The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño Page A

a rodeo," I said.
    "I didn't like that at all, and I shouted let her go, Alberto, you're going to hurt her. But I don't think he even heard me. Meanwhile the girl's face was turning red, her eyes were wide open (she closed them when she gave head), and she pushed at Alberto's thighs, sort of tugging on his pockets and his belt. Of course, it didn't matter, because each time she tried to pull away from Alberto, he yanked her again by the ears to stop her. And he was going to win, you could tell."
    "But why didn't she bite his thing?" said María.
    "Because the party was all his friends. If she had, Alberto would have killed her."
    "Lupe, you're crazy," said María.
    "So are you. Aren't we all?"
    María and Lupe laughed. I wanted to hear the end of the story.
    "Nothing happened," said Lupe. "The girl couldn't take it anymore and she started to puke."
    "And what about Alberto?"
    "He pulled out a little before, right? He realized what was coming and he didn't want to get his pants dirty. So he sort of leaped like a tiger, but backward, and he didn't get a drop on himself. The people at the party were clapping like crazy."
    "And you're in love with this maniac?" said María.
    "In love, like really in love? I don't know. I'm crazy about him, that's for sure. You'd love him too, if you were me."
    "Me? Not in a million years."
    "He's a real man," said Lupe, looking out the window, her gaze lost in the distance, "and that's the truth. And he understands me better than anyone."
    "He exploits you better than anyone, you mean," said María, pushing back and slapping the table with her hands. The blow made the cups jump.
    "Come on,
mana
, don't be that way."
    "She's right," I said, "don't be that way. It's her life. Let her do what she wants with it."
    "Stay out of this, García Madero. You're looking in from the outside. You don't have a fucking clue what we're talking about."
    "You're looking in from the outside too! For Christ's sake, you live with your parents, and you aren't a whore-sorry, Lupe, no offense."
    "That's okay," said Lupe, "you couldn't offend me if you tried."
    "Shut up, García Madero," said María.
    I obeyed her. For a while the three of us were silent. Then María started to talk about the feminist movement, making reference to Gertrude Stein, Remedios Varo, Leonora Carrington, Alice B. Toklas (
tóclamela
, said Lupe, but María ignored her), Unica Zürn, Joyce Man-sour, Marianne Moore, and a bunch of other names I don't remember. The feminists of the twentieth century, I guess. She also mentioned Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz.
    "She's a Mexican poet," I said.
    "And a nun too. I know that much," said Lupe.
     
    NOVEMBER 17
     
    Today I went to the Fonts' house without Pancho. (I can't spend all day following Pancho around.) When I got to the gate, though, I started to feel nervous. I worried that María's father would kick me out, that I wouldn't know how to handle him, that he would attack me. I wasn't brave enough to ring the bell, and for a while I walked around the neighborhood thinking about María, Angélica, Lupe, and poetry. Also, without intending to, I ended up thinking about my aunt and uncle, about my life so far. My old life seemed pleasant and empty, and I knew it would never be that way again. That made me deeply glad. Then I headed back quickly toward the Fonts' house and rang the bell. Mr. Font came to the door and made a gesture as if to say hold on a second, I'm on my way. Then he disappeared, leaving the door ajar. After a while he appeared again, crossing the yard and rolling up his sleeves as he walked, a broad smile on his face. He seemed better, actually. He swung open the gate, saying you're García Madero, aren't you? and shook my hand. I said how are you sir, and he said call me Quim, not sir, in this house we don't stand on ceremony. At first I didn't understand what he wanted me to call him and I said Kim? (I've read Rudyard Kipling), but he said no, Quim, short for Joaquín in