Roberto Bolaño: The Return

And the end of the story, as Pancho Monge tells it, is that six months later William Burns was killed by unidentified assailants.

What kind of weapons do you like?”

“Any kind, except for blades.”

“You mean knives, razors, daggers, corvos , switchblades, penknives, that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

“What do you mean, more or less?”

“It’s just a figure of speech, asshole. I don’t like any of that stuff.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“But how can you not like corvos ?”

“I just don’t, that’s all.”

“But you’re talking about our national weapon.”

“So the corvo is Chile’s national weapon?”

“Knives in general, I mean.”

“Come off it, compadre.”

“I swear to God, I read it in an article the other day. Chileans don’t like firearms, it must be because of the noise; we’re silent by nature.”

“That must be because of the sea.”

“How do you mean? What sea?”

“The Pacific, of course.”

“Oh, you mean the ocean . And what’s the Pacific Ocean got to do with silence?”

“They say it absorbs noises, useless noises, I mean. I don’t know whether there’s anything to it.”

“So what about the Argentineans?”

“What have they got to do with the Pacific?”

“Well, they’ve got the Atlantic and they’re pretty noisy.”

“But there’s no comparison.”

“You’re right about that, there’s no comparison — but Argentineans like knives as well.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t. Even if they’re the national weapon. I could make an exception, maybe, for penknives, especially Swiss Army knives, but the rest are just a curse.”

“And why’s that, compadre? Come on, explain.”

“I don’t have an explanation, compadre, sorry. That’s just how it is, period; it’s a gut feeling.”

“OK, I see where you’re going with this.”

“Do you? Better tell me then, because I don’t know myself.”

“Well, I know, but I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Mind you, the knife thing does have its advantages.”

“Like what, for example?”

“Well, imagine a gang of thieves armed with automatic rifles. Just an example. Or pimps with Uzis.”

“OK, I’m following you.”

“So you see the advantage?”

“Absolutely, for us. But that’s an insult to Chile, you know, that argument.”

“An insult to Chile! What?”

“It’s an insult to the Chilean character, the way we are, our collective dreams. It’s like being told that all we’re good for is suffering. I don’t know if you follow me, but I feel like I just saw the light.”

“I follow you, but that’s not it.”

“What do you mean, that’s not it?”

“That’s not what I was talking about. I just don’t like knives, period. It’s not some big philosophical question.”

“But you’d like guns to be more popular in Chile. Which doesn’t mean you’d like there to be more of them.”

“I don’t care one way or the other.”

“Anyway, who doesn’t like guns?”

“That’s true, everyone likes guns.”

“Do you want me to explain what I meant about the silence?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t put me to sleep.”

“I won’t, and if you start feeling sleepy, we can stop and I’ll drive.”

“So tell me about the silence then.”

“I read it in an article in El Mercurio .”

“When did you start reading El Mercurio ?”

“Sometimes there’s a copy lying round at headquarters, and the shifts are long. Anyway, the article said we’re a Latin people, and Latin people are fixated on knives. Anglo-Saxons, on the other hand, live and die by the gun.”

“It all depends.”

“Exactly what I thought.”

“Until the moment of truth, you never know.”

“Exactly what I thought.”

“We’re slower, you have to admit.”

“How do you mean, slower?”

“Slower in every respect. Old-fashioned in a way.”

“You call that being slow?”

“We’re still using knives, it’s like we’re stuck in the Bronze Age, while the gringos have moved on to the Iron Age.”

“I never liked history.”

“Remember when we arrested Chubby Loayza?”

“How could I forget?”

“There, you see — the guy just gave himself up.”

“Yeah, and he had an arsenal in that house.”

“There, you see.”

“So he should have put up a fight.”

“There were only four of us, and five of them. We just had standard issue weapons and Chubby had an arsenal, including a bazooka.”

“It wasn’t a bazooka, compadre.”

“It was a Franchi SPAS-15! And he had a pair of sawn-off shotguns. But Loayza gave himself up without firing a shot.”

“So you were disappointed, were you?”

“Or course not. But if he’d been called McCurly instead of Loayza, Chubby would have greeted us with a hail of bullets, and maybe he wouldn’t be in jail now.”

“Maybe he’d be dead.”

“Or free, if you get my drift.”

“McCurly?. . the name rings a bell; wasn’t he in a cowboy movie?”

“I think he was, I think we even saw it together.”

“We haven’t been to the movies together for ages.”

“Well, this would have been ages ago.”

“The arsenal he had, Chubby Loayza; remember how he greeted us?”

“Laughing his head off.”

“I think it was nerves. One of his gang started crying. I don’t think that kid was even seventeen.”

“But Chubby Loayza was over forty and he made himself out to be a tough guy. Though if we’re going to be brutally honest, there aren’t any tough guys in this country.”

“What do you mean there aren’t any tough guys, I’ve seen really tough guys.”

“Crazies, for sure, you’ve seen plenty of them, but tough guys? Very few, or none.”

“And what about Raulito Sánchez? Remember Raulito Sánchez, with his Manurhin?”

“How could I forget him?”

“What about him then?”

“Well, he should have got rid of the revolver straightaway. That was his downfall. Nothing’s easier to trace than a Magnum.”

“The Manurhin is a Magnum?”

“Of course it’s a Magnum.”

“I thought it was a French gun.”

“It’s a.357 French Magnum. That’s why he didn’t get rid of it. It’s an expensive piece and he’d gotten fond of it; there aren’t many in Chile.”

“You learn something new every day.”

“Poor Raulito Sánchez.”

“They say he died in jail.”

“No, he died just after getting out, in a boarding house in Arica.”

“They say his lungs were ruined.”

“He’d been spitting blood since he was a kid, but he was brave, he never complained.”

“I remember he was very quiet.”

“Quiet and hard-working, but a bit too attached to material possessions. That Manurhin was his downfall.”

“Whores were his downfall.”

“Come on, Raulito Sánchez was a faggot.”

“You’re kidding! I had no idea. Nothing’s sacred. Time levels even the tallest towers.”

“Give me a break, what’s it got to do with towers?”

“It’s just that I remember him as really manly, if you know what I mean.”

“What’s it got to do with manliness?”

“But he was a man, in his way, though, wasn’t he?”

“I don’t really know what to say to that.”

“I saw him with whores at least once. He didn’t turn up his nose at whores.”

“He didn’t turn up his nose at anyone or anything, but I’m certain he never slept with a woman.”