Roberto Arlt - The Seven Madmen

“You remember the exact words?”

“It’s as if it was all happening in front of my eyes right now. There he is, struggling to get back inside, with the policeman trying to pull him out and the porter throttling him to try to weaken him, while I’m standing there like an idiot waiting for it all to be over, having to put up with the stares of people who had gathered and thought it was more fun to laugh at me than to help the policeman. Just as well I always wear a long nightdress … in the end, with the help of other policemen who had responded to a youngster’s cries for help from inside the hotel, they managed to drag him down to the police station. They thought he was drunk … but it was a fit of madness … that’s what the doctor said. He was raving about Noah’s Ark …”

“I see … but how can I help you?” Erdosain felt yet again that her essence was becoming part of his life like something from a novel, something that needed to be taken care of like the knot of a necktie in the hurly-burly of a dance.

“Well, I was wondering if you could lend me some money. I can’t count on his family at all.”

“Didn’t you get married in his house?”

“Yes, but when we got back from Montevideo after our wedding, we visited them one day … can you imagine … visiting a house where I’d been a maid!”

“That’s amazing!”

“You can’t imagine how indignant they all were. One of his aunts … but why talk about such spiteful, mean things, don’t you agree? That’s how life is, and that’s all there is to it. They threw us out, and we went. Better luck next time.”

“What’s odd is that you were a maid.”

“There’s nothing so strange about that.”

“It’s just you don’t seem the type …”

“Thanks … the thing is, when I left the hotel I had to pawn a ring, and I need to be careful with what little money I have left …”

“What about the pharmacy?”

“It’s being looked after by someone we can trust. I cabled for him to send money … but he replied saying he had strict instructions from the Ergueta family not to give me a cent. So …”

“So what are you thinking of doing?”

“That’s what I don’t know … whether I should go back to Pico, or stay here.”

“What a mess!”

“I’m really fed up with it, believe me.”

“I’m sorry, but today I don’t have any money. Tomorrow I will, though.”

“You see, I want to keep the few pesos I have for any emergency …”

“You’re welcome to stay here until you find something long-term. There’s an empty room next to mine. What else can I do for you?”

“See if you can get him out of the asylum.”

“How can I do that if he really has gone mad? Anyway, we’ll see … for tonight, you can sleep here. I’ll manage on the sofa … although it’s likely I won’t sleep here at all …”

Yet again the woman radiated her green-tinged, malevolent gaze from behind red eyelashes. It was as though she was casting her soul on to the outlines of the man’s thoughts to take an imprint of his intentions.

“All right, I accept.”

“Tomorrow, if you like, I’ll give you some money to go to a hotel with, if you prefer that to staying here.” But then, suddenly angry with her for a thought which had just crossed his mind, he said:

“You don’t really seem to love Eduardo, you know …”

“Why is that?”

“It’s obvious. You come here, tell me about all this drama so coolly it amazes me, and naturally … what am I supposed to think of you?”

Erdosain had started to pace up and down the tiny room as he was saying this. He was ill at ease again, and glanced sideways at her freckled oval face, with its fine red lashes under the green hat-brim, the lips that looked swollen, and the two bands of copper-coloured hair pulled down over her ears, while her transparent eyes shot out their beams of light.

“She hardly has any breasts,” Erdosain thought. Hipólita was looking around her; suddenly, with a bright smile, she asked:

“What exactly did you expect of me, darling?”

Erdosain was irritated by this sudden cheap whorehouse “darling”, coming after the casual “better luck next time”. After a while, he said:

“I don’t know … I suppose I didn’t think you were so cold … there are moments when you give the impression of being a bit unnatural … I may be wrong, but … well, anyway … that’s your business …”

Hipólita stood up:

“Darling, I’ve never gone in for play-acting. The reason I came here is quite straightforward: I knew you were his best friend. What d’you want? For me to cry like Mary Magdalene when I don’t feel sorry about anything? I’ve already cried enough …”

Erdosain had also stood up. She was staring at him, but the harsh lines — rigid beneath the skin of her face like an armour-plated will — drooped with fatigue. With her head tilted slightly to one side, she reminded Erdosain of his wife … it might well be her … she was standing in the doorway of a strange room … indifferent, the Captain looked on as she left for ever, and did not bother to stop her … the streets beckoned her … maybe she was headed for some sordid hotel … suddenly, moved to pity, Erdosain said:

“Forgive me … I’m a bit on edge. You’re welcome here. I’m only sorry you arrived when I have no money to offer you. But tomorrow I will.”

Hipólita sat down again. As he paced back and forth, Erdosain felt his pulse. His heart was beating rapidly. Weary after the day with the Astrologer and Barsut, he said bitterly:

“Life’s an effort, isn’t it?”

The stranger stared down at the tip of her shoe in silence. She raised her eyes and a tiny wrinkle lined her brow. Then she said: “You seem worried. Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing. Tell me … was it difficult being with him?”

“A bit. He’s violent …”

“It’s so strange! I’d like to be able to picture him in the asylum, but I can’t. All I can make out is a fragment of his face and one eye … I must tell you, I saw the disaster coming. I met him one morning and he told me the whole story. All at once I knew you’d be unhappy with him … but you must be tired. I have to go out. I’ll tell the landlady to bring you dinner here.”

“No … I’m not hungry.”

“OK, well then, I must be off. Put the screen up if you like. Make yourself at home.”

As Erdosain left, the Cripple looked him over in an extraordinary way, like a fan opening and slicing down through a man from head to toe, then snapping shut on the whole layout of his interior world.

Out in the street, Erdosain realised there was a light rain falling, but he walked on, driven by an obscure anger, annoyed at being unable to think.

Everything was getting so complicated … and what was he, caught up in all these blind cogwheels that were taking over more and more of his life, pushing him ever deeper into a despairing mire? Then on top of it all, there was this … this inability to think, to think things through clearly, like moves in a chess game, a lack of mental clarity that made him resentful of everyone.

He was irritated above all by the animal content of the shopkeepers, standing at the doorways of their holes spitting into the slanting rain. Erdosain imagined they were endlessly scheming, while in the back rooms their unfortunate wives could be seen, laying cloths on rickety tables, hashing up disgusting stews which gave off a stale smell of peppers and grease, or the rancid odours of reheated escalopes when the lids were taken off.

Erdosain walked on sullenly, trying to fathom the ideas being hatched in those narrow minds, openly peering at the wan faces of the shopkeepers as they spied, a spark of fury deep in their eyes, on the customers they could see in the stores opposite them. At times, Erdosain felt on the point of shouting insults at them; he longed to call them cuckolds, thieves, sons of bitches, tell them to their faces that if they were fat it was because they were swollen with leprosy, and if they were thin it was because they were consumed with envy of their neighbours. And in his mind, he poured dreadful curses on their heads, imagining they were all so deep in debt they were on the verge of bankruptcy, while at the same time he wished that the unhappiness that cast him into the pit of despair would also fall on their filthy wives who, with the same fingers they had used a few moments earlier to remove the towels they menstruated into, were now cutting the bread they would eat together, slandering their rivals with each mouthful.