Donoso-Jose-El-Lugar-Sin-Limites (ENG)

Machine Translated by Google
Jose Donoso The place without limits
JOSE DONOSO
THE PLACE WITHOUT LIMITS
1
For Rita and Carlos Fuentes
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4th edition April 1984
This edition is the property of Editorial Bruguera. SA
Camps y Fabrés, 5 Barcelona (Spain)
C José Donoso 1965
Neslé Soulé cover design
Printed in Spain
ISBN 840205161 8 / Legal deposit B 5 715 1984
Printed in the Graphic Workshops of Editorial Bruguera. SA
National Highway 152, km 21,650 Parets de Valles (Barcelona 1984)
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INDEX
CHAPTER I ................................................ .................................................. ................ 6

CHAPTER II................................ .................................................. ................................ 9
CHAPTER III............... .................................................. ............................................ 15
CHAPTER IV .. .................................................. .................................................. ........ 22
CHAPTER V ....................................... .................................................. ...................... 29
CHAPTER VI ......................... .................................................. ................................... 34
CHAPTER VII ............ .................................................. ..................................................
42 CHAPTER VIII .................................................. .................................................. ........
47 CHAPTER IX ....................................... .................................................. .....................
54 CHAPTER .................................................. ................................... 59 CHAPTER
XI ............ .................................................. ................................................ 65 CHAPTER
XII................................................. .................................................. .......... 70
4
Faust: Hell first. I will ask about of the
Tell me, where is the place that men call hell?
Mephistopheles: Beneath the sky.
Fausto: Yes, but where?
Mephistopheles: In the bowels of these elements.

Where we are tortured and will always remain.
Hell has no limits, nor is it limited to a single place, because hell is where
we are.
and here where hell is we have to stay...
MARLOWE, Doctor Faustus
5
CHAPTER I
With difficulty, Manuela opened her bleary eyes, stretched slightly, and turning to the opposite side from where
Japonesita was sleeping, she reached out her hand to take the watch. Five to ten. Eleven o'clock mass. The whipping lashes
sealed his eyelids again as soon as he put the watch on the drawer next to the bed. At least half an hour before his daughter
asked him for breakfast. He rubbed his tongue against his bare gum: like hot sawdust and rotten egg breath. For drinking so
much chacolí to rush the men and close early. He jumped—of course!—, opened his eyes and sat on the bed: Pancho Vega
was in town. She covered her shoulders with the pink shawl that lay at the foot of the side where her daughter was sleeping.
Yes. Last night they came to him with that story. Be careful because
They took off her clothes and, putting her famous Spanish dress on her, they forcibly tore it up completely.
They had begun to bother Japonesita when Don Alejo arrived, as if by miracle, as if they had summoned him. He is so good.
He even had the face of Tatita Dios, with his eyes like blue china and his mustaches and eyebrows made of snow.
He knelt down to get his shoes from under the cot and sat on the edge to put them on. I had slept badly. Not just the
chacolí, which was so bloating. Who knows why Don Alejo's dogs spent the night howling in the vineyard... He was going to
spend the day yawning and without strength at all, with pain in his legs and back. He tied his shoelaces slowly, with double
roses... as he knelt down, deep down, under the cot, was his suitcase. Cardboard, with the paint peeling and whitening on
the edges, tied with string: it contained all his things. And her dress. That is, what those brutes left behind in her pretty dress.
Today, along with taking her eyes off, no, lie, last night, who knows why and as soon as they told her that Pancho Vega was
in town, she was tempted to take out her dress again. I hadn't touched it in a year. What insomnia, no sour chacolí, no dogs,
no pain in the ribs! Without making a sound so that his daughter wouldn't get angry, he bent down again, took out the suitcase
and opened it. A scouring pad. Better not even touch it. But he touched it. He lifted the bodice... no, it seems like it's not that
damaged, the neckline, the armpit... fix it. Spend this Sunday afternoon sewing next to the kitchen so as not to get numb.
Playing with the skirts and the tail, trying it on so that the little girls can tell me where I have to put it in because last year I
lost three kilos. But I don't have a thread. Tearing a small piece from the end of the tail, he put it in his pocket. As soon as
she served her daughter breakfast, she was going to go to Ludovinia's to see if she could find some red thread of the same
tone among her odds and ends. Or similar. In a town like El Olivo Station you couldn't be demanding. He put the suitcase
back under the cot. Yes, where Ludo was, but before leaving he had to make sure that Pancho was gone, if it was true that
he was there last night. Because it could well be that he had heard those honks in his dreams, as sometimes during the year
he heard his loud voice or felt his abusive hands, or that he had only imagined last night's honks, remembering those of last
year. Who knows. Shivering, he put on his shirt. She wrapped her pink shawl around her, adjusted her false teeth, and went
out into the patio with her dress hanging over her arm.
Raising her small face, wrinkled like a raisin, her black, hairy old mare's nostrils dilated as she felt in the cloudy morning air
the aroma left by the recently concluded grape harvest.
Half naked, carrying a sheet of newspaper in her hand, Lucy emerged from her room like a sleepwalker.
—Lucy!
6
She is in a hurry: new wines are so treacherous. He locked himself in the toilet that leads to the ditch at the back of the patio,
next to the chicken coop. But no, I'm not going to send Lucy. To Clotilde yes.
—Hey, Cloty!
...with his imbecile face and his skinny arms sunk in the soapy trough between the reflection of the grapevine leaves.
—Look, Cloty...
-Good morning.
—Where is Nelly?
—On the street, playing with the kids next door. So good to her that she is
lady, knowing what one is and everything...
Sad bitch, bad omen bitch. He told Japonesita when he sheltered Clotilde a little over a month ago. And so old. Who would
want to go inside with her. Although at night, brutalized by wine and with their skin hungry for other skin, any skin as long as it was
warm and could be bitten and squeezed and licked, the men did not even realize what they were sleeping with, dog, old, anything.
Clotilde worked like a mule, without protesting even when they sent her to drag Cocacola's javas from one place to another. Last night
was bad. The fat huaso was enthusiastic, but when Japonesita announced that she was going to close, instead of going to the room
with Cloty she said she was going to go out into the street to vomit and did not return. Luckily I had already paid for the consumption.
—I want to send it. Don't you see that if Pancho is around I won't be able to go to mass? Tell Nelly to look out on all the streets
and to come and tell me if she sees the truck. She knows, that red one. How am I going to stay without mass?
Clotilde dried her hands on her apron.
-I'm coming.
—Did you make a fire in the kitchen?
-Not yet.
—Then buy me some coals to make the girl breakfast.
When bending over Clotilde's brazier preparing breakfast for her at dawn after working all night, with the strong winds that
entered the living room through the slots of the poorly screwed corrugated board, where the tiles were blown away by the earthquake.
Clotilde was doing so poorly in the salon that she could be left as a servant. And Nelly for the errands, and when she grew up... Yes,
Clotilde would bring them breakfast in bed. What other job did you want at your age. Besides, she wasn't lazy like the other whores.
Lucy returned to her room. There she would lie on her bed with muddy paws like a dog and spend the entire afternoon between the
filthy sheets, eating bread, sleeping, gaining weight. Of course that's why he had such a good clientele. Because I'm fat. Sometimes a
most gentlemanly gentleman would make the trip from Duao to spend the night with her. He said he liked to hear the whisper of Lucy's
thighs rubbing together, white and soft as she danced. That's what I was coming for. Not like the Japonesita who, even if she wanted
to be a whore,
7
Poor thing, it wouldn't work because she was so skinny. But as a boss she was the best. That could not be denied.
So organized and thrifty. And every Monday morning he went to Talca on the train to deposit the profits in the
bank. Who knows how much he had saved. He never wanted to tell her, although that money was as much his as
it was Japonesita's. And who knows what he was going to do with it because he didn't enjoy it. She never bought
a dress. That! Dress! I didn't even want to buy another bed so everyone could sleep in their own. Last night for
example. He didn't sleep at all. Maybe because of Don Alejandro's dogs barking in the vineyard. Or would I dream?
And the honking.
In any case, at his age, sleeping with an eighteen-year-old woman in the same bed was not pleasant.
He placed the saucer of bread on top of the steaming cup, and left. Clotilde, lava that washes you, shouted
to him that Nelly had already gone to see. Manuela did not respond or thank her, but approaching to see if she
was washing the other whores' clothes, she raised her thread-thin eyebrows, and looking at her with eyes furrowed
with feigned passion, she intoned:
Veredaaaaaaa
tropicaaaaaaaaaa - aal.
8
CHAPTER II
The house was sinking. One day they realized that the dirt on the sidewalk was no longer at the same
level as the floor of the living room, but higher, and they contained it with an edged board supported by two
wedges. But it didn't work. Over the years, who knows how and almost imperceptibly, the sidewalk continued
to rise in level while the floor of the hall, perhaps from being sprayed and compacted so much so that it
would be used for the dance, continued to go down. The table they put up never formed a regular stand. The
heels of the huasos that stumbled in ground the earth, leaving a dirty gap limited by the board that was
wearing out, a gap that accumulated burnt matches, mint wrappers, pieces of leaves, splinters, threads,
buttons. Grass sometimes sprouted around the wedges.
Manuela squatted at the door to pluck a few blades. I wasn't in a hurry. It was half an hour before
mass. Harmless half an hour, stripped of all tension by Nelly's news: not a truck, not a car in the entire town.
Of course, it was a dream. He didn't even remember who came to tell him the story. And dogs. They had no
reason to be loose in the vineyard at this time, when there was not even a bunch left to steal. Well. Five
minutes to Ludovinia's house, a quarter of an hour to look for the thread, and five minutes for anything, to
have a cup of tea or to stop and gossip with anyone on a corner. And then, his mass.
Just in case, he looked up the street towards the avenue that closed the town on that side, three
blocks away. Nobody. Not a soul. Clear. Sunday. Even the children, who always raised hell while playing
ball in the road, would be waiting by the door of the chapel to beg for alms if a rich man's car arrived. The
poplars shook. If the wind picked up, the entire town would be invaded by yellow leaves for at least a week
and the women would spend the day sweeping them from everywhere, from the roads, the corridors, the
doors and even under the beds, to collect them. in piles and burn them... the blue smoke catching fire in a
decayed clearing, crawling like a cat attached to the adobe walls, coiling around the stumps of crumbling
walls covered with grass, and the blackberry devouring it and devouring the rooms of the houses abandoned
and the sidewalks, the blue smoke in the eyes that sting and water with the last heat of the street. In her
jacket pocket, Manuela's hand squeezed the tatter of her dress like someone holding a talisman to urge it to
work its magic.
Just one block to get to the station where the town ended on that side and to Ludo's house around
the corner, always well sheltered with a brazier lit early in the morning. He hurried to leave behind the houses
on that direction, which were the worst.
There were few inhabited places because a long time ago all the coopers moved their businesses to Talca:
now, with good roads, you could get there in the blink of an eye from the farms. It's not that on the other side
of the town, on the side of the chapel and the post office, the houses were better or the inhabitants more
abundant, but anyway, it was the center. Of course, in better times the center was this, the station. Now it
was nothing more than a pasture crossed by the line, an invalid traffic light, a cracked concrete platform, and
lying between the knees under the pair of bizarre eucalyptus trees, an antediluvian threshing machine
between whose irons orange with rust the children played as if with a domesticated saurian. Beyond, behind
the grayed wooden shed, more brambles and a canal separated the town from Don Alejandro's vineyards.
Manuela stopped at the corner to look at them for a moment. Vineyards and vineyards and more vineyards
everywhere as far as the eye could see, all the way to the mountain range. Maybe they weren't all from Don
Alejandro. If they were not his, they were his relatives, brothers and brothers-in-law, cousins at most. All
Cruz. The linkage of the vineyards converged until
9
the houses of the El Olivo farm, surrounded by a not very large park, but a park nonetheless, and by the agglomeration of blacksmith
shops, dairies, cooperages, warehouses and Don Alejo's wineries. Manuela sighed. So much money. And so much power: Don Alejo,
when he inherited more than half a century ago, had the El Olivo Station built so that the train would stop right there and take its
products. And Don Alejo is so good. What would the people of the Station be without him? They were saying that now it was true that
the gentleman was going to get electric lights in the town. So happy and not at all fixed, being a senator and all. Not like others, who
thought that because you had a hoarse voice and hair on your chest they had the right to insult you.
And like Don Alejandro, who was such a man? It's true that in the summer, when he came to town for mass with Misia Blanca and by
chance they crossed paths on the street, the gentleman would make a fool of himself. Although sometimes, if Misia Blanca was
distracted, she would wink at him.
La Ludo served him mate and sopaipillas. Manuela settled into a chair next to the brazier and began to dig through the boxes
full of pieces of ribbons and buttons and silks and wool and buckles. Ludovinia could no longer see the content because she was very
short-sighted.
Almost blind. (So much so that Manuela advised her not to be stupid and to buy other glasses! But she never wanted to. When
Acevedo died, at the moment before they welded the coffin, Ludo almost went crazy and wanted to put something of hers inside to
accompany it. to her husband for all eternity. She couldn't think of anything better than to throw away her glasses. Of course. She was
Misia Blanca's servant when Moniquita died of typhus: the lady, desperate, cut off her blonde braid that reached down to her eyes.
She bowed and threw her into the coffin. Misia Blanca's hair grew back. To imitate her, the stupid Ludo was left without seeing. alive,
he didn't let her have any friends. Only Manuela. And when they teased him by reminding him that Japonesita was Manuela's daughter,
the cooper laughed in disbelief. But Japonesita grew up and no one could doubt: skinny. , black, toothy, with stiff locks just like
Manuela's.
Over the years, Ludo had become very forgetful and repetitive. Yesterday she told her that when Misia Blanca came to see
her she brought her a message from Don Alejo telling her that he wanted to buy her the house, which is not strange and again she
says Don Alejo is interested in this property but I don't understand why and I don't care. I want to go, I want to die here. Oh, no, it was
like drowning. It was no longer fun to gossip with her. He didn't even remember what things he had stored in the multitude of boxes,
packages, bundles, rolls that he hid in his drawers or under the cot or in the corners, covering themselves with dust behind the dresser,
tucked between the closet and the wall. And why say people, he erased everything, everyone except Don Alejo's family, and he even
knew the names of his great-grandchildren. Now he couldn't remember who Pancho was. —How can you not remember? I have told
you so much about him. —You take it by talking to me about men. —That big, mustachioed man who came to town so much last year
in the red truck, I told you. He was from the El Olivo farm but he left and got married. Then he was coming. That one with the blackened
eyebrows and bull's neck that I, before, when he was younger, found so nice, until that time he came to the house with some drunk
friends and got so annoying. When they made strips of my Spanish dress. Useless. For Ludo, Pancho Vega did not exist. Manuela
had the impulse to stop, throw the mate and the boxes with strings on the ground and return to her house. Old brute. There is nothing
left but a soft lump inside his head. Why talk to Ludo if she didn't remember who Pancho Vega was? He dug through the box to find
his thread so he could leave. Ludo remained silent while Manuela dug. Then he began to speak.
—He owes Don Alejo money.
Manuela looked at her.
10
- Who?
—The one you say.
—Pancho Vega?
-That.
Manuela wound the red thread around her little finger.
- As you know?
- By contrast? Don't take it all.
-Well. As you know?
—Misia Blanca told me the other day when she came to see me. He is the son of the late Vega who was Don Alejo's chief
cooper when I was with them. I don't remember the little boy. Misia Blanca says that this one, what's his name, wanted to become
independent from the Cruz family and when Don Alejo found out that he was looking to buy a truck, even though the boy had not
been on the farm for a long time and that the late Vega was dead and that Berta was also dead, he called this little boy, and lent him
money just like that, without a document, to pay for the foot of his truck...
—So you bought the truck with money from Don Alejo?
—And he doesn't pay you.
- Nothing?
-I don't know.
—He's been lost for a year.
-That's why.
— Scoundrel!
Scoundrel. Scoundrel. If he came with abuse, I could tell him: Scoundrel, you scammed Don Alejo who is like a father to you.
Then, by telling him, he wouldn't feel afraid. Or at least, less fear. It was as if that word was going to help him break
a hard and threatening scab of Pancho, leaving him always hard and always threatening, but in a different way. It was a pity that all
those honks were just a dream... Why would she mend her red dress then? The thread was unwound from the finger. What were you
going to do all afternoon today? Rain, his bones knew it. Come to Ludo? So that? If I spoke to him again about Pancho Vega, he
would surely answer:
—You're too old to be thinking about men and going out partying. Stay calm in your house, woman, and keep your paws
warm. Look, at our age the only thing you can do is wait for the girl to come and take you away.
But the bald girl was a woman like her and like Ludo, and among women one can always manage. With at least some
women, like Ludo, who had always
eleven
treated thus, unambiguously, as it should be. La Japonesita, on the other hand, was pure ambiguity. Suddenly, especially in winter,
when the poor girl was so cold and couldn't stop shivering from harvesting to pruning, she began to say that she would like to get
married. And have children. Children! But with her eighteen years of age, she didn't even get her period yet.
It was a phenomenon. And then he said no. That she didn't want to be bossed around.
Since she was the owner of a whorehouse, it would be better if she were also a whore. But a man touched her and she ran away. Of
course, with that face he wasn't going to amount to much. So many times I had begged her to get a perm. Ludo said that it was better
for her to get married, because that's what Japonesita really was. That she would marry a very macho man who would stir her glands
and make her fall in love. But Pancho was so brutal and so drunk that he couldn't make anyone fall in love with him. Or Don Alejandro's
grandchildren. In the summer, sometimes, they would get bored in the farm houses without having anything to do and they would
come to have a few drinks: skinny, with glasses, quiet, but they were very young and they were worried about their exams and they
left without drinking much and without messing with anyone. If Japonesita got pregnant by one of them... no, of course not getting
married, but anyway, the child... Why not. It was a destiny.
I didn't learn from her, Manuela told herself as she walked towards the chapel, the red thread wrapped around her little finger
again. I was going to take the dress here at the waist, and here, at the butt. And if she lived in a big city, one of those where they say
there is a carnival and all the crazy girls go out on the street to dance dressed in their luxuries and have a royal time and no one says
anything, she would go out dressed as a manola. But here the men are stupid, like Pancho and his friends.
Ignorant. Someone told him that Pancho carried a knife. But it wasn't true. When Pancho wanted to hit him last year he had the
presence of mind to feel the brute everywhere: he was walking around with nothing.
Moron. We talk so much against the poor crazy women and we don't do anything to them... and when he grabbed me with the
other men he gave me his good, well-intentioned grabs, you wouldn't realize how devilish and how old he is. And so angry because
one is crazy, what do I know what he said he was going to do to me. Let's see, you scoundrel, a scammer. It makes me want to put
the dress on in front of him to see what he does. Now, if I were here in town, for example. Going out on the street with the dress on
and flowers behind the ear and painted like a monkey, and having people say goodbye to me in the street Manuela, by God she looks
elegant mijita, she wants me to accompany her... Succeeding, one. And then Pancho, furious, finds me in a corner and
He tells me you disgust me, go get that out of you, you are a shame to the people. And just when he's going to hit me with those big
hands of his, I faint... in Don Alejo's arms, what's happening. And Don Alejo tells him to leave me, not to mess with me, that I am more
decent people than him, that at the end of the day he is nothing more than the son of a tenant while I am the great Manuela, known
throughout the city. province, and kicks Pancho out of town forever. Then Don Alejo puts me in the car and takes me to the farm and
lays me on Misia Blanca's bed, which is all pink satin, says Ludovinia, beautiful, and they go to look for the best doctor in Talca while
Misia Blanca puts compresses on me and He makes me smell salt and he takes me in his arms and tells me, look Manuela, I want us
to be friends, stay here in my house until you heal and don't worry, I'll give you my room and ask for whatever you want, don't worry,
no. Don't worry, because Alejo, you'll see, is going to throw all the bad people out of town.
-Manuela.
HEADSTREET. Feet stuck in the mud of a pool in the road. White mustaches, a vicuña blanket, blue eyes like under the brim
of the hat, and behind them, the four black dogs lined up. Manuela stepped back.
12
—For God's sake, Don Alejo, how you go out into the street with those brutes. Grab them. I'm leaving, I'm leaving.
Grab them.
—They're not going to do anything to you if I don't order it. Don't worry, Moro... —They should have put him in prison
for hanging out with them. Manuela was retreating to the other path. -Where are you going? You were with your feet in the
water.
—I bet I catch a cold. He went to mass to fulfill the commandments. I am not a heretic like you, Don Alejo. Look at
the dead face he has, I bet he was partying, at his age, I'm not saying...
—And you will go to ask forgiveness for your sins, great one...
— Sins! Hopefully. I don't lack desire, but look how skinny I am. Santita: Virgin and Martyr...
—Don't they say that you have Pancho Vega bewitched?
- Who says?
-He says. Be careful.
The dogs stirred behind Don Alejo.
—Othello, More, below...
The water weighing his socks, his cold pants stuck to his shins. She hadn't felt so upset in years. When climbing
the slope towards the other path he kicked a pig to get it to move away, but when he slipped he had to hold on to its back.
From the other side he asked Don Alejo:
— Be careful with who?
— With Pancho. They say he only talks about you.
—But he's not coming here to El Olivo anymore. Don't they say he owes you money?
Don Alejo laughed.
—You know everything, old gossip. Do you also know that I went to the doctor yesterday in Talca? And do you
know what he told me?
—To the doctor, Don Alejo? But if it's so good...
—You just told me that I have a bad face. You're also going to have a bad face when
Pancho catches up with you.
—But he's not there.
-Yeah. Snap.
The honking, then, last night. No, I didn't go to mass. He wasn't up to putting up with impertinence on the street. It
was too cold. God would forgive her this time. He was going to catch a cold.
13
At your age, better to go to bed. Yes. Go to bed. Forget the Spanish dress. Go to bed if Japonesita didn't tell him
to do something, what do I know, one of those jobs that sometimes she yelled at him to do. Last year Pancho
Vega twisted his arm and. he almost broke it. Now it hurt. He didn't want to have anything to do with Pancho
Vega. Nothing.
—Don't go, woman...
-Clear. It's not going to be you that he's going to hit.
-Wait.
—Well, Don Alejo, say what you want. Can't you see I'm in a hurry? My paws are soaked. If I die, you pay for my funeral
because you are to blame. First of all, ah...
Don Alejo, followed by his dogs, was walking in front of Manuela on the other sidewalk and talking to her.
The last sign of the eleven o'clock mass. He had to shout so that Manuela could hear him because the Guerrero
break was full of kids singing:
Let it Rain,
let it Rain.
The old woman is in the cave
the little birds sing...
—Well, Don Alejo. What does he want?
-Oh yeah. Tell Japonesita that I urgently need to talk to her. I'm going to stop by this afternoon. And I also
want to talk to you.
Manuela stopped before turning the corner.
— Are you coming by car?
-I don't know. Because?
—To park in front of the door of the house. So Pancho sees that you are with
us and does not dare to enter.
—If I don't come by car, I leave the dogs outside. Pancho is afraid of them.
—Of course, if he's a coward.
14
CHAPTER III
Miss Lila looked at Pancho Vega through the window, but despite the things he was saying to her, she did not
lower her gaze because she had known him for so long that he no longer shocked her. Besides, I'm glad to see this
tarambana again.
—But if you are like a sailor on land, well Pancho, now with the question of your truck and your freight: a woman in
each port. The Emita won't even see the dust of you, poor thing. What a punishment to be married to you.
—She doesn't complain.
Then Miss Lila did turn red.
—And you, Lilita? He tried to take her hand through the window.
—Stop it, fool...
Miss Lila made a gesture pointing to Octavio who was smoking at the door, looking at the street. Pancho turned to
look for the object of Lila's fear and when he saw only his brother-in-law he raised his shoulders. The interior of the shed at
the end of which the mail operated was empty, except for Don Céspedes sitting on one of the bales of clover forming a
ladder at the other end. The old man got off his pack and began to look at the street leaning on the jamb, on the other side
of Octavio. In front, a few people were hanging around the other shed, the one that served as a chapel on Sundays and
as a meeting place for the Party during the week. It was smaller than the mail shed and also belonged to Don Alejo, but
they never swapped its functions: the space of the current chapel was enough for the parishioners, especially after the
grape harvest, when there were no outsiders or the houses left. families of farm owners.
Pancho turned around and lit a cigarette.
—Has the priest of San Alfonso arrived?
Don Céspedes shook his head in denial.
—They must have had a friend.
Octavio patted the old man's back.
—You are so old and so innocent, Don Céspedes, for God's sake. The priest must have had
I dreamed this morning and it got stuck to the sheets. They say he danced all night at Pecho de Palo's house there in
Talca...
Miss Lila stuck her head out.
— Heretics! They are going to be condemned.
Pancho laughed as Don Céspedes took his hand out from under the blanket to
cross yourself Octavio went to sit on the bundles. Don Céspedes looked at the sky.
-It will rain.
fifteen
He followed Octavio and, climbing higher than him on the steps of the bales, left his shrunken, dark
feet dangling, deformed by scars and dirt, stuck in their muddy leaves.
At the window the conversation continued.
—Weren't you in Japonesita's bed last night?
- I? I don't. I have not been going for a long time. They don't give me a ticket.
—It's just that you too, with the unruliness...
—The bad thing is that I'm in love.
She said that of course, Japonesita was a good little girl and all, but she was ugly, and she didn't dress
in fashion, she looked like she belonged in an orphanage with those ankle-length baggy pants that she wore
under her aprons. Of course it was very strange for her to dedicate herself to that business, since everyone
knew she was a good girl. Yes, yes, inheritance from the mother, but she could sell. When she was a girl,
Japonesa Grande sent her to school, when there was a school in El Olivo and it operated right here, in this
warehouse, before Don Alejo bought it. Even though all the little girls were good to her, my younger sister
tells me, and the teacher too, Little Japonesa would run off, she would hide around the station, they say, until
classes were over and Big Japonesa wouldn't. She realized that she didn't go to school, and she never went
out to play or anything and she didn't greet anyone... Now, all the decent people feel sorry for Japonesita, the
poor thing is so strange. Miss Lila, for now, looked for the sight of Japonesita to greet her as kindly as she
could every time she met her on the street. Why not, isn't it?
—Yes, but I'm not in love with her...
Miss Lila looked at him confused.
—Whose, then?
—From Manuela, well...
Everyone laughed, even her.
—Filthy, degenerate men. Shame on them...
—It's just so beautiful...
The couple began to whisper again through the bronze bars. Don
Céspedes went back down the grass steps and stood at the door looking at the sky.
—Here comes the water, my mother...
The people waiting near the door of the chapel took shelter under the eaves, close to the wall and with
their hands in their pockets, behind the curtain of water that fell from the tiles. The Guerreros' horse was
soaked in a second, and the Valenzuelas, who had been arriving, took refuge in the Ford to wait for the mass
to begin. Don Alejo ran into the post office, followed by his four black dogs. He shook the water off the blanket
and
16
hat. The dogs shook themselves too, and Octavio climbed onto the bales so as not to get soaked. Then they got
into an uproar in the shed, which seemed to be too small for them.
—Good morning, Don Céspedes...
—Good morning, boss.
He then looked at Octavio, but did not greet him. He saw Pancho with his back turned, who next to the
window suspended his conversation, but did not turn around.
—Happy eyes, Pancho...
As Pancho remained the same, Don Alejandro urged his dogs, which got up from the ground.
floor.
—Othello, Sultan...
Pancho turned around. He raised his hands as if he were expecting a gunshot. Don Alejo called
to his dogs before they attacked.
—Moro, here...
—Your little jokes, Don Alejo...
—Even answer if they greet you.
—Those jokes can't be made.
Octavio looked at them from the top of the bales, near the beam that supported the corrugated iron of the
roof. Don Alejo was approaching Pancho through the warehouse, surrounded by the jumping dogs. In all that
brownish space, where even the whitewash on the wall was an earthy color, the only thing alive was the blue of
Don Alejo's eyes and the slobbery, red tongues of the dogs.
—And your jokes? Do they seem like a small thing to you, you broken ungrateful person? Do you think I
don't know why you came? I got you the freight of pomace, but I myself called Augusto days ago telling him to cut
them off for you.
—Let's talk somewhere else, better...
- Because? Don't you want people to know that you are a scoundrel and ungrateful? It's raining and I don't
want to get wet anymore, look, the doctor told me to take care of myself. You, Don Céspedes, do me the favor of
going to the butcher shop, here next door, and tell Melchor to send me some good charchas so that these dogs
can stay calm. Who is this?
Octavio lowered the bundles with a couple of jumps. As he shook out his dark suit and adjusted his loose
tie at the open collar of his shirt, he cleared his throat before answering.
But Pancho answered.
—It's Octavio, my brother-in-law.
—The one at the service station?
17
-Yes sir. To serve you. We are friends with Pancho, so in front of me he can
just talk...
The restlessness of the four black dogs with sumptuous tails and longing jaws filled the shed. Don Alejo's faience
eyes held Pancho's black gaze, forcing it to remain fixed under the shadowy eyelashes. He read in those eyes like in a
book: Pancho didn't want Octavio to know about the debt. The wind shook the lists of leftover letters taped to the wall.
- So you just don't care that I tell you that you are a scoundrel and a
ungrateful? Then you're also a fucking coward.
—Leave it then, Don Alejo.
—Your father, whom God keeps in his glory, would not have tolerated me speaking to him like that.
He was a real man. The little son who was going to come out! Nothing more than in memory of your father
I lent you the money. And that's just why I'm not sending you to prison. Did you hear correctly?
—I did not sign any document.
Don Alejo's fury was such that even the dogs felt it and stood up, growling at Pancho with their teeth bared.
- How dare you?
—Here I bring you the five overdue installments.
—And you think that makes me happy with that? Do you think I don't know why you came? Look
what I see under the tar and I know you as if I had given birth to you. Of course, they cut your freight. That's
why you come with your tail between your legs to pay me, so that I can get them to give them to you again.
Give me that money, you broken ungrateful person, give it to me I tell you...
—I'm not ungrateful.
- What are you so? Thief?
—Well, Don Alejo, cut it, it's good...
—Pass me the money.
Pancho handed him the wad of bills, warm because he had them pressed in his hand at the bottom of his pants,
and Don Alejo counted them slowly. Then he put them under the blanket. The Negus was licking the toe of his shoe.
-Alright. You have six installments left to finish paying me, and they must be punctual, you understand. And look,
it's good that you know, although anyone who was less stupid than you would already know: I have many threads in my
hand. Careful. Just because I didn't make you sign the paper, I'm not going to let you do that to me; If I gave you freedom
it was to see how you would react, although with what I know you, I should already know and so that you could beat
yourself up. You already know. For another time tell me that you can't pay me for a while and to wait for you, then, in a
good way, we'll see what I can do...
—I just didn't have time...
18
-Lie.
—The thing is, I hadn't come this way, then, Don Alejo.
-Another lie. When are you going to get rid of that damn habit? They told me that you
They had seen your brother-in-law's gas station several times along the way. What did it cost you to travel the
two kilometers to here or to the farm? That you no longer know the way to the houses where you were born,
animal?
No, I didn't want anything to do with those things or with this shitty town. It pained him to give his
money to Don Alejo. It was recognizing the bond, tying oneself again, all that he managed to forget a little,
like someone who whistles to forget the terror in the dark, during the five months that he had the strength not
to pay him, to resist and save that money to dream about other things. as if he had the right to do so. It's a
little money for the house that Ema wants to buy in that new neighborhood of Talca, the one with the houses
all the same, but painted in different colors so they don't look the same, and when Ema thinks of something,
there is no one who can resist. . Luckily now, in these times of so much freight, Pancho does little at home,
sometimes he prefers to park the truck on the road and sleep there. For the same reason, she said, for the
same reason that I hardly see you and I don't know what you're doing out there, for the same reason I and the
girl have to have some compensation... and when she falls into bed with an ulcer, a fire that It burns me here,
an animal that digs and bites and sips and sucks me, here, in here and doesn't let me sleep or speak or move
or drink or eat, barely breathe, sometimes with all this hard and cramped, with fear that The animal bites me
and bursts, so she takes care of me and I look at her because without her I would die and she knows and
that's why she takes care of it like a child who moans in regret, but knows that it will do everything the same
again, That's why Pancho needs that house. Sometimes he goes around that neighborhood with the truck
and sees how the signs that say "For Sale" disappear. There are no pink houses left, only blue and yellow,
and Ema wanted a pink one. Don Alejo doesn't care about a few thousand pesos.
—And why don't you call Don Augusto so he can give me those good freight rates again?
—What did it cost you to comply with me, if they were so good?
Pancho did not answer. The rain was collecting in the pools of the road: impossible to cross. The priest
arrived and the people entered the chapel. Pancho didn't answer because he didn't want to answer. He didn't
have to answer to anyone, least of all this futre who believed that because he was born on his farm... Son,
they said, of Don Alejo. But they said it about everyone, about Miss Lila and Japonesita and who knows who
else, so many blue-eyed laborers around these parts, but not me.
I put my hand in the fire for my old woman, and my eyes, I have black ones and my eyebrows, sometimes
they think I'm Turkish. I don't owe him anything. He had worked as a tractor driver as a boy and then learned
to drive the car, secretly, stealing it from Don Alejo with the gentleman's grandchildren who were the same
age... Nothing more. The only thing I owed him was that he learned to drive. He was missing several
installments to pay off his debt. Until then, keep quiet. Let Emma wait. Maybe in another neighborhood, and
then everything he wanted, freedom, alone, without having to answer to anyone... and I'm lost forever from
this shitty town. But the old man went to tell Octavio that I was late in my payments. So that later it comes out
and the believers of Ema's brothers, the others, not Octavio who is my compadre, the others go around saying
things about one out there.
—Quiubo? Because?
19
Don Céspedes returned with the charchas. The dogs, excited, moaned, licking his feet, his hands, jumping until
they almost threw him off.
—Throw them a charcha, Don Céspedes...
The bloody wreckage flew and the dogs jumped after it and then the four of them together fell in a knot to the
ground, fighting over the still hot, almost alive piece of meat. They tore him apart, rolling him around the ground and barking
at him, their red snouts slobbery and their palates pimply, their yellow eyes shining in their narrow faces. The men stuck to
the walls. Once the charcha was devoured, the dogs returned to dancing around Don.
Alejo, not from Don Céspedes who was the one who fed them, as if they knew that the gentleman in the blanket is the
owner of the meat they eat and the vineyards they guard. He caresses them—his four dogs, black as the shadows of
wolves, have the bloodthirsty fangs, the heavy, ferocious paws of the purest breed.
-No. Until you pay me all the missing installments. I have no confidence in
you. I'm old and I'm going to die and I don't want to leave things hanging around...
—But how, then, don Alejo wants...
The ground was a bloody neighborhood. The dogs sniffed at it, snorting, looking for something to lick. Pancho Vega
gritted his teeth. He looked at Octavio who winked at him, don't worry buddy, wait, we're going to settle this matter between
us. But this retired rooster was tough. They heard the church bells.
—Aren't you going to go to mass, Pancho?
I do not answer.
—When you were a boy, you helped on missions. Poor Blanca liked it so much
to see you, so pious, so beautiful you were. And those long confessions, we were dying of
laughter... And you, Don Céspedes?
—Of course, boss...
- You see? How does Don Céspedes go to mass?
Pancho looked at Octavio, who shook his head.
—Don Céspedes is your tenant. And he swallowed so he could add: —Not me.
—But you owe me money and he doesn't.
It was true. Better not to remember now. Better to go to mass without arguing. What does it cost me?
When I am at home on Sunday, Ema dresses Normita in the light blue coat with white fur and tells me to go with them to
the eleven-thirty mass, which is the best, and I go because I don't care about anything and I like it. greet the people of the
neighborhood, sometimes I like it and I even feel like it, other times I don't, but I always go, we are so elegant. I go with
Don Alejo who looks at me from the door demanding it from me. But Pancho can't stop telling him:
-No. I'm not going.
twenty
Octavio finally smiled satisfied. The black dogs came out. But before leaving, Don Alejo turned
around.
—Ah. I forgot to tell you. They told me that you're talking about Manuela out there, that you've sworn
to her or I don't know what. Don't let me know that you've gone to Japonesita's to bother those people, who
are good people. You already know.
He left, followed by his dogs, who crossed the road splashing in the mud and waited under the eaves,
behind the curtain of rain. Don Céspedes, hat in hand, kept the door of the chapel open: the dogs entered
to the sound of the bells and behind them, Don Alejo.
twenty-one
CHAPTER IV
La Japonesita did not immediately guess why Don Alejandro had such an urgency to talk to her. At first, when Manuela gave
her the message, she was surprised, because the Senator always dropped by to visit her without warning, like someone arriving at his
own house. Soon, however, he realized that so much protocol could only mean one thing: that he was finally going to share the definitive
results of his efforts for the electrification of the town. He had been determined for a long time that they do it. But the response to the
request was delayed from year to year, who knows how many, and it was always necessary to postpone the opportune moment to
approach the provincial authorities. The Mayor was always traveling or we are spending too much money in another region at the
moment or the Secretary of the Mayor belongs to the enemy party and it is preferable to wait.
But the previous Monday, when crossing the Plaza de Armas of Talca in the direction of the Bank, Japonesita met Don Alejandro
heading to the Municipality. They stopped at the corner. He bought her a package of hot peanuts as a gift, he said, but while they were
talking he ate almost all of it himself, grinding the shells that when they fell got stuck in the hairs of his vicuña blanket where his belly
raised it a little. He said that now: everything was ready. In another half hour I had an interview with the Mayor to blame him for
abandoning the El Olivo Station. La Japonesita was left wandering around the square waiting for Don Alejo to come out with the results
of the famous interview. Then, as she had other things to do and it was time for the train, she didn't see him anymore. Throughout the
week he was finding out if the gentleman had returned to the farm, but that week he did not have to go even in passing, not even once.
He settled for thinking, waiting.
But today yes. At last. La Japonesita remained in the kitchen after lunch, when each whore went to take refuge in their hut and
Manuela accompanied Lucy to her room.
Instead of stoking the embers that remained in the belly of the kitchen with another log, she moved closer and closer to the
paling fire, covering herself more and more with a shawl: my bones are blue with cold. It was already dark. The water did not subside,
little by little covering the pieces of brick that Cloty placed to cross the patio. On the other side, in front of the kitchen door, Lucy had the
door to her room open and he saw her lighting a candle. La Japonesita, from time to time, raised her head to take a look and see what
they were laughing so much about with Manuela. The last laughs, the loudest of the entire afternoon, were because Manuela, with her
mouth full of hairpins for the modern hairstyle she was doing for Lucy, was tempted to laugh and the hairpins flew out and the two of
them, the Lucy and Manuela walked on their knees for a long time, looking for them on the ground.
There was a little light left outside. But listless, without the strength to overcome the darkness of the kitchen. La Japonesita
extended a hand to touch a stove: some heat. With electricity all this was going to change. It's outdoors. The water invaded the kitchen
through the chilcas, forming mud that stuck to everything. Maybe then the aggressiveness of the cold that took over his body with the
first winds, shrinking and stiffening him, would not be so unbeatable. Perhaps this humidity did not increase from May to June, from June
to July, until in August it seemed to her that verdigris covered her entire body, her face, her clothes, her food, everything. The entire town
would revive with electricity to be again what it was in the days of his mother's youth. The previous Monday, while waiting for Don Alejo,
he went into a store that sold Wurlitzers. Many times he had stopped at the display case to
22
look at them separated from their color and their music by their own reflection in the glass of the display case.
I had never entered. This time yes. A clerk with faded eyelashes and translucent ears attended to her, giving her demonstrations,
giving her brochures, assuring her of a comprehensive guarantee. La Japonesita realized that she was doing it without believing that
she was capable of buying one of those superb devices. But I could. As soon as the town was electrified I was going to buy a Wurlitzer.
Immediately. Not before. Because if Don Alejo brought her the news this afternoon that permission for electrification had been given
or that some agreement or document had been signed, she was going to buy the Wurlitzer tomorrow, tomorrow Monday, the one with
the most colors, the one with a landscape of turquoise sea and palm trees, the largest device of all. Tomorrow, Monday, I would talk
to the boy with the faded eyelashes to ask him to send it to him. So, the first day the electricity worked in the town, the Wurlitzer would
work in his house.
It's better not to say anything to Manuela. It would be enough to hint at the project for her to go crazy, taking it for granted,
talking, demanding, without leaving her alone, until she would end up deciding not to buy anything. In the front room she was
undressing to try on the red dress by candlelight. At his age he was not afraid of the cold. Just like my mother, may she rest in peace.
Even on the most inclement days, like this one for example, she, big and fat, with her breasts heavy like sacks full of grapes, would go
low. In the lower corner of her neckline, where her breasts began to swell, she always carried a tiny handkerchief, and during a
conversation or while drinking her bottle of red wine or while preparing the tastiest sopaipillas in the world, she would take out her
handkerchief and wipe away the almost imperceptible sweat. that always broke out on her forehead, on her nose, and especially on
her neckline.
They said that the Great Japanese Woman died of something to her liver, from drinking so much wine. But it wasn't true. I didn't drink
that much. My mother died of grief. Of pity because the El Olivo Station was going down, because it was no longer what it was. So
much so that he talked about electrification with Don Alejo. And nothing. Afterwards they went around saying that the paved road, the
longitudinal one, was going to pass through El Olivo itself, so that it would become an important town. While she had this hope my
mother flourished. But then they told her the truth, Don Alejo I believe, that the route of the road passed two kilometers from the town
and then she began to despair. The longitudinal road is silver, straight like a knife: with one slash it cut the life off of the El Olivo
Station, nestled in a gentle meander of the old road. Freight was no longer done by train, as before, but by truck, by road. The train no
longer ran more than a couple of times a week. Only a handful of residents remained. La Japonesa Grande recalled, towards the end,
that in another time the twelve o'clock mass in the summer attracted the breaks and the most distinguished victories in the region, and
the elegant youth of the nearby farms gathered at dusk, on chosen horses, to the door of the post office to claim the correspondence
that the train brought. The boys, as restrained during the day as companions for their sisters, cousins or girlfriends, at night let their
hair down in the Japonesa's house, which never closed. Afterwards, only the workers from the longitudinal road arrived, who walked
the two kilometers to their house, and then not even them, only the usual workers from the region, the tenants, the laborers, the
outsiders who came to the harvest. Another kind of people. And later neither did they. Now the road to Talca was so short that Sunday
was the slowest day—you could get to the city in the blink of an eye, and you could no longer hope to compete with houses like the
one at Pecho de Palo. Not even electricity, she said, not even that, I always heard her complaining, about so many things, about the
fire in her stomach, complaining monotonously, softly, at the end, lying in bed, swollen, haggard. But no, never, nothing, even though
Don Alejo told him to wait, but one day he couldn't wait any longer and began to die. And when she died we buried her in the San
Alfonso cemetery because there is no cemetery in El Olivo. El Olivo is nothing more than a mess of ruined houses besieged by the
geometry of the vineyards that seem like they are going to swallow it. And what is he laughing so much at? What right do you have to
not feel the cold that is breaking my bones?
23
- Dad!
He shouted it from the kitchen door. Manuela stood in the illuminated frame of Lucy's door. Skinny
and small, standing there in the doorway with his hip gracefully broken and the darkness blurring his face,
he looked like a teenager. But she knew that body. It wasn't hot. It didn't heat the sheets. It wasn't her
mother's body: that almost material heat in which she immersed herself like in a cauldron, surrounding
herself with it, and that dried her ragged clothes and her bones and everything...
- That?
-Come on.
- What do you want me for?
—Just come on.
—I'm busy with Lucy.
— Don't I tell you that I need it?
Manuela, covering herself with her Spanish dress, crossed the patio lake as best she could, splashing
among the floating leaves that had fallen from the grapevine. La Japonesita had sat down again by the fire
that was dying out.
"So dark, girl." It looks like a wake.
La Japonesita did not answer.
—I'm going to add another stick to the fire.
He didn't wait for the flame.
— Shall I light a candle?
So that? She could spend entire afternoons, entire days in the dark, like now, without
feeling nostalgic for the light, longing, yes, for a little warmth.
-Well.
Manuela lit it and after leaving the candle on the table next to the potatoes, she put on her glasses
and sat down to sew next to the light. The Lucy had turned off. I was going to sleep until lunchtime. It was
easy to kill time that way. It was five. There were three hours until lunch. Three hours and it was already
dark. Three hours until the night and work began.
"I bet no one's coming tonight."
Manuela stopped. She held her dress close to her body, the neckline with her chin, the waist with her hands.
- How do I look?
24
-Good.
The rain stopped. In the chicken coop they heard Lucy's turkey puff up: the payment of a
lover who had nothing else to pay him with. The dress was perfect.
"I bet no one's coming tonight."
This time Manuela said it. La Japonesita raised her head as if she had been touched by a spring.
—You know Pancho Vega is coming.
Manuela stung her finger with the needle and sucked it.
- I? What is Pancho Vega going to come?
-Clear. What are you fixing your dress for, then?
—But he's not in town.
—You told me that last night you heard the horn...
-Yes but not me...
—You know he's coming.
Useless to deny it. Your daughter is right. Pancho is coming tonight rain or shine.
She took her dress, the very old percale warmed by the fire. All day long he gave the needle, getting ready,
getting ready. Let's see if he's as macho as he says. I will pay for them. If something happens tonight there
won't be anyone in the whole town who doesn't know, nobody, let's see if he likes to say the things he says
about the poor crazy women, even the stones will know.
Manuela left her dress, put the candle on the sink table, under the piece of mirror. She began to comb her hair.
So little hair. Just four streaks that scratch my helmet.
I can't do any hairstyle. Those days are gone.
-Hey...
La Japonesita raised her head.
- That?
-Come here.
He moved to a cattail chair in front of the mirror. Manuela took her straight hair, narrowed her eyes to
look at her, you have to try to be pretty, and began to tease them —
What do you get out of being a woman if you're not flirtatious, men like it, silly, that's what they come for, to
forget about the scarecrows they're married to, and with hair like that, you see, that's how it's used, that's how
it looks good, with a little falling on the forehead and the rest high like a beehive, it's called, and Manuela pulls
it off and they put a ribbon here, you don't have a pretty ribbon, I think I have one stored in the suitcase, if you
want you can get it. Okay, I'm going to put it here for you. I saw one of Don Alejo's granddaughters like this in
the summer, you see that this line suits you well, don't be stupid, take advantage... see, like this...
25
La Japonesita gave in calmly. Yes. He was definitely coming. She knows it as clearly as Manuela
knows it. Last year, when he tried to abuse her, she felt his sour breath on her cheek, on her nose. Under
her father's hands that brushed her face from time to time, the memory stiffened Japonesita. He had grabbed
it with his hands as rough as a brick, the square thumb, with a gnawed nail, sooty with oil, wide, flat, sunk
into his arm, making it hurt, a bruise that lasted more than a month...
-Dad...
Manuela did not answer.
—What are we going to do if he comes?
Manuela left the comb. In front of the mirror, Japonesita's hair was ragged like a bushman's.
—You have to defend me if Pancho comes.
Manuela threw the hairpins on the ground. It was already good. Why did she keep playing dumb? Did
she want her, Manuela, to face a macho man like Pancho Vega? That she realized once and for all and that
she didn't continue telling the story... you know very well that I am a crazy person, no one has ever tried to
hide it from you. And you asking me to protect you: I'm going to run away and hide like a chicken as soon as
Pancho arrives. It's not his fault because he's his dad. He did not make the famous bet and had wanted
nothing to do with the matter. What was going to be done to him? After the death of the Big Japonese I have
asked you so many times to give me my share to leave, who knows where, there will always be some whore
house to work in there... but you have never wanted to. Me neither. It was all the fault of the Big Japonesa,
who convinced him - that they were going to get rich with the house, what did the little girl matter, and when
the Big Japonesa was alive it was true that it didn't matter because Manuela liked being with her. .. but four
years ago they buried her in the San Alfonso cemetery because this filthy town doesn't even have its own
cemetery and they are going to bury me there too, and in the meantime, Manuela stays here. No floor in the
kitchen: mud. So why did Japonesita bother her? If she wanted to be defended, to get married, or to have a
man. He... well, he wasn't even good for dancing anymore. Last year, after Pancho, his daughter yelled at
him that she was ashamed to be the daughter of a faggot like him. Of course he would like to go live
somewhere else and start another business. But they didn't leave because El Olivo Station was so small
and everyone knew them and no one caught their attention, they were so used to it. Not even the children
asked because they were born knowing. There is no need to explain that, said Japonesita, and the town is
going to end one of these days and me and you with this shitty town that doesn't ask questions or wonder
about anything. A store in Talca. No. No restaurant, no cigarette shop, no laundry, no goods warehouse,
nothing. Here in El Olivo, hiding... well, well, little shit, then don't call me dad.
Because when Japonesita called him papa, her Spanish dress lying on top of the sink would get older, the
calico worn out, the red faded, the mending visible, horrible, ineffective, and the dark, cold, long night
stretching across the vineyards, squeezing and conquering this little spark that had been possible to create
in the desert, don't call me dad, you stupid girl. Tell me Manuela, like everyone else. Let him defend you!
The only thing that was missing. And who defends one? No, one of these days I'll take my junk and go to a
big town like Talca. I'm sure Pecho de Palo gives me work. But he had said that too many times and he was
sixty years old. He continued picking at his daughter's hair.
26
- Why am I going to defend you? Go to bed with him, don't be stupid. It's royal. The most macho man
around here and he has a truck and everything and he could take us for a walk. And you're going to have to
be a whore someday, so...
...to force her. Tonight finally, even if blood had to flow. Pancho Vega or anyone else, she knew that.
But today Pancho. I had been dreaming about him for a year. Dreaming that he made her suffer, that he hit
her, that he violated her, but in that violence, beneath her or inside her, he found something with which to
overcome the cold of winter. This winter, because Pancho was cruel and a brute and twisted her arm, it was
the least cold winter since the Great Japonesa died. And Manuela's fingers touching his head, touching his
cheek next to his ear to fake the coquetry of curls, were not so cold either... he was a child, Manuela. I could
hate him, like a while ago. And not hate it. A child, a bird. Anything but a man. He himself said that she was
very womanly. But it wasn't true either. Well, you're right. If I'm going to be a whore, I better start with Pancho.
Manuela finished arranging Japonesita's hair in the shape of a beehive.

Women. It was a woman. She was going to stay with Pancho. He was a man. And old. A poor old faggot. A
crazy fan of parties and wine and rags and men. It was easy to forget him here, protected in the town—yes,
he's right, it's better to stay. But suddenly Japonesita said that word to him and his own image was blurred as
if a drop of water had fallen on him and he then lost sight of herself, myself, I don't know, he doesn't know or
see the Manuela and there was nothing left, this sorrow, this inability, nothing more, this
great blur of water in which it is shipwrecked.
As she put the finishing touches on her hairstyle, Manuela felt through her hair that her daughter was
getting warmer. As if he had really given her the head to be embellished. She could and wanted to give that
help. Japonesita was smiling.
—Light another candle to see myself better...
He turned it on and put it on the other side of the mirror. La Japonesita, with her fingers, barely touched
his own image on the shard of glass. He turned around:
- I look good?
Yes, if Pancho Vega wasn't so brutal then she would fall in love with him and be his lover for a while
until he left her to go with another, because that's how brutal men are, and then I would be different. And
perhaps not so stingy, Manuela passed by, so tied up with my money, that in the end it costs me a lot of work
to earn it. And maybe I won't feel so cold. A little pain or bitterness when Pancho's brute left, but what did it
matter, nothing, if she, and she too, became clearer.
It was one of those nights when Manuela would have preferred to go to bed, fold her dress, take a
capsule, and then, another day. Not seeing anyone today because all her heat seemed to have been ,
transferred to Japonesita, leaving her, Manuela, with nothing. Outside, the clouds chased each other across
the immense sky that was beginning to clear, and in the patio, the trough, the chicken coop, the toilet, all the
objects, even the most insignificant, acquired volumes, casting precise shadows on the water that was already
being consumed. under the dark sky.
Maybe Pancho wouldn't come after all... maybe it was all just a joke by Don Alejo, who was so fond of jokes.
Maybe finally Don Alejo wouldn't even come in this cold—he himself said that he was sick and that the doctors
were bothering him with tests and diets and regimens. She touched her dress, which had passed out in the
dirt from the potatoes, and in the silence she heard Lucy's snore on the other side of the patio. He saw his
own face in the mirror,
27
on the face of his daughter, who looked ecstatic - the candles, on each side, were like those of a wake. Her own wake would have
this light in the same room where, when the heat of the party melted the hardness of things, she danced. He was going to stay
forever at El Olivo Station. To die here, long, long before that daughter of his died who didn't know how to dance but who was young
and a woman and whose hope when she looked in the broken mirror was not a grotesque lie.
—Do I really look good?
—For how ugly you are... more or less...
28
CHAPTER V
They put a jug of wine, the best, in front of him, but he didn't try it. While she was talking, Japonesita
took out one of the hairpins that held her hairstyle and scratched her head with it. The dogs lay in the mud
on the sidewalk, occasionally growling at the door or giving it a scratch that nearly knocked it over.
—Negus, calm down... Moro...
Manuela also sat at the table. He poured himself a glass of red wine, the kind his daughter reserved
for big occasions and never invited him. Cloty, Lucy, Elvira and another whore were drinking mate in a
corner, where they wouldn't be caught by the wind that came in through the cracks in the doors and ceiling.
Give me another one. No one is coming tonight.
They yawned. Surely it will close as soon as the gentleman leaves and we will be able to go to sleep. Elvira,
change the record, play me “Bésame mucho”, oh no, something better, something happier. Elvira wound
the Victrola on the counter, but before putting in another record she began to clean it with a cloth, organizing
the pile of records next to her.
The news that Don Alejo Cruz brought was bad: they were not going to electrify the town.
Who knows until when. Maybe never. The Mayor said that he did not have time to worry about something
so insignificant, that the destiny of the El Olivo Station was to disappear.
Not all the influence of Don Alejo added to that of all the Cruzes convinced the Mayor. Maybe in a couple
of years, but without certainty. Then I would talk to him about the matter again to see if things looked clearer.
It was equivalent to a resounding no. And Don Alejo said it like this, clearly, to Japonesita. He tried to
convince her how logical it was for the Mayor to think that way, he gave reasons and explanations although
Japonesita did not say a syllable of protest - yes, well, little girl, there are so few coopers left, a couple I
think are already old, and the rest People, you see, are so few and so poor, and the train doesn't even stop
here anymore, just on Mondays, so that you can get on in the morning and get off in the afternoon when
you go to Talca.
Even the cellar at the station is falling down and I haven't used it for so long that it doesn't even have the
smell of wine left.
—Yes, even Ludo told me this morning when I went to ask for red thread, when I found you, Don
Alejandro, that she was thinking of going to Talca. Of course, he has his Acevedo in a perpetual niche there
and with masses every day and a sister who has...
—The Ludo? He did not know. It's strange that Blanca didn't tell me anything and she went to see her a while ago.
bit. How is Ludo? Is the house hers...?
—Of course, if Acevedo bought it when...
Then Manuela remembered that Ludo had told her that Don Alejo wanted to buy it from her, so she knew very well who
owned it. He looked at him, but when his eyes met those of the senator he withdrew them, and looking at the whores he motioned
for them to bring the brazier closer. Lucy put him between Japonesita and Don Alejo and she offered him wine again.
—Do not despise me, then, Don Alejo. It's from the crop you like. Not even you
remains of this one...
—No, thank you, mijita. Leave. It's getting late.
29
He took his hat, but before standing up he stayed for a while and covered it with his
He shakes the hand of Japonesita, who dropped the hairpin into a pool of wine on the table.
—You go too. What are you staying for?
La Manuela turned on to finish.
—That's what I say, Don Alejo. What are we staying for?
The whores stopped murmuring in the corner and looked at Japonesita as if waiting for a sentence.
She wrapped her pink shawl around her, making a shaking head, very slow, very definitive, which Manuela
knew.
-Do not be silly. Go to Talca to start a business with Manuela. You have enough money in the bank. I
know because the other day I was asking the manager, who is my cousin, the status of your account, and I
wish... that's what he told me, many properties and many debts, but Japonesita has everything straightened
out. A buy restaurant, for example. If you need it, I'll ask for a loan for you at the bank and I'll be your
guarantor. They give you the money in a couple of days, everything arranged between friends, between
known people. Cheer up, woman, see that this is not life.
Isn't that true, Manuela?
—Of course, Don Alejo, help me convince her...
—Why are you asking him, who only thinks about partying around?
—The money belongs to both of us, in equal parts, as I understand it. That's how he left it
Big Japanese, isn't it?
-Yeah. We would have to sell the house...
Don Alejo let just a moment pass.
-I buy it for you...
His eyes were downcast, watching the hairpin floating in the wine stain. And on the back of the kind
hand that sheltered Japonesita's hand, golden hairs burned.
But she, Manuela, was very devilish, and I was not going to deceive her. She had known him for too long
not to realize that he was up to something. He had always wanted to catch him in one of those shady deals
that his political enemies accused him of. Of course, when he was elected deputy nearly twenty years ago,
it was a lot to sell cheap places to voters, with long deadlines, here at the Station, that this is going up, that
it has a lot of future, that here and that there, and the people He started painting the houses and improving
them, because of course, everything is going to rise in price here...
And of course, no sewer, and just a couple more streets that were pure flattened dirt.
What do you want to do with us now? Don't you think what you've already done is enough? What has gotten
into your head now that you want to buy the few houses in town that are not yours? To her, to Manuela,
don't let them come with stories. This afternoon Don Alejo did not come to bring them the bad news about
the electricity, but rather to propose the purchase of the house. Over the years the old man was becoming
transparent. His blue eyes sparkled with the matter of Ludo's house. And now this house... he wanted to
take away this house, which belonged to Japonesita and his. Of course, what did it matter if Don Alejo put
everyone through hoops just to be able to go live in Talca, even if they lost their money!
30
—You don't like this business, you've never liked it, like your mother. Tomorrow I will get you the money if you want, and
we can prepare the deed of sale at the notary, if you decide. Push her, Manuela. And I can help you find a convenient place, well,
well, there in Talca. Are you going on the train tomorrow?
-Yeah. I have to deposit.
-So...
She did not answer.
—I'm going to walk by the Bank around twelve...
This time Don Alejo stood up: the almond of carbide light at the beak of the chonchón shook with the movement of the
blanket. The dogs began to fuss outside, sniffing the living room air through the seam of the door as if they wanted to drink it.
Manuela and Japonesita followed him to the door. He reached for the doorknob. With his other hand he put on his hat and turned
off his face. He stayed like that for a few moments telling them things, telling them to think about it, that if they wanted they could
continue discussing the business another day, that he was at their disposal, they already knew the lifelong affection he had for
them, that if they wanted, they could appraise the house, he knew a serious expert and was willing to pay the price for the
appraisal...
When he finally opened the door and the air came in with a puff of stars and he closed it again, the Wurlitzer shattered
behind Japonesita's frowning eyes. She and the entire town were left in darkness. What did it matter if everything fell apart, it didn't
matter as long as she didn't need to move or change. No. Here she would be surrounded by this darkness where nothing could
happen other than an imperceptible death, surrounded by the usual things. No. The electricity and the Wurlitzer were nothing more
than mirages that for a moment, fortunately very short, led her to believe that something else was possible.
Not now. There was not even a hope left that could hurt him, also eliminating fear.
Everything was going to continue just like now, like before, like always. He returned to the table and sat in the chair warmed by Don
Alejo's blanket. He leaned over the brazier.
—Lock the door, Cloty...
Manuela, who was heading towards the Victrola, stopped and abruptly turned
lap.
- We're closing?
-Yeah. No one is coming anymore.
—But it's not going to continue raining.
—The roads must be muddy.
-But...
—...and it's going to be frosty.
Manuela went to sit on the other side of the brazier and also leaned over it. La Cloty put "Flores Negras" on the Victrola
and the record began to scream. The other whores disappeared.
31
—Why don't we listen to Don Alejo?
He said it because he suddenly saw clearly that Don Alejo, just as he had created this town, now had other designs
and to carry them out he needed to eliminate the El Olivo Station.
He would tear down all the houses, erase the rough streets of mud and dung, reattach the adobe walls to the earth from
which they arose and plow that land, all for some incomprehensible purpose. I saw it. Very clear. Electricity would have
been a salvation.
Now...
—Let's go, daughter.
La Japonesita began to speak without looking at Manuela, scrutinizing the graying coals. At first it seemed like he
was just humming or praying, but then Manuela realized that she was talking to him.
—Take out the record, Cloty, I can't hear.
— Are you going to need me?
-No.
-Good night then.
-Good night. I'm going to close later.
They were left alone in the living room, over the brazier.
—...let everything remain the same. What are we two going to do in a big town? So that they laugh... nobody knows
us there, and we live in another house. Here there will always be huasos that
They are hot or feel like getting drunk. We are not going to die of hunger or shame. When I go to Talca on Mondays I go
back to the station early to wait for the return train so that people don't look at me — sometimes I wait more than an hour,
two, and the station is almost alone...
When Japonesita started talking like that, Manuela felt like screaming, because it was as if her daughter was
drowning him with words, slowly surrounding him with her flat voice, with that lilting tone. Damn town! Damn girl! Having
believed that because Japonesa Grande made him the owner and partner of the house in the famous bet that thanks to him
he won against Don Alejo, things were going to change and his life was going to improve. Of course things were better then.
Even the chonchones illuminated more, not like now that the rains were beginning and oh, my soul, four months of feeling
ugly and old, one who could have been queen. And now that Don Alejo offered them help so that the two of them could go
to Talca calmly and happy and start a business, she would like to talk about the genres because she did understand rags,
but no, the girl started talking and never stopped, like this, slowly, building a wall around Manuela. La Japonesita turned the
screw to remove light from the chonchón. -Leave that.
He left it for a moment but then went back to manipulating the screw on the lamp.
—Leave that, I tell you, shit...
La Japonesita was startled by Manuela's scream, but the light continued to dim, as if she had not heard. I don't exist
even if I scream. Until one day she, who could
32
having been the queen of the whorehouses from Chanco to Constitución, from Villa Alegre to San Clemente, queen of the whorehouses
throughout the province, she will kick her ass and the bald girl will arrive to take her away forever. So, no trick or gossip could convince
that filthy old woman to leave her a little longer, why do you want to stay, Manuela for God's sake, let's go there, the business on the
other side is much better, and they will bury her in a niche in the San Alfonso cemetery under a stone that said "Manuel González
Astica" and then, for a while, Japonesita and the little girls from the house here would bring him flowers, but then Japonesita would
surely go somewhere else, and of course , Ludo would also die and no more flowers and no one in the entire region, nothing more
than some old gargajosos, would remember that the great Manuela lay there. He went to the Victrola to play another record.
black flowers
of destiny
in my loneliness
your soul will tell me
I love youoooooooo...
La Manuela stopped the puck. He put his hand on top of the black plate. La Japonesita had also stood up. In the center of the
night, far away, on the road that came from the longitudinal highway to the town, a honking horn rose up, hot as a flame, insistent, red,
coming closer. A horn. Again. To be funny, the idiot, waking everyone up at this hour. I was entering the town. The truck with double
tires on the back wheels. Playing all the time, now in front of the chapel, yes, yes, playing and playing because the brute is sure to
come drunk. Manuela, with the rubble of her face organized, smiled.
Turn off the chonchón, silly.
Before it turned off, Manuela managed to see that there was a smile on her daughter's face - silly, she is not afraid of Pancho,
she surely wants him to come, she is waiting for him, the silly girl is eager, and one is also waiting, dirty old woman... but it was
important that Pancho believed that no one was there. Let him not come in, let him believe that everyone was asleep in the house. Let
him know that they weren't waiting for him and that he couldn't come in even if he wanted to.
-Comes.
-What are we going to do...
-Do not move.
The horn approaches through the night and arrives clearly, as if there were nothing in the entire striated plain of vineyards.
Manuela approached the door in the darkness. He removed the lock. At this hour, you scoundrel, waking up the whole town! He stayed
next to the door while the horn called, waking up every muscle, every nerve and leaving them alive and hanging, ready to receive
wounds or shocks—that horn didn't stop.
Now she came, yes, in front of the house... her ears hurt and Japonesita closed her eyes and covered her ears. But just like Manuela,
she smiled.
—Pancho...
- What are we going to do?
33
CHAPTER VI
The women of the town agreed not to protest about having to stay at home that night, knowing perfectly well
that all the men were going to the Japonesa. The station chief's wife, the Carabineros sergeant's wife, the teacher's
wife, the Post Office manager's wife, they all knew that they were going to celebrate the triumph of Don Alejandro
Cruz and they knew where and how they were going to celebrate it. But because it was a party in honor of the lord
and because anything related to the lord was good, this time they didn't say anything.
That morning they had seen the three Farías sisters get off the train from Talca, fat as barrels, short, with
their flowered silk dresses cinching their jerky like belts, sweating with the discomfort of having to carry the guitars
and harp. Two younger women also got out, and a man, if he was a man. They, the ladies of the town, watching
from a distance, discussed what he could be: skinny as a broomstick, with long hair and eyes almost as made up
as those of the Farías sisters. Standing near the platform, knitting so as not to waste time and surrounded by
children who from time to time had to be called out loud so that they would not come and beg from strangers, they
had a topic for a while.
—It must be the piano faggot.
—If the Japanese woman doesn't have a piano.
-Really.
—They said they were going to buy.
—He is an artist, look at the suitcase he brings.
—What he is, he's a faggot, yes...
And the children followed them through the dust of the road to the Japonesa's house.
The ladies, returning home for lunch, ordered their husbands not to forget all the details of what would
happen that night at the Japanese woman's house, and that if possible, if there were any new treats, When no one
was watching, they would put something in their pockets for themselves, since at the end of the day they were
going to be left alone in their houses, getting bored, while they did who knows what at the party. Of course, today it
didn't matter if they got drunk. This time the cause was good. That they were close to Don Alejandro, that was the
important thing, that he saw them at their celebration, that in passing and as if he didn't want it, they reminded him
of the matter of the little land, and of that batch of wine that he promised to sell them at a discount, Yes, that they
sang together, that they danced, that they did the thousand and one, today it didn't matter as long as they did it with
the Lord.
For months the town was covered with posters with the portrait of Don Alejandro Cruz, some in green,
others in sepia, others in blue. The hamstrung children ran everywhere throwing leaflets, or handing them out
unnecessarily and repeatedly to whoever passed by, while the younger ones, who were not entrusted with political
propaganda, picked them up and made with them.
3. 4
They either burned paper boats or sat in the corners counting them to see who had the most. The Secretariat
operated in the mail shed, and night after night the citizens of El Olivo Station met there to rekindle their faith in
Don Alejo and arrange appointments and excursions through the nearby fields and towns to spread that faith.
But the real heart of the campaign was the Japonesa house. The leaders met there, the orders, the projects, the
slogans came from there. No one who was not a supporter of Don Alejo entered his house now, and the women,
dozing in the corners with nothing to do, heard the voices that at the tables in the living room, around the wine
and the Japonesa, were tirelessly programming. During the last month especially, when the proximity of triumph
inflamed the spirit of the landlady, making her forget everything except her political passion, she generously
poured her wine for any visitor whose position was hesitant or ambiguous, and in the course of a few hours she
let her firm as a pear tree or defined it sharply as a knife. The elections were ten days earlier, but only now did
Don Alejo return to town. The Japonesa's living room and patio were covered with portraits of the new deputy.
The invitations attracted the most select of the region, from selected inhabitants of El Olivo, to the administrators,
butlers and vineyard technicians of the nearby estates. And from Talca the Japonesa asked her friend Pecho de
Palo to send her two whores as reinforcements, the Farías sisters so that there would be no shortage of music,
and Manuela, the fun faggot who did dance numbers.
—What my money is going to cost me. But I have to give myself some pleasure, and everything is so that
El Olivo has the future that the brand new deputy Don Alejandro Cruz promises us, here,
present, pride of the area...
Of course, the Japanese woman had a lot of pleasure. She was no longer so young, it's true, and the last
few years had made her so fat that the accumulation of fat on her cheeks stretched her mouth into a perpetual
grimace that looked like—and almost always was—a smile. His myopic eyes, which earned him his nickname,
were nothing more than two oblique slits under very high eyebrows. In her youth she had had a love affair with
Don Alejo. They whispered that he brought her to this house when the owner was someone else, dead many
years ago. But their loves were a thing of the past, a legend in which the current reality of a friendship that united
them as conspirators was rooted. Don Alejo used to spend long periods at work or on the farm without going to
the city until after the harvest, or for pruning or disinfection, many times without his wife and family, which he
found boring. Then, at night, after eating, he would take his little breaks to the Station to have a few drinks and
laugh for a while with the Big Japanese Girl. In those seasons she was in charge of having a special woman for
Don Alejo, who no one else but him touched. He was generous. The house that Japonesa occupied was a very
old property of the Cruzes and was given to them on an insignificant annual rent. And every night, winter or
summer, the people from the surrounding farms, the administrators and the vintners and the mechanical bosses,
and sometimes even the less proud bosses and the bosses' children, who had to be kicked out when the parents
appeared, They used to go to Japonesa's house at El Olivo Station. Not so much to get into bed with the women,
although there were always young and fresh ones, but to have fun for a while talking with the Japanese woman
or having a jug or playing a hand of monte or brisca in a happy but safe atmosphere, because the Japanese
woman does not He opened the doors of his house to anyone. Always fine people.
Always people with full pockets. That's why she belonged to Don Alejo's political party, the historical, traditional,
orderly party, the party of decent people who pay their debts and don't get into trouble, those people who went
to his house to have fun and whose faith that Don Alejo would do great things for the region was as unwavering
as that of Japonesa.
—I have the right to indulge my tastes.
35
The great pleasure of his life was giving the party that night. As soon as Manuela arrived, the Japanese took over. She
thought that the dancer they had told her about was younger: he was in his forties, just like her. Better, because the young boys, when
the clients got drunk, competed with the women: a lot of trouble. Since Manuela arrived early in the morning and was not going to
have anything to do until late at night, at first she was looking around, until the Japanese woman signaled to her to leave.
would approach.
—Help me put these branches here on the platform.
Manuela took the matter of decoration into her own hands: not so many branches, she said, the Farías sisters are too fat and
with so much harp and guitar and also the branches, they are not going to be seen. Better to just put branches on top, willow branches
tied with colored paper ribbon, that would fall like a green rain, and at the foot of the platform, also framed in fresh weeping willow
branches, the largest portrait of Don Alejo that could be get. The Japanese woman was happy with the result. Manuela, help me hang
the paper garlands; Manuela, where would be the best place to place the pit to roast the piglets; Manuela, take a look at the salad
dressing; Manuela, this; Manuela, the other thing; Manuela, what's beyond. All afternoon and with each order or request from the
Japonesa, Manuela suggested something that made things look pretty or that the seasoning for the barbecue was tastier. La
Japonesa, already late, fell into a chair in the middle of the patio, quite drunk, with her eyes wrinkled to see better, shouting orders,
but calm because Manuela did everything so well.
—Manuela, did you bring the strawberry for the burgundy?
—Manuela, let's put more flowers on that decoration.
Manuela ran, obeyed, corrected, suggested.
—I'm having a wonderful time.
Pecho de Palo had told him that the Japanese woman was a good person, but not as good as this. She is so simple, owner
of the house and everything. When the Japanese woman went to her room to get dressed, Manuela accompanied her to help her:
soon she came out very elegant with her black silk dress with a pointed neckline at the front, and all her hair gathered in a discreet
but flirtatious bun. The wine began to flow as soon as the first guests arrived, while the aroma of the piglets beginning to brown and
the oregano and garlic reheated from the sauces and the onions and cucumbers marinating in the juices of the salads spread across
the patio and the living room.
Don Alejo arrived at eight, quite tipsy. Between applause, he hugged and kissed the Japanese woman, whose mascara had
run due to perspiration or emotional crying.
Then the Farias sisters got on stage and the music and dancing began. Many men took off their jackets and were left in jockstraps.
The looseness of the women's dresses was darkened with sweat under their arms. The Farías sisters seemed inexhaustible, as if
each tune was wound up again and neither heat nor fatigue existed.
—Let them put another jug...
It didn't take long for La Japonesa and Don Alejo to ship the first one and they were already ordering the second one.
But before starting it, the deputy asked the owner of the house to dance while the others
36
they made a wheel. Then they went to sit down again. La Japonesa called La Rosita, brought especially
from Talca for Don Alejo.
—See then, Don Alejo? Look at these buttocks, touch, touch, just the way you like them, soft, pure
affection. I brought it for you, I knew you were going to like it, I'm not going to know your tastes... Now, let
me, look, I'm too old for those things. Yes, see, and Rosita is not so young anymore, because I know that
you disgust very little girls...
The deputy felt the offered buttocks and then made her sit next to him and put his hand under her
skirt. The Station Master wanted to dance with the Japanese woman, but she told him no, that tonight she
was going to dedicate herself to serving her guest of honor. She herself chose the most golden prey of the
pig, watching over Don Alejo so that he ate well until he went out to dance with Rosita, his mustaches
stained with sauce and oregano and his chin and fingers smeared with grease. Manuela approached the
Japanese woman.
—Quiubo...
-Sit down.
—And Don Alejo?
—If you fit. The futre doesn't say anything.
-Well.
—Did you use everything?
-It was delicious. I need a glass of wine.
—Take that one.
—What time am I going to dance?
—Wait until the party heats up a little.
—Yes, it's better. The other day I was dancing in Constitución. Regio left and I stayed to spend the
weekend on the beach. Don't you ever go to Constitución? So pretty, the river and everything and such
good seafood. The owner of the house where I was knows you. Olga's name is and she says she is half
gringa. Nothing strange because she has a lot of freckles, here in her arms. Not if I'm from here, I was born
on a farm near Maule, yes, right there, ah, so you've been around that side too. Bah... we are compatriots.
No. I went to town and then I worked with a little girl and we visited all the towns to the South, yes, it was
going well for her, but don't think that it was going so badly for me, of course it was quiet. But I was young
then, not anymore. What do I know what will become of her, we even worked in a circus once. But it didn't
go well for us. I prefer this job. Of course, one gets tired from walking so much and all towns are the same.
Not if Pecho de Palo is getting very crafty. More than sixty, much more, close to seventy.
Haven't you noticed how his legs have varicose veins? And such beautiful legs that they say she had.
I brought the dress in the suitcase. Yes. It is the most beautiful. Colorado. A little girl who worked in the
circus sold it to me. She had used it a little, but she needed money, so she sold it to me.
I take care of it like a saint's bone because it is fine, and since I am so black, the red one looks regal on me.
Hey... Already?
-Wait.
37
— How much longer?
—About in an hour.
—But do I change?
-No. Better the surprise.
-Well.
—Damn, you're in a hurry.
-Clear. I just like being the queen of the party.
Two men who heard the dialogue began to laugh at Manuela, trying to touch her to check whether or not she had breasts.
Sweetheart... what could this be? Let me touch you, go over there broken drunk, you're coming to touch me. Then they said that it
was the last straw that they brought faggots like this, that it was disgusting, that it was a discredit, that he was going to talk to the
Chief of Police who was sitting in the other corner with one of the whores in his lap, to That he put Manuela in jail for being immoral,
this is degeneration. Then Manuela scratched him. Don't let him mess with her. That he could betray the Chief of Police for being half
drunk. I should be careful because Manuela was very well known in Talca and had very good relations with the police. One is
professional, they paid me to do my show...
La Japonesa went to look for Don Alejo and brought him in a hurry to intervene.
—What are they doing to you, Manuela?
—This man is bothering me.
—What is he doing to you?
-He's telling me things...
- What things?
—Degenerate... and faggot...
Everyone laughed.
—And you're not?
—I may be a faggot, but not a degenerate. I'm professional. Nobody has the right to come and treat me like this. What does
this ignorant man have to come and mess with me? Who is he to come and tell someone things, ah? If they brought me it's because
they wanted to see me, so... If they don't want a show, then well, they'll pay me for the night and I'll leave, I have no interest in
dancing here in this crappy town full of starving people...
—Now, Manuela, now... here...
And the Japanese woman made him drink another glass of red.
38
Don Alejo dispersed the group. He sat down at the table, called Japonesa, kicked out someone who wanted to sit with
them, and sat Rosita on one side of him and Manuela on the other: they toasted with the recently brought Burgundy.
—Because you continue to succeed, Manuela...
—The same for you, Don Alejo.
When Don Alejo went out to dance with La Rosita, La Japonesa moved her chair closer to Manuela's.
—The futre liked you, girl. That can be seen from afar. No, there is no one like Don Alejo, he is unique. Here in the town
he is like God. He does what he wants. Everyone is afraid of him. Don't you see that he owns all the vineyards, all of them, as far
as you can see? And he is so good that when someone offends him, like this one who was bothering you, he later forgets and
forgives them. He's either good or he doesn't have time to worry about people like us. You have other concerns. Projects, always.
Now he is selling us land here at the Station, but I know him and I haven't fallen for it yet. That everything is going to go up. That
next year he is going to parcel out a block of his property and make a town, he is going to sell model properties, he says, with
payment facilities, and when he has sold all the sites in his parcel he is going to get electricity put in here. in the town and then we
are all going to go up like foam. Then they would come from all over to my house, which you know has a name, Duao and Pelarco...
I would like it and my house would be more famous than Pecho de Palo.
Oh, Manuela, what a man this is, I was so in love with him. But he doesn't let himself be caught. Of course he has a wife,
a very pretty blonde, very lady, distinguished, I'll tell you, and another woman in Talca and who knows how many more in the
capital. And all working like Chinese for him in the elections. If you had seen Misia Blanca, she was even without stockings, and
the other woman, the one from Talca, was also working for him, to get him out. Of course, it's good for all of us. And on election
day he himself came with a truck and all those who did not want to go to vote he forcibly kicked them out and we went, my soul, to
San Alfonso to vote for me, and he gave them his good pesos and they were so happy. who later went around asking when there
were going to be more elections. Of course they would have voted for him anyway. If he is the only candidate they know. The
others just use the propaganda posters, while Don Alejo, yes, he does. Who has not seen him pass through these roads on his
tour, heading to the Monday fair in San Alfonso? And in addition to his little plate, he gave those who voted for him their good
drinks of wine and killed a bull, they say, to have roasted all day, and from San Alfonso he had them brought here by truck again,
so good the futre they say what they said, but then he disappeared because he had to go to the capital to see how things went...
Look how the Station Chief dances with that dirty girl...
The Japonesa narrowed her eyes to see the ends of the patio: when she couldn't see something, she told Manuela to tell her if the dace
is still dancing with him, and who Sergeant Buendía is with now and if the cooks They are putting more suckling pig on the fire, look, now they
may not be hungry, but in a little while they will want to eat again.
Don Alejo approached the table. With her eyes of blue china, of a doll, of a ball, of a bulk saint, she looked at Manuela,
who shuddered as if all her will had been absorbed by that gaze that surrounded her, that dissolved her. How can we not feel
ashamed to continue holding the gaze of those portentous eyes with their little brownish eyes with few eyelashes? He lowered
them.
39
—Quiubo, mijita?
Manuela looked at him again and smiled.
— Let's go, Manuela?
So low that he said it. Was it possible, then...?
—Anytime, Don Alejo...
His shiver lasted, or multiplied into shivers that surrounded his legs, all while those eyes remained fixed on his... until they
dissolved into laughter. And Manuela's chills ended with a friendly slap on the back from Don Alejo.
-No woman. It was just a joke. I do not like it...
And they drank together, Manuela and Don Alejo, laughing. Manuela, still wrapped in a sheath of sensations, took short sips,
and when everything was over, she smiled just, softly. She couldn't remember ever having loved a man as much as she was loving
the deputy Don Alejandro Cruz at this moment. He is such a gentleman. So soft, when I wanted to be. Even when making the jokes
that others made with dirty faces of expletives, he did them in a different way, with a simplicity that didn't hurt, with a smile that had no
relation to the laughter that the other males gave. Then Manuela laughed, drinking the last of the burgundy in her glass, as if to hide
behind the greenish glass a blush that rose to her plucked eyebrows: right there, as she tipped the glass, she forced herself to admit
that no, that any Anything outside of this cordiality was impossible with Don Alejo. He had to break what he felt if he didn't want to die.
And I didn't want to die. And when he put the glass back on the table, he no longer loved it. So that. Better not to think.
Don Alejo was kissing Rosita, his hand tucked under her skirt. She pulled it back to straighten her hair when a group of men
pulled their chairs closer to the table. Of course, he had promised to enlarge the sheds next to the station as soon as they chose it,
yes, and of course, remember about electricity as soon as possible and about increasing the garrison of police officers especially
during harvest times, for the outsiders, who were wandering from vineyard to vineyard looking for work and sometimes stealing, yes,
let him remember, this triumph is not going to make me proud, don't forget about us, Don Alejo, who helped you when you needed us,
because in the end and in the end you are the soul of the town, the mainstay, and without you the town will collapse, yes, sir, give her
a little more, Don Alejo, don't despise me, and give more to your little girl, look, she is thirsty and If he doesn't take care of her, she
might go with someone else, but as I was saying, boss, the sheds all get rained on and they are very small, don't say no to me now
after we help you, yes you said. He responded by stroking his mustache from time to time. Manuela winked at him because she saw
that he was stifling his yawns. Only she had realized that he was bored, humming what the Farías sisters were singing: this is not
conversation for parties. How annoying men are with their business matters, it's not true, Don Alejo, Manuela told him with her eyes,
until Don Alejo could not suppress a huge, drooling yawn, which he discovered even the bell and his entire pink palate ending in the
vertigo of their trachea, and they, while Don Alejo yawned in their faces, fell silent. Then, as soon as he closed his mouth again, with
tearful eyes, he looked for Manuela's face.
—Hey, Manuela...
40
—What, Don Alejo?
-Weren't you going to dance? This is dying.
41
CHAPTER VII
Manuela turned in the center of the track, raising a cloud of dust with her red tail.
At the very moment the music stopped, he plucked the flower he was wearing behind his ear and threw it at
Don Alejo, who stood up and caught it in the air. The audience broke into applause as Manuela sank into the
chair next to Don Alejo.
—Let's dance, little girl...
The high, throaty voices of the Parías sisters once again took over the patio. Manuela, with her head
thrown back and her waist broken, clung to Don Alejo and together they took a few dance steps amid the joy
of those who were in the ring. The Postmaster approached and took the Manuela from Don Alejo. They
managed to walk around the track before the Station Chief came to take it away from them and then others
and others from the circle that was narrowing around Manuela. Someone touched her while she was dancing,
another tripped her. The head winegrower of a neighboring farm rolled up her skirt and, upon seeing him, those
who were grouped around to snatch Manuela, helped raise her skirt over her head, imprisoning her arms as if
inside a straitjacket. They touched his skinny, hairy legs or his dry butt, embarrassed, choking with laughter.
—It's hot.
—It comes to smoke.
—Let's throw it into the canal.
Don Alejo stood up.
-Come on.
—We have to refresh it.
Several of them took Manuela by weight. His bare arms traced arabesques in the air, letting himself be
transported while he trilled. In the light of the street they advanced towards the eucalyptus trees of the Station.
Don Alejo ordered them to cut the fences, which after all were his, and opening a gap between the brambles,
they reached the canal that limited their vineyards and separated them from the Station.
—One... two... three and chaaaaaaasssss...
And they threw Manuela into the water. The men who were watching her from above, standing between the mora and the
canal, choked with laughter, pointing at the figure who was posing and dancing, waist-deep in the water, her dress floating like a blur
around her and singing The Reliquary. She urged them to dare, that she liked them all, each in their own style, that they should not be
cowards in front of a poor woman like her, she shouted, taking off her dress and throwing it on the shore. One of the men tried to piss
on Manuela, who was able to avoid the arc of urine. Don Alejo gave him a push, and the man, cursing, fell into the water, where he
joined Manuela's dances for a moment. When they finally gave their hands so that they could both climb to the shore, everyone was
amazed at Manuela's anatomy.
42
—What a donkey...!
—Look how well armed he is...
—Psstt, this one doesn't look like a faggot.
—Don't let the women see you, they're going to fall in love.
Manuela, shivering, answered with a laugh.
—If this device is of no use to me other than to pee.
Don Alejo returned with a group to Japonesa's house. Some went home without others noticing. Others, their
bodies heavy with wine, fell into the undergrowth on the edge of the street or at the station, to sleep off their
drunkenness. But Don Alejo still wanted to party. He ordered the Farías sisters to get up on stage again to sing. With
some friends he sat at a table where there was a plate with cold bones and the fat dulling the blade of the knife. La
Japonesa joined them to listen to the details of Manuela's bathroom.
—And he says it's only useful for pissing.
The Japanese girl raised her head tiredly to look at them.
—That's what he'll say, but I don't believe him.
- Because?
-I do not know why not...
They discussed it for a while. The Japanese woman got heated. Her soft chest rose and fell with the passion
of her point of view: that yes, that Manuela would be capable, that if she treated her in a special way in bed so that
she wouldn't be afraid, a little like someone saying, well, be careful. , delicately, yes, the Big Japonesa was sure that
Manuela could.
The men felt a wave of heat emanating from her body, sure of her science and her charms, perhaps a little over the
top, but therefore warmer and more affectionate... yes, yes... I know... And of all the men who heard her then saying
that yes, I can warm up Manuela no matter how faggot she is, there was none who wouldn't have given a lot to take
Manuela's place. The Japanese woman wiped her forehead. He ran the tip of his pink tongue over his lips, which
remained shiny for a minute. Don Alejo was laughing at her.
—If you're already old, what am I going to be able to...
—Bah, the devil knows more because he's old than...
—But Manuela! No, no, I bet you not.
-Well. I bet you so.
Don Alejo cut off his laughter.
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-That's it. Since you thought you were so stupid, I'll make you a bet. Try to get the faggot to warm up
to you. If you manage to warm him up and get him to play the macho role, well, then I'll give you whatever
you want, whatever you ask for. But it has to be with us looking at you, and they make us plastic pictures.
Everyone remained silent waiting for the Japanese woman's response, who motioned to her.
to the Farías sisters to sing again and asked for another jug of wine.
-Well. But what does he give me?
—I tell you, whatever you want.
—What if I asked you to give me the El Olivo farm?
—You're not going to ask me. You are an intelligent woman and you know very well that I would not give it to you.
Ask me for something I can give you.
—Or that you want to give me.
—No, I can...
There was no way to break the barrier. Better not to think.
-Well then...
- That?
-This house.
When the bet was first discussed, I had thought of asking him only for a few barrels of wine, the good
kind, which I knew Don Alejandro would send him without having to be asked. But
Then he got angry and asked for the house. I had loved her for a long time. I wanted to be an owner. How
does one feel when she is the owner, I am the owner of this house where I went to work when I was a little
girl. I never dreamed of being an owner. Only now, because of the anger he felt that Don Alejo had what he
called his "intelligence" and abused it. If he wanted to laugh at Manuela, and at everyone, and at her, well,
then he should pay, and he shouldn't count on her being reasonable. That he would pay. Let him give him
the house if he was so powerful that he could dominate them like that.
—If this house is worth nothing, then. Japanese.
— Doesn't it say that everything is going to rise so much in price here at the Station?
—Yes, woman, but...
-I love her. Don't get away from me, then, Don Alejo. Look, I have witnesses here, and then they can say that you don't keep
your promises. That gives a lot of hope and then nothing...
—Deal, then.
Amongst the applause of those who attended the bet, Don Alejo and Japonesita clinked their full
glasses and drank them dry. Don Alejo stopped to dance with Rosita. After
44
They went inside to spend some time together. Then the Japanese woman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand,
and closing her eyes, she shouted:
-Manuela...
The few couples that were dancing stopped.
—Where is Manuela?
Most of the women had already formed couples whose stability would last the rest of the night. The Japanese
woman crossed under the grape tree whose leaves were beginning to shiver in the wind and entered the kitchen. It was
dark. But I knew it was there next to the black but still hot kitchen.
—Manuela... Manuela?
She felt him shiver next to the embers. The poor guy is wet and tired with so much fun. La Japonesa approached
the corner where she felt Manuela was, and touched it. He said nothing. Then he leaned his body against Manuela's. He lit
a candle. Skinny, wet, reduced, revealing the truth of his mean structure, of his weak bones as revealed by a bird that is
plucked to put in the pot. Shivering by the kitchen, wrapped in the blanket someone had lent him.
—Are you cold?
—They are so heavy...
—Brutes.
-I do not care. I am used to. I don't know why they always do this or something similar to me when I dance, it's like
they're afraid of me, I don't know why, since they know you're crazy. Thank goodness they just put me in the water now,
other times it's much worse, you see...
And laughing he added:
-Don't worry. It is included in the price of the function. The Japanese woman couldn't stop touching him, as if
searching for the wound to cover it with her hand. The drunkenness had passed and so had he. The Japanese woman sat
on a floor and told him about the bet.
—Are you sick in the head, Japanese, for God's sake? Can't you see that I'm crazy lost? I don't
HE. How can you come up with something like that!
But the Japanese woman continued talking to him. He took her hand without urgency. He took it from her, but while
she was speaking she took it again and he didn't take it from her again. No, if he didn't want to, he shouldn't do anything,
she wasn't going to force him, it didn't matter, it was just a matter of doing the comedy. After all, no one was going to be
watching them closely but rather from the window and it would be easy to fool them.
It was a matter of undressing and getting into bed together, she would tell him what face to make, everything, and in the
light of the candle there wasn't much that would be seen, no, no, no. Even if they didn't do anything. He didn't like women's
bodies. Those soft breasts, so much extra flesh, flesh into which things sink and disappear forever, the hips, the thighs like
two immense masses that merge in the middle, no. Yes, Manuela, shut up, I'll pay you, don't say no, it's worth it because
I'll pay you whatever you want. Now I know that I have to have this house, that I want it
Four. Five
more than anything else because the town is going to go up and me and the house with the town, and I can, and it is
possible that this house that belonged to the Cruzes will become mine. I would fix it. Don Alejandro didn't like it at all that I
asked him for it. I know why, because they say that the longitudinal path is going to pass right here, through the door of the
house. Yes, because he knows what it's going to be worth and he doesn't want to lose it, but he was afraid that the others
who heard the bet would tell him to bail or run away... and then he said okay and it can be mine.
I would bring artists, I would always bring you, Manuela, for example. Yes. I pay you. Nothing more than being naked with
me in bed for a while. A while, a quarter of an hour, well, ten, no, five minutes... and we would laugh, Manuela, you and I,
I'm already bored of those shoulders that I liked before when I was younger, that stole my money and They did harm to the
first one that came in front of them, I'm bored, and the two of us can be friends, as long as it was mine, my house, mine, if
not, and I will always continue to be attentive to Don Alejo, to whatever he wants, because this house is his, you know. But
that scares me, that scares me too, Japanese, even comedy, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. You want me to serve you
a mate, you're shivering, and I'll have one with you, no, I don't like mate, now to just accompany you.
Japanese, devil, you are herding me, turning me around and around you are going to see how good the mate baits you,
don't be afraid, don't be afraid of me, other women do, but not me, the mate is good, you see, and You're going to get cold.
But Manuela kept saying no, no, no, no...
The Japanese woman returned the teapot to the fire.
—What if you stayed as a partner?
Manuela did not answer.
—As my partner?
The Japanese woman saw that Manuela was thinking about it.
—We're half-hearted about everything. I half sign you, you too as the owner of this house when Don Alejo gives it
to me before a notary. You and I owners. Half of everything. From the house and the furniture and the business and
everything that comes in...
...and thus, owner, no one will be able to kick her out, because the house would be hers. I could command. She
had been kicked out of so many whorehouses because she got so crazy when the party started and her face got hot with
the wine, and the music, and everything, and sometimes because of her the men's fights started. From one whorehouse to
another. Since I could remember. A month, six months, a year at most... she always had to end up packing her things and
going somewhere else because the owner would get angry, because, Manuela said, she would make a fuss about how
scandalous she was... having a my piece, mine forever, with cutouts from the magazines stuck to the wall, but no: from one
house to another, always, since he was kicked out of school when he was caught with another boy and didn't dare to come
to his house. home because his father was carrying a huge whip, with which he drew blood from the horses when he
whipped them, and then he went to the house of a woman who taught him to dance Spanish.
And then she kicked him out, and others, always from house to house, without a penny in his pocket, without having
anywhere to hide to rest when his gums hurt, those cramps have always been there, since he remembered, and he didn't
tell anyone. and now at forty years old my teeth are loosening so much that I'm afraid of splashing them when I sneeze.
Total. It was a while. I don't like chickpeas, but when there's nothing else to eat... totally. Owner, one. No one is going to be
able to throw me out, and if it is true that this town is going to go up, then, of course, life was not that bad, and there is
hope even for an ugly crazy woman like me, and then the misfortune was not misfortune. but it could be transformed into a
marvel thanks
46
to Don Alejo, who promises me that things can be wonderful, to sing and laugh and dance in the light every night, forever.
-Well.
- Done deal?
—But don't do anything to me because I scream.
— Deal done, Manuela? -Done deal. —We are going to hurt Don Alejo.
—And then we sign at the notary?
—Where a notary. In Talca.
Now he was no longer shivering. His heart was beating very hard.
—And when are we going to make the plastic paintings?
The Japanese woman looked at the door.
—Don Alejo hasn't left the room yet, wait...
They stood in silence by the kitchen.
Manuela withdrew her hand from the Japanese woman's hand, who let it go because it no longer mattered, that being was
hers, whole. Manuela is always at home. Attached to her. Why not? She was a hard worker, that was seen, and happy, and she knew
so much about grooming and clothes and food, yes, she was not bad, better united with Manuela than with someone else who would
make her suffer, while Manuela would never make her suffer. , friend, friend nothing more, the two of them together. Easy to love.
Maybe she would come to suffer for him, but in another way, not with that scream of pain when a man stops loving her, that tearing
herself apart night after night because the man goes with another woman or cheats on her, or takes money from her, or takes
advantage of her. of her and she, so that she doesn't leave, acts as if she didn't know anything, barely daring to breathe in the night
next to that body that suddenly, suddenly could tell her no, never again, that they had come this far... She can excite him, she is sure,
almost without effort because the poor guy is already responding to her heat inside and without knowing it. If it weren't like that, he
would never have noticed him at all.
Exciting him will be easy. Even fall in love with him. But not. That would ruin everything. It wouldn't be convenient. It was
preferable that Manuela never forget her position in her house, the faggot in the whorehouse, the partner. But even if it wasn't
about that it would be easy for her to fall in love with him, just as easy as it was to love him at this moment.
—Hey, Manuela, don't fall in love with me...
CHAPTER VIII
—This is what it's worth, buddy, don't be rude: the money. Do you think that if you had one you wouldn't be the same as
him? Or do you think Don Alejo is a special brand? No, no questions here.
You are afraid of the old man because he just owes you money. No, I'm not going to tell anyone.
47
Do you think I want people to know how he treated my sister's husband? In the little envelope I gave you
you have the money to pay what you owe... no, pay me when you can, without urgency, you are part of the
family. I am not one of those unemployed futres and I am not going to behave with you like he does. The
things he said to him, for God's sake! I tell him not to worry, it's enough for me. It makes me angry with these
futres... Why are you going to pay attention to not going to Japonesita if you feel like it and pay for your
consumption? Is Japonesita his? Of course, the futre believes that everything is his, and no, sir. He doesn't
dictate to you, nor to me and if we want we go wherever we want. It isn't true? You pay him his money and
goodbye... So, Pancho, cheer up, it's not a big deal...
The truck passed by Japonesita's house. They turned slowly down that side street and then turned
around that block and again in front of Japonesita's house, this time without honking, Octavio convincing
him, going around and around the street.
apple.
—And what do I do about the freight issue?
-Don't worry. Don't you see that all the truckers around here pass by my gas station and I know where
the best freight in the region is? Don't worry. I tell you that you are not a slave to that old man... Well. I'm
already bored with this matter. Let's pay him right now, yes, now...
-It's late...
Octavio thought about it.
—Anyway, what do I care if they're eating? Come on, just.
Pancho turned the truck on the narrow street and headed the other way, towards the El Olivo farm,
beyond the Station. He knew his machine, and on the way beyond the blackberries and the canals that
limited the station, he avoided ditches and holes, maneuvering that enormous machine that seemed light to
him now, he went to Don Alejo's house to tear off the part of that truck that still belonged to him.
—We're going to get stuck in the mud... Octavio opened the window and threw out the cigarette.
-No...
Pancho did not continue speaking because he was advancing through a gorge of blackberries. He
had to move very slowly, his eyes furrowed, his head bent over the windshield. To see the stones and the
potholes. I knew this path well, but it was better to be careful anyway. He even knew the noises: here, behind
the mora, the Canal de los Palos divided in two and the branch to the Los Lagos pasture bubbled for a
distance through a wooden gutter. Now it couldn't be heard. But if I were on foot like before, like when I was
a boy, the sound of the water in the wooden gutter could begin to be heard right here, passing the crooked
willow. This was the path that he walked every day on bare foot to attend school at El Olivo Station, when
there was school. Lost time. Misia Blanca had taught him to read and write and the four operations together
with Moniquita, who learned so quickly and beat him at everything. Until Don Alejo said that Pancho had to
go to school. And then to study what I know, at the University. Of course! I was the biggest joint in the class
and I never passed the grade because I didn't feel like it, until Don Alejo, who is no fool, realized and well,
why keep bothering with this kid if he didn't turn out well for the classes. letters, it is better that you learn
numbers and just read so that you are not confused with a
48
animal, and let him start helping in the field, let's see what we can do with him, why is he going to waste time at school if he
has a hard head. Every stone. And beyond, the concrete marker that has always been broken. Who knows how they broke
it. It must be difficult to break a concrete cairn, but it is broken. Every hole, every stone: Don Alejo made him learn them by
heart, going back and forth, every day from the farm to the school and from the school to the farm until they said it was
good, what could they get out of it. But Ema wants Normita to go to a nuns' school, I don't want the girl to be just any girl,
like someone who had to marry the first person who looked at her so she wouldn't stay to dress saints; look how one would
be if one had studied a little, why do you say that when you know that you liked me as soon as you saw me and you left the
little boy who owned the butcher shop because you fell in love with me, but studying would have been different, what is
studying mom and what are the Little nuns, I want the girl to study a short profession like obstetrics, what is obstetrics, Mom,
and he didn't like me asking, she's so young and what are you going to explain to her, it's better to wait for her to grow up. If
I want, if I feel like it, I send my daughter to study. Don Alejo has nothing to say. Nothing to do with me. I am me. Only. And
of course, the family, like Octavio, who is my friend, so I don't mind owing him and he's not going to do anything to me if I'm
a little late with the payments... he's going to like that I want to buy a house from him. Emma. Now I pay the old man and
leave.
The truck turned between two plane trees and entered an avenue of palm trees. On the sides, wineries. And piles
of fetid pomace next to the closed and dark sheds. In the background, the park, the gigantic oak tree under which he saw
them lying in the hammocks and multicolored canvas chairs—him looking at them from the other side, but not when he was
a boy because he and Moniquita played together among the giant hydrangeas, the two of them alone. , and the adults
laughed at him asking him if he was Moniquita's boyfriend and he said yes, and then they did let him in, but later, when he
was older, then not anymore: they read magazines in unknown languages, dozing in the faded canvas chairs.
The four dogs rushed towards the truck, which was approaching along the avenue of palm trees, and attacked its
shiny shell, scratching and muddying it as soon as it stopped in front of the key store.
—Let's get off...
—How, with these brutes?
The jumping and growling of the dogs surrounded them in the cabin. Then Pancho, just because, because it made
him angry, because it scared him, because he hated dogs, he started honking like a madman and the dogs redoubled their
jumps, scratching the red paint that he took so much care of, but it doesn't matter anymore, Now nothing matters but to
touch, touch, to knock down the palm trees and the oak and cross the night from side to side so that nothing remains, touch,
touch, and the dogs bark while the light turns on in the corridor and they cheer up. figures between the sacks, and under
the doors, shouting at the dogs, running towards the truck, but Pancho does not stop, he has to continue, the dogs furious
without obeying the peons who call them. Until Don Alejo appears at the top of the corridor steps and Pancho stops playing.
Then the dogs fell silent and ran towards him.
—Othello... Sultan. Here, Negus, Moro...
The dogs lined up behind Don Alejo.
- Who is it?
49
Pancho remained mute, bloodless, as if he had used up all his strength. Octavio nudged him, but
Pancho remained silent.
-Bah. Little man.
Then Pancho opened the door and jumped to the ground. The dogs rushed at him but Don Alejo
managed to call them while Pancho climbed back into the cabin. Octavio had turned off the lights, and the
whole landscape emerged from the darkness, and the black oak and the palm fronds and the thickness of
the walls and the tiles of the eaves were drawn against the suddenly deep and empty sky.
- Who is it?
—Pancho, Don Alejo. You have to see their puppies.
—What is this mess you came into? Are you drunk, you scoundrel, who think you can come to my
house at any time making all this noise? You lock the dogs over there, and More, Sultan, over there, Othello,
Negus... and you, Pancho, go up here to the corridor while I go to get my blanket, look, it's freezing...
Pancho and Octavio cautiously got out of the truck, trying not to fall into the pools, and went up to the
corridor. At the bottom of the U that hugged the park they saw some windows with light. They came closer.
Dining room. The family gathered under the lamp. A boy with glasses—grandson, Don Jorge's son, what is
he doing here on the farm when he should already be at school. And Misia Blanca at the head. Grey-haired,
now. She was blonde, with a very long braid that wrapped around her head and was cut when he caught
Moniquita's typhus. He saw Misia Blanca do it, in the burning chapel - she raised her arms, her hands took
her heavy braid and cut it flush, at the nape of her neck. He saw her: through her tears that came only then,
only when Mrs. Blanca cut her braid and threw it inside the drawer, he saw her swimming in her tears as he
now saw her swimming in the foggy glass of the dining room. Let them lend me Panchito: he even asked his
mother to go play with Moniquita because they were almost the same age and the servants of the house
laughed at him because he said he was the boyfriend of the boss's daughter. Now, she was an old woman.
He ate in silence. And when Don Alejo finally came out to join them in the corridor, with his hat and vicuna
blanket on, Pancho saw him as tall, as tall as when he looked up at him, he, a child who barely stood taller
than his father. his knees.
—What a miracle, Pancho!
—Good evening, Don Alejo...
- Who you are coming with?
—With Octavio...
-Good night.
- How can I help you?
He dropped into a wicker chair and the two men stood before him.
It looked small now. And sick.
—Why did you come at this time?
fifty
—I come to pay you, Don Alejo.
He stood up.
—But you paid me this morning. You don't owe me anything until next month. What do you
did it suddenly bite?
They were walking through the U of the corridors. From time to time, as they passed, the image of
Misia Blanca was repeated presiding over the long, almost empty table, once stirring the herbal tea, another
time covering the cheese bowl, another time breaking the piece of bread against the white tablecloth, within
the frame of window light. Octavio was explaining things to Don Alejo... who knows what, I prefer not to
listen, he does it better than me. Yes, let him do it because he is not going to let Don Alejo ride him, like he
rides me. Misia Blanca chooses a lump of toasted sugar on a saucer for her herbal tea. One for her, one for
Moniquita and one for you, Panchito, it has a piece of lemon verbena leaf attached to it, it gives it a special
taste, a taste for Misia Blanca, well, go play in the garden and don't let her out of your sight, Pancho , that
you are bigger and you have to take care of her. And the enormous hydrangeas there in the depths of the
shadow, next to the ditch of bricks velvety with moss, he dad and she mom of the dolls, until the kids catch
us playing with the cot, me lulling the doll in my arms because Moniquita says that's how dads do it and the
kids laugh—faggot, faggot, playing with dolls like women—I never want to go back but they force me because
they feed me and dress me but I prefer to go hungry and I spy from the privet fence because I would like to
go again but I don't want them to tell me that I am the boss's daughter's boyfriend, and a faggot, a faggot
because of the dolls. Until one day Don Alejo finds me spying among the privets. Gotcha, you little shit. And
his hand takes me from here, by the neck, and I grab hold of his blanket, kicking, him so big and me so
small, looking up at him like a cliff. His blanket is a little slippery and very hot because it is made of vicuña.
And he drags me through the bushes and I cling to his blanket because it is so soft and so warm and he
drags me and I tell him that they had not given me permission to come, you liar, he knows everything, you
are a liar, Pancho, Don't get away, because who is going to take care of and play with the girl more than
you, and she throws me into the big park so that I can look for her in the tangle of bushes, and I run and my
feet get tangled in the periwinks but I don't have the time to stop. Why run so much if I know that it is like
every day, under the hydrangeas, in the shade, next to the wall where the splinters of broken bottles shine,
and I reach out and touch it, and from the tip of my body with which I was penetrating the weed forest,
fleeing, that tip of my body spills something that wets me and then I get sick with typhus and so does she
and she dies and I don't, and I stay looking at Misia Blanca and only when her hands raise her braid to cut it
my tears begin to flow because I got better and because Misia Blanca is cutting her braid. He has turned off
the light in the dining room. In this return he is no longer there. Octavio's voice continues explaining: yes,
Don Alejo, of course, it doesn't matter, even if they don't give you the freight, I already got you others, yes,
very good, some brick freight, some that they are doing on the other side of ...
—Whose bricks are those?
Octavio did not answer. Don Alejo stopped surprised at the silence, and so did they,
Octavio holding the senator's gaze for a moment.
It was possible? Pancho realized that Octavio did not answer Don Alejo's question because if he
found out who owned those bricks he could call them by phone, that was enough to prevent them from giving
them to him. He knew everyone. Everyone respected him. He had everyone's threads on his fingers. But his
brother-in-law Octavio, his compadre, Normita's godfather, was standing up to him: Octavio was new to the
area and he was not afraid of the old man. And because I didn't want to, I didn't answer him. They walked a
full circle down the corridor without
51
talk. The park was quiet but alive, and the silence left by their voices was filled with almost imperceptible noises,
the drop falling from the tip of the eaves, keys jingling in Octavio's pocket, the chill of the almost naked jasmine
passing through drips, the slow steps that ended at the door of the house.
-It's cold...
-Clear. With so much freshness.
Pancho shuddered at his brother-in-law's words: Don Alejo looked at him about to ask him what he meant
by that, but he didn't, and began to count the bills that Octavio gave him.
—Three at least...
-What does it say?
—Fresh... three...
Pancho snatched the word from his brother-in-law before he continued enthusiastically about
their triumphs. Were they triumphs? Don Alejo was too calm. Maybe I hadn't heard.
—No, no, nothing, Don Alejo. Well, if you're satisfied, we won't bother you anymore and we'll leave.
We are taking away your time. And with this cold. Say hello to Misia Blanca, please. Alright?
Don Alejo accompanied them to the end of the corridor to say goodbye. Crossing the
mud towards the truck they turned and saw the four dogs next to him on the stands.
—Be careful with the dogs...
Don Alejo laughed out loud.
—Eat them, Sultan...
And the four dogs rushed after them. They barely had time to get into the truck before they started
scratching at the doors. As we turned toward the exit, the headlights briefly illuminated the figure of Don Alejo at
the top of the steps and then the advancing headlights began to swallow, wide open, the palm trees at the exit of
the farm. Pancho gave a sigh.
-That's it.
—You didn't let me tell him to his face that he's cool.
—If the futre is a good person.
But fresh. Octavio had been telling him about it when they were coming towards the town and
He believed him then, but now it was harder to believe it.
That they knew it down to the stones on the path where they returned to the Station. No
was an idiot, he realized that the old man had never worried about electricity
52
of the town, which was a pure story, that on the contrary, it was now convenient for the town to never be
electrified. That he wasn't innocent, that the old man was a fool. The times I had gone to talk to the Mayor
about the matter was to distract him, so that he would not electrify the town, I tell you this because I know,
because the Mayor's driver is a friend of mine and he told me, don't be rude, buddy. Clear. Think about it.
He wants all the people to leave the town. And since he is the owner of almost all the houses, if not all, then
what does it cost him to talk to the Mayor again so that he gives him the land of the streets that belonged to
him to begin with and then tear down all the houses and plow the town's land, fertilized and rested, and
plant more and more vineyards as if the town had never existed, yes, I know that is what he wants.
Now, after the project to make the El Olivo Station into a great town collapsed, as he thought when the
longitudinal was going to pass right here, through the door of his house...
Leaning over the handlebars, Pancho scrutinizes the darkness because he has to scrutinize it if he
doesn't want to fall off a cliff into a canal or get stuck in the blackberry bush. You have to look at every stone
on the road, every pothole, every one of these trees that I was going to abandon forever. I thought that this
was left here with my footprints, so that later I could think whenever I wanted about these streets where I
am entering, that they will no longer exist and I will not be able to remember them because they no longer
exist and I will no longer be able to return. I do not want to get back. I want to go towards other things,
forward. The house in Talca for Ema and the school for Normita. I would like to have a place to return, not
to return but to have it, nothing more, and now I'm not going to have it because Don Alejo is going to die.
The certainty of Don Alejo's death emptied the night and Pancho had to hold on to his handlebars to avoid
falling into that abyss.
-Buddy.
- What happens?
He didn't know what to say. It was just to hear his: voice. To see if I really wanted to be like
Octavio, who had nowhere to return and didn't care. He was the toughest man in the world because he
made his situation alone and now he owned a service station and the little restaurant on the side of the
longitudinal road, where hundreds of trucks passed.
He did what he wanted and gave it to his wife for the week, not like Ema, who took all the money from him,
as if he owed it to her. Octavio was a great, great, great man. It was lucky to have married his sister. One
felt one's back was covered.
—It was even, then. Better not to have anything to do with them. They are filth,
Dude, I'm telling you, you don't know what these filthy futres have gotten me into.
They were arriving at the town. Where we go?
-Let's celebrate. But where? Where do you think, then, friend?
—Where Japonesita. Where to Japonesita, then.
53
CHAPTER IX
La Japonesita turned off the chonchón.
-Is he.
- Again?
After they closed the doors of the truck, a long minute of waiting passed, so long that it seemed as if the men who
got out had gotten lost in the night.
When they finally knocked on the living room door, Manuela tightened her Spanish dress.
—I'm going to hide.
—Dad, wait...
-Is going to kill me.
-Me too?
-I do not care. He's got it on me. I have nothing to do with what happens to you
you.
He ran out into the yard. If she was saved from this, she would surely die of bronchopneumonia like all the old
women. What did she have to do with Japonesita? She should defend herself if she wanted to defend herself, she should
give herself up if she wanted to give herself up, she, Manuela, was not there to save anyone, just her own skin, and least of
all the Japonesita who called her "daddy", daddy when one was afraid. that Pancho came to kill her because she was crazy.
The best thing was to sneak around to the side to go spend the night where Ludovinia, always warm in her bedroom, and a
double bed, no, no, no getting into bed with women, she already knew what could happen to her. But maybe Ludo would
have some soups left over from lunchtime and she would heat them in the embers and give her some mates and they could
start talking about things as nice as Misia Blanca's hats when the hats were worn and forget about this, because I wasn't
going to tell Ludo this so she wouldn't ask him questions and wouldn't have to talk. Until this recedes, entering the darkness
that is swallowing him up and then one would say to Ludo that yes, look, tomorrow maybe I could tell her, look, the girl finally
decided and took the man for the piece, now It was really good, now we are going to stay calm, and all the darkness
surrounding everything until it was time to sleep and to be able to let ourselves fall, drop by drop, into the puddle of sleep that
would grow until it filled the entire warm room of the house. Ludo.
The light turned on again in the living room. A man appeared in the rectangle. The Victrola needle began to scratch
a record. Octavio leaned against the door frame. Manuela took a step back, opened the fence of the chicken coop and hid
under the crevice next to the ladder whitened by the chickens' poop, and Lucy's turkey began to prowl around, inflated,
furious, all its feathers ruffled. Manuela put her hand under her shirt to warm it: each of the folds of her aged skin was like
frosted cardboard, and she removed it. Now they were dancing. La Japonesita crossed the rectangle of light, attached to
Pancho Vega.
54
In a little while longer they were going to start searching the house to look for her. If Japonesita were
woman enough to entertain them, to divert their energy towards herself, who needed it so much! But not.
They were going to search. Manuela knew it, they were going to take the whores out of their rooms, to undo
the kitchen, to look for her in the toilet, maybe in the chicken coop, to break everything, the plates and the
glasses and the clothes, and for them, and to her if they were to find her.
Because that's what they had come for. They're not going to fool me. Those men had not just appeared at
night to go to the house and sleep with some random woman and drink some random jugs of wine, no, they
came to look for her, to torment her and force her to dance. They knew that she had it in her mind that she
didn't want to dance for them, just as last year Pancho had it in her mind that he did, that he had to dance
for her, he's coming for her, Manuela knows it. Meanwhile he settled for dancing with Japonesita. But then
he went to look for her. Yes, I could have gone to Ludo's. But not. La Japonesita danced, strangely, because
she never danced, not even if they asked her. He did not like it. Now yes. He saw her turning in front of the
wide open door, stuck to him, as if melted and spilled on Pancho, with her black mustaches hidden in
Japonesita's neck, her mustaches dirty, the bottom edge stained with wine and nicotine. And grabbing the
beginning of her buttocks, his hands stained with nicotine and machine oil. And Octavio stood in the
doorway, smoking, waiting: then he threw the cigarette into the night and entered. The disk stopped.
A loud laugh. A cry from Japonesita. A chair falls. They are doing something to him. Manuela's hand, once
again inserted between her skin and her shirt, right where her heart beats, squeezes until it hurts, like she
would like to make Pancho Vega's body hurt, why does La Japonesita scream again, oh, oh, Dad, no? call
me, don't call me that again because I don't have fists to defend her, I only know how to dance, and shiver
here in the chicken coop.
...But once I didn't shiver. The naked body of the Big Japanese Girl, hot, oh, if I had that heat now, if
the Little Japanese Girl had it so she wouldn't need other heat, the naked and disgusting but hot body of the
Big Japanese Girl surrounding me, her hands on my neck and I looking at those things that grew there on
his chest as if he didn't know they existed, heavy and with red tips in the light of the chonchón that we had
not turned off so that they could look at us from the window. At least that verification they demanded. And
the house would be ours. Mine. And I was in the middle of that meat, and the mouth of that drunk woman
who was looking for mine like a pig looks for in a neighborhood, although the deal was that we wouldn't
kiss, which made me sick, but she was looking for my mouth, I don't know, until Today I don't know why the
Big Japanese Girl was so hungry for my mouth and she was looking for it and I didn't want it and I denied it
by pursing her mouth, biting her anxious lips, hiding her face in the pillow, anything because I was afraid to
see that the Big Japanese Girl was going beyond our pact and that something was springing up and I
didn't... I wanted not to be disgusted by the flesh of that woman who reminded me of the house that was
going to be mine with this comedy so easy but so terrible, which did not compromise nothing but... and Don
Alejo looking at us. Could we make fun of him? That made me tremble. We could? Wouldn't we die,
somehow, if we succeeded? And the Japanese woman made me drink another glass of wine so that I would
lose my fear, and while drinking it, I poured half a glass on the pillow next to the head of the Japanese
woman whose flesh required me, and another glass. Afterwards he said almost nothing again.
I had my eyes closed and my mascara was running and my face was sweaty and my whole body, especially
my wet belly, pressed against mine and I found that all this is unnecessary, it's unnecessary, they are
betraying me, oh how clearly I felt that it was a betrayal to arrest me and put me in a dungeon forever
because the Big Japanese Girl was going beyond the bet with that smell, as if a witchy broth was being
prepared in the fire that burned under the vegetation at the top of her legs, and that smell It caught on my
body and stuck to me, the smell of that body of unimaginable, unintelligible conduits and caverns, stained
with other liquids, populated by other screams and other beasts, and this boiling so different from mine,
from my doll body. lied, without depth, mine all towards the outside, useless, hanging, while she caressed
me with her mouth and her moist palms, with her eyes terribly closed so that I would not know what was
happening inside, open, everything towards the inside, passages and conduits
55
and caves and I there, dead in his arms, in his hand that is urging me to live, that yes, you can, and I nothing,
and in the drawer next to the bed the chonchón whistling barely almost next to my ear like in a long secret
without meaning. And his soft hands search me, and he tells me I like you, he tells me I want this, and he
begins to whisper again, like the chonchón, in my ear and I hear those laughs in the window: Don Alejo
looking at me, looking at us, us squirming, knotted and sweaty to please him because he ordered us to do it
so that we would amuse him and only then would he give us this adobe house, with beams chewed by mice,
and they, those who watch, Don Alejo and the others who laugh at us, do not You hear what the Big
Japanese Girl tells me very slowly in my ear, mijito, he is rich, don't be afraid, if we are not going to do
anything, it is pure comedy so that they believe and not worry, mijito and her voice is hot as a hug and his
breath stained with wine, surrounding me, but now it matters less because no matter how much his hand
touches me I don't need to do anything, nothing, it's all a comedy, nothing is going to happen, it's for the
house, nothing more, for the -home. His smile stuck on the pillow, drawn on the canvas. She likes doing
what she's doing here in the sheets with me. He likes that I can't: with anyone, tell me yes, beautiful
Manuelita, tell me that never with any woman before me, that I am the first, the only one, and so I will be
able to enjoy my beauty, my soul, Manuelita, I will Let's enjoy, I like your terrified body and all your fears and
I would like to break your fear, no, don't be afraid Manuela, not break it but gently remove it from where it is
to reach a part of me that she, the poor Big Japanese Girl, believed that existed but does not exist and has
never existed, and has never existed even though it touches me and caresses me and murmurs... it does
not exist. Brute Japanese, understand, it doesn't exist. No darling, Manuela, as if we were two women, look,
like this, you see, the legs intertwined, sex in sex, two equal sexes, Manuela, don't be afraid of the movement
of the buttocks, of the hips, the mouth on the mouth, like two women when the gentlemen in the house of
Pecho de Palo pay the whores to make plastic paintings... no, no, you are the woman, Manuela, I am the
macho one, you see how I am bringing you down the panties and how I take off your bra so that your breasts
are naked and I can enjoy them, yes you have Manuela, don't cry, yes you have breasts, small like a girl's,
but you have them and that's why I love you.
You talk and you caress me and suddenly you tell me, now Manuelita of my heart, you see that you can... I
was dreaming of my breasts being caressed, and something happened while she was telling me yes, little
girl, I am making you enjoy because I am the macha and you, the female, I love you because you are
everything, and I feel her heat that engulfs me, me, a self that does not exist, and she guides me laughing,
with me because I laugh too, both of us dying of laughter. to cover the shame of the agitations, and my
tongue in her mouth and what does it matter that they are looking at us from the window, better this way,
richer, until they shudder and become mutilated, bleeding inside her while she screams and squeezes me
and then falls, My dear sweetheart, what a delicious thing, it's been so long, so long, and the words dissolve
and the smells evaporate and the roundnesses withdraw, I'm left sleeping on her, and she whispers in my
ear, as if in a dream: mijita, Mijito, his words confused with the pillow. Let's not tell anyone, look, what
happened to me is a shame, woman, don't be stupid, Manuela, you won the house like a queen, you won
the house for me, for both of us. But swear to me that never again, Japanese, for God's sake, I'm disgusting,
swear to me, partners, of course, but not this, never again because now that you no longer exists, that I that
I now need so much, and that I would like to call from this corner of the chicken coop, while I watch them
dance there in the living room...
...the cuffs that she doesn't have only serve to wrap herself in the faded patch of her dress. Kill
Pancho with that dress. Choke him with it. Lucy walked out into the yard as if she had been waiting for that
moment.
—Psssstttt.
He looked everywhere.
56
—Lucy, here...
In the living room the record repeats and repeats.
—What are you doing there as a broody hen?
—Go to the living room.
-I'm coming. There are people?
—Pancho and Octavio.
The Japanese girl and Pancho who dance across the door awaken Lucy's face.
- She's alone?
—Come on, I tell you.
What right does that shitty bitch Lucy have to censor her because she waits hidden in the chicken coop?
Tomorrow she will collect the money she owes for a dress, because she was doing something wrong, of course,
knowing how much she likes men, and she believes that is why they have to tolerate her. She is an asylum like all
the others. He has no right. And Japonesita too... What right? Right to what? Dad What a dad! Don't make me laugh,
please, look that my lips are chapped and they hurt when I laugh... dad. Leave me alone. Nobody's dad. Just
Manuela, the one who can dance until dawn and make a room full of drunks laugh and with laughter make them
forget their snotty wives while she, an artist, receives applause, and the light explodes into an endless number of
stars. She didn't have to think about the contempt and the laughter that she knows so well because they are part of
men's fun, that's why they come, to despise her, but on the dance floor, with a flower behind her ear, old and as lame
as she was, she was more of a woman than all the Lucys and the Clotys and the Japonesitas on earth... curving her
back and pursing her lips and stamping her feet with more fury, they laughed more and the wave of laughter carried
her towards up, towards the lights.
Let Japonesita scream inside. Let her learn to be a woman by force, as one learned. The party is good. Lucy
dances with Octavio, but she is the only one capable of making the party transform into a mix of father and lord, she,
because she is Manuela. Although it trembles here in the darkness surrounded by chicken guano so old that it no
longer even smells. Those are not women. She is going to show them who a woman is and how to be a woman. He
takes off his shirt and folds it on the flight of stairs. And the shoes... yes, the bare feet like a true gypsy. He also takes
off his pants, and is left naked in the chicken coop, with his arms crossed over his chest and that strange thing
hanging off of him. She puts her Spanish dress over her head and the skirts fall around her like a bath of warmth
because nothing can shelter her like these meters and meters of tired red percale. The dress is fitted. It fixes the
pleats around the neckline... a little padding here where I don't have any. Of course, one is so little, the gitanilla, a
beauty, just a little girl who is going to dance and that's why she doesn't have breasts, like that, almost like a little
boy, but not her, because she is so feminine, the busted waist and everything. ... Manuela smiles in the darkness of
the chicken coop while she puts the gauze poppy that Lucy lent her behind her ear. Do what you want with
Japonesita. Overall, what does she have to do with the matter. She is nothing more than the great artist who has
come to Japonesa's house to do her act, crazy, crazy, she wants to have fun, she feels Pancho's heavy hands
pressing her that night like someone who doesn't want the thing when no one is watching, grabs, yes sir, grabs and
the good ones. Let them do whatever they want with her, thirty men. I wish I had a different age to
57
put up with. But not. Gums hurt. And the joints, oh, how the joints and the bones and the knees hurt in the morning, how I want to stay
in bed forever, forever, and be taken care of. As long as Japonesita decides tonight. Let Pancho take her. Let his pale blood circulate
through that body of a plucked chicken, without hair even where he should have it because he's already big, poor thing, he doesn't
know what he's missing, Pancho's hands that squeeze my beauty, don't be stupid, don't lose your life , and I am your friend, I, Manuela,
am going to go dancing so that everything is happy as it should be and not sad like you because you count peso and peso and you
don't spend anything... and that flower that I have in my hair. Manuela walks through the patio adjusting her dress. So skinny, for God's
sake, no one is going to like me, especially because my dress is muddy and my paws are muddy and she removes a fig leaf that got
stuck in the mud on her heel and walks towards the light and before entering she listens. hidden behind the door, while she crosses
herself like the great artists before coming to light.
58
CHAPTER X
At the El Olivo farm, they gave Don Céspedes all the wine he wanted, just drink Don Céspedes, that's
what he's there for, the boss repeated, but he was sober. Sometimes a little glass before going to sleep in the
jumble of sacks, between the wooden barrels seasoned by harvests and harvests of wine. It was the same
wine that the boss sold to Japonesita at cost price, out of pure friendship and so that the poor girl could make
a little profit, but to no one else, not even if they begged her. Sometimes, very late at night, when Don
Céspedes could not sleep due to one of the pains that never left any region of his body, he would put on his
flip flops and, throwing the blanket over his shoulders, he would cross the vineyard, pass the Canal de los
Palos. through the fallen trunk of a willow, he crossed the border of blackberries and wire fences through gaps
known only to him, and arrived at Japonesita's house where he settled silently at one of the tables near the
wall, to drink a jug of wine. red wine, the same one he had at his fingertips in the key rack.
Octavio saw him enter. La Japonesita did not want to dance with him, so while she was waiting for Lucy and Pancho to finish
their dance she called Don Céspedes, who moved to his table. Octavio was going to ask the old man something, but he didn't because
he saw him stay stiff in his chair, staring at a precise point in the darkness, as if that point contained the detailed plan of the entire
night.
-Dogs...
—What do you say, Don Céspedes?
—That they released the dogs in the vineyard.
They stayed listening.
-I hear nothing.
-Me neither.
—But they walk. I feel them. Now they are running north, towards the Largos pasture, where the cows
are... and now... A flock of queltegües crossed over the town.
—...and now they come running here, to the Station.
La Japonesita and Octavio tried to penetrate the night with their attention, but they could not go beyond
the strident song to launch themselves into the field and gather from there the minutiae of the noises and the
breath of the distances. Octavio poured himself a glass of wine.
—And who released the dogs?
—Don Alejandro. He is the only one who lets them go.
- And because?
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—When he's weird... and tonight he was weird. He told me that he was going to die, when he was talking to me at
the key shop tonight, what a doctor told him. He said strange things... that there will be nothing left after him because all his
projects failed.
—Futre greedy... If he, who is a millionaire, is a failure, what does he leave for us poor people?
—I bet he's in the vineyard with them.
—And why do you release them if there isn't even a bunch left after the harvest and no one is going to
be entering?
-Who knows. Sometimes they go into other things.
- To what?
—You have to be very careful with dogs. They are crafty. But I don't
They bite... What are they going to be biting me when I don't even have any flesh left?
Gray on the other side of the carbide flame, closed like someone whom nothing can anymore
succeed him, Japonesita saw him as enviable in his immunity. Not even the dogs would bite him. Surely not even the fleas
on his pallet bit him. Someone once said that Don Céspedes didn't even eat anymore, that the maids in Don Alejo's house
sometimes remembered his existence and looked for him everywhere, in the warehouses and warehouses, and brought
him bread or cheese or a plate of hot food that he accepted. But then they forgot again and who knows what the poor old
man was eating, sleeping in his sacks anywhere in the warehouses, lost among the plows and machinery and bales of straw
and clover, on top of a pile of potatoes. .
Pancho and Lucy sat at the table.
—This looks like a wake...
No one answered.
—Cheer up then, compadre, because if I don't take Lucy...
And he looked at Japonesita to see how she reacted: she was looking at the same point in the darkness as Don
Céspedes. He touched her breast, too small, like a stagnant pear, one of those found unscented, inedible, fallen under
trees. But the eyes.
He withdrew his hand and stared. Two vials illuminated from the inside. Each eye shone whole, swallowed by the translucent
iris, and Pancho felt that if he leaned over them he could see, as in an aquarium, the underwater gardens inside the
Japonesita. It wasn't nice.
It was weird. If it were up to him he would leave her right there. But why would he leave her? Because the old man sent
him, because Don Alejo warned him not to get close to her? But if we are not bandits, Don Alejo, we are just like you, so
don't look down on us, you won't believe...
—Are we going to dance, little girl?
Lucy closed her eyes and opened them again, but when she opened them again she didn't know how much time
had passed since she closed them or what piece of immense, stretched time she was now looking into. A flock of queltegües
passed by. Again? Or was it another part of the same time he thought he heard earlier? The barking of the dogs, some
close, others very far away,
60
They drew the distances of the field at night. A rider galloped down a path, and suddenly Lucy, who was trying to hear only
the bolero of the Victrola, became entangled in the anguish of not knowing who that rider was or where he came from or
where he was going and how long that gallop would last. faint now, very faint, but always galloping towards the inside of his
ears, until stuck there. He smiled at Octavio because he saw that he was upset.
—Damn, he's bored...
Don Céspedes yawned and then stayed listening.
—That's the Sultan...
—And how do you know each of the dogs?
—I raised them for Don Alejo and I have known them since they were children. Since they are born. Really.
When Don Alejo sees that one of his black dogs is doing badly, that he becomes lazy or very tame or gets stained on one
hand, we lock ourselves in, Don Alejo and I, with the dog, and he kills it with a gunshot... I kill him. I hold him so that the bullet
hits him well and then I bury him. And when the dog that we keep locked up at the back of the garden is in heat, we give the
dogs yohimbine, and we lock ourselves up again, Don Alejo and I, with them in the shed, and the brutes fight over the dog,
They go crazy, they get hurt sometimes, until they get it on and that's it. Of the puppies he leaves the best ones, and if he
has killed one of the big ones he keeps only one, and I am going to throw the others into the Palos canal in a sack.
Four, he always likes to have four! Mrs. Blanca gets angry because we do this, she says that it is not natural, but the gentleman laughs
and tells her not to get involved in men's things. And the dogs, even if they are different, always have the same name. Negus, Sultan,
Moro, Othello, always the same since Don Alejo was a little boy just this tall, the same names as if the dogs he killed continued to live,
Don Alejandro's four dogs are always perfect, fierce he likes them to be, yes no, it kills them. And now he released them into the
vineyard. Of course, the gentleman was sad...
While Don Céspedes spoke, Pancho and Japonesita sat down and listened to him.
—What does it have to do with me being sad?
-He's going to die...
— Until when with Don Alejo...!
Even when. Even when. Let him die. What did he care, that he and his worthy wife went to hell. Couldn't he and his
compadre have fun for a while, then, without hearing the name of Don Alejo, Don Alejo? Dona Blanca should go to hell, Dona
Blanca who had taught him to read and who sometimes gave him alfeñiques that she kept in a Mazawatte tea jar in the
pantry. That pantry. Row after row of jam jars with white labels written in the sharp handwriting of the nuns that he, Pancho
Vega, wrote to this day — Plum — Peach — Apricot — Raspberry — Cherry — and the jars filled with preserved pears and
the cherries in brandy and the apricots floating in the yellow syrup. And beyond, the rows of white earthenware molds in the
shape of a castle: apple or quince, and Moniquita was always given the castle tower where the candy was smooth and shiny.
Let them go to hell. Pancho's hand went up Japonesita's leg and no one said a word while Lucy's ears searched the night to
discover another rider who would revive her fear. He had paid all the debt and the truck
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It was his. His red truck. Caress his red truck and not Japonesita with her smell of clothes, and that horn snores, the Papuan
speaks just as his father said Normita. Yours. More his than his wife. Than your daughter. If I wanted, I could run it along the
longitudinal path that was straight as a knife; tonight, for example, I could run it like a savage, honking the horn at the top of
my lungs, slowly pressing the accelerator to penetrate into the depths of the night and soon, because yes, because Don
Alejo could no longer control it, I would turn the wheel a little more, barely bend my wrists, but enough for the truck to leave
the road, jump and overturn and I was left like a blur of smoking iron. and silent on the side of the road. Yes I want. If I feel
like it, I no longer have to explain anything to anyone. Japonesita's leg began to warm under his hand.
La Japonesita was having a glass of wine. He waited for Lucy to go out dancing with Octavio so he could get it all on
him, as if in secret. Came. All the men who came to his house had the smell of wine and all things tasted like wine. And
during the harvest the smell of wine invaded the entire town and then, the rest of the year, the piles of pomace were left
rotting at the doors of the cellars. Disgust. She has that same smell of wine, like the men, like the whores, like the people.
There was so little else to do but drink wine.
Like Cloty, who when she didn't have clients would say, hey Japonesita, give me another bottle of the cheapest red wine and
she would get into bed and drink and drink until the next day she woke up a disaster, working like a mule from early in the
morning, her nose red. and the stomach upset. But I never smelled wine on my mother. And the Big Japanese Girl was good
for the bottle, even the stones knew that. She smelled like Flores de Pravia soap even though she had drunk liters of wine in
the living room, and then my mother lit up like a torch and there was no one to stop her from talking and laughing and dancing.
As I would do it? Her heat filled the bed when she fell into bed and she had to undress her, either she or Manuela. Even the
grave in which they laid her in the San Alfonso cemetery must have been warm and she would never feel that heat again.
Only Pancho's hand abandoned on his thigh because he was falling asleep while he watched Lucy dancing close to Octavio.
But Pancho was drunk. Like all the men he was born seeing in this house. And he played among pants under the tables
while they drank, hearing expletives and smelling their vomit in the patio, playing among the dirty sheets piled next to the
trough, those sheets in which those men had slept with those women. But if Pancho's hand managed to turn her on like her
mother, then she would be able to rest from everything, her father told her. Who was that shadow that counted the pesos for
nothing? The hand that was moving along his thigh was telling him because now he was not afraid of him and Manuela had
told him, she had asked him who you are, and the hand that was moving up his thigh while the man to whom it belonged
yawned could give him the answer, that hand that was the repetition of the hand of the men who had always come to this
house, wanted to light it, that blunt thumb of
a meal, yes, I saw it, those fingers covered with hair and the square nail moving forward and she didn't want to but now yes, yes, to
know who you are Japonesita, now you will know and that hand and that heat of her heavy body and then, Even if he leaves, there
will still be something left of this night...
—Wow, this is boring...
Then he saw the old man in front.
—Isn't that true, Don Céspedes?
He smiled.
—Hey Octavio, let's go somewhere else...
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Don Céspedes asked him:
- Because?
—There is no atmosphere here.
Only then did he realize that Octavio was no longer there.
—What did my friend do?
—He went inside with Lucy a while ago.
Then he sat Japonesita on his knees.
—It is worse to chew lauchas.
But as she stood still, Pancho gave her a shove that almost knocked her to the ground.
-I'm pissed off.
He began to circulate between the tables.
— Whorehouse filth! There are no whores. And the other girls? And the hoarse victrola. There's not even anything
to put in the crop. Let's see? Bread: stale. Cold cuts... poof, half rotten.
And that? Sweets loaded with flies from my grandmother's time. Now, Japonesita, dance for me
even. Get excited. What, if you're stiffer than a broomstick, you're going to dance. Not like your mother, she was pretty, but
the fool was very funny. And as Manuela says...
The same eyes. He remembered last year Manuela's eyes looking at him and him looking at her terrified eyes,
illuminated between her hands that were squeezing his neck and her eyes looking at him like lucid phials with the certainty
that he was going to drown that landscape of terror in the inland tides. He stood still.
—And Manuela?
La Japonesita did not answer.
—And Manuela, I tell you?
—My dad is lying down.
-Come.
-Can not. He is sick.
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her.
—That old bitch is going to be sick! Do you think I came to see your cold rabbit face? No, I came to see Manuela, that's what
I came for. I already tell you. Go call her. Let me come dance.
-Let go.
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Pancho had his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes hairy, confused, red, almost blind with rage. Come. I
want to laugh. It can't all be like this, so sad, this town that Don Alejo is going to tear down and plow,
surrounded by the vineyards that are going to swallow it up, and tonight I'm going to have to go sleep at my
house with my wife and I don't want it, I want to have fun, that crazy Manuela comes to save us, something
other than this has to be possible, she comes.
—La Manuela...
-Rough. Let me.
—Let him come, I tell you.
—I'm telling you that my dad can't.
—Don Alejo is your father. And mine.
But he looked into his eyes.
-It isn't true. Manuela is your dad.
—Don't tell him Manuela.
Pancho laughed.
—At this point, mijita?
—Don't tell him Manuela.
64
CHAPTER XI
- Why not?
He advanced to the center of the room.
—Play me “The Reliquary,” kids.
With her waist broken, one arm raised, snapping her fingers, she circulated in the empty space in the center, pursued
by her tattered red tail splashed with mud.
Applauding, Pancho approached to try to kiss her and hug her, laughing out loud at this crazy fool, at this faggot wrinkled
like a raisin, shouting that yes, my soul, that now the party was really going to begin... but the Manuela slipped away from
him, snapping her fingers, proudly circulating between the tables before giving herself up to the dance. La Japonesita
approached him to try to prevent it. Before Pancho waved her goodbye, she managed to murmur:
—Go inside...
—Oh, little Lesa girl, how long am I going to have to put up with you. You go if you want. No
Is it true, Pancho? You're spoiling the party.
—Yes, let him go...
And he dropped into a chair. From there Pancho continued shouting that now the good thing was going to begin, why were
there so few people, that they should bring wine, cakes, a barbecue, everything there was, that he would pay for everything to
celebrate... Lucy, sweetie. , sit here and you, compadre, where have you gotten to me that you left me alone at this wake, come here,
and Don Céspedes, don't be afraid, look that there you're going to get cold so far away and a whore came called because of so much
noise and she sat alone at another table and fanned the flame of the chonchón and Cloty stood next to the Victrola to change the
records looking at Manuela with her eyes that bulged.
—For God's sake, the veteran is...
In Talca they had told Cloty about these Manuela dances, but how could she believe, the crazy woman was so old.
I wanted to see. They lit two chonchones on the tables around the court and then Pancho finally saw Manuela's eyes lit up
whole, vials, as he remembered them between his hands and Japonesita's eyes lit up.
whole and he took a long drink, the longest of the night because he didn't want to see and he served more red wine to Pancho and Lucy,
let everyone drink, I'll pay here. He grabbed Manuela's head and forced her to take a long drink like his and Manuela wiped her mouth with
the back of her hand. Lucy fell asleep. Don Céspedes looked at Manuela, but as if he didn't see her.
—Just throw him in, Manuelita of my soul, throw him in... may my farewell party be good.
And they are going to erase all of you, like this fzzzzz... by blowing them away, you know who. Don Céspedes, you know
that Don Alejo is going to erase all these idiots because he really wanted to...
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In the fields that surrounded the town, the layout of the vineyards, that night under the moon, was
perfect: Don Céspedes, with his eyes open, saw it. The regular chopping, the ordering that placed the hamlet
with demolished walls, the tendril of this place that the vineyards were going to erase - and this house, this
small point where they, together, hit the night like a rock: Manuela with her dress incandescent in the center
has to amuse them and kill the dangerous and alive time that wanted to engulf them, the crazy Manuela on
the track: applaud. They set the rhythm with their heels on the dirt floor, they clap the limp tables where the
chonchones waver. Cloty changes the disc.
Pancho suddenly fell silent, looking at Manuela. To that which dances there in the center, worn out,
crazed, with arrhythmic breathing, all sockets, cavities, shadows, ravines, that which is going to die despite
the exclamations it utters, that which is incredibly disgusting and which is incredibly a party, that is dancing
for him, he knows that he wants to touch and caress him, he wants that writhing not only to be there in the
center but against his skin, and Pancho allows himself to be looked at and caressed from there... the old
faggot who dances for him and He lets himself dance and it's no longer funny because it's as if he, too, was
longing. That Octavio doesn't know. Don't notice. Let no one notice. Let them not see him allowing himself
to be touched and rubbed by the contortions and hysterical hands of Manuela who do not touch him, letting
himself be touched, but from here, from the chair where he is sitting, no one sees what is happening to him
under the table, but he cannot be, it cannot be and he takes one of Lucy's sleeping hands and puts it there,
where it burns. Manuela's dance touches him and he would like to grab her like this, like that, until he breaks
her, that Olisco body shaking in his arms and I with Manuela who shakes, squeezing so that she doesn't
move so much, so that she stays calm, squeezing her, until she looks at me with those terrified flask eyes
and plunges my hands into her slimy, hot viscera to play with them, leave her lying there, harmless, dead:
one thing.
Then Pancho laughed. If he was a man he had to be able to feel everything, even this, and no one,
not Octavio nor any of his friends, would be surprised. This was a party. Farra. He had known too many
queers from whorehouses in his life to be scared of this ridiculous old woman, and they always fell in love
with him. He touched his biceps, touched the coarse hair that grew from the opening of his shirt at the neck.
He had calmed down under Lucy's hand.
The music stopped.
—The Victrola broke down.
Octavio went to try to fix it. In no time he disassembled the device on the counter while Lucy and
Japonesita looked at it. It seemed like it wasn't going to work again. Manuela, sitting on Pancho's lap, gave
him a glass of wine. I begged them to leave here, no, no, that the three of them go and continue the party
somewhere else. What were they doing here. Wasting time, getting bored, eating and drinking badly. Even
the Victrola had broken down and who knows if anyone would ever be able to fix it. They didn't even make
those antediluvian devices anymore, come on, please, come on. In the truck they could go to continue the
party anywhere, in a while they would be in Talca and there, in Pecho de Palo's house, the party continued
all night, every night... now, come on, little boy, take me that I have the devil in my body. I am dying of
boredom in this town and I do not want to die under a collapsed adobe wall, I have the right to see a little
light, I have never left this hole, because they tricked me into staying here by telling me that Japonesita is
my daughter, and you see, what a daughter I am going to have, when Japonesita and I are almost the same
age, two little girls. Take me from here. They say that at the Pecho de Palo house they prepare barbecue at
this time and they always have something good to eat, even ducks if the clients ask, and there are singers, I
don't know if the Farías sisters, I don't think, because they would be older than a , others, but it doesn't
matter, so lively for the harp and guitar
66
who were the Farias sisters, may they rest in peace. Let's go, take me, look, this bad girl tells everyone that she is my
daughter to force me to stay, see how she treats me, like a Chinese woman when I am her mother, and she doesn't let me
go out except to mass. and where the Ludo. I want to go with you, kids, to continue the party somewhere else, where it's fun
and we can laugh for a while...
—She's screwed.
- What happened?
—The spring broke.
—Hey, buddy, just leave her and we'll go somewhere else.
- Where to?
—Look at Don Céspedes, he looks like a mummy. Wake up, old man...
—Let's go to Pecho de Palo...
They argued for a while and paid Japonesita.
- Where are you going?
—What do you care, stiff silverside?
—Where are you going, dad?
- Who are you talking to?
—Don't play dumb.
—Who are you to send me?
-His daughter.
Manuela saw that Japonesita said it with bad intentions, to ruin everything and remind them of it. But he looked at Pancho,
and together they burst into laughter that almost extinguished the chonchones.
—Of course, I'm your mom.
-No. My dad.
But they were already leaving, Manuela, Pancho and Octavio, hugging and stumbling. Manuela sang "El Relicario",
chanted by the others. The night was so clear that the walls cast perfectly clear shadows over the puddles. The weeds grew
next to the sidewalk and the eternally repeated leaves of the blackberries covered the masses of things with their precise,
obsessive, manic, repeated, meticulous graphics. They walked towards the truck parked on the corner. They went one on
each side of Manuela, grabbing her waist. Manuela leaned towards Pancho and tried to kiss him on the mouth while laughing.
Octavio saw it and released Manuela.
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—Well, buddy, don't be a faggot too...
Pancho also released Manuela.
-If I didn't do anything...
—Don't come to me with questions, I saw...
Pancho was afraid.
—I'm going to let myself be kissed by this disgusting faggot, he's crazy, buddy, what should I do?
I'm going to let you do something like that. Let's see, Manuela, did you kiss me?
Manuela did not answer. It always happened when there was a stupid man like that
Octavio, damn what he had to do with the matter and it would be better if he left. He started shaking him.
—Quiubo, faggot, answer.
Pancho stood menacingly in front of Manuela.
-Let's see.
He had his hand clenched.
—Don't be stupid, kids, let's continue the party better.
—Did you kiss him or not?
—Pure joke...
Pancho hit her in the face while Octavio held her. It wasn't an accurate hit because Pancho was drunk. Manuela looked
everywhere, calculating the moment to flee.
—It's one thing to party and stir things up, but it's another thing to come and kiss my face.
expensive...
-No. It hurts me...
Standing in the mud of the road while Octavio paralyzed her by twisting her arm, Manuela woke up. It wasn't Manuela. It was
him, Manuel González Astica. Him. And because it was him they were going to hurt him and Manuel González Astica felt terrified.
Pancho gave him a push that made him stagger. Octavio, when he let go, stumbled and fell into the mud while Pancho bent down to
help him up. And Manuela, gathering her skirts up to her waist, fled towards the station. Since he knew the street so well, he avoided
the holes and stones while the pursuers stumbled at every step. Maybe they would lose sight of him. He had to run there, towards the
station, towards the El Olivo farm because beyond the limit Don Alejo was waiting for him, who was the only one who could save him.
The slap on his face hurt him, his weak ankles, his bare feet that were cut on the stones or a piece of glass or tin, but he had to keep
running because Don Alejo promised him that it would be fine for him, that he would It was convenient, that he would never again feel
the weight of what he felt before if he stayed here where he was, it was a promise, almost an oath, and he had stayed and now they
were coming at him.
68
chasing to kill him. Don Alejo, Don Alejo. He can help me. One word from you is enough
so that these broken people come to their senses because they are the only ones afraid of me. To the El Olivo farm.
Cross the vineyard like Don Céspedes and tell him that these bad men first try to take advantage of you and then... Tell him please,
defend me from fear, you promised me that nothing was ever going to happen to me, that you were always going to protect me and
that's why I stayed in this town and now you have to keep your promise to defend me and heal me and console me, I had never asked
you before or taken your word from you but now I do, only you, only you... don't act deaf, Don Alejo , now that they want to kill me and
that I'm running to look for what you promised me... over here, through the bush behind the shed like a fox so that Don Alejo, who has
a shotgun, can defend me. You can kill this pair of broken people without anyone saying anything, after all you are the lord and you
can do anything and then you settle with the police.
She crosses the blackberry-covered fence without seeing the spikes destroy her dress. And he crouched on the other side,
next to the canal. Beyond is the vineyard: the dirty current separates it from the arrangement of the vineyards. You have to cross. Don
Alejo is waiting for you. The houses of El Olivo surrounded by oaks with a pine tree as tall as a bell tower where the vineyards
converge, waiting for you, Don Alejo, waiting for you with his blue eyes. You should rest a little. Listen. They don't come anymore.
He can't continue. He lies down on the grass. Nothing, not a sound: even the natural noises of the night have stopped. Manuela aceza,
you are no longer old enough for these trots, Ludovinia would tell her, and it was true, true because everything hurts - oh, her back,
how it hurts, and her legs and suddenly the cold of the entire night, of the leaves and the grass and the water at his feet, if only he
could cross this river, but how, how, if he can barely move, spread out on the ground.
—Cute little girl...
—Now it's going to get to you.
-No no...
He did not manage to move before the men who had emerged from the blackberry pounced on him as if hungry. Octavio, or
perhaps it was Pancho the first, whipping him with his fists... perhaps it was not them, but other men who entered the mora and found
him and threw themselves at him and kicked him and hit him and twisted him, panting on top of him , the hot bodies writhing on
Manuela who could no longer even scream, the heavy, rigid bodies, the three of them a single viscous mass writhing like a fantastic
animal with three heads and multiple wounded and hurtful limbs, the three united by vomit and heat and pain there in the grass, looking
for who the culprit is, punishing him, punishing her, punishing themselves, delighting even in the depths of the painful confusion,
Manuela's weak body that no longer resists, breaks under the weight, can no longer even howling with pain, hot mouths, hot hands,
sloppy and hard bodies hurting their own and laughing and insulting and seeking to break and break and destroy and recognize that
monster of three writhing bodies, until there is nothing left and Manuela barely she sees, she barely hears, she barely feels, she sees,
no, she doesn't see, and they sneak through the mora and she is left alone next to the river that separates her from the vineyards
where Don Alejo waits benevolently.
69
CHAPTER XII
—That's the Sultan.
Then another bark further away.
—That's the Moro. This one likes to lie at night next to the wall of the blacksmith's shop, which is heated by the sun
and keeps the heat... but there was no sun today. Who knows why the Moro is walking that way.
La Japonesita had sat in front of Don Céspedes, on the other side of the carbide flame, which was shrinking. He
shrunk it until it was barely a point at the beak of the chonchón. She also heard the dogs. Last night she and Manuela were
listening to them and could hardly sleep, but now it was different. The thing is that after the rain the sky had cleared over the
round moon and the dogs howled at him endlessly, as if they were talking to him or asking him for something or singing to
him, and since the moon couldn't hear them because Don Alejo's dogs were too far away. They continued howling at him.
—That's the Sultan again.
Everyone had gone to bed. La Cloty left the Victrola on the table in front of Don Céspedes who continued unscrewing,
opening, cutting with a kitchen knife with a greasy wooden handle. They no longer manufacture spare parts for this type of
device. You better throw it in the canal. It's useless.
—But we can't run out of Victrola.
—It won't be long before they turn on electricity.
-Not anymore. Don Alejo came to tell me today.
Don Céspedes sank into the chair, smaller than ever. He pushed aside the mess of
worn wheels, screws, nuts, washers and he brought his glass closer. It was almost empty.
Just a couple of red fingers, at the bottom, where the flame of the chonchón multiplied.
—It seems like one of those issues that exist in churches.
—What questions, daughter?
—Those red things with light inside.
Better to go back to the farm. Don Céspedes took that drop. It was late. Or maybe not
Outside, because time had this strange ability to stretch, today seemed short, tomorrow very long, and you never knew what
part of the night you were in.
—Tomorrow I'm going to Talca to buy another one.
-What thing?
70
—Another Victrola. In one of those houses where they sell second-hand things, because in the downtown stores I
won't find these hand-cranked victrolas. This was my mom's. I know where there is a house where they sell second-hand
items and they are not the least bit expensive. The gentleman who owns it, I think someone brought it here, to the house
one night. Let's see if it gives me a price.
—The Negus... no, the Othello...
They stayed listening. Now, it didn't cost Japonesita anything to draw the entire field within her imagination, as if she
had suddenly acquired, like Don Céspedes, the ability to spread out that field like a carpet so that they could occupy the
entire inside.
—They are restless tonight.
It's just that there is a moon, Japonesita told herself, or she would say it out loud, or maybe Don Céspedes leaning
over the brazier would say it, or maybe he just thought it and she felt it.
—And why do they release them?
—The boss is acting strange. He didn't go to bed last night. He walked all night along the corridor and under the oak
tree. I was looking at him from the key store in case he was offered something, you know how bad people are and there are
so many people who have sworn to the boss. I stayed there without him seeing me, and he paced and paced and paced,
looking at everything as if he wanted to record it, as if hungry I would say, until when it was about to start to dawn Misia
Blanca came out and told him why don't you come. to bed and then, before following her, he released the dogs into the
vineyard.
-Clear. It was at dawn when they barked.
—Who knows what will happen to him.
—He will be worried about disrespectful people like Pancho. .
—No, this was yesterday.
-Equal. People are not like before.
-No. It's not like before.
The old man yawned. And Japonesita yawned. Tomorrow I was going to go to Talca. Like every Monday.
Now I didn't have the chance to fantasize about the Wurlitzer. Better. To be like Don Céspedes who did not fantasize about
anything, watching in case something happened, attentive, hidden in the shadows. Pay attention, nothing more, but no
Wurlitzers. Only the second-hand victrola to replace this one that Pancho Vega broke. No, Pancho didn't break it. Was gone.
I was never going to come back again.
Thank goodness: it left pure tranquility, no hope, which was better than tranquility, here in El Olivo Station, until they passed
the plow over the entire town. Except at home. Because no matter what Don Alejo said, she was not going to sell it. No sir.
Let him do whatever he wants with the rest of the town, but I'm staying here, here where I am.
Although fewer and fewer people came, everything was concluded. Things that end give peace and things that do not
change begin to be concluded, they are always being concluded. The terrible thing is hope.
71
I'm going to Talca like every Monday to deposit in the Bank. And I'm going to come back after lunch with
the shopping for the week, the usual, sugar, mate, noodles, salt, colored chili, the usual.
Don Céspedes stood up, listening. La Japonesita collected the screws, the wheels, the broken spring
and tied everything inside her handkerchief to keep it. Who knows if they could offer to need them...
-I have to go.
- Because?
—I have to go see. They are barking a lot. Japonesita smiled at him.
- How much is it?
-Three hundred.
Don Céspedes paid. She kept the money. She knew everything, saw everything, everything she needed
to see and know. This house. In the brown adobe walls spiders nested in small holes covered in whitish slime.
—And Manuela?
La Japonesita shrugged her shoulders.
—Won't anything happen to him?
—What's going to happen to him?
-It's old.
—He may be old, but every day he is more fond of partying. Didn't you see him leaving with Pancho and
Octavio? He grabbed a party. The devil entered his body. I know it. He's done this to me before.
The men buy him a drink, he dances, goes crazy and goes out to party with them... it's just that his face warms
with the wine and they go to Talca and sometimes further away. One of these days something is going to
happen to him, that's what I tell myself every time, but he always comes back. After three or four days.
Sometimes after a week in which he has been hanging around in the whorehouses of other towns where he is
known, succeeding as he says, and he comes back here with an inked eye or a couple of broken ribs when the
men They hit you for being a faggot when you are drunk. What am I going to worry about! Yes, it has seven
lives like cats. I'm bored of this happening. And with how good this Pancho Vega is at partying, they have at
least a week to hang around. The police know him and they don't say anything and they bring him back to me
quietly and I buy them a few drinks and nothing has happened here. But it could be that there is some new
police officer, one of those annoying ones who get the idea and won't let go. And then, for a couple of weeks in
bed, I have to take care of him. Crying all the time, saying that he is going to die, that he is no longer up to these
things, that he should forgive him, never again, and he says that he is going to throw away his Spanish dress
that you saw, it is a scouring pad, but he doesn't throw it away. and puts it in his suitcase. And then with the
song about the men here, the men there, who are all bad because they hit him and laugh at him and then my
dad cries and says what a fate this is for me and he tells me what would be of him without his daughter of the
heart, your only support, may she never abandon you. For God's sake, Don Céspedes! See how he cries! If the
soul breaks! Of course, after a few months it comes out again and I lose it again. Now I did more
72
of a year that did not come out. I thought he wasn't going to go out anymore because the poor guy is so
damaged, but you see what happened...
Don Céspedes was listening to something else.
- That?
La Japonesita scrutinizes him, trying to guess what he hears.
—No, nothing, Don Céspedes...
He accompanied him to the door. She opened it very little, almost nothing, just a slot for Don Céspedes
to slip through and a little wind and stars to sneak in and make her bundle up in her pink shawl. Then he closed
the door with the bolt. Rubbing his hands, he walked between the tables, turning off, one by one, all the
chonchones.
-...three and four...
He told them that he doesn't like that they light so many chonchones when there are few people, there is no business. And
the air is stained with the stench of carbide. Of course the dance... anyway. He went out to the patio. He doesn't know what time it is,
but those demon dogs are still barking there in the vineyard. It must be around five o'clock because he hears Nelly crying and Nelly
always cries a little before dawn. He entered his room and got into his bed without even lighting a candle.
73

Donoso-Jose-El-Lugar-Sin-Limites (ENG)

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Jose Donoso The place without limits

THE PLACE WITHOUT LIMITS

Jose Donoso The place without limits

For Rita and Carlos Fuentes

Jose Donoso The place without limits

4th edition April 1984

This edition is the property of Editorial Bruguera. SA

Camps y Fabrés, 5 Barcelona (Spain)

C José Donoso 1965

Neslé Soulé cover design

ISBN 840205161 8 / Legal deposit B 5 715 1984

Printed in the Graphic Workshops of Editorial Bruguera. SA

National Highway 152, km 21,650 Parets de Valles (Barcelona 1984)

Jose Donoso The place without limits

CHAPTER I ................................................ .................................................. ................ 6

Jose Donoso The place without limits

Faust: Hell first. I will ask about of the

Tell me, where is the place that men call hell?

Mephistopheles: Beneath the sky.

Fausto: Yes, but where?

Mephistopheles: In the bowels of these elements.

MARLOWE, Doctor Faustus

Jose Donoso The place without limits

Jose Donoso The place without limits

Clotilde dried her hands on her apron.

—Did you make a fire in the kitchen?

—Then buy me some coals to make the girl breakfast.

Jose Donoso The place without limits

Jose Donoso The place without limits

Jose Donoso The place without limits

—He owes Don Alejo money.

Manuela looked at her.

Jose Donoso The place without limits

—The one you say.

Manuela wound the red thread around her little finger.

- By contrast? Don't take it all.

-Well. As you know?

—And he doesn't pay you.

—He's been lost for a year.

Jose Donoso The place without limits

Jose Donoso The place without limits

—Don't they say that you have Pancho Vega bewitched?

-He says. Be careful.

The dogs stirred behind Don Alejo.

—Othello, More, below...

— Be careful with who?

— With Pancho. They say he only talks about you.

Don Alejo laughed.

—To the doctor, Don Alejo? But if it's so good...

—But he's not there.

Jose Donoso The place without limits

—Don't go, woman...

-Clear. It's not going to be you that he's going to hit.

—Well, Don Alejo. What does he want?

Manuela stopped before turning the corner.

— Are you coming by car?

-I don't know. Because?

—Of course, if he's a coward.

Jose Donoso The place without limits

—She doesn't complain.

Then Miss Lila did turn red.

—Stop it, fool...