Chapter 4 The Man in Rose Point

To Enrigue Amorim Since the question was about the late Francisco Real, let me talk about it.It's not his place here, he's got a better deal in the North Side around Lake Guadalupe and the Battery, but I know him.I've only dealt with him three times, all three times on the same night, and I'll never forget that night because Luhanala stayed over at my house and Rosendo Juárez left Rivertown to never did not return.You don't have that experience, and of course you don't know the name, but the hitman Rosendo Juárez was a big name in Santa Rita.He was a good knifeman, along with Don Nicolás Paredes, who belonged to Morell's gang.Juárez visits a brothel always dressed neatly, in dark clothes and silver ornaments; men and dogs respect him, women treat him differently; everyone knows that two lives were lost at his hands; His long, greasy hair wore a fedora hat with a narrow brim; some said he had been spoiled by fate.The young people in the village imitated his every move, even the way of spitting.But how much weight Rosendo really has, we will decide that night.

It seems outrageous to say, but that very unusual night began like this: a cab with red wheels, full of people, bumped along the alley lined with brick kilns and wasteland, bumping on the soft mud.Two men in black kept playing and watching the guitar, making noise and ostentatiously. The driver flicked his whip to coax the wild dogs scurrying in front of the white horse. A man wrapped in a cloak sat quietly in the middle. It was Francisco Real, a well-known cattle dealer, who came to find someone to fight desperately this time.The night was cool and pleasant; two men sat on the uncovered leather roof of the carriage as if on a pirate ship.It was just a gimmick and many other things happened, we only found out later.We boys used to hang out at the Julia Ballroom, that big tin-roofed shack between Rue Gona and the Maldonado River.The light of the weathered red light at the door and the noise from inside made it possible to recognize this place from a distance.Julia, though unremarkable, was very affordable, because there was no shortage of musicians, good wine, and exciting dancing partners.When it comes to dancing partners, no one can compare with Luhannara, Rosendo's woman.She's dead, sir, and I haven't thought of her for years, but the way she looked, and those eyes, was mesmerizing.You won't be able to fall asleep at night after seeing her.

The liquor, the music, the women, a curse from Rosendo, who flattered me in the crowd, gave me great pleasure.The woman I danced with was very easy-going, as if she had read my mind.Tango moves us at will, making us inseparable, pulling us apart one moment and bringing us body to body the next.When the men were intoxicated and carefree like this, I suddenly felt that the music became louder. It turned out that the sound of the guitar on the approaching carriage was mixed in.Then, the wind shifted, the guitar sound drifted away, and my attention returned to myself and my partner, back to the conversation in the ballroom.After a while there was a domineering knock and shout at the door.A hush followed, and the door was flung open, and the man entered, looking as savage as his voice.

We didn't know his name was Francisco Real at the time, but there was a tall, stocky guy in black, with a maroon scarf over his shoulders, standing in front of him.I remember his Indian face, sullen. The door hit me right when it slammed open.My heart became angry for no reason, and I rushed towards him, slapped his face with my left hand, and took out the sharp knife stuck under the left armpit of my vest with my right hand.But this fight didn't start.The man stood firm, spread his arms, as if pushing away something in the way, and threw me aside at once.I staggered a few steps and squatted behind him, with my hands still inside my clothes, holding the unused knife.He walked forward as usual, taller than any of the people he pushed aside, and he didn't look at any of them.The first group of Italians watching the excitement spread out like a folding fan.This scene did not last long.The British guy was already waiting in the crowd behind him, and before the uninvited guest's hand touched his shoulder, he slapped him across the face.This time everyone is excited.The hall was several feet long, and people were jostling, whistling, and spitting at him from one end to the other.At first he used his fists, but then he found that the fists could not block his way, so he spread his fingers and slapped him, and slapped him with a scarf mockingly.This was also done to leave him to Rosendo to clean up.Rosendo was in the innermost place, silent, with his back against the wall, and remained silent.He puffed puff after puff, as if he already understood what we only saw later.He was unmoved by the cattle dealer pushed in front of him with blood on his face and a rowdy crowd behind him.Although people whistled, beat him, and spat at him, he did not speak until he was in front of Rosendo.He looked at Rosendo, wiped his face with his arm, and said the following:

"I'm Francisco Real, from the North Side. I'm Francisco Real, people call me a cattle trader. I don't care what these bastards do to me, because I'm looking for a man A few gossips said that there is a ruthless man in this area who knows how to play with knives, and that his nickname is Thug. I am an unknown person, but I would like to meet him and ask for advice on what this good man can do." He kept his eyes on Rosendo as he spoke.After finishing speaking, his right hand pulled out a shining knife from his sleeve.The people pushing and shoving around gave up their space, and looked at the two of them in silence.Even the blind mulatto playing the violin turned his face in their direction.

At this time, I heard some movement behind me. Looking back, there were six or seven people at the door, who must have been brought by the cattle dealers. The oldest one looked like a farmer, with dark skin and a gray beard; So many women and such a bright light, they did not move, and even took off their hats respectfully.The rest of the people are watching eagerly, and if there is any unfair situation, they will immediately intervene. What's the matter with Rosendo, why didn't he teach that aggressive person a lesson?He remained silent and did not lift his eyes.The cigarette was gone from his mouth, whether he spit it out or dropped it himself.He finally said a few words, but he spoke so slowly that he could hardly hear him across the hall.Francisco Real challenged him again and he refused again.The youngest of the strangers whistled.Luhanara looked contemptuously at Rosendo, tossed her hair back, pushed aside the women, walked towards her man, put her hand into his arms, drew out the knife, unsheathed it, handed it to him, and said :

"Rozendo, I think you could use it." There was a wide window under the roof of the hall, looking out onto the brook.Rosendo took the knife with both hands and tried the blade with his fingers, as if he had never seen it before.He threw back suddenly, raised his hand and threw the knife through the window, where it fell into the Maldonado River and disappeared.I feel cold. "I killed you and ruined my knife." The other party said and raised his hand to beat him.At this moment, Luhannara ran over, put his arms around his neck, looked at him with coquettish eyes, and said angrily:

"Don't pay attention to that guy, we used to think of him as a man." Francisco Real froze for a moment, then he put his arms around her, and as if he would never let go, he shouted to the musicians to play tango and milonga, and to all the happy-seekers to dance, and the milonga was like Wildfires generally spread from one end of the hall to the other.Real danced very seriously, but he hugged his partner so tightly that there was no gap, and it made her want to die.Jumping to the door, Real yelled: "By taking advantage of the bright light, she fell asleep in my arms!"

After all, the two of them went out face to face, as if drifting in a daze with the waves of tango. I must have flushed with embarrassment.I circled around with my partner a few times, then suddenly let her go.I reasoned that there were too many people inside and it was too hot, so I walked outside along the wall.The night is beautiful, but who is beauty for?The cab was parked at the corner of the alley, and the two guitars stood upright on the seats like two people.It really pissed me off when they dropped their guitars like that, like we wouldn't even dare touch their guitars.Thinking of our own incompetence drives me crazy.I grabbed the dianthus flower pinned behind my ear and threw it into the pond. I looked at it for a long time without thinking about anything.I hope that this night will pass quickly, and that tomorrow will come as soon as possible.At this moment, someone elbowed me, which almost relieved me.It was Rosendo, out of town alone.

"You bastard is always in the way," he muttered as he passed me, and I didn't know if he was taking it out on me or himself.He walked along the darker side of the Maldonado, and I never saw him again. I continued to gaze at the things in my life—the endless sky, the little river running alone below, a dozing horse, the dirt alley, the brick kiln—and I thought I was nothing more than something that grew on the banks of the river Just another weed between toad flower and skull weed.What kind of characters can come out of that pile of garbage?It's nothing more than us wretches who yell loudly, are worthless, and are always bullied.Then I thought, no, the more humble the area I live in, the more promising I should be.Rubbish?The milonga danced wildly, the house was full of noise, and the wind carried the fragrance of honeysuckle.The night is beautiful, but useless.There are stars beyond the stars in the sky, and I feel dizzy just looking at them.I tried to convince myself that I had nothing to do with it, but Rosendo's uselessness and the stranger's unbearable arrogance always haunted me.The big guy managed to get a woman to accompany him that night.That night, and many nights to come, all the nights, I think, because Luhannara was not a woman who played around.God knows where they went.We can't go too far, maybe just find a ditch, and the two of us have already done it.

When I finally got back to the hall, everyone was still dancing. I pretended to be okay and blended into the crowd. I found that there was one person missing among us, and the people from the North District were dancing with the rest.There was no pushing and jostling, only caution and prudence.The music was heavy and listless, and the women who danced with the North Enders didn't say a word. I am looking forward, but not looking forward to things that come out later. We heard a woman's cry outside, and then the voice we had heard before, calm now, almost too peaceful to be a human voice.The voice said to the woman: "Go in, my girl." There was another cry.Then the voice seemed impatient. "I tell you to open the door, bitch, open the door; old bitch!" At that moment, the rickety door was pushed open, and only Luhannara entered.She didn't come in automatically, she was driven in, as if someone was chasing her from behind. "There's a ghost chasing after," said the Englishman. "A dead man is chasing, my friend," interjected the dealer.He looked like he was drunk.As soon as he came in, we made room as we had done before, and he took a few unsteady steps—tall, unseeing—and fell down like a telegraph pole.One of the party with him turned him over on his back and rolled his cloak under his head.After such a toss, the cloak was stained with blood.We now saw a deep gash in his chest; a scarlet sash, which had been hidden by the vest and which I had not noticed, was now blackened by the gushing blood.A woman brought white wine and some pieces of cloth that had been scorched on the fire and prepared to bind them.The man had no intention of speaking.Luhannara dropped his hands and looked at him in bewilderment.Everyone looked inquiring, and she finally spoke.She said that after she went out with the cattle dealer, a man she didn't know suddenly came to a field, and she had to fight with him, but she stabbed him. She swore that she didn't know who that man was, but it wasn't Rosen many.But who would believe her words? People under our feet are dying.Whoever stabbed him had a hard enough wrist, I thought.But the person under his feet is also a tough guy.When he came in, Julia was drinking yerba mate. The pot of tea was passed around and returned to me. He was still alive. "Cover your face for me," he said slowly, unable to bear it any longer.He died just before his eyes, and his arrogance was still there, and he didn't want others to see his miserable state at the end of his life.Someone put the tall black felt hat over his face, and he died under it without a groan.When his chest stopped heaving, the men took courage to remove the hat.He had the usual look of dead weariness on his face, the look shared by the bravest men from the Battery to the South End at that time; and my hatred for him died away as soon as I found him dead without a sound. "The living are mortal," said a woman in the crowd, and another added thoughtfully: "No matter how great a person is, he still attracts flies." At this time, the people from the North District were talking quietly, and then two people said loudly at the same time: "It was the woman who killed it." A man yelled at her that she had killed her, and everyone surrounded her.I forgot that I should be cautious and squeezed in quickly.I was so anxious that I almost drew a knife.I felt that many, if not all, were looking at me.I said sarcastically: "You guys look at this woman's hand, does she have the strength and heart to stab a knife?" I said nonchalantly: "It is said that the deceased was a tyrant in his area. Who would have thought that he would end up in such a miserable place and die in such a peaceful place? Our place was originally peaceful, but who would have thought that outsiders would come to make trouble and cause such a big mess in the end? ?" A whip does not whip by itself. At this moment, the sound of horseshoes gradually sounded in the wilderness. It was the police.Everyone is wise to protect themselves, and they don't want to make trouble, and think that the best way is to throw the body into the river.You remember the wide window from which the knife was thrown earlier.The man in black was also thrown out from here later.Everyone lifted him up in a hurry, and took out all the coins and odds and ends on his body. Some people couldn't get the ring off, so they simply chopped off his fingers.Gentlemen, after a man is killed by another man who is more aggressive, he is defenseless and can only be manipulated by people who take advantage of it, and the muddy, churning, humiliating river takes him away with a plop.I thought it best not to look at the body when people were picking it up, so I wondered if he had been gutted out so he wouldn't come to the surface.The man with the gray beard kept staring at me.Luhannala took advantage of the confusion and slipped out. When the defenders of the law came to check, the dancers were in full swing.The blind man on the violin played some havanas that are rarely heard these days.It was almost daylight outside.The few wooden stakes on the small mountain wind are sparse, because the wires are too thin, and it is so early in the sky that they cannot be seen clearly. My house is three blocks from here, and I wander back at a leisurely pace.There was a light in the window, which went out as soon as I approached it.After I understood it, I immediately stepped up.Borges, I took out the sharp short knife stuck under the left armpit of the vest and looked at it again. The knife is like new, shiny and clean, without a trace of blood left.