Roberto Arlt - The Mad Toy

‘Not even a pro could have planned this better than you. No jemmying, no need to force the lock. All clean as a whistle.’

‘Right, eh…?’

‘Clean as a whistle. We’ll hide the woman.’

‘No need, I’ve got a flat with a basement that I’m renting; I’ll stash her away for the first few days there. Then with her got up as a man, I’ll take her to the North.’

‘Shall we go, Crip?’

‘Okay, let’s go.’

The canopy of the plane trees protected us from the worst of the sun. The Crip, thoughtful, let his cigarette smoke away between his lips.

‘Who’s the owner of the house?’ I asked him.

‘An engineer.’

‘Oh, an engineer?’

‘Yes, but let’s have it, Blondy, are you up for it?’

‘Why not… okay, man… I’m bored of walking around selling paper. Always the same life, breaking yourself down for nothing. Tell me, Crip, does life have a meaning? We work to eat and eat so we can work. A bit of fun, a few crappy parties, and every day the same, Crip. It’s boring already.’

‘Yeah, Blondy, you’re right… So you’re up for it?’

‘Yes.’

‘So we’ll do the job tonight.’

‘So soon?’

‘Yeah, he goes out every night. He goes to the club.’

‘Is he married?’

‘No, he lives alone.’

‘How far is it?’

‘Not far, the block before Nazca, in Bogotá Street. If you want we can go and see the house.’

‘How many floors has it got?’

‘It’s not a tall house, it’s got a garden at the front. All of the doors lead out to the porch. There’s a strip of land that goes all the way along the front.’

‘And what about her?’

‘She’s the maid.’

‘Who cooks?’

‘The cook.’

‘So he’s rich.’

‘You have to see the house! The furniture!’

‘And when are we going to go tonight?’

‘Eleven.’

‘And she’ll be there alone?’

‘Yes, the cook goes home as soon as she’s done cooking.’

‘Is it safe?’

‘It’s safe. The nearest streetlight’s half a block away, she’s going to leave the door open, we’ll go in and go straight to the office, take the loot, divide it up right there, and then I’ll take her off to the hiding place.’

‘And the cops?’

‘The cops… the cops go for guys with a record. I work as a cart attendant, and anyway, we’ll wear gloves.’

‘You want my advice, Crip?’

‘Advise away.’

‘Okay, listen to me. The first thing we have to do is not be seen there today. Some neighbour could notice us and turn us over. And there’s no point if you know the house already. Right. Next: when does the engineer leave the house?’

‘Nine-thirty, ten, but we can watch out for him.’

‘It’s only ten minutes to open the box.’

‘Not even that, the key’s already been tried.’

‘Well done, very thoughtful… So we can go straight there at eleven.’

‘Yes.’

‘And where shall we meet?’

‘Anywhere.’

‘No, we need to be careful. I’ll be in Las Orquideas at ten-thirty. You come in, but don’t say hello or anything. Sit down at another table, and we’ll both leave at eleven, I’ll follow you, you go into the house and then I’ll go, and then we each leave separately.’

‘That’s less suspicious. Good thinking… Have you got a revolver?’

‘No.’

Suddenly a weapon shone in his hand, and before I could stop him he slid it into my pocket.

‘I’ve got another one.’

‘No need.’

‘You never know what might happen.’

‘You’d kill someone?’

‘I… what a question, of course I would!’

‘Wow.’

Some passers-by made us shut up. A happiness came down from the blue sky and transformed itself to sadness in my guilty soul. I remembered something I had meant to ask, and said:

‘How will she know that we’re coming tonight?’

‘I’ll call her.’

‘And the engineer isn’t in the house during the day?’

‘No, if you want I can call her now.’

‘Where from?’

‘This store.’

The Crip went in to buy an aspirin and came out shortly afterwards. He had spoken to his woman.

I feared a set-up, and I asked for clarification:

‘You were banking on me to do this, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, Blondy.’

‘Why?’

‘Because.’

‘Everything’s ready.’

‘Everything.’

‘Have you got gloves?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll put some stockings over my hands, it’s the same thing.’

We fell silent.

All afternoon we walked at random, lost in thought, both of us overwhelmed by our separate, and very different, ideas.

I remember we went to a boules court.

We had a drink there, but life rolled around us like the world spins round in a drunk man’s eyes.

Images that had slept for a long time, images like clouds, raised themselves in my conscience, the solar glare hurt my eyes, a great tiredness weighed down on my senses and every now and then I would say something rapidly without making any sense.

The Crip looked at me abstractedly.

Suddenly a subtle idea split in two within my spirit, and I felt it heading down to my warm guts, it was as cold as a thread of water and it touched my heart.

‘What if I handed him in?’

Scared that he might be able to read my thoughts I looked at The Crip in alarm, but he was sitting in the shade of a tree, looking with sleepy eyes at the bowling area, where the balls lay scattered about.

It was a sombre place, the right place to think up fierce ideas.

Broad Nazca Street got lost in the distance. Next to the tarred wall of a tall building, the groundsman’s lean-to was made of green-painted wood, and all over the rest of the area were positioned the parallel sandy strips.

Iron tables were laid out in various positions.

Once again I thought:

‘What if I handed him in?’

With his chin on his chest and his hat pulled down over his forehead, The Crip had gone to sleep. A sunbeam fell on one leg, on his trousers stained with patches of grease.

Then a great disgust took hold of my spirit and I grabbed him roughly by one arm and shouted:

‘Crip.’

‘Eh… eh… what?’

‘Come on, Crip.’

‘Where?’

‘Home. I need to pack. We do the job tonight and tomorrow we get out of here.’

‘Okay, let’s go.’

Once I was alone, various fears rose up in my mind. I saw my existence spent among mankind. Infamy pulled my life this way and that in their lives and everyone could touch me with a finger. And as for me, I never belonged to myself again.

I said to myself:

‘Because if I do this I’ll ruin the life of the noblest man I’ve ever known. If I do this I will be eternally condemned. And I will be alone, as lonely as Judas Iscariot. I’ll be in pain for the rest of my life. I’ll be in pain for the rest of my days.’ And I saw myself move through the spaces of my inner life, like a pain that was shameful even to me.

It would be useless to try to mingle with the anonymous crowd. Memory, like a rotten tooth, would be within me, and its stench would make all the perfumes of the earth seem rotten to me, but the more I tried to push this deed away from myself, the more my perverseness found infamy attractive.

Why not? I would have a secret, a salty repugnant secret, one that would make me investigate the origins of my dark roots. And if I have nothing to do, when I’m feeling sad, I’ll think about The Crip and ask myself ‘Why was I such a bastard?’ and I will not know the answer, and in my searching I will find curious spiritual horizons opening before me. Also, this could be profitable for me. ‘The truth,’ I said to myself, ‘the truth is that I’m a crazy man with elements of the scoundrel about him; but Rocambole was the same: he committed murder… I won’t kill anyone. For a few francs he bore false witness against Papa Nicolo and got him hanged. He strangled and killed the old woman Fipart who loved him like a mother… he killed Captain Williams, who was the reason he became a marquis and got all his millions. Whom didn’t he betray?’