Juan José Saer - Scars

We formed a line at the cashier and exchanged our chips by the light of a propane lamp. I received a five-thousand-peso bill that was so damp and crumpled that I thought it must have been the same one I had exchanged when I got there. Then I went down the stairs, guided by a worker’s flashlight, and went out into the street. I crossed the dark city and went home to sleep, lighting my way with matches in order to open the front door and find my bedroom.

The next day, Delicia woke me up by banging on the door and saying I had a call on the telephone. It must have been six months since anyone had called me. And I think the last one, six months before, had been some guy with the wrong number. It was Marquitos Rosemberg. He told me he wanted to talk that morning. I told him to come over, then I hung up and took a shower. It was even hotter than the last three days.

Marquitos arrived a half hour later, while I was eating the last of the grapes that had been left from the day before. He was in shirt sleeves and had a black briefcase in his hand. I realized he was coming from the courthouse. At the estate agent they’d asked me for references and I had given his name. He lived eight blocks from me, but it had been three years since I had seen him. The last time, we’d seen each other on the street. He was on the opposite sidewalk. We smiled and raised a hand to each other as we passed. That was it.

I took him to the study and offered him some grapes on a plate. There weren’t more than five or six, and I deprived myself in order to offer them. Marquitos ate them one after the other, spitting the skin and seeds onto the plate. In my pants pocket I had the five-thousand-peso bill, crushed into a wet ball.

So you’re going to mortgage the house, Marquitos said when he finished the last grape.

I told him that, in effect, yes.

Proof that you’re not well at all, said Marquitos.

I said that yes, I was not well at all. That never, that I could remember, had I been so bad. But that I didn’t know of anyone who was any better off than me unless they were insane or had recently passed. Then I called Delicia and asked, if she had time, could she make us some coffee.

Marquitos said he was going to try to find some way to help me. I replied that the only way to help me was to give me half a million pesos.

Half a million? said Marquitos. His eyes opened wide and he leaned forward. The chair creaked.

Half a million, that’s right, I said. My house is downtown, it’s new, it’s two stories. It’s worth five million pesos, at least. I’ll put it up as collateral. I want half a million pesos, and everything arranged.

Half a million pesos, said Marquitos. What do you want half a million pesos for, Sergio?

To play baccarat, I said.

Marquitos rocked back in his chair, laughing.

That joke, he said, is in poor taste.

It would be in poor taste, I said, but it’s not a joke. I said I want half a million pesos to play baccarat, and I haven’t said it as a joke.

Of course, said Marquitos.

I’ve even gambled away my maid’s savings, eighteen months worth, I said.

Don’t expect them to write you a check for half a million in gambling money, Marquitos said. Or that your good references will get your house mortgaged for that price.

I don’t expect anything, I said. I’m almost forty. I don’t have children or any relatives. I live in a house that I didn’t swindle away from anyone’s helpless, paralytic grandmother. Am I or am I not allowed to mortgage the house if I want to?

You’re allowed to, absolutely, said Marquitos.

Alright then, I said. So what’s the problem?

That game is self-destruction, said Marquitos.

I told him I hadn’t given his name as a reference so he could come to my house and demonstrate the great strides made by the Salvation Army. Then Delicia came in with the coffees. Marquitos looked at her. He didn’t take his eyes off of her until she left the room.

You gambled that creature’s savings away, he said, staring at me.

She gave them to me herself to gamble, I said.

You lied to her somehow, said Marquitos.

I didn’t lie, I said. I went to her honestly and asked to borrow three thousand pesos and she gave me everything she had and told me to do what I wanted with it and hold on to it myself.

Marquitos just shook his head and added sugar to his coffee. For several minutes we didn’t say a word. Then I looked him in the face.

Are you going to give me the reference or not? I said.

Yes, he said. I will.

Then he opened the briefcase and took out his checkbook.

I don’t want anything, I said. You’re the second guy who has tried to give me money in the last two days, apart from Delicia. And don’t insist, because I don’t have the luxury of protesting too much.

You’re a rotten petit bourgeoisie , said Marquitos.

Better a rotten petit bourgeoisie than a healthy petit bourgeoisie , I said. A rotten apple is better than a healthy one, because the rotten apple is closer to the truth than a healthy one. The rotten apple is a mirror in which a million generations catch sight of themselves just before they explode.

That aphorism does not do you credit, said Marquitos.

Probably not, I said.

Then I told him that I needed the mortgage arranged as quickly as possible. He asked me if all the paperwork was in order, and I said yes.

I suppose like any gambler you’re under the delusion that you have a sure system for winning, said Marquitos.

I don’t have a system for winning, I said. In fact, I’m pretty certain I’m going to lose. But I want to play. If I had a sure system for winning, I wouldn’t play anymore.

I don’t understand at all, said Marquitos.

I don’t play to win. If there’s money for food and to pay the bills, that’s more than enough. Even if I have to use candles instead and only eat once a week, I’ll still play. My departed grandfather used to say that the only way to win at poker was to cheat. Clearly, he was a man of a different generation. And one who didn’t enjoy the game, in the end. I would even play against a guy who is cheating me, if the scam allows me some chance. I’ve played poker against three guys that were colluding and were using a marked deck, and I beat them. There’s no scam that’s worth a damn if you’ve got luck on your side. So I’ve opted to think of scams as just a bit of luck for the other side.

I want that half a million so I can have an easy mind for at least two weeks and enjoy the game without having to suffer over where I’m going to get money to gamble if they tap me out from one moment to the next. If I was looking for a good return I wouldn’t play; I would get into business or go back to being a lawyer.

I don’t think the mortgage can be arranged in less than two weeks, said Marquitos. And only because I’m good friends with the people at the estate agency, and they owe me favors.

I know it, I said. That’s why I went there.

I’ll try to get it through as quick as possible, said Marquitos.

I’d be grateful if you would, I said.

Marquitos put the checkbook away, closed the briefcase, and stood up. I stood up too. We stared at each other a few seconds, not blinking.

Sergio, said Marquitos. We should see each other more often. We could go out for a drink.

We’d get bored, I said. Then I tried to smile. You’re still in the party, I suppose?

I am, said Marquitos.

That’s a vice like any other, I said.

Marquitos shook his head again. He turned and moved toward the door. Suddenly he stopped, stood a moment with his back to me, then turned around. His eyes were full of tears. I thought he must have been in pain. His eyes were red, and he was sweating. But no, he was crying. Not crying, strictly speaking, but his eyes were filled with tears.