Outlaws Page 2

  ‘He wasn’t very good at it, so the game was soon over. Shit, he said, punching the machine. He looked at me furiously, but before he could say anything Tere laughed, pushed him aside and put a coin in the slot. Grumbling, Zarco leaned on the table right next to me watching Tere play. Both of them commented on the game without paying any attention to me, although every once in a while, between one ball and the next, Tere would glance over at me out of the corner of her eye. People kept coming in and out of the arcade; Señor Tomàs came out of his booth more often than usual. Gradually I began to calm down, but was still a bit jittery and didn’t dare leave. Tere didn’t take long to finish her game either. When she did she stepped back from the machine and pointed at it. Your turn, she said. I didn’t open my mouth, didn’t move. What’s the matter, Gafitas?, Zarco asked. You don’t want to play any more? I kept quiet. He added: Cat got your tongue? No, I answered. So?, he insisted. I’ve run out of money, I said. Zarco looked at me curiously. You’re out of cash?, he asked. I nodded. Really?, he asked again. I nodded again. How much did you have? I told him the truth. Fuck, Tere, Zarco laughed. That wouldn’t be enough for me and you to wipe our asses with. Tere didn’t laugh; she stared at me. Zarco shoved me aside again and said: Well, if you ain’t got cash, you’re fucked.

  ‘He put some more coins in the machine and started a new game. As he played he started talking to me; or rather: he started interrogating me. He asked me how old I was and I told him. He asked me where I lived and I told him. He asked me if I went to school and I said yes and told him which school I went to. Then he asked me if I spoke Catalan; the question seemed strange to me, but I answered yes again. After that he asked me if I came to the arcade often and if I knew Señor Tomàs and what time the place opened and what time it closed and other similar questions, which I don’t remember specifically, but I do remember answering them or answering as far as I could. I also remember that his last question was whether I needed money, and I didn’t know how to answer that. Zarco answered for me: If you do, tell me. Come to La Font and tell me. We’ll talk business. Zarco swore at a ball that got past him and punched the machine again; then he asked me: Do you or don’t you, Gafitas? I didn’t answer; before I could a tall blond guy in a Fred Perry polo shirt who’d just walked into the arcade came over. The guy said hi to Zarco, whispered with him for a moment and then the two of them went outside. Tere stood there looking at me. I noticed her eyes again, her mouth, the mole beside her nose, and I remember thinking she was the most gorgeous girl I’d ever seen. Will you come?, she asked. Where?, I asked. To La Font, she answered. I asked what La Font was and Tere told me it was a bar in the district and I understood that the district was the red-light district. Tere asked me again if I’d go to La Font; although I was sure I wasn’t going to, I said: I don’t know. But then quickly added: I probably will. Tere smiled and stroked the beauty spot beside her nose with one finger; then she pointed at Rocky Balboa and, before following Zarco and the guy in the Fred Perry shirt, said: You’ve got three balls left.

  ‘That was our first meeting and that’s how it went. Left on my own I breathed a sigh of relief and, I don’t know whether for pleasure or because I thought Zarco and Tere might still be hanging around outside the arcade and I didn’t want to risk running into them again, I started playing the balls left in the machine. I’d just begun when Señor Tomàs came over. Do you know who those kids were, son?, he asked, pointing at the door. He was obviously referring to Zarco and Tere; I said no. What were you talking about?, he asked. I explained. Señor Tomàs clicked his tongue and made me repeat the explanation. He seemed anxious, and after a moment he went away mumbling something. The next day I arrived at the arcade in the late afternoon. When I passed the booth on my way in, Señor Tomàs rapped on the glass with his knuckles and asked me to wait; when he came out he put a hand on my shoulder. Hey, son, he began. Would you be interested in a job? The question took me by surprise. What job?, I asked. I need a helper, he said. He gestured vaguely around the whole place before making his offer: You help me close up every night and in exchange I’ll give you ten free plays a day.

  ‘I didn’t even need to give it a second thought. I accepted, and from then on my afternoons began to follow a single pattern. I arrived at the Vilaró arcade as soon as it opened, sometimes a little later, played my ten free games on whichever machine I felt like playing (almost always the Rocky Balboa) and, around eight-thirty or nine in the evening, I’d help Señor Tomàs close up: while he opened the machines and took out the coins, counted the day’s takings and filled in a sort of inventory, I made sure there was no one left in the main part of the building or in the washrooms, and then between the two of us we pulled the metal shutters down over the door; when we finished, Señor Tomàs got onto his Mobylette with the money and I walked home. That was all. Do I mean by this that I soon forgot about Zarco and Tere? Not at all. At first I was afraid they’d show up at the arcade again, but after a few days I was surprised to find myself wishing they would, or at least that Tere would. It never crossed my mind, however, to accept Zarco’s invitation, to go into the red-light district one afternoon and turn up at La Font: at sixteen years of age I had an approximate but sufficient idea of what the district was, and I didn’t like the idea of going there, or maybe I was just scared. In any case, I soon convinced myself that I’d met Zarco and Tere because some unlikely coincidence had made them stray outside their territory; I also convinced myself that, as well as unlikely, the coincidence was unrepeatable, and that I would not see them again.

  ‘The same day I arrived at this conclusion I had a terrible scare. I was on my way home after having helped Señor Tomàs close the arcade when I saw a group of kids walking towards me on Joaquim Vayreda. There were four of them, coming from Caterina Albert, on the same side of the street as me and, in spite of the fact that they were still quite a way off and it was getting dark, I recognized them immediately: it was Batista, Matías and two of the Boix brothers, Joan and Dani. I wanted to just keep walking along, but before I could take another two or three steps I felt my legs buckling and I started to sweat. Trying not to give in to panic, I began to cross the street; before I reached the other side I saw that Batista was doing the same. Then I couldn’t help it: instinctively I took off running, reached the kerb and turned right down an alley that led into La Devesa; just as I got to the park Batista jumped me; he brought me down and, kneeling on my back and twisting my arm behind me, immobilized me on the ground. Where’re you going, asshole?, he asked. He was panting like a dog; I was panting too, face down in the dirt of La Devesa. I’d lost my glasses. Looking around desperately for them, I asked Batista to let me up, but instead he asked me the same question again. Home, I said. Through here?, Batista asked, digging his knee into my back and twisting my arm till I screamed. You’re a fucking liar.

  ‘At that moment I heard Matías and the Boix brothers catch up. From the ground, in the leaden light shining from a streetlamp, I saw a blurry confusion of jean-clad legs and feet in sneakers or sandals. Nearby I caught sight of my glasses: they didn’t look broken. I begged them to pick them up and someone who wasn’t Batista picked them up but didn’t give them to me. Then Matías and the Boix brothers asked what was going on. Nothing, said Batista. This fucking catalanufo, he’s always lying. I didn’t lie, I managed to say in my defence. I just said I was going home. See?, said Batista, twisting my arm harder. Another lie! I screamed again. Let him go, Matías said. He hasn’t done anything to us. I felt Batista turn to look at him without letting go of me. He hasn’t done anything?, he asked. Are you a dickhead or what? If he hasn’t done anything why does he take off running as soon as he sees us, eh? And why has he been hiding? And why does he keep lying? He paused and added: Well, Dumbo, tell the truth for a change: where were you coming from? I didn’t say anything; as well as my back and arm, my face was hurting too, pressed against the ground. See?, said Batista. He keeps quiet. And a guy keeps quiet when he has something to hide. Just like a guy who
runs away. Yes or no? Let me go, please, I whined. Batista laughed. As well as a liar you’re a dickhead, he said. You think we don’t know where you’ve been hiding? You think we’re idiots? Eh? What do you think? Batista seemed to be waiting for an answer; suddenly he twisted my arm even harder and asked: What did you say? I hadn’t said anything and I said I hadn’t said anything. Yes you did, said Batista. I heard you call me a son of a bitch. I said: That’s not true. Batista brought his face up to my face as he twisted my arm nearly out of its socket; I thought he was going to break it. Feeling his breath on my face I screamed. Batista paid no attention to my screams. Are you calling me a liar?, he asked again. Matías intervened again, tried to ask Batista to leave me alone; Batista cut him off: told him to shut up and called him an idiot. Straight away he asked me again if I was calling him a liar. I said no. Unexpectedly, this answer seemed to pacify him, and after a second or two I felt the pressure ease up on my arm. Then, without another word, Batista let me go and stood up.

  ‘As quickly as possible I did the same, brushing the dirt off my cheek with the palm of my hand. Matías handed me my glasses, but before I could take them Batista grabbed them. I stood looking at him. He was smiling; in the darkness of the park, under the plane trees, his features appeared vaguely feline. You want them?, he said, holding out my glasses. As I reached out my hand towards them, he pulled them away. Then he held them out again. If you want them, lick my shoes, he said. I stared back at him for several seconds, and then looked at Matías and the Boix brothers, who were watching me in expectation. Then I knelt down in front of Batista, licked his shoes – they tasted of leather and dust – stood up again and stared back at him. His eyes seemed to sparkle for an instant before he let out a snort that sounded like laughter or a laugh that sounded like a snort. You’re a coward, he finally said, throwing my glasses on the ground. You disgust me.

  ‘I spent the night tossing and turning in bed while trying not to feel completely ashamed of the incident with Batista and trying to find some relief for my humiliation. I didn’t manage either one, and after that I decided not to return to the Vilaró arcade. I feared that Batista had been telling the truth and knew where I was hiding and would come looking for me. What might have happened if he had found me?, you’ll be wondering. Nothing, you’ll say to yourself, and I suppose you’d probably be right; but fear is not rational, and I was afraid. Whatever the case, soon loneliness and boredom overcame my fear, and two or three days later I went back to the arcade. When he saw me Señor Tomàs asked what had happened and I told him I’d been sick; I asked him if our deal still held. Of course, kid, he answered.

  ‘That afternoon something happened that changed my life. I’d spent quite a while playing the Rocky Balboa machine when I was startled by a group of people bursting into the place. At first I thought, in panic, that it was Batista and my friends; with relief, almost with joy, I soon saw that it was Zarco and Tere. This time they weren’t alone: they were accompanied by two guys; this time Señor Tomàs didn’t stop them on their way in: he just watched them from the door of his booth, his hands on his hips and his crossword-puzzle book in one of them. After a moment, the relief and joy faded and the worry returned, especially when the four recent arrivals made straight for me. What’s up, Gafitas?, asked Zarco. Not planning to come to La Font? I stepped back from the machine and ceded the controls to him; he stopped short; pointing at me with a smile he turned to the two guys: See? This is my Gafitas: I don’t even have to say anything before he does what I want him to. While Zarco took over the game I’d started, Tere said hi. She said she’d been waiting for me at La Font and asked why I hadn’t gone there. The other two guys watched me with interest. Later I found out they were called Gordo and Tío: Gordo, or Fatso, because he was so skinny he always seemed to be in profile; Tío, because that’s what everyone called him. Gordo wore tight bellbottoms and had wavy, shoulder-length hair that looked like it was kept in place with hairspray; Tío was shorter than him and, even though he was the oldest of all of them, had a sort of childlike air about him, his mouth always half-open, his jaw a little loose. I answered Tere’s question with excuses, but nobody paid any attention to my reply: Zarco was concentrating on the Rocky Balboa machine and Gordo and Tío were playing the pinball machine next to it; as for Tere, she too soon seemed to lose interest in me. But I stayed beside her anyway while her friends played, not daring or not wanting to walk away, listening to the comments the four of them made, watching Señor Tomàs go in and out of his booth and watching the regulars glance over at us out of the corners of their eyes.

  ‘Zarco had finished his turn and given his place to Tere when the guy in the Fred Perry shirt came back into the arcade. Zarco exchanged a few words with him and Gordo and Tío stopped playing and the four of them went outside together. Tere went on playing pinball. Now, instead of looking at the table all the time, I looked at her every once in a while, furtively, and at a certain moment she caught me; as a cover-up I asked who the Fred Perry guy was. A dealer, she answered. Then she asked me if I smoked. I said yes. Hash, Tere clarified; I knew what hash was (just as I knew what a dealer was), but I’d never tried it and didn’t say anything. Tere guessed the truth. Do you want to try it?, she asked. I shrugged. If you want to try some come to La Font, Tere said. In a pause between one ball and the next, she looked at me and asked: Are you going to come or not? I had no intention of going, but I didn’t want to tell her. I looked at the image of Rocky Balboa looming over the pinball table; I’d seen it a thousand times: Rocky, muscular and triumphant, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts with the American flag printed on them, raising his arms to the clamouring stadium while a defeated boxer lies in the ring at his feet. I looked at this image and remembered myself licking Batista’s shoes and felt the shame of my humiliation all over again. As if fearing that the silence could reveal what I was feeling, I hurried to answer Tere’s question with another question: Do you go every day? I meant to La Font; Tere understood. More or less, she answered, and launched the next ball; when that one got swallowed by the machine too she asked again: Why? Are you going to come? I don’t know, I said, adding: Probably not. Why not?, Tere insisted. I shrugged again, and she kept playing.

  ‘I kept looking at her. I pretended to look at the pinball table, but I was looking at her. Tere noticed. The proof was that she hadn’t even finished playing that ball when she said: Not bad-looking, am I, Gafitas? I blushed; I immediately regretted having blushed. The arcade was very noisy, but I had the impression that in the centre of the uproar was an absolute silence, which only I could hear. I pretended I hadn’t really heard her question. Tere didn’t repeat it; she finished playing the ball unhurriedly and, leaving the game half-finished, took me by the hand and said: C’mon.

  ‘Have I already told you that some of the things that happened that summer feel like things I’ve dreamt rather than things I’ve experienced? What happened next was one of those. Tere dragged me to the back of the arcade, dodging the people that were beginning to fill the place, and without letting go of my hand we went into the women’s washroom. It was exactly the same as the men’s – there was a long hallway with a big mirror on the wall, opposite the line of stalls – and at that moment it was almost empty: just a couple of girls in high heels and miniskirts applying mascara in front of the mirror. When Tere and I came in, the girls looked at us, but didn’t say anything. Tere opened the door of the first stall and invited me in. Where are we going?, I asked. In here, she answered. Disconcerted, I looked at the two girls, who were still looking at us. What? Tere hissed at them. Take a picture; it’ll last longer.

  ‘Startled, the girls turned back to the mirror. Tere pushed me into the stall, stepped in behind me, closed the door and bolted it. The stall was a minuscule space where only a toilet and tank fit; the floor was cement and the walls wood and they didn’t reach all the way to the floor. I leaned back against one of them; Tere pushed her handbag around to her back and gave me an order: Drop your trousers. What?,
I asked. Tere’s reply was to kiss me on the mouth: a long, dense, wet kiss, with her tongue twirling around mine. It was the first time in my life that a woman had kissed me. Drop your trousers, she repeated. Like a sleepwalker I unbuckled my belt and undid my zipper. Pants too, said Tere. I obeyed. When I finished, Tere took me in her hand. And now pay attention, Gafitas, she said. Then she crouched down, put it in her mouth and started to suck. It was all over very quickly, because, although I tried not to, I came almost immediately. Tere stood up and kissed me on the lips; now her mouth tasted of semen. Did you like that?, she asked, still holding my exhausted dick in her hand. I managed to mumble something. Then Tere smiled fleetingly but perfectly, let go of me and, before walking out of the stall, said: Tomorrow I’ll be expecting you at La Font.

  ‘I don’t know how long I stayed there with my pants round my ankles, trying to recover from the shock, or how long it took me to get dressed again. But when I came out of the stall the washroom was empty. And when I came out of the washroom, Tere was not in the arcade; Zarco wasn’t there either, Gordo and Tío had come back in. I went to the door, leaned outside and looked up and down the street, but I didn’t see anybody. Señor Tomàs appeared beside me. Where did you get to?, he asked. I looked at him: he had his hands in his pockets, and he hadn’t noticed that the pressure of his gut had popped two buttons of his shirt; a clump of curly, grey hair poked through the opening. Before I could answer he asked another question: Hey, kid, are you all right? You don’t look so good. I told him I was fine but that I’d just thrown up in the washroom, though I felt better now, and that maybe I wasn’t entirely recovered. Well, you take care, kid, Señor Tomàs warned me. You don’t want a relapse. Then he asked me what I’d been talking about with Zarco and Tere and the others and I told him that time we hadn’t talked about anything. Señor Tomàs clicked his tongue. I don’t trust those quinquis one bit, he said. Then he said: Don’t take your eyes off them if they come back, OK? I said OK and, looking at the double row of cars parked under the train overpass, for a moment I thought I’d never see Tere again and asked: Do you think they’ll be back? I don’t know, answered Señor Tomàs; and as we walked back to his booth added: With those people you never know.