Seven Ways to Kill a Cat by Matias Nespolo

Author:Matias Nespolo [Nespolo, Matias]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9781409041702
Google: 0bJYz7lbt5wC
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2011-11-02T11:00:00+00:00

THE CHURNING RIVER

THERE’S A LIGHT on at home. Mamina’s back. So is Quique. Through the strip curtain I see a steaming bowl on the table. A hand stirs, loads a spoon and disappears. It’s the kid. They’re talking in low voices. Mamina’s probably telling him how his little sister is doing. I don’t go in. I walk on up the lane, toying with the lump of hash. I haven’t got any skins but it doesn’t matter, I use the scrap of paper that’s got Cristina’s number on it. I keep the bit with the number but smoke part of her name and most of the directions for how to get to Toni’s gaff in the Delta. I know them by heart anyway.

I take the last couple of tokes on the bridge over the stream. The water’s pretty high right now from all the rain today. The wind’s blowing from the east, and the sky is clear. A fat, lazy full moon lights up the water as it rushes. The muddy riverbed must be all churned up.

I chuck a couple of stones, try to skim them on the water, but they just skip once and then sink. Used to be I could get them to skip six, seven times, all the way across the river. Used to be able to smoke a cigarette right down to the butt without the ash falling … Used to. Not now. Now I’ve got a .38 with six bullets in the cylinder. I counted them. I’ve got some cash in my pocket and more in the whale book back home, under my mattress. I’ve got a fucked-up feeling I might lose my balance and fall, and a kind of longing to go to hell.

I swing by Fat Farías’s place, but I don’t go inside. Chueco’s probably gone back to his squat to crash. If not, he’ll be inside doing deals with El Jetita. The bar is rammed. I go round and sit in the little courtyard out back where Farías chucks the empty wine barrels and all the rubbish from the kitchen. There’s some people in the storage shed at the far end. I know because I can see light coming through the little holes in the corrugated iron. Besides, someone’s moved all the crates of beer and fizzy drinks outside. I go closer to the shack and put my ear to the wall. I hear gasps. They’re fucking in there.

I slip behind the wall of beer crates and creep towards the kitchen door. I hear the hoarse voice of a famous sports commentator and people shouting. They’re showing the highlights from today’s matches. That’s why the place is rammed: Farías has got a TV in.

The door opens unexpectedly. I take a step back and hold my breath. Between the crates, framed against the light, I see El Negro Sosa. He can’t see me. I’m standing in the shadows.

‘Pampita!’ he yells. ‘Time’s up!’

He goes back inside, leaving the door half open. I can hear people talking in the kitchen pretty clearly.

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