Roberto Arlt - The Mad Toy

‘Let me stay, don’t throw me out.’

‘So you… you’re a…’

He dragged me to the edge of the bed and threw himself at my feet.

‘Yes, I’m one of them, at times.’

His hand fell on my knee.

‘At times.’

The boy’s voice was deep and bitter.

‘Yes, I’m one of them… at times.’ A fearful pain trembled in his voice. Then his hand took my hand and pulled it to his throat so that he could lean his chin on it. He spoke in a very low voice, almost like a sob.

‘Oh, if I’d only been born a woman! Why does life have to be like this?’

The veins in my temples throbbed terribly.

He spoke to me:

‘What’s your name?’

‘Silvio.’

‘Tell me, Silvio, don’t you despise me…? but no… you don’t have that kind of face… How old are you?’

I answered hoarsely:

‘Sixteen… But, are you trembling?’

‘Yes… it’s what you want… come on…’

Suddenly I saw him, yes, I saw him… His lips were smiling in his flushed face… his eyes were also smiling madly… and suddenly, as his clothes fell away rapidly, I saw the hanging tail of a dirty shirt cover the band of flesh which the women’s stockings he was wearing left exposed.

Slowly, as if it were a pattern displayed on a wall that the moon made white, I saw the image of the imploring girl next to the black fence pass before my eyes. A cold idea — if she knew what was happening to me at this precise moment — passed across my life.

I would remember this instant for ever.

I stepped back shyly and, looking directly at him, said slowly:

‘Go.’

‘What?’

I repeated in an even lower voice:

‘Go.’

‘But…’

‘Go, get out, you beast. What have you done with your life? What have you done with your life…’

‘No… don’t be like that…’

‘You beast… What have you done with your life?’ But I couldn’t bring myself in that moment to tell him all the significant things, all the precious and noble things I had in me, things that instinctively rejected this canker.

The degenerate stepped back. He drew back his lips to show his fangs, then dived into the bed, and while I climbed fully dressed into my bed he put his hands behind his head and began to sing:

Rice pudding, rice pudding

There’s going to be a wedding.

I looked at him sidelong and then, without any anger, but with a calm that surprised even me, said:

‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll break your nose.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll break your nose.’

Then he turned his face to the wall. A horrible awkward stress weighed down the trapped air. I felt the intensity with which his horrible thoughts made their way across the space between us. All I could see of him was the triangle of black hair that lay on his nape, and then his round, white, untempting neck.

He did not move, but I was crushed by the intensity of his thoughts… he was following my lead… and I stayed still, feeling a horror that was gradually turning into conformity. And every now and then I looked at him out of the corner of my eye.

Suddenly his blanket slipped away and I saw his shoulders, his milk-white shoulders that rose above the neatly sewn arc that the neckline of his shirt described over his clavicles…

A woman’s begging cry burst out in the corridor outside the room:

‘No… no… please…’ and the dull shock of a body being thrown against a wall made my soul arch from some primal fear, I hesitated a second, then leapt from my bed and opened the door at the exact moment that the door of the opposite room was closed.

I leant on the doorframe. No noise came from the room. I turned and, leaving the door open and, without looking at the other man, turned out the light and got into bed.

I now felt sure of myself. I lit a cigarette and asked my companion:

‘ Che , who taught you this filthy stuff?’

‘I don’t want to talk to you… You’re not nice…’

I burst out laughing, then carried on speaking more seriously:

‘Seriously, che , you know you’re a weirdo? You’re really weird! What do they say about you in your family? And this place? Have you looked at this place?’

‘You’re not nice.’

‘You’re a saint, right?’

‘No, but this is how I’m fated to be… I wasn’t like this earlier, you know? I wasn’t like this at all…’

‘Who made you like this, then?’

‘My tutor, because my father is rich. After I got through the fourth year of secondary school, they found me a tutor to prepare me for the National School. He seemed a serious enough guy. He had a beard, a pointy blond beard and glasses. His eyes were blue, almost green. I’m telling you all this because…’

‘And?’

‘And I wasn’t like this before… but he made me like this… Then, when he left, I went to find him in his house. I was fourteen. He lived in an apartment in Juncal Street. He was a smart guy. He had a library as big as this room. He was a demon, but how he loved me! I went to his house, the houseboy showed me into his bedroom… He bought me all these silk clothes and knickknacks. I dressed as a woman.’

‘What was he called?’

‘Why do you want to know his name… He taught in two departments in the National School and hung himself…’

‘Hung himself?’

‘Yes, he hung himself in a café toilet… Oh, you’re so gullible!.. Ha, ha… don’t believe a word I say… It’s all lies… Isn’t it a lovely story?’

Annoyed, I said to him:

‘Come on, che , leave me alone; I’m going to sleep.’

‘Don’t be mean, listen up… you’re really moody… you’re not going to believe a word I’ve just said… I told you the truth… all is true… my tutor was called Próspero…’

‘And you’ve been like this ever since?’

‘What could I do?’

‘What do you mean, “What could I do?”… you could have gone to a doctor… some specialist in nervous diseases? Anyway, why are you so dirty?’

‘It’s the fashion, lots of guys like dirty clothes.’

‘You’re a degenerate.’

‘Yes, you’re right… I’m crazy… but what would you have me do? Look… sometimes I’m in my bedroom, it’s night, you have to believe me, it’s like a wave comes over me… I get the smell of rented rooms in my nostrils… I see the light is on and I can’t… It’s like the wind drags me out… I go to see the people who live in those rented rooms.’

‘The owners, why?’

‘All this searching is pretty sad; us girls have an arrangement with two or three of the guys who have rooms to rent and they give us a ring if some kid turns up who looks worthwhile.’

After a long pause, his voice became lower and more serious. You might have thought he was talking to himself, venting his troubles.

‘Why wasn’t I born a woman?… instead of being a degenerate… yes, a degenerate… I could have been the young mistress of my house, I’d have married a good man and looked after him… and I’d have loved him… instead… like this… bedhopping, shame… guys in white overcoats and patent leather shoes who recognise you for what you are and follow you… and steal everything you’ve got, down as far as your stockings. Oh! If only I could find someone who’d love me for ever, for ever.’

‘But you’re crazy! Can you really still dream about such things?’

‘What do you know about it! I’ve got a friend who’s been living with a guy who works at the Savings and Loan Bank for three years now… how he loves him…’

‘That’s obscene…’

‘What do you know? If I could, I’d give all my money to be a woman… a poor little woman… And I wouldn’t care about getting knocked up and cleaning his clothes, as long as he loved me… and went out to work for me…’