I want that half a million so I can have an easy mind for at least two weeks and enjoy the game without having to suffer over where I’m going to get money to gamble if they tap me out from one moment to the next. If I was looking for a good return I wouldn’t play; I would get into business or go back to being a lawyer.
I don’t think the mortgage can be arranged in less than two weeks, said Marquitos. And only because I’m good friends with the people at the estate agency, and they owe me favors.
I know it, I said. That’s why I went there.
I’ll try to get it through as quick as possible, said Marquitos.
I’d be grateful if you would, I said.
Marquitos put the checkbook away, closed the briefcase, and stood up. I stood up too. We stared at each other a few seconds, not blinking.
Sergio, said Marquitos. We should see each other more often. We could go out for a drink.
We’d get bored, I said. Then I tried to smile. You’re still in the party, I suppose?
I am, said Marquitos.
That’s a vice like any other, I said.
Marquitos shook his head again. He turned and moved toward the door. Suddenly he stopped, stood a moment with his back to me, then turned around. His eyes were full of tears. I thought he must have been in pain. His eyes were red, and he was sweating. But no, he was crying. Not crying, strictly speaking, but his eyes were filled with tears.
You read the papers, last week, I suppose, he said, hesitating at every word.
I told him it had been years since I had read a newspaper.
César Rey, he said. He killed himself. In Buenos Aires.
Chiche? I said. I couldn’t expect anything less from him.
No, Marcos said. It was an accident. He slipped on the subway platform and was hit by a train.
He was drunk, I suppose, I said.
Marquitos rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. He wasn’t crying anymore.
And Clara? I said.
She’s back here again, said Marcos.
Then he left. I walked him to the door and stood there, watching him walk away close to the wall, in order to make the most of the shade that was getting thinner as the morning progressed. I stood in the doorway until he turned the corner. I would have gotten teary too, if I had found out that the guy who ran off with my wife got hit by a train and that my wife was days away from coming back home. I would have sobbed, not just gotten teary. Not because the guy had been my close friend, but because my wife was about to come home. We’d had some good times with Marquitos and Chiche, years back. It had been years since I had seen Chiche. He knew the game too, and liked it.
That night, after teaching Delicia a couple more letters and eating something, I went back to the club. I didn’t work at all during the day. After Marquitos left I got in bed and slept until it was dark. I lost the five thousand at the club and didn’t get a penny of credit. The next day I got up late and went straight to my desk. At five Delicia brought me a mate.
Delicia, I said. I’ve noticed you don’t play the radio.
She said she didn’t like it.
Are you sure you’re not going to start liking it? I said.
She said she was absolutely sure.
I’m going to take it in and have it checked out, then, I said.
So I wrapped the radio in old newspapers and tied it up with some thick twine and went out to sell it. After two hours I had gone to so many appliance stores, and unwrapped and rewrapped the package so many times, that there wasn’t any paper left. The pretense of selling it new collapsed, so I went straight to a pawn shop. They gave me seventeen hundred pesos for it. I bought two kilos of white grapes and went back home. I nibbled on the clusters on the way, and when I got there I found Delicia in the kitchen. She was looking down the corridor to the rear courtyard, at the dark brown spit stains left by my grandfather.
They won’t come out, she said.
My grandfather made them, I said. And he’s dead.
That night, at the club, they gave me three circular, silver-plated chips, and I lost them one after the other. I didn’t even have the satisfaction afterward of saying that I had guessed a single hand right. Nor could I entertain myself, on the way home, in the chances I could have had at any moment in the game. I guessed wrong in three straight hands. There was no chance. I went to bed soaked in sweat, but I slept straight through until the next afternoon. It was murderously hot. I took a shower and went to my desk. For two hours I flipped through a complete collection of Blondie that I had been clipping, or had asked to have clipped, from the magazine Vosotras over the past fifteen years. Each week I would cut out the whole comic, which was printed on the last page, and paste it to a sheet of loose paper. Then I would add the page to a school folder and archive it. The last issues had been cut, but I hadn’t pasted any down. They were stacked between the last page and the cover. There must have been fifty.
Then I sat for hours without doing anything, with all the sheets spread out over the desk. The whole time I stared at some vague point in space, not seeing a thing. Every once in a while I would clear my throat or narrow my eyes, nothing else. At five, Delicia came in with the mate. I recognized her dress; it was an old house frock, flower patterned and faded, that had belonged to my wife. I saw that she’d just showered and combed her hair, because it was wet and pulled back, and a drop of water was running down her forehead. The dress was still too big on her, but eventually it would fit tight.
Delicia, I said. In a couple of days I’m going to buy you a primer.
She said that first she had to learn to read, and I explained that a primer was for just that, learning to read. Then she left. Ten minutes later I started going through the house, looking for things to sell. I found my grandfather’s.38 long Ruby revolver. I went out to sell it and got back after dark, with the revolver stuck in my belt. It didn’t fire. I went inside and picked up the telephone. I looked up Marquitos Rosemberg’s number and called him. He answered himself.
Marquitos, I said. It’s Sergio.
Yes, said Marquitos. Just this morning I spoke with the people at the estate agency. They’ll have the money for you on April fifth.
April fifth? I said.
Yes, said Marquitos. April fifth. I was just about to call you to let you know. I supposed you’d be waiting to hear from me, or something like that.
Yes, I said. But I wasn’t calling about that.
No? said Marquitos. Then why did you call me?
Because of the check you were going to write me yesterday, I said.
What’s going on with the check? said Marquitos.
Nothing, I said. I think I need it. How much were you going to write it for?
I hadn’t decided, said Marquitos. I was going to ask you how much you needed and then make it out.
Could you write it for thirty thousand? I said.
Thirty thousand? said Marquitos. Sure, I can. Tomorrow morning I’ll be sure to bring it by.
No, I said. I need it now.
Now? said Marquitos. I’m standing here naked, about to get in the shower.
I can come by for it, I said.
Marquitos hesitated a second and then said it would be better if we met at a bar downtown. He suggested the arcade. Then I hung up. I gave Delicia her writing lesson and then I left. When I got to the bar it was nine. Marquitos was sitting at a table and he had the check in his hands. There was an empty cup of coffee on the table. The check was made out to bearer, for thirty thousand pesos. Marquitos’s signature was an indecipherable scrawl.