of the policemen crossed the air.
A neighbour opened his street door, we heard people talking, and Enrique and I, in the darkness of the balcony, held tight to one another, trembling. The menacing whistles came from all sides, so many of them; as well as this part of the sinister manhunt , we heard the noise of horses’ harnesses, frantic galloping, sudden pauses on the slippery pavements, the sound of the police men retreating. And I held the quarry in my arms, his body trembling in fear against me, and an infinite compassion pulled me towards this ruined boy.
I dragged him towards my den. His teeth were chattering. Quivering with fear, he fell into a chair and his excited and wide-open fearful eyes fixed on the rosy lampshade.
Once again a horse crossed the street, but so slowly that I thought it would stop in front of my house. Then the policeman geed up his horse and the whistles, which had been becoming ever less frequent, stopped completely.
‘Water, give me water.’
I passed him a bottle and he drank eagerly. The water sang in his throat. A large sigh caused his chest to deflate.
Then, without turning his eyes away from the lampshade, he smiled with the strange and uncertain smile of someone awakening from a hallucinatory fear.
He said:
‘Thank you, Silvio,’ and he carried on smiling, his soul infinitely expansive with the unexpected prodigy that was his salvation.
‘But tell me, how did it happen?’
‘I was walking down the street. There wasn’t anyone around. I turned the corner of South America, and realised that there was a cop looking at me from under a streetlamp. I stopped instinctively and he shouted at me: “What have you got there?” I don’t need to tell you that I ran like the devil. He ran after me, but because he was wearing his waterproof cape he couldn’t catch up with me… I left him in my wake… and then I heard another one coming in the distance on horseback… and all the whistling… the guy running after me was blowing his whistle. So I made an effort and got here.’
‘You see… And all for not leaving the books at Lucio’s house! What if they’d caught you!’
‘They’d have taken us all to the pen.’
‘And what about the books? You didn’t leave the books in the street?’
‘No, they fell here in the corridor.’
When we went to look for them, I had to explain things to my mother:
‘It’s nothing bad. Enrique was playing billiards with another guy and accidentally ripped the felt. The owner wanted to charge him for it and because he didn’t have any money there was a big row.’
We are in Enrique’s house.
A red lightning bolt passes through the little window of the puppet hovel.
In his corner Enrique sits and thinks, and a wrinkle divides his brow from the hairline to his eyebrows. Lucio is smoking,reclined on a heap of dirty clothing, and the smoke from the cigarette fogs over his pale face. Over the latrine, from a neighbouring house, comes the melody of a waltz being picked out slowly on a piano.
I am sitting on the floor. A soldier with no legs, red and green, looks at me from his crumpled cardboard house. Enrique’s sisters are arguing outside in their disagreeable voices.
‘So…?’
Enrique lifts his noble head and looks at Lucio.
‘So?’
I look at Enrique.
‘What do you think, Silvio?’ Lucio continues.
‘We don’t need to do it, we should stop mucking around, if we don’t we’re going to get caught.’
‘The night before last we nearly got nabbed twice.’
‘Yes, it couldn’t be clearer.’ And for the tenth time Lucio reads out an extract from some newspaper: ‘Today at three o’clock in the morning, Officer Manuel Carlés, patrolling Avellaneda and South America Streets, surprised an individual of suspicious appearance carrying a package under one arm. Upon being asked to halt, the unknown individual ran off, disappearing into one of the many patches of waste ground in the environs. The commissioner of
A neighbour opened his street door, we heard people talking, and Enrique and I, in the darkness of the balcony, held tight to one another, trembling. The menacing whistles came from all sides, so many of them; as well as this part of the sinister manhunt , we heard the noise of horses’ harnesses, frantic galloping, sudden pauses on the slippery pavements, the sound of the police men retreating. And I held the quarry in my arms, his body trembling in fear against me, and an infinite compassion pulled me towards this ruined boy.
I dragged him towards my den. His teeth were chattering. Quivering with fear, he fell into a chair and his excited and wide-open fearful eyes fixed on the rosy lampshade.
Once again a horse crossed the street, but so slowly that I thought it would stop in front of my house. Then the policeman geed up his horse and the whistles, which had been becoming ever less frequent, stopped completely.
‘Water, give me water.’
I passed him a bottle and he drank eagerly. The water sang in his throat. A large sigh caused his chest to deflate.
Then, without turning his eyes away from the lampshade, he smiled with the strange and uncertain smile of someone awakening from a hallucinatory fear.
He said:
‘Thank you, Silvio,’ and he carried on smiling, his soul infinitely expansive with the unexpected prodigy that was his salvation.
‘But tell me, how did it happen?’
‘I was walking down the street. There wasn’t anyone around. I turned the corner of South America, and realised that there was a cop looking at me from under a streetlamp. I stopped instinctively and he shouted at me: “What have you got there?” I don’t need to tell you that I ran like the devil. He ran after me, but because he was wearing his waterproof cape he couldn’t catch up with me… I left him in my wake… and then I heard another one coming in the distance on horseback… and all the whistling… the guy running after me was blowing his whistle. So I made an effort and got here.’
‘You see… And all for not leaving the books at Lucio’s house! What if they’d caught you!’
‘They’d have taken us all to the pen.’
‘And what about the books? You didn’t leave the books in the street?’
‘No, they fell here in the corridor.’
When we went to look for them, I had to explain things to my mother:
‘It’s nothing bad. Enrique was playing billiards with another guy and accidentally ripped the felt. The owner wanted to charge him for it and because he didn’t have any money there was a big row.’
We are in Enrique’s house.
A red lightning bolt passes through the little window of the puppet hovel.
In his corner Enrique sits and thinks, and a wrinkle divides his brow from the hairline to his eyebrows. Lucio is smoking,reclined on a heap of dirty clothing, and the smoke from the cigarette fogs over his pale face. Over the latrine, from a neighbouring house, comes the melody of a waltz being picked out slowly on a piano.
I am sitting on the floor. A soldier with no legs, red and green, looks at me from his crumpled cardboard house. Enrique’s sisters are arguing outside in their disagreeable voices.
‘So…?’
Enrique lifts his noble head and looks at Lucio.
‘So?’
I look at Enrique.
‘What do you think, Silvio?’ Lucio continues.
‘We don’t need to do it, we should stop mucking around, if we don’t we’re going to get caught.’
‘The night before last we nearly got nabbed twice.’
‘Yes, it couldn’t be clearer.’ And for the tenth time Lucio reads out an extract from some newspaper: ‘Today at three o’clock in the morning, Officer Manuel Carlés, patrolling Avellaneda and South America Streets, surprised an individual of suspicious appearance carrying a package under one arm. Upon being asked to halt, the unknown individual ran off, disappearing into one of the many patches of waste ground in the environs. The commissioner of
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