumble with you, she informed me she wants to go to the Valentín Elizalde dance. I’m not gonna take her. It makes me wanna sneak her some yombina, to see if she gets hot enough so I can get my boots.
THE DEVIL: I’ll give you an easier recipe. Let’s put on a farce: We’ll go to your house and pretend to have a poker bet. You bet your money and lose. All your assets, you lose them. In the end, you bet a roll in the hay with your wife and you lose.
PAULINO: I don’t think she’ll go for it. She’s not a big fan of card games.
THE DEVIL: You let her know I’m taking everything. That if she consents, I’ll reconsider the debt. If she accepts I won’t toss you out on the street.
13
— Where’d it happen?
— In Mole’s bar.
— Oh Paulino, if you’re always losing it, why’d you bet?
— Then what, my love?
— No, Paulino. I’m not some song lyric. You’re not gonna use me as currency with some card shark.
— But if you don’t agree, we’ll never have another meal at El Rey del Cabrito. It’s not even one night, my love. He’s a good person.
— Doesn’t matter how decent. You think I’m in condition to be traded like peanuts?
— Well, the debt would be covered that way. He’d even owe me something.
— Paulino, tell me the truth. How much did you lose?
— Everything.
— Even the Nativity?
— Yes, even those plaster figurines.
— They’re porcelain.
— Whatever. Assholes, those damn figurines.
— You’re sick, Paulino. I refuse to sleep with a stranger just to fix your mess. I’m outta here. I’m going to my mother’s. I wanna divorce.
— And what will you get out of that? I don’t have a thing. Not the ranch or the rights to my songs, not even my gray hairs. But if instead you calm down and throw down with that card shark for a few, then it’s like nothing ever happened.
— Paulino, tell me the truth. How much did you lose?
— Everything. Even the dirt under my nails.
— Well. Fine. I’ll let you twist my arm. But to be clear I’m doing it only to keep us out of the poorhouse. Things are gonna change in this house. And you tell that man there’s no guarantee I’m gonna give him my body. Make it very clear all I’ll accept is an invitation to Valentín Elizalde’s dance. Then we’ll see.
14
— Don’t come to me now with sob stories out of Vicente Fernández movies, Paulino. Gambling debts are matters of honor. Don’t act like a fool.
— I’ve kept my end of the deal. The rest is up to you, pendejo.
— Don’t be a fool.
— I did my part. She’ll go with you to the dance. It’s up to you to get her in bed.
— I said no, Paulino. Until your wife comes to me you’re not gonna wear Cowboy Bible boots. Those were the terms.
— The only term and condition I value is that of the north. The norteño condition. The way all the guys who get tangled in these agreements refuse to furrow their brows. Damn devil, that’s why I liked you.
— Oh, Paulino. You’ve lost it. Over and over. Wait a while and you’ll have your boots at dawn. And I’ll bring your woman back to you all happy happy. Content. Well taken care of.