The Dog Fighter (24 page)

It was on one of these mornings that I came onto the malecón still wet but drying in the warm morning sunlight when the poet was there on the stone walk waiting for me. A corn husk cigarette in his mouth. One hand in the pocket of his pants. Thin and tired looking.

You should be careful. He said. It is dangerous to be that far out.

What do you care? I asked.

Do not be a child. He smiled at me. You are too old for that.

What do you want?

I have not seen you in a while. He said. How is your English?

What do you want?

What have you learned about our friend?

Cantana?

The poet said nothing.

Cantana. I laughed. Raising my voice. Nothing. I said then in English. Nada.

Do not be so careless with your voice dog fighter. It does not suit your silence.

What do you care?

I am your friend.

You are lucky I have not broken your neck.

I began to walk along the malecón away from the poet but he followed.

I am too damn old to have my neck broken! He raised his voice now startling me. Do you believe I wanted to betray you? That I did not appreciate and enjoy your friendship?

What stopped you?

Do you enjoy it here? These long swims you take? This is gone! He said and his yell was a desperate whisper. All of this. That building there is the end. A year from now you will come out of the water and pick up a rake and rake this sand for some tourist to lie out on this beach. But the businessmen will not have you on this beach. Your strength will be used to carry suitcases. They will put you in some neat little suit. The English I have taught you will serve you well. But it does not have to be this way. Entiendes? He lit another cigarette. Smoking inexpensive ones now that I no longer bought them for him. I did not betray you dog fighter. I brought you into the war. I would have betrayed you if I let Cantana get you on the wrong side.

What makes you think you are so right for Canción?

I will kill you right here if you say to me in an honest voice that you think Cantana is better.

You are as selfish as Jesus. I smiled but the old man did not smile back. The thieves at the salon. I asked then. Are they tired of your constant talk old man? Is that why you are here? So I can listen to you ramble on and on about women you never knew?

Those thieves. The poet smiled some. They are pawns. Necessary. But pawns. You my friend are a knight. Besides. All the women loved Jesus verdad?

I looked to the sand on my feet. Swiped my toes clean along the stones.

Let me buy you a coffee. He said to me then.

I am not thirsty for coffee.

Something stronger then? He grinned.

I did not trust the poet. But it was not bad for me to let him think that I did. I knew how to measure my words around him now. I understood how to measure his own. I did not swim out beyond the mouth of the bay each morning searching for the bottom of the sea just to be tricked once more by some old fool.

 

I
t was good to visit the poet in the market again. He sat at his stall stabbing out cigarette ends while focusing on a folded newspaper. The many typewriters quiet around him. When the children saw me they wrapped themselves around my legs so I walked like some monster down the narrow aisles. Banging my arms on purses and signs while the squealing children clawed at my sides and arms and chest asking to be thrown into the air or begging for treats. When I went to buy candy for the children the woman refused to take my money. She only smiled as the children took handfuls. When she was not looking I left the money for her. We began the lessons in English again and again the poet was grateful to be smoking expensive cigarettes.

This is really why you want to be friends with me. I smiled.

This and the men are too afraid of you to say anything to me when I say things about the young women that pass.

We laughed. But not as easily as before.

What do you know of the mistresses of the businessmen in Canción? I asked.

Whores. He said. All of them. But very beautiful just the same.

They are not all whores. I said.

You see how they are with the women at the fights. It is all some game to them. Much of what the businessmen do is for them. The love they think the mistresses have for them. It is a great desire in men to be desired by that which they would not have if they did not have money and power. This desire to be desired entirely. It is a great deception. The greatest maybe.

I did not agree with the poet but he expected this of me. By calling her a whore I knew for certain that Javier had said nothing of my love to the old men. That the thief had kept his word. My silence in the past when the poet spoke was serving me well now.

Early one evening after the poet closed his stall he and I were walking into the plaza mayor when I noticed Ramón sitting at a table at one of the cafés. Cantana and several young women sat with him. I had not seen the businessman in many weeks. It made me nervous that I was with the poet.

Tranquilo. He said. Pretend you do not see them.

When Ramón noticed me he waved for us to join them.

Do not walk over there. The poet whispered. I cannot go with you.

But it was too late. Ramón pushed away from the table and jogged over to us. Behind him Cantana said something to make the beautiful women laugh.

I am not going over there. The poet whispered.

Qué pasa chingón? Ramón smiled at me when he was upon us.

Nada. Y tú?

Nothing good. Ramón grinned. Come sit with us.

We are on a walk. I said.

To hell with your walk.

Maybe some other time. I said.

Over Ramóns shoulder a man in rags approached Cantanas table and began to strum a weathered guitar and to sing. His voice rose evenly over the bustle of the plaza but fell unnoticed by those he was not bothering for money. Cantana waved the man away with the back of his hand.

My friend. Ramón said looking me carefully in the eyes. Come and sit. You understand who it is I am with?

We do not have time. The poet broke in.

Ramón smiled. He took a step back from the poet and straightened his posture. Held out his hand.

My name is Ramón.

I know who you are. The poet said without taking his eyes from Cantana. Without offering his hand to Ramón.

Where did you find this old man? Ramón laughed.

We met in the market. The poet answered for me. The dog fighter had no friends.

Ramón smiled at this. Behind him an unlit cigarillo dangled from the corner of Cantanas mouth. He wore a white button down shirt. The frames of his sunglasses gleamed. His hair combed back carefully.

Come over. Ramón insisted. It will be very disrespectful of you if you do not.

He is right. The poet said. But I cannot stay. I will only come over and say hello.

Good. Ramón smiled. You have met Cantana before? He asked me as we approached.

No. I said.

Are you feeling well? He asked me then.

Do not mind him. The poet said. He has been acting funny all afternoon.

Cantana did not stand when Ramón introduced us. It was strange to see him shake hands with the poet. His gloved hand felt awkward in mine.

I am a great admirer of yours. Cantana said to me. It is a great pleasure to finally meet you.

A group of children I knew from the market came running to the table. Cantana reached into his pockets for some coins. The women sitting at the table lifted their arms and bunched their shoulders to not have to touch the children with their dirty clothes and faces.

I gave the children money for candy and Ramón did the same. But the poet gave them each cigarettes.

You should not give them those. Cantana said as he put the rest of his coins back in his pocket.

It was all I had. The poet shrugged. The women looked away. Cantana smiled. You will have to excuse me. The poet said then. I have someplace to be.

Interesting friend that you have there dog fighter. Cantana said as we watched the poet cross the large square.

He is a poet. I answered. A very intelligent man.

The intelligent men I know do not give children cigarettes.

They will sell them. I said. He does this often.

Ramón laughed. Cantana rested his hand on the thigh of the young woman he sat next to.

How are you enjoying Canción? The businessman asked me then.

I like it very much here. It is very beautiful.

Have you been here long?

No. I came for the work on the hotel.

Really? Cantana said sounding surprised.

Yes.

He also used to work with Eduardo. Ramón said.

Eduardo? Cantana asked.

He is no longer with us. Ramón answered.

Oh yes. Eduardo.

The businessman seemed to be very distracted by his thoughts. Since he had his sunglasses on I did not know what he was looking at. And for all the eyes he and I made in the past at the fights over her he did not seem to remember me or think me very important then. We sat like this for some time. Ramón told stories and made the women laugh while Cantana smoked his cigarillos and smiled amused. Cantana and I were both silent. He studied over my shoulder the busy plaza while sipping from his coffee now and then.

When Elías arrived I stood and shook the doormans hand. Ramón quickly finished his coffee as Elías and the businessman spoke.

Everything is ready. Elías said.

You have the dog? Cantana asked.

Vargas has it. Ramón answered reaching into his pocket for coins to pay for his coffee.

Ramón. Cantana smiled at this gesture. Please.

Thank you. Ramón bowed slightly. But Cantana only waved the back of his hand.

He is at his home? Cantana questioned Elías.

Vargas?

No. Cantana smiled. Our friend.

Sorry. Elías answered. Yes. Yes he is.

You should go with them. Cantana said to me then. You will enjoy this.

Come with us. Ramón urged me.

Where? I asked.

Rodríguez is going to fight the dog. Cantana answered for him. You should go.

Will you be fine here? Elías asked Cantana.

Oh yes. Cantana smiled. I have the company of these beautiful young women to enjoy. You boys go and play.

We had taken several steps from the businessman when he called to Ramón and waved him back. Ramón bent over so the businessman could whisper into his ear. The fighter nodding. I felt uneasy watching Cantanas hand rest on Ramóns shoulder. His face concealed. His words silent. Then Ramón stood and jogged back to Elías and me and said.

Ándale.

On the walk to the house of the young businessman Elías and Ramón were almost jogging they were so excited.

Is it one that has been trained? I asked.

No. Ramón answered. We want to scare him. Not murder him.

In his home Rodríguez stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the basement when we entered. He was more excited than I had ever seen him. He and Vargas had been drinking. The young businessmans face was red with fever and alcohol. I wondered if my own did this before the fighting. Barking came up the stairs from the dark below.

Vargas is down there teasing the dog with some rags I gave him. Rodríguez told us.

If you mess yourself when we let go of the leash. Ramón said. None of us are going to clean up after you.

Elías and Rodríguez laughed.

Did you bring the claws? Rodríguez asked the doorman.

Yes.

Then I am not afraid.

The basement was a small space with a concrete floor and posts supporting the cordón log joists that the planks of the kitchen floor crossed above. Rodríguez had pushed aside dusty furniture and more paintings of the bay and sea like those that hung on the walls throughout the expensive house. Empty jars lined a row of bookshelves.

Whose paintings are these? I asked Rodríguez.

My mothers.

They are beautiful. I said. Very well done.

They are the only things she ever painted. The bay and my father.

Vargas held a bottle in one hand and a cloth in the other just above the reach of the leaping dog tied to one of the posts. The five of us stood just beyond its reach.

He looks like a good one. Ramón said.

He is. Vargas responded. Good enough for little Ferocious here.

Rodríguez smiled at this. He enjoyed the name.

Help me with the rug. The young businessman ordered Elías and myself.

But first. Ramón said producing a pencil and piece of paper that he had brought down to the basement from the kitchen. A little ceremony. Ramón stepped toward the young businessman. Before every fight we write down a number between one and ten.