The Dog Fighter (28 page)

Words are words. The poet said to me in English locking the door to my room as he left. And sometimes they are worse.

I smelled the sea. My bed was on the top floor of the hotel. Mangroves stinking like rotten eggs. The first lover of the dentist sat in the chair with the wind of the sea in his dark hair. Armor colored clouds behind him. The sound of the waves crashing from his open mouth. I could hear the toothless man climbing the scaffolding but I could not see him yet. Perla and her husband with the knife handle protruding from his chest danced with the young men from the back room. She wore a red dress and black shoes. The yellow scorpion beneath my quilt. The claws cool as tiny nails crawling toward my neck over my naked chest. My skin hot. The venom drips cool. The one armed organ grinder brought the water tank filled with the American investors swimming in their suits naked and pale. Waiting to have their teeth sharpened by Mendoza. The blond American stood above the tank stirring the water with his knife. Pretending to drop it. Circus music.

You should have given me my death. My father said to me then. I read to your mother from books of poetry. But the poems. And she did not know this. They were my own. I loved your mother more than you can ever know. As much as you love her.

She sat in the chair at the end of my bed while my mother ran a mother of pearl comb through her long dark hair.

Your love is not unique. My mother said to me. It is just your own.

The teeth of my mothers smile the white of a full moon. I reached for the hand of my bride and she took mine. Our fingers locked. My callused hands in her delicate own. I looked from our hands to her eyes but there was the swollen face of my uncle. My grandfather stood behind him with his hands on his shoulders as if posing for a portrait. The images of men killing beasts dancing across the walls of my small room behind them.

I woke from my fever screaming. With Javier holding me down with his palms flat on my shoulders. The dentist placing cool cloths on my forehead that I shook off. My breaths sharp pains. I slept.

Some friends of Javier found you. The dentist told me.

Facedown like some drunk. Javier said at the end of the first week when the fever had subsided. I had not eaten in several days. Drank sips of guava juice. They went to pick your pocket on their way home. The thief continued. One last one for the evening. But it was soaked with blood. It took four of us to carry you here. Luckily it was not far. I do not know how you made it to where you did.

My nose was not broken but three of my ribs had been cracked and both of my eyes blackened and difficult to open. I had bruises on my arms from my elbows to my wrists. Scratches on my face and chest and neck. Vargas had broken the skin on my arm where he had bit me and I now could not move this arm. The dentist gave me some medicine for the pain.

When the fever was gone the dentist made me climb out of the bed so that he could change the sheets. They smelled of sweat and blood and urine. The concrete floor was cold on my bare knees. My palms flat against it. The cracks curious ridges at my fingertips that I could not open my eyes yet to see. My elbows weak from hunger and limbs shivering. The thin mattress would have to be replaced. I slept more. Deep but now without dreaming.

At the end of the second week when I could walk some I sat in the garden with the dentist in the warm sun. The light was the most beautiful and difficult thing to see. I felt sweat begin on my skin.

Is he dead? I asked.

Yes. Jorge replied.

Are you certain?

Javier says yes.

Are they looking for me?

No. Cantana has handled the police.

It is hard to breathe. I said holding my side. My lungs feel heavy.

I coughed because my breaths were shallow and then it only hurt more. My head was hazy from all the sleeping I had done.

I do not remember much. I said. Only that he insulted someone close to me.

You do not have to explain. Javier has told me of your love. Jorge must have noticed the look of concern on my face because he said. We thought you were going to die. Your fever was very great.

If someone insulted Javier in this way. Would you kill them?

If I had your strength? Maybe.

We were quiet. The sun on the rooftops of the city was full. There were several clouds in the blue sky to the east over the sea thin and long.

I did not mean to murder him.

Later that night Javier sat beside my bed in the wood chair. He was in good spirits.

Jorge told me you sat in the garden this afternoon.

Yes.

I am happy to see that you are up and moving my friend. You had us very worried.

How is the poet?

He and Guillermo are fine. They understand what has occurred and they even think this will be good for your relationship with Cantana.

For their plans.

Yes. The thief responded.

Do they know why I killed Vargas?

No. No one does. But this is not uncommon among dog fighters.

Jorge tells me that Cantana handled the police.

Yes. Do not worry. Most of the businessmen and others just wish they could have been there to bet on it. The thief smiled. How are your ribs?

Very sore. I said as I eased down into the pillows on my bed.

What happened?

Javier sat beside the bed. I felt him wanting me to explain but I knew that Jorge would tell him soon enough and this was fine with me. I did not want to talk about her then.

I thought that this was no longer with me. I answered instead to ease the silence between us. You know that this is not how I am. It is not how I want to be.

But what you did.

It was wrong.

Many disagree.

Many have never had their hands around the neck of a man until the muscles give. The thief nodded after I said this. I want you to tell the poet that you saw me. Tell him I was walking in the hills and that I stopped you and asked for the time.

For the time? The thief smiled.

Tell him. Tell him I was picking flowers. And if he calls me a fool tell him that I said he would say this. And then tell him that I will be to see him soon enough.

Are you sure my friend?

Positive.

During the days at the compound I listened to the cleaning woman sweep the tiles around the blind mother of the dentist sitting in the courtyard. She sat in silence. Her world the courtyard. I wondered how she pictured this in her mind. How she pictured herself. I wondered that if to be blind was to live in a dream. The lines around the mouth of the dentists mother were deep from years of silence. When I asked him why she was so quiet he answered that she had always been this way.

Some are as terrified of their words as the sound of their own voice and the effect it will have on others. He said. She worries that she will be misunderstood.

I told the dentist that I understood. I suppose that like myself the words his mother kept behind her brow were tongues of lightning. Her hands were still in her lap. Her head tilted slightly to the sounds of palm fronds pressing air around their edges as little birds chased one another from limb to limb. Tiny seeds ringing sharply off the tiles below. Some days I sat in a chair in the cool of the back room studying her. Listening for what she was listening to. Imaging how beautiful it was to hear the world and from the sounds compose images of it for myself. But then her chin came down to her chest and she dozed and I realized that it was me listening carefully. That I did not see how life is much more simple than I allowed myself to think.

I felt much better. My arms were sore from lack of use and the bite on my arm was a yellow bruise that the dentist worried might be infected. Sitting in the garden I kept my palms flat over my knees. I had no desire to make any more fists. The thought of fighting dogs made me sick to my stomach even when I pictured her there with me. The dentist worked pulling teeth but also he spent time with me in the back room.

Where are the young men? I asked him once.

You need the quiet. He said. They will return.

I do not think it will be safe for me to stay here much longer. I told him.

No. He clucked his tongue and wagged his finger at me.

I am a threat to you and your mother.

You are a friend dog fighter. Do not bother yourself over this.

I saw terrible things in my fever.

You were talking more than I have ever heard you talk before.

What did I say?

It was difficult to understand. You spoke to her very much though.

I looked to the tiles that made the floor and smiled to myself.

You have no reason to be embarrassed. The dentist said. You should hear the things I say to Javier. I wish I had fever for an excuse. We both laughed a short laugh at this and then Jorge said. Love makes us cling to our words dog fighter.

I cannot think of a way to be with this woman. I said then.

You are in a dangerous situation my friend. Cantana thinks very highly of you now. But if he were to find out that you desired his mistress he would use this as power over you. You cannot trust this man. No matter how generous he may seem. Remember. The rich have much they are willing to lose to gain in the end.

I sat on my bed admiring the creaks of the windmills beginning slowly to turn with the coming of the evening wind. In the distance the cathedral was full of shadows as the sun was heavy on the side of the mountains to the west. Dark birds circled the towers. Across the way a man came onto a roof. He ducked under clothes drying on a line and then made his way carefully over the fragile tiles. He came to a radio antenna and turned it. Someone called to him from below. He held his hands to the antenna and then let go. As if his hands affected the radio. On his way back down the man stopped and looked around himself. He seemed pleased with what he saw before returning below.

One day not long after this I was reading one of the poems the poet had given me in English. I was practicing the words.

Las góndolas sin remos. De las ideas cruzan. El agua tenebrosa. De tus iris quemados.

It felt good to say the words again. For me English is a challenge and a secret. That day I enjoyed recognizing words I knew and what they meant and how they were similar to words in Spanish that I knew. I will not lie and say that I understood the meaning of many of these poems but with time I came to small realizations. And I think that would be enough for the poets who wrote them. That I spent the time with the work and gave some thought to it even if I did not realize it as a whole. The words made me anxious to see my friend the poet again.

 

W
hen the knocking came I was dozing with a book on my chest. It came to me hard and loud. I hurried down to the courtyard holding my side. I heard Jorge pleading with him to go before I saw Ramón standing in front of the blind mother waving his hands. The mother followed the voices in the air around her confused. Ramón laughing to himself.

Ramón! I yelled and it hurt to raise my voice.

Look at you! The slender dog fighter stepped back and opened his arms. His eyes glassy and wild. It was not like him to be unshaven. His shirt unbuttoned and fingernail scratches on his chest down from his neck. He was drunk. Look at you walking like an old man. He said to me. Vargas would be happy to know that at least he hurt you some.

Ramóns words were sharp. I did not know how to respond.

What do you want? I asked.

What if I just wanted to check on you? To see how my friend is healing.

I would not believe you.

Go to the back room! Jorge hissed at us.

Ramón motioned as if to hit Jorge but Jorge did not move. Ramón laughed at this. His balance unsteady.

Go! Jorge hissed again.

I looked to the dentist with apology in my eyes. Before following me to the back room Ramón snapped his fingers at the side of the mothers head.

We buried the fugitive today. He said to me.

I looked at him confused.

Can you believe it took us this long to get the money for the burial? You did something awful to him. I barely recognized his ugly face.

I was quiet. Ramón ran his finger over the Victrola and then began looking through the records.

He smelled worse than he did when he was alive. Ramón laughed. I did not know that was possible.

Where is he? I asked.

The cemetery. We took turns shoveling dirt to save on the cost. Then we stood over his grave trying to think of nice things to say but none of us could. And so then we started laughing. No one in the cantinas wanted to pay for his funeral. And each time we had enough money we drank it.

Who?

Elías and me and some of the businessmen who could stand him.

Why are you telling me this? I asked Ramón.

You are not curious about what you have done?

I did not know that you and Vargas were such good friends.

No. We were not. But he was not as bad as they said.