Matias Nespolo - Seven Ways to Kill a Cat

Santi doesn’t say shit. He doesn’t laugh. He’s wary. No one likes it when people start whispering in front of them. Me, I don’t give a fuck what some car freak thinks of me. But what I do want is to sort things out with Chueco right here and now. I don’t know what he’s playing at. Little by little I’m getting to see the cards he’s holding and I don’t like what I see.

I flash him a murderous stare, but Chueco isn’t even looking — he won’t dare. He’s chatting to Santi, any old bullshit, trying to pick up the conversation, making like nothing happened.

I finish the beer, send the bottle spinning in the air and turn to go. If they want to keep drinking they can pay the deposit on the bottle. Turns out it’s a lucky throw, the bottle curves straight for Chueco’s head, but the bastard’s got good reflexes. I hear him swear, hear the dull slap of glass against his hand. I turn and see Chueco holding up the bottle triumphantly. I give him a wink. You might have caught that one, but there’s always next time …

I walk half a block and then I see her. The last person on earth I want to run into. She’s with a couple of friends. I think I recognise one of them from the barrio. I’ve no idea who the other one is.

‘Hey, Yani, what you up to?’ I say.

She looks stunning. Her crop top emphasises her tits and shows off her belly button. She’s wearing black stockings and a miniskirt that would be a belt if it was any shorter. She’s not a girl, she’s a sight. She doesn’t look anything like the Yani I saw in the bar a couple of hours ago.

‘Hey, how are things?’ she says. She’s trying to act natural, but it’s not working.

I kiss her on the cheek. She introduces me to her friends and then waves for them to walk on. I’m saying whatever comes into my head and she goes along with the pretence until the others have moved away.

‘You fucking son of a bitch, Gringo! You did it — you and Chueco.’ The tears are threatening to make her mascara run. They’re teetering on her lashes.

‘I wasn’t there, swear to God,’ I say, squeezing her hand. With superhuman effort I manage to hold her gaze. I’ve always been a shit liar, but she’s too angry to notice.

‘But my old man said … So if you didn’t …? What’s going on between you and El Jetita? What’s the guy up to? It was you …’

‘Calm down, Yani. I swear to you I wasn’t there. As for Chueco, well, I wouldn’t put my hand in the fire for him. I don’t know what they’ve got your old man mixed up in, but whatever it is, it’s bad shit. I can’t tell you any more right now. Soon as I find out anything definite, you’ll be the first to know. Let’s talk later.’

Yani stands, staring at me, mouth half open. I don’t give her time to respond. I kiss her on the cheek again.

‘Take care. And stay cool, it’s all going to be fine.’

After a second I glance over my shoulder to see if she’s caught up with her friends or if she’s still standing where I left her. She’s with her friends. Good. What’s not so good was that thing I said about not putting my hand in the fire for Chueco. It just came out. But it’s not like I regret it. If it was disloyal, well, Chueco can just chalk it up for all the times he owes me.

MAMINA’S VOICE WAKES me. She’s talking to someone, but it takes me a while to work out who it is because they’re crying. It’s Ernestina. I try and eavesdrop while I’m getting dressed but I can’t work out what they’re on about. The conversation drops to whispers and one or other of them sighing. It must be late, though I can’t work out what time it is. The sky is overcast.

I come out of my room to find Quique sitting on a chair in the kitchen with a sports bag at his feet. It looks empty, but I’m betting there’s a change of clothes inside — probably the only change of clothes he’s got. He’s going to be staying here. Don’t need anyone to tell me to work that out.

Ernestina is leaning in the doorway, sobbing silently. Her nose is red, her eyes puffy. She’s a mess. She looks whiter than a freshly sheared lamb and all crumpled up inside like a piece of paper. Mamina has her hands on her shoulders to hold her up.

‘Morning …’ I say.

Mamina says good morning, but Ernestina doesn’t even react. Quique barely looks at me. Walking behind his chair to get to the hotplate, I tweak his ear.

‘Hey, viejo ! What you up to?’

‘How’s it going?’ I say. ‘You had breakfast?’

Quique nods, doesn’t say anything. There’s not much to offer him anyway. I put the kettle on the hotplate.

‘He’s staying here for a couple of days,’ Mamina confirms, ‘so I want you to keep an eye on the kid.’

‘No problem, abuela ,’ I say.

But she’s not listening. She’s stroking Ernestina’s shoulder, whispering to her, trying to comfort her.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Her daughter, the little one, she was taken to the children’s hospital yesterday,’ Mamina says, looking over her shoulder at me. This is all she needs to tell me.

‘Your kid sister?’ I say to Quique. ‘What’s her name again …?’

‘Julieta.’

‘What happened.’

‘Dunno … Her eyes went all white and she was jerking around …’ As he tells me, Quique starts twitching his head and his body to show me what it was like.

Convulsions, I think as lightning flares outside on the street, lighting up the kitchen like a flashbulb.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ I ask loudly so Mamina will have to answer.

And she does. A single word, as the roll of thunder finally comes. I don’t so much hear the word as guess it. Meningitis.

I feel it like a blow to the back of my head. There’s another flash of lightning, but this one seems to burst behind my eyes, and the white snapshot it burns on to my brain is of the worm-ridden doll.

The tiny kitchen window slams open and a gust of wind blows in. Cold and damp. I latch the window closed, listen to the random clatter of rain on the corrugated-iron shacks. Raindrops big as stones. I stare out, breathe evenly, the rain starts and stops, can’t seem to make up its mind. Doesn’t matter, summer’s over now.

‘Gringo, we’re going to go before it starts bucketing down,’ Mamina says. ‘I’m going with Ernestina to the hospital.’

‘That’s fine, abuela , I’ll take care of Quique.’

‘Where’s the umbrella?’ she asks, Ernestina clinging to her arm.

‘What umbrella?’

‘The big black one, m’hijo , what else would I mean …?’

I don’t know what she’s talking about. It worries me to think about Mamina getting senile, but I can’t rule it out. She’s getting old.

‘I’ve never had an umbrella, Mamina. If it rains, I get wet …’ I say without malice.

She stands, staring at me strangely, then finally says, ‘Never mind, forget it. We’re heading off …’

Quique doesn’t say a word. Nor do I. I brew up a couple of mate s and stare out at the rain. It’s falling hard now. Quique sighs, eyes fixed on the parallel streams gushing from the gutters around the eaves. I make him a sweet mate and he takes it. The wind whips at the ribbons of the strip curtain. It’s cold, but I don’t want to close the door. With only the milky light from the tiny kitchen window, we’d be standing in the dark. And there’s nothing more depressing than having to turn the lights on in the middle of the day.

‘Can we put the TV on?’ Quique asks, handing the empty mate cup back to me.

‘We haven’t got a TV, champ. Hadn’t you noticed?’

He opens his eyes wide in surprise. He doesn’t believe me, but it’s the truth. I can’t be bothered explaining that Mamina pawned it at the first possible opportunity when she needed cash. That was a couple of years ago. She never redeemed the pledge. She said what with the rubbish on TV, we didn’t need it, that we’d been better off selling it. I guess she was right.