Roberto Arlt - The Mad Toy

The Crip gave him a brusque order:

‘Take this.’

Little Guy threw the bag over his shoulder and headed off quickly.

He was The Crip’s houseboy, cook, servant and helper. The Crip had picked him up like one would pick up a dog in the street, and in return for his services he kept him dressed and fed; and Little Guy was the most faithful servant of his master.

‘Look,’ The Crip told me, ‘the other day, when a woman at one of the counters opened her wallet, five pesos fell out of it. Little Guy put his foot over them and then picks them up. We go home and there’s not even a lump of coal. “Go on, see if they’ll give you some on tick.” “No need,” the crazy little guy says, and he takes out the fiver.’

‘Wow, that’s not bad.’

‘Next stop: mugging. You know what else he does?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Think about it! One day I see him going out. “Where you off to?” I say. “To church,” he says. “Balls,” I say, “really, to church?” “Yup,” he says, and he starts to tell me about the box he’d seen in the wall by the entrance, for the alms and how he’d seen the end of a peso sticking out of it. So he squeezed up to the box and used a pin to get the peso out. And then he’d made a hook out of another pin to go and fish out all the pesos that were there. Can you believe it?’

The Crip laughed, and though I wasn’t sure that Little Guy had invented that trick, I was sure that he would be keen to be the fisherman, but I didn’t say anything else, and instead, patting him on the back, said:

‘Oh, Crip, Crip, Crip!’

And The Crip laughed in such a way as to twist his lips up over his teeth.

Sometimes in the night.

Mercy, have mercy upon us.

Who on this earth will have mercy on us. Wretches, we have no God to bow down before and to bemoan our miserable lives.

Whom shall I bow down before, whom shall I speak to about my spines and hard thorns, about this pain that appears during the burning afternoon, and which is still in me?

How small we are, and mother earth does not want to hold us in her arms and here we are, bitter and dismantled by our impotence.

Why do we know nothing of our God?

Oh, if He would only come one evening and hold us, with his hands cradling our temples.

What more could we ask? We would walk away with His smile still in our eyes and with tears hanging from our lashes.

One day, Thursday, at two in the afternoon, my sister told me that there was an individual at the door waiting for me.

I went out and was surprised to see The Crip, who was better dressed than normal, for he had replaced his red handkerchief with a modest cotton collar, and the florid sandals with a show-off pair of boots.

‘Hello, what are you doing here?’

‘Are you free, Blondy?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Come on out, we need to talk.’

‘Of course, just give me a minute,’ and I went into the house and rapidly put my collar on, took my hat, and left. I should say that I was immediately suspicious, and although I couldn’t imagine what the purpose of The Crip’s visit might be, I resolved to keep on my guard.

Once we were in the street I realised by looking at his face that he had something important to tell me, because he kept on glancing at me and then looking away again, but I kept my curiosity in hand, saying only:

‘And…?’

‘You haven’t been to the fair for days,’ he said.

‘Yes… I’ve been busy… What about you?’

The Crip turned to look at me. Because we were walking on the shady side of the street he started to talk about the temperature, then about poverty, then about the difficulties inherent in his daily tasks; he also told me that in the last week someone had stolen a pair of reins and then, once he’d exhausted all possible topics of conversation, he stopped me in the middle of the pavement and, taking hold of my arm, said ex abrupto :

‘Tell me, che Blondy, can I trust you or not?’

‘And you’ve dragged me out here to ask me that?’

‘But can I trust you or not?’

‘Look, Crip, tell me, do you believe in me?’

‘Yes… I’ve got faith… but tell me, can I talk to you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Look, let’s go in here then, we’ll have a drink.’ The Crip walked to the drinks counter in a grocery, asked for a bottle of beer from the potboy, sat us down at a table in the darkest corner of the room, and after drinking, The Crip said, as if he were getting a great weight off his shoulders:

‘I’ve got to ask your advice, Blondy. You’re really scientific. But, please, che … look, Blondy…’

I interrupted him:

‘Look, Crip, hold on a second. I don’t know what you’ve got to tell me, but let me say that I know how to keep a secret. I won’t ask you anything and I won’t tell anything to anyone else.’

The Crip put his hat on the chair. He was still vacillating, and in his hawkish profile his mental indecision was gently reflected in the movement of the muscles over his jaws. There was a raging fire in his eyes, then he looked at me closely and explained himself:

‘It’s a masterplan, Blondy. Ten thousand pesos at least.’

I looked at him coldly, with the coldness that comes from having discovered a secret that can prove extremely beneficial, and I replied in such a way as to inspire him to confide in me.

‘I don’t know what this is about, but it’s not a lot.’

The Crip’s mouth opened slowly.

‘Not. A. Lot. At least ten thousand pesos, Blondy… At least.’

‘There’s two of us,’ I insisted.

‘Three,’ he replied.

‘Worse and worse.’

‘But the third one’s my woman.’ Without further explanation he took a key, a little flattened key, out of his pocket and put it on the table, leaving it there. I didn’t touch it.

I looked into his eyes, he smiled as if a mad joy had filled his soul, he turned momentarily pale; he drank two glasses of beer one after another, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and said in a voice that did not seem his own:

‘Life is beautiful!’

‘Yes, Crip, life is beautiful. It’s beautiful. Think about it, the wide-open fields, imagine the cities on the other side of the sea. The women who’ll follow us; we’ll be sugar daddies in the cities across the sea.’

‘Do you know how to dance, Blondy?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘They say that over there guys who can dance the tango get married to lady millionaires… And I’m going to go there, Blondy, I’m going to get there.’

‘What’s the score?’

He looked at me hard, and then joy opened his face, and a great kindness filled his hawkish visage.

‘If you only knew how I’ve worked, Blondy. You see this key? It’s the key to a strongbox.’ He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out another larger key. ‘This is the key to the room where they keep the strongbox. I got it made in a night, Blondy, filing all the time. I worked like a black.’

‘She brought them to you?’

‘Yes, the first one I’ve had made for a month, the second one I made the day before yesterday. Then I went to wait for you at the fair, and you didn’t turn up.’

‘And now?’

‘You want to help me? We’ll go halves. It’s ten thousand pesos, Blondy. They put them in the strongbox yesterday.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He went to the Bank. He brought back a big heap. She saw it and she says that they’re all big, bright notes.’

‘And you’ll give me half of it?’

‘Yes, we’ll go halves, are you up for it?’

I sat up quickly in the chair, pretending to be extremely enthusiastic.

‘Congratulations Crip, it’s a great plan.’

‘You really think so, Blondy?’