Roberto Arlt - The Seven Madmen

Erdosain had to go over the details. Whenever storekeepers were delivered goods, they signed a note promising to pay the value of what they had received. At the end of each month, Erdosain and two other collectors were given these notes, and they had thirty days to recover the money owed. The collectors kept all the notes that had not been cancelled — according to them — until such time as the debtor finally paid up. Erdosain continued:

“Imagine, our bookkeeper was so careless that he never once checked the vouchers we claimed were unpaid, so that if we did collect the money but kept it back, we could balance the books with the money we got from another account settled later on. D’you follow?”

Erdosain was the apex of the triangle formed by the three seated men. The Melancholy Thug and the Astrologer glanced at each other from time to time. Haffner flicked off the ash from his cigarette, then examined Erdosain from head to toe, one eyebrow raised. Finally, he put him this odd question:

“Did you get any pleasure from stealing?”

“No, none at all.”

“Well then, how come your boots are such a mess?”

“I earned hardly anything.”

“What about the money you stole?”

“It never occurred to me to use it to buy shoes with.”

This was true. The initial pleasure Erdosain had felt at getting away scot-free with something that was not his had soon evaporated, until one day he discovered in himself the kind of anguish that leads people to see sunny skies as blackened by a soot only visible to a soul in torment.

When Erdosain had realised he owed 400 pesos, the shock drove him close to madness. From then on, he spent the money in the most stupid, frenzied ways possible. He bought expensive chocolates although he had never liked them, lunched on crab, turtle soup and frogs’ legs in restaurants where the mere privilege of sitting next to elegant people costs a fortune; he drank expensive liquors and wines that tasted insipid to his untutored palate; and yet he never thought of buying anything he needed for day-to-day living, like underwear, shoes, ties …

He doled out money freely to beggars, and regularly left extravagant tips for the waiters who served him, in an effort to erase all traces of the stolen money in his pocket, knowing he could replenish it the next day without risk.

“So it never occurred to you to buy shoes?” Haffner insisted.

“Now that you come to mention it, it seems odd to me as well, but the truth is I never imagined that stolen money could be used to buy that kind of thing.”

“So what did you spend it on?”

“I gave 200 pesos to the Espilas, a family I’m friendly with, so that they could buy an accumulator and set up a galvano-plastics workshop to make a copper rose, which is …”

“Yes, I already know about that …”

“I’ve told him about it,” the Astrologer explained.

“What about the other 400?”

“I don’t know … I’ve spent it on ridiculous things …”

“What do you intend to do now?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Don’t you know anyone who could help?”

“No, no-one. Ten days ago I asked a relative of my wife’s, Barsut. He said he couldn’t …”

“So you’ll go to gaol then?”

“It seems so.”

The Astrologer turned to the pimp and said: “You know, I have 1,000 pesos. I need it if my project is to get off the ground. All I can offer you, Erdosain, is 300 pesos. But what a mess you’ve got yourself into, haven’t you?”

At this, Erdosain turned to Haffner as well and burst out:

“It’s the despair, you see … that damned feeling of anguish that drags you down …”

“What d’you mean?” the Thug asked.

“Anguish is what it’s all about. That’s why you rob, and get in messes like this. You’re walking the streets under a yellow sun that’s like a plague sun … You must have felt the same. Having 5,000 pesos in your wallet, but still feeling crushed. Then all of a sudden a tiny whisper of an idea suggests robbery. That night you’re so overjoyed you can’t sleep. The next day you try it out nervously, and it’s such a success that there’s no other choice but to go on … just like when you tried to kill yourself.”

As Erdosain said this, Haffner got up and crouched on the chair, clasping his knees in his hands. The Astrologer tried to interrupt Erdosain, but he was having none of it, and rushed on:

“Yes, just like when you tried to kill yourself. I’ve often pictured it. You’d got bored with being a ponce — you can’t imagine how much I wanted to meet you! I would say to myself: this must be a really strange guy! Out of 100,000 men who live off women the way you do, there is only one like you. You asked me if I got any pleasure from stealing. What about you: do you enjoy being a pimp? Tell me, do you get any pleasure from it? … Ah, what the hell! I didn’t come here to explain myself. What I need is money, not words.”

Erdosain had stood up, and was nervously twisting the brim of his hat between his fingers. He stared defiantly at the Astrologer, whose hat was blocking out the state of Kansas on the map, and at the Thug, who had slipped his hands into his waistband. Haffner dropped his feet down again out of the threadbare green velvet chair, rested his cheek on his plump fingers, and said coolly, with a sly smile:

“Sit down, my friend, I’ll give you the 600 pesos.” Erdosain trembled. Then, rooted to the spot, he stared for a long while at the Thug, who repeated, stressing his words: “Sit down and don’t worry. I’ll give you the 600 pesos. That’s what we men are here for.”

Erdosain did not know what to say. The same emptiness he felt when the man with the boar’s head had told him he could go, that same sad empty feeling gripped him now. So life was not so bad after all!

“Let’s do it this way,” the Astrologer said. “I’ll give him 300, and you the other three.”

“No,” Haffner objected. “You need the money. I don’t. I have three women looking after that.” Then he turned to Erdosain: “See how easily things can be sorted out? Are you satisfied?”

He spoke with a wily calm, as confident as a farmer who knows that his experience of nature will always provide him with a way out of even the most complicated situation. It was only now that Erdosain became aware of the overpowering scent of the roses and the sound of the dripping tap through the half-open window. Outside, the paths wound round the house in the afternoon sun, and the birds weighed down the pomegranate trees, starred with their scarlet asterisks.

A malicious gleam reappeared in the Thug’s eyes. He awaited Erdosain’s explosion of joy, one eyebrow lifted higher than the other, but when nothing happened, he said:

“Have you been living like this for a long time?”

“Yes, a long time.”

“D’you remember, even though you never said anything to me, I once told you you couldn’t go on living that way?” the Astrologer put in.

“Yes, but I didn’t want to talk about it. I don’t know why, but you don’t share things you can’t explain to yourself with the people you trust the most.”

“When are you going to give the money back?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’ll write you a cheque now, then. You’ll have to cash it in the morning.”

Haffner went over to the bureau. He took his cheque book out of his pocket and wrote the amount with a firm hand, then signed it.

Erdosain was standing stock still, but his mind raced off on a minute-long journey like someone floating through a dream landscape — the kind of experience that afterwards seems to prove life is shot through with a prescient fatalism.

“At your service, my friend.” Erdosain took the cheque and without looking at it, folded it in four and put it in his pocket. All this had only taken a minute.