B004QGYWKI EBOK (7 page)

He had stood up. A gray smudge floated around his hands, which rested on his glass-topped desk. Suddenly his voice rose, grew harsh.

“Get out! Whoever mentions exams again will be duly punished.”

Before Javier or I could make a signal to him, the real Lou showed himself: the nighttime raider of filthy huts in Tablada, the fighter of the Wolves in the dunes.

“Sir…”

I didn’t turn to look at him. His slanting eyes must have been shooting sparks of fire and fury, as when we fought on the dry riverbed. Now, too, he must have had his mouth open, filled with spit, baring his yellow teeth.

“Neither can we accept their flunking us all because you don’t want any schedules. Why do you want us all to get bad grades? Why?…”

Ferrufino had come close. He nearly touched him with his body. Pale, terrified, Lou continued to speak:

“We’re sick and tired of—”

“Shut up!”

The principal had raised his arms and his fists clenched something.

“Shut up!” he repeated angrily. “Shut up, you animal! How dare you!”

Lou was already silent, but he looked Ferrufino in the eyes as if he were suddenly going to lunge at his neck. They’re just alike, I thought: Two dogs.

“So, you’ve learned from this one.”

His finger was pointing at my forehead. I bit my lip: soon I felt a thin, hot thread coursing along my tongue and that calmed me.

“Get out!” he shouted again. “Get out of here! You’ll regret this.”

We left. A motionless and gasping crowd sprawled right up to the edge of the steps connecting San Miguel School to Merino Square. Our schoolmates had invaded the small gardens and the fountain: they were mute and anxious. Oddly, in the midst of the bright, static patch appeared small white rectangles that no one stepped on. The heads seemed identical, uniform, as in parade formation. We crossed the square. No one questioned us: they moved to one side, making way for us, with tight lips. Until we stepped out onto the street they held their place. Then, following a signal none of us had given, they walked behind us, out of step, just as they did when walking to class.

The pavement was boiling: it looked like a mirror melting in the sunlight. Can it be true? I thought. One hot, deserted night they told me about it, on this same street, and I didn’t believe it. But the newspapers said that in some faraway places the sun drove men crazy and sometimes killed them.

“Javier,” I asked, “you saw the egg fry all by itself on the street?”

Surprised, he shook his head. “No. They told me about it.”

“Can it be true?”

“Maybe. We could test it now. The ground’s burning up; like hot coals.”

Albert appeared in the doorway of the Queen. His blond hair shone wonderfully: it looked like gold. Friendly, he waved his right hand. His enormous green eyes were wide open and he smiled. He must have been wondering where this uniformed and silent crowd was marching to in the brutal heat.

“Coming back later?” he called to me.

“Can’t. See you tonight.”

“He’s an idiot,” said Javier. “He’s a drunk.”

“No,” I asserted. “He’s my friend. He’s a nice guy.”

4.

“Let me talk, Lou,” I asked him, trying to keep cool.

But nobody could contain him now. He was standing up on the railing, under the branches of the withered carob tree: he held his balance admirably and his skin and face reminded you of a lizard.

“No!” he said aggressively. “
I’m
going to talk.”

I signaled to Javier. We went up to Lou and grabbed his legs. But he managed to grab hold of the tree in time and wriggle his right leg out of my arms. Driven back three steps by a strong kick in the shoulder, I saw Javier quickly seize Lou by the knees and raise his face defiantly with eyes scorched by the sun.

“Don’t hit him!” I shouted. He restrained himself, shaking, while Lou began to scream:

“Know what the principal told us? He insulted us, he treated us like dogs. He doesn’t feel like posting the schedules because he wants to make it hard on us. He’ll flunk the whole school and it doesn’t matter to him. He’s a…”

We were back at the starting point and the twisted rows of boys started swaying. Nearly the entire junior high was still there. With the heat and each word from Lou, the students’ resentment grew. They were incensed.

“We know he hates us. We don’t get along with him. Since he arrived, this school isn’t a school. He insults us, he whips us. On top of everything else, he wants to screw us on the exams.”

A sharp, anonymous voice interrupted him:

“Who’s he whipped?”

Lou hesitated for a second. He exploded all over again.

“Who?” he challenged. “Arévalo! Show them your back!”

Amid whispers, Arévalo emerged from the center of the crowd, pale. He was a Coyote. He went up to Lou and uncovered his chest and back. A thick red welt showed on his ribs.

“This is Ferrufino!” Lou’s hand pointed to the mark while his eyes studied the astonished faces of those nearby. Tumultuously the human sea pressed around us: everyone struggled to get close to Arévalo and nobody listened to Lou or to Javier and Raygada, who were asking for calm, nor to me, shouting: “It’s a lie! Don’t pay any attention to him! It’s a lie!” The tide carried me away from the railing and from Lou. I was suffocating. I managed to open a path for myself until I got out of the mob. I loosened my tie and slowly caught my breath with my mouth open and my arms straight up, until I felt my heart regain its beat.

Raygada was next to me. Indignant, he asked me:

“When did that happen to Arévalo?”

“Never.”

“What?”

Even he, always calm, had been taken in. His nostrils were quivering sharply and he was squeezing his fists together.

“Nothing,” I said. “I don’t know when it was.”

Lou waited for the excitement to die down a little. Then, raising his voice over the scattered complaints:

“Is Ferrufino going to beat us?” he shouted, his angry fist threatening the students. “Is he going to beat us? Answer me!”

“No!” five hundred or more burst out. “No! No!”

Shaken by the effort his shrieking had required of him, Lou was swaying victoriously on the railing.

“Nobody goes into the school until the exam schedule’s posted. That’s only fair. It’s our right. And we won’t let anyone enter the elementary school either.”

His aggressive voice got lost in the shouting. In front of me, in the bristling crowd of raised arms jubilantly throwing hundreds of caps into the air, I couldn’t make out a single one who remained indifferent or opposed.

“What’re we going to do?” Javier wanted to look calm, but his eyes glittered.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Lou’s right. Let’s help him.”

I ran to the railing and climbed up. “Tell the kids in the lower grades there’s no afternoon classes,” I said. “They can go home now. Kids in the upper classes stay to surround the school.”

“And the Coyotes too,” Lou finished, happy.

5.

“I’m hungry,” Javier said.

The heat had let up. On the one usable bench in Merino Square we were taking the sun’s rays, gently filtered through a few clouds that had appeared in the sky, but almost nobody was sweating.

Leon rubbed his hands together and smiled. He was fidgety.

“Don’t tremble,” said Amaya. “You’re too big to be afraid of Ferrufino.”

“Watch it!” Leon’s monkey face had gone red and his chin stuck out. “Watch it, Amaya!” He was up on his feet.

“Don’t fight,” Raygada said calmly. “Nobody’s scared. You’d have to be a screwball.”

“Let’s go around the back way,” Javier suggested.

We went around the school, walking down the middle of the street. The high windows were half open and you couldn’t see anyone behind them or hear any sound.

“They’re eating lunch,” Javier said.

“Yeah. Of course.”

The main door of the Catholic school towered over the sidewalk across the street. Boarders were posted up on the roof, observing us. Undoubtedly, they’d been informed.

“What brave guys!” somebody jeered.

Javier gibed at them. A shower of threats was the response. Some of them spat, but missed. There was laughter. “They’re dying of envy,” Javier whispered.

At the corner we saw Lou. He was sitting on the sidewalk, all alone and looking distractedly at the street. He saw us and came over. He was happy.

“Two brats from the first year came,” he said. “We sent them down to the river to play.”

“Yeah?” said Javier. “Wait half an hour and you’ll see. There’s going to be fireworks.”

Lou and the Coyotes guarded the back door of the school. They were spread out between the corners of Lima and Arequipa streets. When we got to the entrance to the alley, they were talking in a huddle and laughing. All of them were carrying sticks and stones.

“Not that way,” I said. “If you hit them, the brats are going to want to get in anyhow.”

Lou laughed. “You’ll see. Nobody gets in through this door.”

He too had a club, which he had hidden behind his body until then. He showed us, waving it.

“And over there?” he asked.

“Nothing yet.”

Behind us someone shouted our names. It was Raygada: he came running toward us calling, waving excitedly. “They’re coming, they’re coming,” he said anxiously. “Come on.” Suddenly he stopped ten yards short of reaching us. He turned on his heels and went back at a full run. He was very excited. Javier and I ran too. Lou shouted something to us about the river. The river? I thought. There isn’t any. Why does everybody talk about the river if water flows only one month a year? Javier was running at my side, puffing.

“Can we hold them back?”

“What?” It was hard for him to open his mouth. He was tired out.

“Can we hold back the lower grades?”

“I think so. All depends.”

“Look.”

In the center of the square, next to the fountain, Leon, Amaya and Raygada were talking with a group of little kids, five or six of them. The situation seemed calm.

“I repeat”—Raygada was panting—“go down to the river. There’s no class, there’s no class. Is that clear? Or do I have to paint you a picture?”

“You do that,” said one with a snub nose. “In color.”

“Look here,” I said to them. “Today nobody’s going into school. Let’s go down to the river. We’ll play soccer: elementary against junior high. Okay?”

“Ha ha.” The one with the nose laughed, cocksure. “We’ll beat them. There’s more of us.”

“We’ll see. Get down there.”

“I don’t want to,” said one daring voice. “I’m going to school.”

He was a boy in the elementary school, thin and pale. His long neck rose out of his commando shirt, which was too big for him, like a broomstick. He was the monitor for his year. Unsure of his own boldness, he took a few steps backward. Leon ran and grabbed him by the arm.

“Didn’t you understand?” He had pushed his face into the boy’s and was shouting at him. What the hell was Leon so scared about? “Didn’t you understand, kid? Nobody’s going in. Now move, get going.”

“Don’t push,” I said. “He’ll go by himself.”

“I’m not going!” he shouted. His face raised to Leon, he looked up at him furiously. “I’m not going! I’m against the strike!”

“Shut up, you birdbrain! What strike?” Leon seemed very nervous. He squeezed the monitor’s arm with all his strength. Amused, his companions watched the scene.

“They can expel us!” the monitor yelled at the little kids, showing his fear and anger. “They want a strike because they’re not going to give them an exam schedule, they’re going to spring the exams on them without their knowing when. Think I don’t know? They can expel us! Let’s go to school, guys!”

There was a surprised movement among the young boys. They exchanged glances without smiling now, while the monitor went on screaming that they were going to be expelled. He cried.

“Don’t hit him!” I shouted, too late. Leon had hit him in the face, not very hard, but the kid had begun to kick and wail.

“You’re acting like a baby,” somebody observed.

I looked at Javier. He’d already run over. He picked up the kid and tossed him over his shoulder like a bundle. He went off with him. Several of the boys followed, laughing loudly.

“To the river!” Raygada shouted. Javier heard, because we saw him turn with his load on Sanchez Cerro Street, headed for the embankment.

The cluster around us was growing: some were sitting on the fences and the broken benches, others strolling wearily along the narrow asphalt paths in the park, and no one, fortunately, was trying to get into school. Scattered in pairs, the ten boys in charge of guarding the main door tried to incite them: “They’ve got to post schedules because if they don’t, they’re screwing us. And you too, when it’s your turn.”

“They’re still arriving,” Raygada told me. “We’re just a handful. They can smash us if they want.”

“If we keep them busy for ten minutes, it’ll be all over,” said Leon. “The junior high will get here and then we’ll herd them down to the river.”

Suddenly one boy shouted in a frenzy: “They’re right! They’re right!” And addressing us with a dramatic air: “I’m with you.”

“Great! Terrific!” We applauded him. “You’re a real man.”

We slapped him on the back and hugged him.

His example spread. Somebody let out a yell: “Me too.” “You’re right.” They began to argue among themselves. We encouraged the more excited ones, flattering them. “Good, kid. You’re no pansy.”

Raygada climbed up on the fountain. He had his cap in his right hand and was waving it gently.

“Let’s come to an agreement,” he cried out. “Everybody together?”

They surrounded him. Groups of students continued to arrive, some from the upper grades of the junior high. As Raygada spoke, we formed a wall with them, stretching between the fountain and the school door.

“This is what I call solidarity,” he was saying. “Solidarity.” He fell silent as if he had finished, but a second later he spread his arms and roared: “We won’t allow them to get away with injustice!”