Ray Bradbury - A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories

He went out. He shut the door.

There was a ripping sound.

“Vamenos!” cried Martínez.

He whipped the door open.

Vamenos stood with two halves of a handkerchief torn in his hands, laughing.

“Rrrip! Look at your faces! Rrrip!” He tore the cloth again. “Oh, oh, your faces, your faces! Ha!”

Roaring, Vamenos slammed the door, leaving them stunned and alone.

Gómez put both hands on top of his head and turned away. “Stone me. Kill me. I have sold our souls to a demon!”

Villanazul dug in his pockets, took out a silver coin, and studied it for a long while.

“Here is my last fifty cents. Who else will help me buy back Vamenos’s share of the suit?”

“It’s no use.” Manulo showed them ten cents. “We got only enough to buy the lapels and the buttonholes.”

Gómez, at the open window, suddenly leaned out and yelled. “Vamenos! No!”

Below on the street, Vamenos, shocked, blew out a match and threw away an old cigar butt he had found somewhere. He made a strange gesture to all the men in the window above, then waved airily and sauntered on.

Somehow, the five men could not move away from the window. They were crushed together there.

“I bet he eats a hamburger in that suit,” mused Villanazul. “I’m thinking of the mustard.”

“Don’t!” cried Gómez. “No, no!”

Manulo was suddenly at the door.

“I need a drink, bad.”

“Manulo, there’s wine here, that bottle on the floor—”

Manulo went out and shut the door.

A moment later Villanazul stretched with great exaggeration and strolled about the room.

“I think I’ll walk down to the plaza, friends.”

He was not gone a minute when Domínguez, waving his black book at the others, winked and turned the doorknob.

“Domínguez,” said Gómez.

“Yes?”

“If you see Vamenos, by accident,” said Gómez, “warn him away from Mickey Murrillo’s Red Rooster Café. They got fights not only on TV but out front of the TV too.”

“He wouldn’t go into Murrillo’s,” said Domínguez. “That suit means too much to Vamenos. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt it.”

“He’d shoot his mother first,” said Martínez.

“Sure he would.”

Martínez and Gómez, alone, listened to Domínguez’s footsteps hurry away down the stairs. They circled the undressed window dummy.

For a long while, biting his lips, Gómez stood at the window, looking out. He touched his shirt pocket twice, pulled his hand away, and then at last pulled something from the pocket. Without looking at it, he handed it to Martínez.

“Martínez, take this.”

“What is it?”

Martínez looked at the piece of folded pink paper with print on it, with names and numbers. His eyes widened.

“A ticket on the bus to El Paso three weeks from now!”

Gómez nodded. He couldn’t look at Martínez. He stared out into the summer night.

“Turn it in. Get the money,” he said. “Buy us a nice white panama hat and a pale blue tie to go with the white ice cream suit, Martínez. Do that.”

“Gómez—”

“Shut up. Boy, is it hot in here! I need air.”

“Gómez. I am touched. Gómez—”

But the door stood open. Gómez was gone.

Mickey Murrillo’s Red Rooster Café and Cocktail Lounge was squashed between two big brick buildings and, being narrow, had to be deep. Outside, serpents of red and sulphur-green neon fizzed and snapped. Inside, dim shapes loomed and swam away to lose themselves in a swarming night sea.

Martínez, on tiptoe, peeked through a flaked place on the red-painted front window.

He felt a presence on his left, heard breathing on his right. He glanced in both directions.

“Manulo! Villanazul!”

“I decided I wasn’t thirsty,” said Manulo. “So I took a walk.”

“I was just on my way to the plaza,” said Villanazul, “and decided to go the long way around.”

As if by agreement, the three men shut up now and turned together to peer on tiptoe through various flaked spots on the window.

A moment later, all three felt a new very warm presence behind them and heard still faster breathing.

“Is our white suit in there?” asked Gómez’s voice.

“Gómez!” said everybody, surprised. “Hi!”

“Yes!” cried Domínguez, having just arrived to find his own peephole. “There’s the suit! And, praise God, Vamenos is still in it!”

“I can’t see!” Gómez squinted, shielding his eyes. “What’s he doing? ”

Martínez peered. Yes! There, way back in the shadows, was a big chunk of snow and the idiot smile of Vamenos winking above it, wreathed in smoke.

“He’s smoking!” said Martínez.

“He’s drinking!” said Domínguez.

“He’s eating a taco!” reported Villanazul.

“A juicy taco,” added Manulo.

“No,” said Gómez. “No, no, no …”

“Ruby Escuadrillo’s with him!”

“Let me see that!” Gómez pushed Martínez aside.

Yes, there was Ruby! Two hundred pounds of glittering sequins and tight black satin on the hoof, her scarlet fingernails clutching Vamenos’s shoulder. Her cowlike face, floured with powder, greasy with lipstick, hung over him!

“That hippo!” said Domínguez. “She’s crushing the shoulder pads. Look, she’s going to sit on his lap!”

“No, no, not with all that powder and lipstick!” said Gómez. “Manulo, inside! Grab that drink! Villanazul, the cigar, the taco! Domínguez, date Ruby Escuadrillo, get her away. Ándale , men!”

The three vanished, leaving Gómez and Martínez to stare, gasping, through the peephole.

“Manulo, he’s got the drink, he’s drinking it!”

“ Ay! There’s Villanazul, he’s got the cigar, he’s eating the taco!”

“Hey, Domínguez, he’s got Ruby! What a brave one!”

A shadow bulked through Murrillo’s front door, traveling fast.

“Gómez!” Martínez clutched Gómez’s arm. “That was Ruby Escuadrillo’s boy friend, Toro Ruíz. If he finds her with Vamenos, the ice cream suit will be covered with blood, covered with blood—”

“Don’t make me nervous,” said Gómez. “Quickly!”

Both ran. Inside they reached Vamenos just as Toro Ruíz grabbed about two feet of the lapels of that wonderful ice-cream suit.

“Let go of Vamenos!” said Martínez.

“Let go that suit! ” corrected Gómez.

Toro Ruíz, tap-dancing Vamenos, leered at these intruders.

Villanazul stepped up shyly.

Villanazul smiled. “Don’t hit him. Hit me.”

Toro Ruíz hit Villanazul smack on the nose.

Villanazul, holding his nose, tears stinging his eyes, wandered off.

Gómez grabbed one of Toro Ruíz’s arms, Martínez the other. “Drop him, let go, cabrón, coyote, vaca! ”

Toro Ruíz twisted the ice cream suit material until all six men screamed in mortal agony. Grunting, sweating, Toro Ruíz dislodged as many as climbed on. He was winding up to hit Vamenos when Villanazul wandered back, eyes streaming.

“Don’t hit him. Hit me!”

As Toro Ruíz hit Villanazul on the nose, a chair crashed on Toro’s head.

“ Ai! ” said Gómez.

Toro Ruíz swayed, blinking, debating whether to fall. He began to drag Vamenos with him.

“Let go!” cried Gómez. “Let go!”

One by one, with great care, Toro Ruíz’s banana-like fingers let loose of the suit. A moment later he was in ruins at their feet.

“ Compadres , this way!”

They ran Vamenos outside and set him down where he freed himself of their hands with injured dignity.

“Okay, okay. My time ain’t up. I still got two minutes and, let’s see—ten seconds.”