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.“He wants you there too.”“But I’m tied up,” Queta said, pointing toward the bar.“That …”“He saw you from the parlor, he liked you.” Ivonne’s eyes were twinkling.“You don’t know how lucky you are.”“What about that one there, ma’am?” Queta insisted.“He’s drinking a lot and …”“With a golden glove, the way you would a king,” Ivonne whispered avidly.“So he leaves here happy, happy with you.Wait, let me fix you up, your hair’s become mussed.”Too bad, Queta thought while Ivonne’s fingers were going through her hair.And then, while they went along the hall, a politician, a military man, a diplomat? The door of the parlor was open and when she went in she saw Malvina tossing her slip onto the floor.She closed the door but it opened immediately and Robertito came in with a tray; he slipped across the carpet all bent over, his smooth face folded up into a servile grimace, good evening.He put the tray on the small table, went out without straightening up, and then Queta heard him.“You too, fine girl, you too.Aren’t you hot?”A voice devoid of emotion, dry, somewhat despotic and drunk.“Such a rush, lovey,” she said, searching for his eyes, but she couldn’t see them.He was sitting in a chair that had no arms, under the three small pictures, partially hidden by the shadows of that corner of the room where the light from the elephant-tusk lamp didn’t reach.“One’s not enough for him, he likes them by twos.” Malvina laughed.“You’re a hungry one, aren’t you, lovey? You’ve got a way about you.”“Right now,” he ordered, vehemently and yet glacially.“You too, right now.Aren’t you dying from the heat?”No, Queta thought, and with regret she thought of the gringo in the bar, longingly.While she was unbuttoning her skirt, she saw Malvina, already naked: a toasted and fleshy shape in a pose that she wanted to be provocative under the light of the lamp and talking to herself.She seemed a little tight and Queta thought: she’s got fat.It doesn’t suit her, her breasts were drooping, pretty soon the old woman would send her to take the Turkish baths at the Virrey.“Hurry up, Quetita.” Malvina patted her, laughing.“The one with the whims can’t stand it anymore.”“The one without manners, you mean,” Queta murmured, slowly rolling down her stockings.“Your friend didn’t even say good evening.”But he didn’t want to joke or talk.He was silent, rocking in the chair with a single obsessive and identical motion until Queta finished undressing.Like Malvina, she had taken off her skirt, blouse and bra, but not her panties.She folded her clothing slowly and placed it on a chair.“You’re better off like that, much cooler,” he said with his disagreeable little tone of cold, impatient boredom.“Come, the drinks are getting warm.”They went over to the chair together, and while Malvina dropped onto the man’s knees with a forced little laugh, Queta could see his thin and bony face, his bored mouth, his tiny icy eyes.Fifty years old, she thought.Huddled against him, Malvina was purring comically: she was cold, warm me up, a little loving.An impotent man full of hate, Queta thought, a masturbator full of hate.He’d put an arm around Malvina, but his eyes, with their unmovable lack of desire, were running up and down her as she waited, standing by the small table.Finally she leaned over, picked up two glasses, and handed them to the man and Malvina.Then she picked up hers and drank, thinking a deputy, maybe a prefect.“There’s room for you too,” he ordered, while he drank.“A knee for each one, so you won’t fight.”She felt him pulling on her arm, and when she let herself go against them, she heard Malvina cry out, oh, you hit me on the bone, Quetita.Now they were tight together, the chair was rocking like a pendulum, and Queta felt disgust, his hand was sweating.It was skeletal, tiny, and while Malvina, already quite comfortable or doing a good job of faking, was laughing, joking and trying to kiss the man on the mouth, Queta felt the quick fingers, wet, sticky, tickling her breasts, her back, her stomach and her legs.She started to laugh and began to hate him.He was petting both of them with method and obstinacy, one hand on the body of each, but he wasn’t even smiling, and he looked at them alternately, mute, with a remote and pensive expression.“This rude gentleman isn’t much fun,” Queta said.“Let’s go to bed now,” Malvina shrilled, laughing.“You’re going to make us come down with pneumonia this way, lovey.”“I don’t dare with both of you, that’s too much chicken for me,” he murmured, pushing them softly away from the chair.And he ordered: “First you’ve got to get a little merry.Dance something.”He’s going to keep us like this all night, Queta thought, let him go to hell, back to the gringo for her.Malvina had gone off and, kneeling against the wall, was plugging in the phonograph.Queta felt the cold, bony hand pulling her toward him again and she leaned over, put out her head, and separated her lips: sticky, incisive, a form that reeked of strong tobacco and alcohol passed over her teeth, gums, flattened her tongue and withdrew, leaving a mass of bitter saliva in her mouth.Then the hand moved her away from the chair rudely: let’s see if you can dance better than you can kiss.Queta felt a rage coming over her, but her smile, instead of getting smaller, grew.Malvina came over to them, took Queta by the hand, dragged her to the rug.They danced a guaracha, twirling and singing, barely touching each other with the tips of their fingers.Then a bolero, soldered together.Who is he? Queta murmured in Malvina’s ear.Who knows, Quetita, just one of those motherfuckers.“Show a little more love,” he whispered slowly, and his voice was different; it had warmed up and was almost human.“Put a little more heart into it.”Malvina gave out with her sharp and artificial laugh and began to say in a loud voice baby, mama, and to rub eagerly against Queta, who had taken her by the waist and was rocking her.The movement of the chair began again, faster now than before, uneven and with a stealthy sound of springs, and Queta thought that’s it, now he’ll come.She looked for Malvina’s mouth and while they were kissing, she closed her eyes to keep her laugh in.And at that moment the shattering squeal of an automobile putting on its brakes drowned out the music.They let go of each other, Malvina covered her ears, said noisy drunks.But there was no collision, just the sound of a car door after the sharp and sibilant brakes, and finally the doorbell It buzzed as if it had got stuck.“It’s nothing, what’s the matter with you,” he said with dull fury.“Keep on dancing.”But the record was over and Malvina went to change it.They embraced again, started dancing, and suddenly the door smashed against the wall as if it had been kicked open.Queta saw him: black, big, muscular, as shiny as the blue suit he was wearing, skin halfway between shoe polish and chocolate, tightly straightened hair.Hanging in the doorway, a big hand holding the knob, his eyes white and enormous, he looked at her.Not even when the man leaped out of the chair and crossed the rug in two strides did he stop looking at her [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]