Horacio Castellanos Moya - Dance With Snakes

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Dance With Snakes: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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As El Salvador returns to peace after more than a decade of civil war, Eduardo Sosa, an unemployed sociologist, becomes fascinated by a homeless man who lives in a beat-up yellow Chevrolet parked across the street from his sister’s apartment. An unexpected turn of events causes Sosa to assume the other man’s identity. When he becomes the driver of the mysterious yellow Chevrolet, Sosa discovers that it is home to four poisonous snakes. With the snakes as accomplices, Sosa unleashes a reign of terror on the city of San Salvador.
is a macabre high-speed romp, in which violence and comedy become almost indistinguishable. The non-stop action raises provocative questions about social exclusion and the role of the media, but this novel by the author of the acclaimed Senselessness also evokes the tenderness of relations among those on society’s margins.

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Probably. The hunt had just begun and they weren’t going to give up until they got us.

And what would we do if they cornered us in the scrapyard?

“Try to escape,” I said.

It was as though the clouds had been painted with orange and pink brushstrokes. A cool, nighttime breeze blew over our side of the ravine.

“I think we’ll be all right until Monday morning,” I mumbled.

I threw a rock into the ravine.

“I love you,” she said. “I want to be with you. I don’t want anything to come between us.”

I kept quiet, my gaze lost on the horizon. I put my hand on her back and caressed her tenderly.

“I love you, too,” I finally said. “But I need a drink right now.”

I stood up.

We went back to the scrapyard.

“I’m going to the store,” I said. “Stay alert. There must be a whole bunch of creatures like you hiding between all these cars and I don’t want you to get a nasty surprise.”

“Be careful,” she said and blew me a kiss.

I went back to the hole in the fence next to the vacant lot. I walked out to the street. The revelry was in full swing at the store; there were several groups of people drinking on the sidewalk. I tried to pass unnoticed, but a number of people looked over at me disgustedly. The two young men from the afternoon were still drinking. I asked for half a bottle of rum. I had just enough money left to cover it. The old woman recognized me from behind the counter.

“It was a lie,” she snapped. “They haven’t got those snakes yet.”

The people near the entrance went quiet and turned to look at me.

“The journalist must have got it wrong,” I said to the old woman. “There have been so many false alarms.”

“I just heard that the snakes tried to attack the funeral home where they’re showing Dr. Ferracuti and his family’s remains,” she said.

“I don’t believe it,” I exclaimed.

I opened the bottle and took a drink right there in the store.

“It’s true,” the old woman insisted. “It happened about an hour ago. He had to escape with his snakes because the police who were guarding the place surprised him.”

The drink made me feel wonderful.

One of the people drinking said the President was going to give a public address at eight o’clock that night.

“They scared that fat bastard,” another drinker said gleefully, referring to the President.

They guffawed and toasted one other.

I came over to them.

The clean-shaven young guy who had said he hoped they’d kill the man with the snakes that afternoon came to join us, swaying, completely drunk.

“This goddamn bum has gotta be Jacinto Bustillo,” he mumbled, slapping me hard on the back.

Everyone cheered.

I started to perk up.

“If I were him, you’d have to be careful,” I warned jokingly. “Because the snakes would get you, even in your dreams.”

There was a burst of laughter, whistles and jeers.

The clean-shaven guy didn’t find it funny, but caught something in my look that made him go back to where he’d come from, telling me to take my stink somewhere else.

“Don’t listen to him, man,” said the guy who’d made fun of the President. “You have your drink in peace. You know what? I’ll buy you a beer. Niña Tila,” he shouted, raising his arm towards the old woman, “a beer for the gentleman, please. If you were the guy who’s screwing with those rich assholes and those piece-of-shit politicians, I’d carry you out of here on my shoulders.”

There were more cheers and whistles.

I took the beer.

Everyone was talking about the same thing: the chaos caused by the snakes in the Chevrolet.

The guy with the sunglasses yelled over from another group of drinkers that we should start a committee to “show solidarity with Jacinto Bustillo and his avenging snakes,” and that I, as head of all the bums in the city, should start an underground support network for Bustillo and his snakes.

We nearly pissed ourselves laughing.

But it was starting to get dark and I remembered that the ladies were all alone, waiting for me, especially Loli, who could get quite anxious.

I finished my beer, said thanks, told them I’d be back in a little while, and left. I limped over to the phone booth, my pocketknife with the bone-coloured handle rubbing against my thigh. I wondered whether it was worth it to call Rita Mena back to explain something to her that I wasn’t even clear about. She’d probably already contacted the police and Deputy Commissioner Handal had probably had her phone line tapped, just like on television, waiting for my call so he could sic his hounds on my ladies and my poor bones.

I sat down on the curb next to the telephone. A teenage girl with meaty calves had the receiver stuck to her ear, laughing. I took another sip from my bottle, lit a cigarette and listened to her conversation. A little fat guy with a kind face lined up behind the girl.

“I’m next,” I warned him so he wouldn’t cut in line.

The fat guy said yes, of course. Nothing short of courteous.

Now the girl was talking about a friend from school named Gerardo who’d died last night during the snake attack at the Esso station.

I shamelessly looked at the dark hair on her fleshy calves. She looked uncomfortable and turned her back to me. The fat guy smiled at her.

“Listen, I’ll call you later,” she said. “There’s a bunch of people waiting for the phone.”

She hung up and crossed the street.

I got up slowly. The fat guy moved back a bit to get away from my stink. I took out the clipping with the newspaper office’s phone number and dialled.

I asked to speak to Rita Mena.

The operator asked me who was calling, but there was a trembling in her voice that made me think she already knew, and was waiting to raise the alarm.

I said I was a friend, that it was personal.

She let her phone ring five times, as if she were waiting for them to be able to trace the call.

I turned to look at the fat guy and smiled.

“It’s me again,” I said.

But she didn’t let me continue. She started asking a million questions, trying to confuse me and stall for time, like a real cop. I put my hand in my pocket and stroked the bone-coloured handle of my pocketknife.

“I told you not to ask me any questions,” I said when she needed to take a breath. “I called you because I was surprised that your newspaper devoted so much space to the ladies’ work. This is the first time you’ve talked about me, and you haven’t even met me. But something tells me you aren’t being honest with me.”

I hung up, because I sensed my time was running out.

I said goodbye to the fat guy, who immediately grabbed the phone. I walked normally for about five metres and then started to run along the street parallel to the store, as fast as I could, as if I’d never had a limp, as if I’d never been Jacinto Bustillo.

I hadn’t yet reached the vacant lot when the whirring of the helicopter blades and wailing of the sirens began to shake the neighbourhood.

The shots were terrible, heavy, very powerful. I pictured the terrified look on the fat man’s face, destroyed by the impact without even knowing what was going on. I went into the vacant lot, crossed the fence, and ran to the yellow Chevrolet.

The din had already alerted the ladies.

“Quick!” I shouted. “Go out by the ravine!”

They hurried out. Loli turned around as if she were going to wait for me.

“Hurry!” I yelled in the midst of the deafening noise and the searchlights that danced wildly from the sky.

I ran after them and, before I made it to the ravine, a light nearly hit my back.

Everything happened in an instant — the shots, the flames, the explosions.

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