With Jimmy, in Paracas

Alfredo Bryce Echenique

I'm watching; It's really like I'm seeing it; There he stayed waiting for him outside, in the car, and I
is sitting, in the large summer dining room, with began to fear that we would arrive much later
his back to that sea where there were rays, than we had estimated.
maybe sharks. I was sitting in front of him, at the
Once on the road, my worries were
same table, and yet, it seems to me that I was
different. My father drove, as always, very slowly;
watching him from the door of that dining room,
slower than Mom had asked him to drive. One
from where everyone had already left, there was
after another, the cars left us behind, and I didn't
only him and I left, we had arrived the last, We
look at my father so he wouldn't realize that this
had barely made it to lunch. This time he had
bothered me a little, in fact it made me quite
brought me; They had sent him only for the
ashamed. But there was nothing to do, and the
weekend. Paracas was not that far: I would be
old Pontiac, the poor thing already very old,
back in time for school, on Monday. My mother
moved forward very slowly, very wide, black and
had not been able to come; That's why he
immense, rocking like a boat on the newly paved
brought me. She always took me on her trips
road.
when she couldn't accompany him, and when she
could return in time for school. I listened when he About halfway there, my father decided to
told mom that it was a shame that he couldn't turn on the radio. I don't know what happened to
come, the company paid for his stay, paid for a him; Well, the same thing always happened, but
luxury hotel for two people. "I'll take him," he he only tried one station, it was playing a
said, referring to me. I think he liked me for those guaracha, and he turned it off immediately
trips. without making any comment. I would have liked
to hear some music, but I didn't say anything. I
And I, how I loved those trips! This time it
think that's why he liked to take me on his trips; I
was to Paracas. I didn't know Paracas, and when
was not a questioning little boy; I liked to be
my father started packing the suitcase on Friday
docile; I was aware of my docility. But yes, he was
night, I already knew that I wouldn't sleep very
very observant.
well that night, and that I would wake up before
the alarm went off. And that's why I looked at him out of the
corner of my eye, and now I'm watching him
We left very early that Saturday, but we
drive. I see him pull his pants a little from his
had to waste a lot of time in the office before
knees, revealing his impeccable white socks,
hitting the road south. It seems that my father
better than mine, because I'm still a child; white
still had things to do there, perhaps receiving the
and impeccable because we are going to Paracas,
last instructions from his boss. I don't know; I
a luxury hotel, a summer resort, a lot of money
and all those things. His jacket is the same as
every trip outside of Lima, grey, very light, sporty;
He is American and will last a lifetime. The pants
are gray, a little darker than the jacket, and the
shirt is the newest old shirt in the world; A shirt
will never last as long for me as it does for my
father.
And the beret; the beret is Basque; He
says she is pure Basque. It's for travel; for the air,
for baldness. Because my father is bald, very bald,
and now that I'm looking at him he's no longer a
tall man. I already learned that my father is not a
tall man, but rather a short one. He is short and
very skinny. Short, bald and skinny, but maybe I
didn't see him that way then, now I know that he
is just the nicest man on earth, docile like me, in
reality he is scared to death of his bosses; those
bosses who love him so much because he hasn't
been late or sick or missed the office in seven
million years; those bosses that I have seen pat
him on the back and spend their lives
congratulating him at the church door on
Sundays; but until now they don't greet me, and
my father spends his life telling my mother, at the
church door on Sundays, that their bosses' wives
are distracted or haven't seen her, because they
haven't seen my mother either. They greet him,
although they did not forget to send him, my
father, their greetings and congratulations when
he turned a million years older without getting
sick or being late to the office, the time he
brought those photos in which, I am sure, a boss
had just patted him on the back, and another was
about to pat him; and that other photo in which
the bosses had already left the cocktail, but they
had attended, my father told you, and he showed
you the first photo again.
But all this is now that I'm seeing it, not
then when I was looking at it while we arrived in
Paracas in the Pontiac. I had forgotten a little
about the Pontiac, but the white walls of the
hotel made me see it black, the poor thing was
already very old, and so wide. "Where is this big
thing going to fit," I asked myself, and I'm sure my
father was scared to death when he saw those
big cars, I'm not saying this because of their size,
but because of their appearance. If I gave them a
bump, then we would have to see whose car it
was, because my father was a very gentleman,
and then the owner would appear, spending the
summer in Paracas with his friends, and perhaps
he knew my father's bosses, he had heard about
"nothing has happened to him, Juanito" (that's
his name, my father's name), and they were
going to pat him on the back, then the appetizers
would come, and they weren't going to greet me,
but I would act accordingly. to the circumstances
and in such a way that my father would not
realize that they had not greeted me. It was
better that my mother had not come.
But nothing happened. We found a very
wide spot for the black Pontiac, and when we got
out, I did see it very old. We were already at the
hotel in Paracas, luxury hotel and everything else.
A boy came to the car for the suitcase. He was
the first person we greeted. He took us to the
reception and there my father signed the
regulation papers, and then asked if we could still
"have something for lunch" (I remember he said
that). The man at the reception, very
distinguished, much taller than my father,
responded affirmatively: "Of course, sir. The boy
will accompany you to your "bungalow" so that
you can wash your hands, if you wish. You have
time, sir; "The dining room closes in a few
minutes, and your 'bungalow' is not far away." I
don't know if it was my dad, but I understood all
that 'bungalow' stuff very well, because I study at
an English school and I shouldn't forget that in my
life and every time my dad explodes, every
thousand years, he then invites us to the
movies. , shouts that for seven million years he
has been working sick and without arriving late to
give his children the best, as well as the children
of his bosses.
The boy who took us to the "bungalow"
didn't smile much when my father gave him the
tip, but I already knew that when you travel with
company money you can't be wasting, otherwise,
poor bosses, they would never earn a cent and
the company would go bankrupt in the respectful
mind of my father, who was washing his hands
while I opened the suitcase and haphazardly took
out my swimwear. It was then that I found out,
he told me, that I shouldn't go near the sea,
which was full of rays, there were even sharks. I
ran to wash my hands, because they will close the
dining room in a few minutes, and I left my
swimwear thrown on the bed. We closed the
door of the "bungalow" and moved towards the
dining room. My father too, although less so, I
think he was observant; He pointed to the pool,
maybe because of the swimwear. Paracas was
beautiful; It had a desert, an oasis, a spa; sand,
palm trees, flowers, sidewalks and paths where
girls that I did not dare to look at, few of them
anymore, the last, the most backward, went lazily
to take that nap of someone who has already
gotten used to the luxury hotel. Shy and curious,
my father and I entered the dining room.
And it is there, sitting with my back to the
sea, the rays and the sharks, it is there that I am
seeing it, as if I were at the door of the dining
room, and in reality I am also seeing myself sitting
there, in the same table, face to face with my
father and waiting for that waiter, who barely
responded to our greeting, who had gone to
bring the menu (my father asked for the menu
and he said he was going for the menu) and that
according to dad he should We had changed the
tablecloth, but it was better not to say anything
because, even though this was a luxury hotel, we
had arrived just in time for lunch. I almost
greeted the waiter again when he returned and
gave the menu to my father who got into
difficulties and finally ordered sea bass a la I don't
know how many, because the waiter had already
been waiting for hours. He left with the order and
my father, smiling at me, put the menu on the
table, so that I could read the names of some
dishes, a lot of French names actually, and then I
thought, with relief, that something terrible could
have happened. happen, like that time in that
modern restaurant, with a menu that seemed for
Americans, when my father handed me the menu
so that I could order, and he began to tell the
waiter that he didn't know English, but that his
son did. He was educating his other children in an
English school as well, no matter what the cost,
and the boy didn't pay any attention to him, and
he moved his leg because he already wanted to
leave.
It was then that my father was truly
triumphant. While the waiter came with the
corvinas to I don't know how many, my father
began to talk about giving us a luxury, that the
environment demanded it, and that the company
was not going to go bankrupt if he asked for a
little bottle of white wine to accompany those
croakers. He said that that night at seven was the
meeting with those farmers, and that they would
buy the tractors that they had asked him to sell;
he had never failed the company. That was when
the waiter appeared, making his life difficult to
carry the dishes in the most difficult way, it
seemed like a circus, and my father looked at him
as if he were going to applaud, but thank God he
reacted and took a rather forced, although
dignified, attitude. , when the waiter played to
almost throw the plates over our faces, in reality
it was because he was putting them elegantly on
the table and we were not used to so much. "A
white man, I don't know how many," said my
father. I almost hugged him because of that
French word he had just pronounced, that brand
of wine, I hadn't even asked for the menu to
consult, no, none of that; He had asked for it just
like that, triumphant, knowing, and the waiter
had no choice but to take note and go looking.
Everything was going perfect. They had
brought us the wine and now I remember that
moment of happy balance: my father sitting with
his back to the sea, it was not that the dining
room was on the edge of the sea, but the wall
that supported those windows prevented me
from seeing the pool and the beach, and Now
what I'm seeing is my father's head, his face, his
shoulders, the sea back there, blue on that sunny
day, the palm trees here and there, my father's
thin, fine hand on the cool bottle. of wine,
pouring me half a glass, filling his glass, "drink
slowly, son", already somewhat burned by the
sun, ready to agree, missing my mother, great,
and I was there, almost dripping with the juice
that bathed the croaker , until I saw Jimmy. I
squirted when I saw it. I will never know why I
was afraid to see him. I soon found out.
He smiled at me from the dining room
door, and I greeted him, then looking at my
father to explain who he was, that he was in my
class, etc.; but my father, upon hearing his last
name, turned to look at him smiling, told me to
call him, and as he crossed the dining room, he
knew his father, a friend of his bosses, one of the
directors of the company, many lands in that
region ...
—Jimmy, dad. —And they shook hands.
"Sit down, boy," my father said, and now
he just greeted me.
It was very beautiful; Jimmy was
extraordinarily beautiful: blonde, hair in gold
rings, slanted blue eyes, and that tanned skin,
tanned all year round, winter and summer,
perhaps because he always came to Paracas. As
soon as he had sat down, I noticed something
that seemed strange to me: the same waiter who
hated my father and me, now approached,
smiling, helpful, humble, and greeted Jimmy with
all respect; but he barely answered him with a
grimace. And the waiter didn't leave, he was still
there, standing, waiting for orders, looking for
them, I almost asked Jimmy to tell him to kill
himself. Of the four of us there, Jimmy was the
only calm one.
And that's where the thing started. I'm
watching my father offer Jimmy a little wine in a
glass. That's where my terror began.
"No, thanks," Jimmy said. I had wine with
lunch. —And without looking at the waiter, he
asked him for a whiskey.
I looked at my father: his eyes were fixed
on the plate, he was smiling and choking on a
mouthful of sea bass that could have had millions
of bones. My father didn't stop Jimmy from
ordering that whiskey, and here the waiter came
almost dancing with the glass on a silver tray, you
had to see the son of a bitch smile. And then
Jimmy took out a pack of Chesterfield, put it on
the table, lit one, and blew all the smoke on my
father's bald head, of course he didn't do it out of
malice, he did it simply, and then he continued
looking beautiful, smiling, looking at towards the
sea, but neither my father nor I wanted desserts
anymore.
-Since when do you smoke? —My father
asked him, with a trembling voice.
-I don't know; "I don't remember," said
Jimmy, offering me a cigarette.
—No, no, Jimmy; No...
—Smoke no more, son; Don't despise your
friend.
I'm watching my father say those words,
and then pick up a napkin that he hadn't
dropped, almost picking up the foot of the waiter
who was still standing there. Jimmy and I were
smoking, while my father told us that he had
never been interested in smoking, and after a
bronchial condition that he had I don't know
when, but Jimmy started talking about cars, while
I looked at the clothes he was wearing. When it
was worn, it looked like it was all silk, and my
father's shirt began to age pitifully; not even his
American jacket was going to last him a lifetime.
—Do you drive, Jimmy? —my father
asked.
-Long time. Now I'm in my sister's car; The
other day I crashed my car, but another one is
coming to my dad. On the farm we have several
cars.
And I was scared to death, thinking about
the Pontiac; Maybe Jimmy was going to find out
that that was my father's, maybe he was going to
make fun of him, he was going to see him older,
broader, uglier than me. "What did we come here
for?" I was remembering the purchase of the
Pontiac, my father convincing Mom, "a small
sacrifice," and then also the Saturday afternoons,
when we would wash it, a family affair, all the
brothers with cans of water, my father with the
hose , my mother on the balcony, us crazy to
climb up, to take the helm, and my authoritarian
father: "When they grow up, when they have a
permit", and then, sentimental: "It has cost me
years of effort."
—Do you have a license, Jimmy?
-No; It doesn't matter; everyone here
knows me.
And then my father asked him how old he
was and he pretended to believe him when he
said sixteen, and I did too, I almost told him he
was a liar, but why, everyone knew that Jimmy
was in my class and that I wasn't. He was still
fourteen years old.
"Manolo is going with me," said Jimmy;
We're going for a ride in my sister's car.
And my father relented once again, smiled
again, and asked Jimmy to greet his father.
"It's almost four o'clock," he said, "I'm
going to rest a little, because at seven I have a
business meeting." —He said goodbye to Jimmy,
and left without telling me what time he should
return, I almost told him not to worry, that we
weren't going to crash.
Jimmy didn't ask me what my car was. I
didn't have to tell him that that black Pontiac, the
only one there, was my father's car. Now I would
tell him and then, when he laughed sarcastically, I
would spit in his face, even though all those
waiters who had greeted him while we were
leaving, all those who didn't pay attention to me,
would come at me to kill me for having dirty that
wonderful face like a little gold coin, those hands
of a first lover that were opening the door of my
father's boss's car.
At a million kilometers per hour, we were
in Pisco, and there Jimmy almost ran over a
woman in the Plaza de Armas; At I don't know
how many million kilometers per hour, with a
special fourth gear, we were at one of his
ranches, and there Jimmy drank a Coca-Cola,
pinched a cousin's buttock and didn't introduce
me to his sisters; At I don't know how many
billion kilometers per hour, we were on the way
to Ica, and there Jimmy showed me the place
where he had crashed his car, that shitty car, he
said, was useless.
It was nine at night when we returned to
Paracas. I don't know how, but Jimmy took me to
a little room where my father was drinking with a
bunch of men. There he sat, his face satisfied, I
already knew he would do his job very well. All of
those men knew Jimmy; They were farmers from
there, and they had just bought the company's
tractors. Some were touching Jimmy's hair and
others were dedicated to the whiskey that my
father was treating on behalf of the company. At
that moment my father started to tell a joke, but
Jimmy interrupted him to tell him that he was
inviting me to eat. "Well, well," said my father.
Just go."
And that night I drank the first whiskeys of
my life, the first full glass of wine in my life, at an
impeccable table, with a waiter who danced
smiling and constant around us. Everyone was
very elegant in that dining room full of lights and
the laughter of very pretty women, big, red men
who slid their hands over Jimmy's gold rings as
they passed towards their tables. It was then that
I thought I heard the end of the joke my father
had been telling, I made a face at him, and I sort
of locked him in his living room with those crude
farmers who came to buy their first tractor. Then,
this is strange, I slid very far into the sea, and
from there I began to see myself sailing in a party
dining room, while a waiter kneeling served me a
glass of champagne, under Jimmy's slanted, blue
gaze.
I didn't understand him very well at first; I
didn't really know what he was talking about, or
what he meant by all that underwear stuff. I was
still watching him sign the bill; scribble his name
on a monstrous figure and then invite me for a
walk on the beach. "Come on," he had said, and I
was following him along the dark boardwalk, not
really understanding the whole underwear thing.
But Jimmy insisted, asking me again what
underwear I was wearing, and adding that his
were like this and like that until we sat on those
stairs that overlooked the sand and the sea. The
waves were breaking very close and Jimmy was
now talking about genitals, male genitals only,
and I was sitting next to him, listening to him
without knowing what to answer, trying to see
the rays and the sharks that my father was talking
about, and suddenly running towards them
because Jimmy had just put a hand on my leg.
"How are you doing, Manolo?" He said, and I
bolted.
I'm watching Jimmy walk away calmly;
return towards the light of the dining room and
disappear after a few moments. From the edge of
the sea, with wet feet, I looked towards the hotel
full of lights and towards the row of "bungalows",
among which was mine. I thought about running
back, but then I convinced myself that it was
stupid, that nothing would happen that night. The
terrible thing would be if Jimmy continued there
the next day, but for the moment, nothing; just
come back and go to bed.
I was approaching the "bungalow" and
heard a strange laugh. My father was with
someone. A huge, blond man shook my father's
arm, congratulated him, said something efficient,
and bam! He patted him on the shoulder. "Good
night, Juanito," he said. "Good evening, Don
Jaime," and at that moment he saw me.
me, and we were ready for bed. My bathing
clothes were still there, and my father told me
that tomorrow morning I could take a bath. Then
he asked me if I had had a good day, if Jimmy was
my friend at school, and if I was going to see him
tomorrow; and I said everything: "Yes, dad, yes,
dad," until he turned off the light and got into
bed, while I, already lying down, was looking for a
stomach ache so I could stay in bed tomorrow,
and I thought he had already fallen asleep. . But
not. My father told me, in the dark, that the
company's name had turned out very well, that
he had done a good job, my father was happy.
Later he spoke to me again; He told me that Don

—Look at it; there is. Where is Jimmy, Jaime had been very kind in accompanying him to

Manolo? the door of the "bungalow" and that he was a

real gentleman. And about two hours later, he
—He left a while ago, dad. asked me: "Manolo, what does 'bungalow' mean
in Spanish?"
—Say hello to Jimmy's father.

-How are you boy? So Jimmy left a while

ago; well, it will appear. I was congratulating your
father; I hope you come out to him. I have
accompanied him to his "bungalow".

—Don Jaime is very kind.

—Well, Juanito, good night. —And he left,

huge.

We closed the door of the "bungalow"

behind us. We had both drunk, him more than

___________________________________________________________
Alfredo Bryce Echenique
( Lima , February 19 , 1939 ) is a Peruvian writer , famous for novels such as A World for Julius ,
The Exaggerated Life of Martín Romaña and Don't Wait for Me in April .