Roberto Arlt - The Mad Toy

Then he stood up and held out his hand to me coldly and I left accompanied by the maid.

The Crip was arrested at nine-thirty that night. He lived in a wooden attic, in a house owned by some poor people. The agents who were waiting for him had found out from Little Guy that The Crip had come home, ‘gone through his stuff and left’. As they didn’t know where he usually went, they appeared unannounced to the lady of the house, made it clear that they were police agents and then went up the steep staircase to The Crip’s room. It looked at first as if there was nothing there worth the trouble of examining. However, and this was an inexplicable and strange thing, they found the two keys, the strongbox key and the office key, hanging on a nail in full view of anyone who came in. In a kerosene tin, alongside some old rags, they found a revolver, and hidden away almost at the bottom of the tin, some newspaper cuttings. They referred to a robbery whose perpetrators had never been identified by the police.

Because they were all articles about the same crime, they assumed with reason that The Crip must have something to do with it, and they formally arrested Little Guy on suspicion of being somehow involved as well: that is, they sent him with an agent down to the local police station.

There was also a white pine table in the attic, with a drawer. They found a lathe and a set of fine files in the drawer. Some of them showed signs of recent use.

With all the evidence gathered and bagged up, the landlady was again called for.

She was a little old lady, rude and greedy; she wrapped up her head with a black kerchief that knotted under her chin. White curls dropped over her forehead, and her jaw swung wide when she spoke. What she had to say shed little light on The Crip’s movements. She had known him for three months. He paid her punctually and worked in the mornings.

When asked about the visits that the thief had received, she gave vague details; however she did remember that ‘last Sunday a black woman came by at three in the afternoon and left at six along with Antonio.’

Deciding that there was no possibility of her being complicit in these events, they ordered her to maintain complete discretion, something which the old woman promised for fear of later complications, and the two agents went back up to the attic to wait for The Crip, because the engineer had explicitly said that The Crip should be arrested at his own house, in order to lighten the punishment he would receive. Maybe he also thought that I was closer to The Crip than I had implied.

The agents thought that he wouldn’t come; he might have dinner in some restaurant in the suburbs, and get drunk to build up enough courage, but they were wrong.

The Crip had won some money with his three-way bets. After he had left me he’d gone back to the attic to go out later to a brothel he knew. When it was almost shop closing time he went to one that sold luggage and bought some luggage.

Then he went back to his room, very far from being aware of what awaited him. He went up the stairs humming a tango, emphasising the beat by bumping his suitcase against the steps.

When he opened the door he put the suitcase down on the floor.

Then he put his hand in his pocket to get out his box of matches and at that moment a heavy blow on his chest caused him to take a step backwards, just as another policeman caught hold of his arm.

It’s clear that The Crip must have understood what all this was about, because with a desperate effort he tore himself free.

The policemen, trying to follow him, tripped over the suitcase and one of them fell down the stairs, and as he fell his revolver fell out of his pocket and went off.

The noise filled the denizens of the house with terror, and they wrongly attributed the shot to The Crip, who had not yet managed to get through the street door.

Then a terrible thing happened.

The old woman’s son, a butcher, having found out from his mother what was going on, took his stick and went off after The Crip.

He caught up with him after thirty paces. The Crip ran dragging his useless leg, the stick hit him on the arm, he turned his head and the stick hit his cranium.

Dazed by the blow, he tried to defend himself with a single hand, but a policeman who had just arrived tripped him up, and another blow to his shoulder knocked him down. When they put the cuffs on him, The Crip let out a great shout of pain:

‘ Ay, mamita !’ But another blow made him shut up and he disappeared into the dark street with his wrists chained together and being led by other chains which the agents marching at his shoulders twisted vindictively.

When I got to the house of Arsenio Vitri, Gabriela was not there.

She had been arrested a few minutes after I had left.

A police officer who had been called in accused her in the presence of the engineer. The mulatto denied everything to begin with, but when they lied and told her that The Crip had been arrested, she began to cry.

Those people who witnessed this scene will never forget it.

The dark woman, cornered, with her eyes shining brightly looked all around her, like a wild beast preparing to spring.

She shuddered incredibly strongly; but when they repeated that the Crip had been arrested and that he was going to suffer because of her, then she softly began to weep; they were such delicate tears that the people around her frowned all the more… suddenly she raised her arms, her fingers came to a halt in the knot of her hair, she pulled out a comb that she wore there and shook her hair out over her back, then she said, putting her hands together, and looking madly at the people present:

‘Yes, it’s right… it’s right… let’s go… let’s go find Antonio…’

They took her to the police station in a wagon.

Arsenio Vitri received me in his office. He was pale and he didn’t look at me as he spoke:

‘Sit down.’

Unexpectedly he asked me in a harsh voice:

‘How much do I owe you?’

‘What?’

‘Yes, how much do I owe you…? Your type can only be paid.’

I understood the contempt that he threw in my face.

I stood up, growing pale.

‘Yes, I see, you can only pay me. Keep your money, I haven’t asked for it. Goodbye.’

‘No, come on, sit down… Tell me, why did you do this?’

‘Why?’

‘Yes, why did you betray your friend? For no reason. Aren’t you ashamed to have so little dignity at your age?’

Blushing to the roots of my hair, I replied:

‘It’s right… There are moments in our lives when we need to be scum, to make ourselves dirty even on the inside, to do something infamous, I don’t know… to destroy a man’s life for ever… and after doing this then we can walk with our heads held high again.’

Vitri didn’t look at my face. His eyes were fixed on the knot of my tie and his face dropped its serious expression and replaced it with one even more serious.

I continued:

‘You have insulted me, but it doesn’t matter.’

‘I could have helped you,’ he murmured.

‘You could have paid me, and now you can’t even do that, because I feel, in spite of all my scandalous behaviour, I feel superior to you.’ And growing suddenly angry I shouted at him:

‘Who are you? It still feels like a dream that I handed The Crip in.’

With a smooth voice he replied:

‘And why are you like this?’

A heavy tiredness fell quickly upon me and I let myself collapse into the chair.

‘Why? God only knows. Even if I live a thousand years I’ll never forget The Crip’s face. What will happen to him? God only knows; but the memory of The Crip will always be in my life, will be in my spirit like the memory of losing a child. He could come and spit in my face and I wouldn’t say anything.’