The Art of the Tale: An International Anthology of Short Stories by Daniel Halpern

Author:Daniel Halpern [Halpern, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: General, Literary, Fiction, Short Stories, 20th Century, Language Arts & Disciplines, Anthologies (Multiple Authors), Anthologies, Authorship, Fiction - 20th Century
ISBN: 9780140079494
Publisher: Penguin Books
Published: 1987-11-02T16:00:00+00:00

The Challenge 35

The old man waved good-bye and went off down Castilla Avenue. He lived on the outskirts of town, where the dunes started, in a lonely hut that looked as if it was standing guard over the city. We walked toward the plaza. It was nearly deserted. Next to the Tourist Hotel some young guys were arguing loudly. Passing by, we noticed a girl in the middle, listening, smiling. She was pretty and seemed to be enjoying herself.

" T h e Gimp's going to kill him," Briceno said suddenly.

"Shut up!" Leon snapped.

We went our separate ways at the corner by the church. I walked home quickly. Nobody was there. I put on overalls and two pullovers and hid my knife, wrapped in a handkerchief, in the back pocket of my pants. As I was leaving, I met my wife, just getting home.

"Going out again?" she asked.

"Yeah. I've got some business to take care of."

The boy was asleep in her arms and I had the impression he was dead.

"You've got to get up early," she insisted. " Y o u work Sundays, remember?"

"Don't worry," I replied. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

I walked back down to the River Bar and sat at the bar. I asked for a beer and a sandwich, which I didn't finish. I'd lost my appetite. Somebody tapped me on the shoulder. It was Moses, the owner of the place.

" T h e fight's on?"

"Yeah. It's going to be at 'the raft.' Better keep quiet."

"I don't need advice from you," he said. "I heard about it a little while ago. I feel sorry for Justo, but really, he's been asking for it for some time. And the Gimp's not very patient—we all know that by now."

" T h e Gimp's an asshole."

" H e used to be your friend . . ." Moses started to say, but checked himself.

Somebody was calling him from an outside table and he went off, but in a few minutes he was back at my side.

"Want me to go?" he asked.

"No. There's enough with us, thanks."

"Okay. Let me know if I can help some way. Justo's my friend too." He took a sip of my beer without asking. "Last night the Gimp was here with his bunch.

All he did was talk about Justo and swear he was going to cut him up into little pieces. I was praying you guys wouldn't decide to come by here."

"I'd like to have seen the Gimp," I said. "His face is really funny when he's mad."

Moses laughed. "Last night he looked like the devil. And he's so ugly you can't look at him without feeling sick."

I finished my beer and left to walk along the embankment, but from the doorway of the River Bar I saw Justo, all alone, sitting at an outside table. He had on rubber sneakers and a faded pullover that came up to his ears. Seen from the side and against the darkness outside, he looked like a kid, a woman: from that angle, his features were delicate, soft.

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