"And is it really that big?"
María and Lupe laughed. In my mind, Alberto kept growing and getting tougher the more they talked. I had stopped wanting him to show up, or to risk my life for the girls.
"Once, in Azcapotzalco, there was this blow-job contest in a club, and this one slut always won. No one could get her mouth around all the dicks she could swallow. Then Alberto got up from the table where we were sitting and said wait a minute, I've got some business to take care of. The people who were at our table said that's the way, Alberto, you could tell they knew him. Inside, I was thinking the poor girl was already finished. Alberto stood in the middle of the floor, pulled out his huge dick, stroked it into action, and stuck it in the champion's mouth. She really was tough, and she gave it her best shot. She took it little by little and everyone was gasping in astonishment. Then Alberto grabbed her by the ears and pushed his dick all the way in. No time like the present, he said, and everybody laughed. Even I laughed, although the truth is I felt embarrassed too, and a little bit jealous. For the first few seconds it looked like the girl was going to do it, but then she choked and started to suffocate…"
"Jesus, your Alberto's a monster," I said.
"But keep telling the story, what happened next?" said María.
"Nothing, really. The girl started to hit Alberto, trying to pull away from him, and Alberto started to laugh and say whoah, girl, whoah, like he was riding a bucking bronco, know what I mean?"
"Of course, like he was in a rodeo," I said.
"I didn't like that at all, and I shouted let her go, Alberto, you're going to hurt her. But I don't think he even heard me. Meanwhile the girl's face was turning red, her eyes were wide open (she closed them when she gave head), and she pushed at Alberto's thighs, sort of tugging on his pockets and his belt. Of course, it didn't matter, because each time she tried to pull away from Alberto, he yanked her again by the ears to stop her. And he was going to win, you could tell."
"But why didn't she bite his thing?" said María.
"Because the party was all his friends. If she had, Alberto would have killed her."
"Lupe, you're crazy," said María.
"So are you. Aren't we all?"
María and Lupe laughed. I wanted to hear the end of the story.
"Nothing happened," said Lupe. "The girl couldn't take it anymore and she started to puke."
"And what about Alberto?"
"He pulled out a little before, right? He realized what was coming and he didn't want to get his pants dirty. So he sort of leaped like a tiger, but backward, and he didn't get a drop on himself. The people at the party were clapping like crazy."
"And you're in love with this maniac?" said María.
"In love, like really in love? I don't know. I'm crazy about him, that's for sure. You'd love him too, if you were me."
"Me? Not in a million years."
"He's a real man," said Lupe, looking out the window, her gaze lost in the distance, "and that's the truth. And he understands me better than anyone."
"He exploits you better than anyone, you mean," said María, pushing back and slapping the table with her hands. The blow made the cups jump.
"Come on, mana, don't be that way."
"She's right," I said, "don't be that way. It's her life. Let her do what she wants with it."
"Stay out of this, García Madero. You're looking in from the outside. You don't have a fucking clue what we're talking about."
"You're looking in from the outside too! For Christ's sake, you live with your parents, and you aren't a whore-sorry, Lupe, no offense."
"That's okay," said Lupe, "you couldn't offend me if you tried."
"Shut up, García Madero," said María.
I obeyed her. For a while the three of us were silent. Then María started to talk about the feminist movement, making reference to Gertrude Stein, Remedios Varo, Leonora Carrington, Alice B. Toklas (tóclamela, said Lupe, but María ignored her), Unica Zürn, Joyce Man-sour, Marianne Moore, and a bunch of other names I don't remember. The feminists of the twentieth century, I guess. She also mentioned Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz.
"She's a Mexican poet," I said.
"And a nun too. I know that much," said Lupe.
NOVEMBER 17
Today I went to the Fonts' house without Pancho. (I can't spend all day following Pancho around.) When I got to the gate, though, I started to feel nervous. I worried that María's father would kick me out, that I wouldn't know how to handle him, that he would attack me. I wasn't brave enough to ring the bell, and for a while I walked around the neighborhood thinking about María, Angélica, Lupe, and poetry. Also, without intending to, I ended up thinking about my aunt and uncle, about my life so far. My old life seemed pleasant and empty, and I knew it would never be that way again. That made me deeply glad. Then I headed back quickly toward the Fonts' house and rang the bell. Mr. Font came to the door and made a gesture as if to say hold on a second, I'm on my way. Then he disappeared, leaving the door ajar. After a while he appeared again, crossing the yard and rolling up his sleeves as he walked, a broad smile on his face. He seemed better, actually. He swung open the gate, saying you're García Madero, aren't you? and shook my hand. I said how are you sir, and he said call me Quim, not sir, in this house we don't stand on ceremony. At first I didn't understand what he wanted me to call him and I said Kim? (I've read Rudyard Kipling), but he said no, Quim, short for Joaquín in Catalan.
"Okay then, Quim," I said with a smile of relief, even happiness. "My name is Juan."
"No, I'd better keep calling you García Madero," he said. "That's what everybody calls you."
Then he walked partway through the yard with me (he had taken my arm). Before he let me go, he said that María had told him what happened yesterday.
"I appreciate it, García Madero," he said. "There aren't many young men like you. This country is going to hell, and I don't know how we're going to fix it."
"I just did what anyone would have done," I said, a little tentatively.
"Even the young people, who in theory are our hope for change, are turning into potheads and sluts. There's no way to solve the problem; revolution is the only answer."
"I agree completely, Quim," I said.
"According to my daughter, you behaved like a gentleman."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"A few of her friends-but there's no point getting into it, you'll meet them," he said. "In some ways, it doesn't bother me. A person has to get to know people from all walks of life. At a certain point you need to steep yourself in reality, no? I think it was Alfonso Reyes who said that. Maybe not. It doesn't matter. But sometimes María goes overboard, wouldn't you say? And I'm not criticizing her for that, for steeping herself in reality, but she should steep herself, not expose herself, don't you think? Because if one steeps oneself too thoroughly, one is at risk of becoming a victim. I don't know whether you follow me."
"I follow you," I said.
"A victim of reality, especially if one has friends who are-how to put it-magnetic, wouldn't you say? People who innocently attract trouble or who attract bullies. You're following me, aren't you, García Madero?"
"Of course."
"For example, that Lupe, the girl the two of you saw yesterday. I know her too, believe me, she's been here, at my house, eating here and spending a night or two with us. I don't mean to exaggerate, it was just one or two nights, but that girl has problems, doesn't she? She attracts problems. That's what I meant when I was talking about magnetic people."
"I understand," I said. "Like a magnet."
"Exactly. And in this case, what the magnet is attracting is something bad, very bad, but since María is so young she doesn't realize and she doesn't see the danger, does she, and what she wants is to help. Help those in need. She never thinks about the risks involved. In short, my poor daughter wants her friend, or her acquaintance, to give up the life she's been leading."