The Dog Fighter (33 page)

Excuse me señor. Do you have a light?

The old dogs bark filled the room. He stopped when Mendoza took a single matchstick along the box and in one movement made it a flame arcing toward the dog who opened his jaws and caught it in his mouth. There was a short hiss of the fire on the tongue and then a hard snap of his sharpened teeth on teeth.

Cantana and the boy clapped wildly.

Bravo. Cantana yelled. One more time!

Mendoza threw another lit match into the air for the dog to catch in his mouth. I also clapped. The dogs tail wagging. The saliva in small dark pools on the floor reflecting the dim light of the lanterns hanging from the beams in the room. The same light in all our eyes. Cantana and the boy cheered. Our voices encouraging the old dog to eat fire.

Night had just begun when we drove from Mendozas. The sun barely lowered behind the mountains. The headlights of the limousine emptied the dark before us. I could not stop thinking of the cloud of sand from the explosion. The eyes of that boy when he looked up to me from the hole with the knife and blood on his hands. The old men can find someone else to kill the boys father. I thought. By then I would be with her in my arms and thinking of nothing else.

We were some miles from Mendozas when I decided to pull to the side of the road to end this.

To protect Canción. They told me. Your name will be in the voices of this city as long as there is a city to carry them.

I could not wait any longer. I did not care if it was wrong. I had not cared for the voices for some time now. Only for her. Cantana had been napping with a cigarillo lit in his gloved hand out the window. The shoveling had made him tired. He had no idea what was before him.

I have to piss. I told Cantana when he stretched and yawned after I stopped the limousine.

I will join you.

The only sound in that darkness was that of our feet on the gravel. Some bugs knocking into the headlights. The engine tinked. We stood alongside one another waiting to piss. Cantana farted.

I appreciate you driving dog fighter. He said. You are a good man. Good for our small city. One day when you quit fighting dogs I will make you mayor.

From the light of the car in the side of my eyes I saw that Cantana still wore his sunglasses. I decided then to be careful not to break them so that I could present them to Guillermo and the poet to show them that the businessman was dead. I urinated.

That was something today. Cantana continued.

It was. I answered. Concentrating on my own thoughts. Pressing hard to finish so that I could keep the blood from inside the limousine.

She loves you you know? Cantana said. Buttoning his pants.

What?

My niece. The one you are always making eyes at at the fighting. I said she loves you.

I had no words.

Do you love her?

When still I did not answer the businessman laughed a short hard laugh.

This is what I thought.

I shook myself without thinking to and then buttoned my pants. I said nothing. I could feel Cantana smiling in that dark.

I want you to marry her. He said. To work for me here in Canción.

I do not believe you. I said finally.

You have always been so suspicious of me. Why?

I do not like that you always wear the sunglasses. I said.

You have your strength to hide behind and I have these. But I will make you an offer. You bring to me Guillermo and his old friend the poet and I will give you my nieces hand in marriage.

I do not know what you mean. I said.

Yes you do my friend. I had to be sure but both you and Guillermo betrayed yourselves to me today. Pretending not to know one another. And while I am disappointed in you I know that you are a young man and have been misled. But my offer stands.

I do not trust you.

I should be the one not to trust you my friend. Have I ever given you anything but my word?

I said nothing.

Answer me.

No.

They want you to kill me today verdad? The businessman stepped toward me. Answer me young man.

Yes.

If I do not return to Canción alive I have told Elías to kill her. But my offer stands. Do not answer me now. There will be a dinner party at my house at the end of this week. I have guests coming from the United States.

But she is your mistress?

Unlike the other businessmen of Canción I am faithful to my wife. She is my niece. She has only been with us in Canción for several months. She is a very intelligent young woman. Very stubborn. I knew she would be perfect for the fighting and so she pretends to be my mistress. She keeps the money and I win in front of the other businessmen.

I do not believe you.

Then kill me dog fighter. Do what these old men are holding you to. And then when you return to Canción tonight alone know that the woman you love will be dead. But if you take my offer then I would like you to be my guest at the dinner party. To sit at my table. And that night I would like to know if I should announce your wedding. Do not decide now my friend. Think on this some.

Cantana lit a cigarillo. The flame reflected in his sunglasses as he raised the match to his face. Cupped by his bare hand the flame flickered in the wind. Cantana tossed the match to the side of the road.

Will you come?

If I was not to kill him then I was to join him.

Yes. I answered.

Good. He said without looking to me while walking to the limousine. I am going to nap some more. Wake me when we return to Canción.

Nine

I
t was April. The beginning of Holy Week. I had been in Canción for a little under nine months. In shadows at the back of the cathedral I chose the last pew. Whispers of an old woman in black hunched over her rosary at the altar filled that enormous space. The woman knelt before a small statue of the Virgin Mary surrounded by fresh flowers and numerous coins. Candle wax covered the bare cracked plaster feet of the statue and the smell of incense burning in a brass dish beside her reached even to me faintly metallic descending on the constant words of prayer sharp and clear from the darkest shadows of the ceiling.

The stone walls of the cathedral were without windows but shafts of sunlight came down over the wooden pews from several narrow openings. The rest of the cathedral was shadow though and this and the stone floor and walls kept the large space cool during the heat of the day. Many candles flickered at a prayer altar to the side of the Virgin. Large columns lined the central aisle of the cathedral and along the northern wall wine colored wood confessionals sat empty. Shadows darkened up from these back into shadows of the arched ceiling even darker more and only when the massive wood doors at the main entrance to the cathedral opened was there light enough to reveal chandeliers that were lowered and lit for mass.

The poet was correct. The Resurrection of Jesus on the towering brick wall above and behind the altar was beautiful. In the dim candlelight and shadow a handsome young man He stepped toward the empty pews swathed in flowing white burial cloths. His chest naked and the wound in His side exposed. He held His bleeding palms at His hips upturned so to accept those sitting before Him. Staring at the Resurrection I sat trying to empty my thoughts of what this gesture meant. I had done much walking in Canción but after Cantana presented his offer I needed someplace to sit and concentrate. I did not climb the steps of the cathedral to pray or for some answer but only for someplace to rest from the decision itself. I knew that no one would think to find me there.

The repetition of the old womans words were indistinct until I concentrated on each one. I slouched some in that last pew listening to her words while inspecting the Resurrection. I was quiet so not to be disrespectful of the woman. Jesus in His burial cloths loomed over the altar. His lips set comfortably in His silence. A hint of a knowing smile placed at the corner of His eyes. His step down from the wall in that welcoming gesture troubled me most. He stepped toward the pews but invited with His hands also. I did not feel I would have to walk all the way to Him or that He was going to walk all the way to me. The candlelight of the prayer altar and those few candles at the feet of the Virgin met curiously in shadows below the Resurrection. With the gentle breeze swirling in through the narrow openings the shimmering burial cloths seemed to billow and relax. The flames of the candles danced with shadows.

The rows of wood pews were more and more smooth as I approached the altar. The old womans cadence did not break when I climbed the steps. When I stood at the feet of Jesus I noticed then that the Resurrection was composed of thousands of tiny pieces of cracked tile and glass and mirror. I reached up and touched the shimmering pieces of the pierced feet. From the back of the cathedral the young mans skin had been absent of the many colors. I understood that light reflecting in the glass and mirror had deceived me. Made me think the cloths were flowing. But it was that shards of green glass had been set next to tiles of purple and red. And while the clay colored tiles were the most I did not believe how absent of color the mans skin was from the back of the cathedral. I did not understand how this could be. Running my fingers over the tiles of the mosaic I noticed the silence of the woman. She had gone. I turned and looked over the empty cathedral wondering which pews Guillermo and the poet slept in when they had first arrived in Canción.

The day before. When Cantana and I returned from Mendozas I lay on my bed at the dentists waiting for the soft knock of the silent thief. I decided to say good bye to them both. To warn Javier that I was leaving. Staring at the ceiling as shadows slowly crossed I listened for the smallest sounds on the street. I closed my eyes. A cool breeze stole through the window of the small room and soon I imagined myself lying beside the creek in Northern California. I walked among the prune orchards. Frost weighing on brittle yellowing leaves. A sharp moon in the clear night sky lighted down from the saw blade silhouette of a redwood lined ridge. Through a field of knee high grass I followed a worn path down to the creek. Leaning against a fallen log I watched moonlight dance blue flames across the shallow moving water. Across little black stones until the flames became a string of blue bulbs on the creeks dark surface. I looked ahead into the stand of willow where she came from the shadows of parting green limbs on a low shiny black stage bathed in blue dawn light. Her hair tied back. The red dress. She held her hands before her inviting me to dance.

I woke late in the night. I must have slept through the soft knock. There was no sound from the back room. No light from under the door seeping into the courtyard. I gathered my things into a new canvas bag I had bought several days before. I folded the many sheets of paper covered in pencil smudged poems. The suit I rolled neatly. Before I went I left some money for the dentist on the bed. I wanted to leave some note of thanks but could not find the words I felt were right. I snuck down the inside stairwell and placed my palm flat against the door pushing as I pulled to close it silently behind me. Heading north I followed an alley that ran parallel to the street of Guillermos shop and the salon. It would be several hours before the sun rose over the trees of her square. I was not tired.

It was afternoon when Javier crossed the square with his hands in his pockets to where I sat in the café. He sat in the chair beside mine. Both of us facing her window.

It is a beautiful afternoon. Javier said after a moment.

It is. I answered.

Usually I am just now waking. With my work I stay up very late. I see the sun rise more than I see it set. But there are some days when I wake early in the morning. But usually on those days I am woken by someone. With my work if it is possible I do not like to be awake at that hour.

I understand. I said. The thief and I still had not taken our eyes from her window. I sipped from my coffee and then asked. Were you woken this morning?

I was. He said plainly. Some young men came to visit me. They wanted to know where a friend of mine was.

What did you tell them?

That I did not know.

Did they leave you alone then?

No. They suggested I go and find this friend of ours.

Ours?

Ours.

Señor? The old waiter interrupted Javier.

Café por favor. When the old man had shuffled to the back of the café Javier continued. These friends they told me a story. Apparently my friend was supposed to do something for them but did not. Have you heard this?

There was a boy. I said then in a serious voice. Mendozas son.

There was no chance on the return to Canción?

She is his niece. I said then.

Who? The thief asked.

I raised my chin toward her window.

Everyone thinks she is his mistress. I told him. Otherwise they would not think it right of him to bring her to the fighting.

The old man returned with Javiers coffee.

Thank you señor. The thief said. Once the old man had returned to the counter to read his newspaper Javier brought his chair close to mine. After I left our friends I went to visit this friend of mine that they are looking for. I did know where he was but I told them nothing. I have come to tell him this. This and that he should leave Canción immediately. But this friend of mine was already gone from where I thought he was. The thief continued. You see he left without saying good bye.

We are each given only one good bye. And I am not yet dead.

A line of the poets? Javier asked.

No. I winked. Something of my own.

For the next few days I slept on the concrete floor of the abandoned mine in the hills and sat late into the night in the back pew of the cathedral. Narrowly missing the great crowds for all the masses that week. In the cathedral I convinced myself I was concentrating on the decision. But when I rose from the bench each dawn and walked quickly to her square after waiting for her lamp I could not convince myself that I was not hiding.

In that quiet I hoped the poet would find me. He should have known from our walks that this is where I would be. Each time the massive doors opened my eyes burned some with the light. The ropes from the large chandeliers were tied at a taut angle to hooks in the walls. But the poet never came. Maybe because he knew that is where I would be and to come to me without a weapon or a group of the young men would betray his friendship with Guillermo. Guillermo was not as intelligent as the poet but the poet also did not have the passion Guillermo had. Together they were balanced though. Together they could oppose Cantana from the shadows.

Still I wanted the poets advice.

On Thursday the day of the dinner party in the afternoon I swam to the mouth of the bay and washed on the rocks below where the canoe boys had jumped. In the market that morning I bought a comb and a bar of soap and shaved without a mirror running the ends of my fingers over and over the skin of my face feeling for the last bristles. The tiniest imperfections. In the market I had not gone near to where the poet had his stall but when I found the small pickpocket I gave him a note to give to the poet.

What if he is not there? The small pickpocket asked.

Then go to the salon. I said.

I do not like that other man.

Neither do I. But this is important.

How important? The small pickpocket smiled holding the note behind his back.

If you do not get this to him now. I bent over so that my eyes were level with his. I will break off your arm and beat you over the head with the bloody stump.

And then will you buy me some candy? The boy did not move.

Yes. I smiled. Now run.

On the beach at the south end of the city where I could be alone and unseen I dried standing naked in the wind. I unrolled my suit from my canvas bag and put maybe too much cologne on. I had never worn something like this before and to smell myself in it now and then was very different from how I was used to being. I wondered if I would be able to smell her perfume through it. I considered swimming again to bathe but it was already evening.

Elías stood before the door to Cantanas. He was without his revolver.

I am glad you have come. He said to me then. I did not want to have to kill you. Ramón said that you would come to work for Cantana one day but I did not believe him.

How much did you lose?

Not much. The doorman smiled but looked away from my eyes. Lucky for me I never had to pay him.

Elías held open a small metal door set in two thick wood ones. On the backside of these doors were large iron hinges and several locks that Elías turned as well as a board that lay in a cradle lengthwise across the smaller door to keep it from being pushed in. I stood in this shaded entrance looking up a cobblestone driveway into a spacious courtyard where the limousine had been parked.

Did you bring any weapons? He asked me then.

No.

May I check?

I raised my arms for the doorman.

You have gotten skinny. Elías said. This will not be very good for you in the fighting of dogs my friend.

I am done fighting dogs. I said. That is why I am here.

The doorman nodded. Then as if to reassure me of my decision he said in a soft voice he used I think to convince himself often.

Cantana is a good man to work for my friend. You will see.

The chrome fender of the limousine shone after dust had been washed from the black frame since our drive to Mendozas. Only when Elías and I passed the limousine did I notice a smudge in a lower corner of the windshield. Arched passageways filled with shadows supported a balcony that ran around the inside of the second floor of the compound. The walls were painted a dark yellow and were beautifully offset by a black iron railing with fine swirling details that lined this balcony. Several doors on each of the four sides of the second floor of the courtyard were left open for music and voices to pass through. Above one of these doors stood a young man with a rifle walking on the roof. I followed him until he came to another young man dressed the same in dark clothes also holding a rifle. I was not surprised to see them. In front of each of the doors different colored bougainvillea grew in terra cotta pots set in holders along the railing. The vines of these flowering plants had been trained along the shadowed archways of the first floor. I stood for a moment at the center of this until Elías laughed at my amazement and said.

Follow me.

The inside of the compound was dark and cool. With dark wood walls and a wide staircase. Along a hallway of the second floor we walked silently over an intricate rug. One that in any other house would be hung on the wall. I followed the doorman toward music and voices. I heard a womans laugh behind two doors with smoky windows down the hall. I put my hand to my hair to arrange it without looking. I was more nervous to see her than Cantana.