Authors: Javier Cercas
‘Not if you don’t want to. But if it makes you feel better, go ahead.’
‘No, talking about it doesn’t make me feel any better; not any more. I’m surprised to be telling you, though, which feels different. The Batista thing has become like so many things from that time: it’s not like I lived through them but more like I dreamt them. Although you’ll be wondering what all this has to do with Zarco.’
‘No: I was wondering why you didn’t report the bullying.’
‘Who was I supposed to report it to? My teachers? I had a good reputation at school, but I didn’t have any proof of what was going on, and reporting it would have turned me into a liar or a snitch (or both), and that was the best way to make everything worse. Or my parents? My father and mother were good people; they loved me and I loved them, but over those months our relationship had deteriorated so much that I wouldn’t have dared tell them. Besides, how would I have told them? And what would I have told them? On top of everything else, as I already said, my father was subordinate to Batista’s father at work, so if I told him what was going on, aside from turning into a liar and a snitch, I would have put my father in an impossible situation. In spite of that, more than once I was tempted to tell him, more than once I was on the brink of telling him, but in the end I always shied away. And if I wasn’t going to report it to them, who was I going to tell?
‘The thing is that going to school every day turned into an ordeal for me. For months I cried myself to sleep. I was scared. I felt enraged and embittered and humiliated and most of all guilty, because the worst thing about humiliation is that it makes the one who suffers it feel guilty. I felt trapped. I wanted to die. And don’t think what you’re thinking: all that shit didn’t teach me a thing. Knowing absolute evil – that’s what Batista was to me – earlier than most, doesn’t make you better than others; it makes you worse. And it’s absolutely no use whatsoever.’
‘It was useful to you in that it led you to meet Zarco.’
‘That’s true, but that was its only use. That happened not long after term finished, when I’d gone for a while without seeing my friends. With the classrooms closed there were more possibilities of hiding from them, although the truth is, in a city as small as Gerona, there weren’t really that many either and it wasn’t easy to drop out of circulation, which is what I needed to do so my friends would forget about me. I had to avoid bumping into them in the neighbourhood, avoid the places we used to hang out, avoid going near Batista’s place on La Rutlla, even avoid or evade visits or phone calls from Matías, who kept inviting me to come out with them, probably to ease his guilty conscience and hide the actual harassment they were subjecting me to behind his apparent generosity. Anyway: my plan that summer was to go outside as little as possible until August when we’d go away on holiday, and to spend those weeks staying in reading and watching TV. That was the idea. But the reality is that, no matter how dejected or cowardly, a sixteen-year-old kid is incapable of spending all day at home, or at least I was incapable of it. So I soon started venturing out into the street, and one afternoon I went into the Vilaró games arcade.
‘That was where I saw Zarco for the first time. The Vilaró arcade was on Bonastruc de Porta Street, still in La Devesa neighbourhood, across from the railway overpass. It was one of those amusement arcades for teenagers that proliferated in the seventies and eighties. What I remember of that one is a big warehouse with bare walls and a six-lane Scalextric track; I also remember several table-football games, a few Space Invaders consoles and six or seven pinball machines lined up against one of the side walls; at the back there was a drinks machine and the washrooms, and at the entrance was the glass-walled booth where Señor Tomàs sat, a stooped, balding, round-bellied old man who was only distracted from his crossword-puzzle books by the odd practical problem (a jammed machine, a clogged toilet) or, in the case of an altercation, to throw out the troublemakers or re-establish order with his shrill voice. I used to go there with my friends, but more or less since Batista showed up I’d stopped going; my friends had too and, maybe for that reason, it seemed like a safe place, like the hole where a shell had just landed during a bombardment.
‘The afternoon I met Zarco I’d arrived at the arcade not long after Señor Tomàs opened up and started playing my favourite pinball machine – Rocky Balboa. A good machine: five balls, an extra ball for not many points and at the end bonus points that let you make the next level easily. For a while I was the only one playing in the empty place, but soon a group of kids came in and headed over to the Scalextric track. A little while later a couple more showed up. A guy and a girl, who looked older than sixteen but younger than nineteen, and my first impression when I saw them was that they seemed like they might be related somehow, but mostly that they were a couple of tough
charnegos
, from the outskirts, maybe even
quinquis
or delinquents. Señor Tomàs sensed the threat as soon as they walked past his window. Hey, you two, he called after them, opening the door to his booth. Where’re you going? They both stopped short. What’s up, chief?, asked the guy, raising his hands as if offering to be searched; he wasn’t smiling, but gave the impression that the situation amused him. He said: We just want to have a game. Can we? Señor Tomàs looked them both up and down with suspicion, and when he finished his examination said something that I didn’t quite catch; then realized what it was: I don’t want any trouble. Anyone who gives me trouble is out. Is that clear? Absolutely, said the guy, gesturing in a conciliatory way and lowering his hands. Don’t worry about us, boss. Señor Tomàs seemed to be half satisfied with the reply, returned to his booth and must have gone back to his crossword puzzle while the pair walked into the arcade.’
‘It was them.’
‘Yes: the guy was Zarco; the girl was Tere.’
‘Tere was Zarco’s girlfriend?’
‘Good question: if I’d known the answer in time I would have saved myself a lot of trouble; I’ll come to that later. The thing is that, like Señor Tomàs, as soon as I saw Zarco and Tere walk in I immediately felt wary, felt that from this moment on anything might happen in the arcade, and my first instinct was to abandon Rocky Balboa and split.
‘I stayed. I tried to forget the pair, act like they weren’t there, and carry on playing. I didn’t manage it, and a moment later felt a slap on my shoulder that made me stagger. What’s up, Gafitas?, asked Zarco, taking my place at the controls of the machine. He looked me in my bespectacled eyes with his very blue ones, spoke with a husky voice, had a centre parting in his hair and wore a tight denim jacket over a tight beige T-shirt. He repeated, defiantly, What’s up? I was scared. Holding up my hands I said: I just finished. I turned to leave, but at that moment Tere stepped in my way and my face was a handspan from hers. My first impression was surprise; my second, of being completely dazzled. Like Zarco, Tere was very thin, dark, not very tall, with that springy outdoors air
quinquis
used to have back then. She had straight dark hair and cruel green eyes, and a beauty spot beside her nose. Her whole body radiated the composure of a young woman who was very sure of herself, except for one tic: her left leg moved up and down like a piston. She was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt and her handbag strap crossed her chest. Going already?, she asked, smiling with her full, strawberry-red lips. I couldn’t answer because Zarco grabbed my arm and forced me to turn back around. You stay right there, Gafitas, he ordered, and started playing pinball on the Rocky Balboa machine.
‘He wasn’t very good at it, so the game was soon over. Shit, he said, punching the machine. He looked at me furiously, but before he could say anything Tere laughed, pushed him aside and put a coin in the slot. Grumbling, Zarco leaned on the table right next to me watching Tere play. Both of them commented on the game without paying any attention to me, although every once in a while, between one ball and the next, Tere would glance over at me out of the corner of her eye. People kept coming in and out of the arcade; Señor Tomàs came out of his booth more often than usual. Gradually I began to calm down, but was still a bit jittery and didn’t dare leave. Tere didn’t take long to finish her game either. When she did she stepped back from the machine and pointed at it. Your turn, she said. I didn’t open my mouth, didn’t move. What’s the matter, Gafitas?, Zarco asked. You don’t want to play any more? I kept quiet. He added: Cat got your tongue? No, I answered. So?, he insisted. I’ve run out of money, I said. Zarco looked at me curiously. You’re out of cash?, he asked. I nodded. Really?, he asked again. I nodded again. How much did you have? I told him the truth. Fuck, Tere, Zarco laughed. That wouldn’t be enough for me and you to wipe our asses with. Tere didn’t laugh; she stared at me. Zarco shoved me aside again and said: Well, if you ain’t got cash, you’re fucked.
‘He put some more coins in the machine and started a new game. As he played he started talking to me; or rather: he started interrogating me. He asked me how old I was and I told him. He asked me where I lived and I told him. He asked me if I went to school and I said yes and told him which school I went to. Then he asked me if I spoke Catalan; the question seemed strange to me, but I answered yes again. After that he asked me if I came to the arcade often and if I knew Señor Tomàs and what time the place opened and what time it closed and other similar questions, which I don’t remember specifically, but I do remember answering them or answering as far as I could. I also remember that his last question was whether I needed money, and I didn’t know how to answer that. Zarco answered for me: If you do, tell me. Come to La Font and tell me. We’ll talk business. Zarco swore at a ball that got past him and punched the machine again; then he asked me: Do you or don’t you, Gafitas? I didn’t answer; before I could a tall blond guy in a Fred Perry polo shirt who’d just walked into the arcade came over. The guy said hi to Zarco, whispered with him for a moment and then the two of them went outside. Tere stood there looking at me. I noticed her eyes again, her mouth, the mole beside her nose, and I remember thinking she was the most gorgeous girl I’d ever seen. Will you come?, she asked. Where?, I asked. To La Font, she answered. I asked what La Font was and Tere told me it was a bar in the district and I understood that the district was the red-light district. Tere asked me again if I’d go to La Font; although I was sure I wasn’t going to, I said: I don’t know. But then quickly added: I probably will. Tere smiled and stroked the beauty spot beside her nose with one finger; then she pointed at Rocky Balboa and, before following Zarco and the guy in the Fred Perry shirt, said: You’ve got three balls left.
‘That was our first meeting and that’s how it went. Left on my own I breathed a sigh of relief and, I don’t know whether for pleasure or because I thought Zarco and Tere might still be hanging around outside the arcade and I didn’t want to risk running into them again, I started playing the balls left in the machine. I’d just begun when Señor Tomàs came over. Do you know who those kids were, son?, he asked, pointing at the door. He was obviously referring to Zarco and Tere; I said no. What were you talking about?, he asked. I explained. Señor Tomàs clicked his tongue and made me repeat the explanation. He seemed anxious, and after a moment he went away mumbling something. The next day I arrived at the arcade in the late afternoon. When I passed the booth on my way in, Señor Tomàs rapped on the glass with his knuckles and asked me to wait; when he came out he put a hand on my shoulder. Hey, son, he began. Would you be interested in a job? The question took me by surprise. What job?, I asked. I need a helper, he said. He gestured vaguely around the whole place before making his offer: You help me close up every night and in exchange I’ll give you ten free plays a day.
‘I didn’t even need to give it a second thought. I accepted, and from then on my afternoons began to follow a single pattern. I arrived at the Vilaró arcade as soon as it opened, sometimes a little later, played my ten free games on whichever machine I felt like playing (almost always the Rocky Balboa) and, around eight-thirty or nine in the evening, I’d help Señor Tomàs close up: while he opened the machines and took out the coins, counted the day’s takings and filled in a sort of inventory, I made sure there was no one left in the main part of the building or in the washrooms, and then between the two of us we pulled the metal shutters down over the door; when we finished, Señor Tomàs got onto his Mobylette with the money and I walked home. That was all. Do I mean by this that I soon forgot about Zarco and Tere? Not at all. At first I was afraid they’d show up at the arcade again, but after a few days I was surprised to find myself wishing they would, or at least that Tere would. It never crossed my mind, however, to accept Zarco’s invitation, to go into the red-light district one afternoon and turn up at La Font: at sixteen years of age I had an approximate but sufficient idea of what the district was, and I didn’t like the idea of going there, or maybe I was just scared. In any case, I soon convinced myself that I’d met Zarco and Tere because some unlikely coincidence had made them stray outside their territory; I also convinced myself that, as well as unlikely, the coincidence was unrepeatable, and that I would not see them again.
‘The same day I arrived at this conclusion I had a terrible scare. I was on my way home after having helped Señor Tomàs close the arcade when I saw a group of kids walking towards me on Joaquim Vayreda. There were four of them, coming from Caterina Albert, on the same side of the street as me and, in spite of the fact that they were still quite a way off and it was getting dark, I recognized them immediately: it was Batista, Matías and two of the Boix brothers, Joan and Dani. I wanted to just keep walking along, but before I could take another two or three steps I felt my legs buckling and I started to sweat. Trying not to give in to panic, I began to cross the street; before I reached the other side I saw that Batista was doing the same. Then I couldn’t help it: instinctively I took off running, reached the kerb and turned right down an alley that led into La Devesa; just as I got to the park Batista jumped me; he brought me down and, kneeling on my back and twisting my arm behind me, immobilized me on the ground. Where’re you going, asshole?, he asked. He was panting like a dog; I was panting too, face down in the dirt of La Devesa. I’d lost my glasses. Looking around desperately for them, I asked Batista to let me up, but instead he asked me the same question again. Home, I said. Through here?, Batista asked, digging his knee into my back and twisting my arm till I screamed. You’re a fucking liar.