The old Mercedes went down a seldom used road and at times it seemed endless. Hours went by and the silence contributed to a premature physical and mental fatigue. The last stop had contributed to a certain distancing between both characters.
Damian did not stop watching his bad-humored companion out of the corner of his eye. On noticing this detail, Manuel became more nervous. He wanted to appear serious, show that it didn’t bother him to be watched. The kid would get tired of it. But no, his anger overcame him and after a few minutes he blew up.
“What the fuck’s wrong now? I’ve got warts on my face?”
Damian stayed silent. He thought it would be a good time to test Manuel’s tolerance capacity and see how long it would take him to lose it in case of necessity. From what he saw, it would not be difficult since he left open all his weak spots where he could be attacked. But with this kind of individual you never knew how they would react if they were cornered.
“Man now the joker is silent. Some trip we’re taking!” Blurted Manuel. “Why don’t you answer? If anybody should be angry over what happened it should be me.”
“I’m just following your orders. Did you already forget?”
“Now, now, how obedient you are now! You want to fucking get it off your chest?” he shouted rudely and in no mood to put up with his foolishness.
“I tried to tell you at the gas station that they didn’t confuse me with someone else but with your character it’s hard to have a conversation with you when you are upset.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You heard me. They didn’t mix me up. I am Manitas.” He told him without wiping the smile from his lips. “Didn’t you want to know that that means?” indicating his scar. “It’s my identity. That’s how they know I am the authentic Manitas. That cut I got from a show off as a child and in memory of that dirty trick I make the same mark on whoever gets in my way with bad intentions.”
Manuel didn’t bat an eyelash. He kept his rough hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road as though he hadn’t heard anything.
“Yeah, geezer, It’s me, I’m Manitas!” repeated Damian, his eyes shining with satisfaction. “Didn’t you read the Barcelona paper before you left? They’re accusing me of attempted homicide at the reformatory. And the photo attached to the news is huge.” This blunt declaration resounded in Manuel’s head like an explosion. He gripped the wheel harder than ever and his eyes never left the long, endless road.
“Come on, buddy, It ain’t that bad! They have to tell a lot of lies to sell newspapers. Nobody knows what happened that night. It was someone getting even and I wasn’t even involved. It’s always good in every flock to have a black sheep to pin everything on.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure!” answered Manuel with voice trembling. “If you are really Manitas I don’t understand the reason for this trip. I don’t understand it. What in Hades have these sons of bitches got me into? What are they trying to prove?”
“Can I know what is so strange about this trip? Aren’t I a person like anybody else? According to the law I’m still a child.”
“No, from what you tell me you are a very dangerous person, and to transport individuals with your history there are professionals called police who have specialized vehicles, and not the taxicab of a working stiff who spends all day on the frigging highway trying to earn a decent living. The bastards!”
“That’s just what you think!” Said Manitas sardonically. “I haven’t set foot in a jail yet and they can’t transport me in those paddy wagons. What they have told me is travelling in a taxi falls within a new project they want to try. They talk about social psychology, of behavioral techniques applied to marginal mentalities, and a whole lot of big words I don’t even know how to pronounce.”
“They could have started out with a subject with less history, fuck. Besides, who takes care of my safety? Didn’t it occur to anyone that something could happen to the driver? Isn’t my life worth anything?”
“What’s wrong? Are you really afraid of me?” Damian was finally enjoying himself. “I’m scaring an old dude like you? When they put you in the papers it‘s a way to get them to respect you Now you found out my nickname and you shit your pants. Scaredy cat. Don’t you have any balls, Manuel?”
“Are you insinuating that I’m afraid? Of you? You don’t even have a half-assed punch!” asserted Manuel stridently so as not to lose his authority. “I’m not afraid of you or that shitty waiter! You pushed me out of there. If it wasn’t for you I’d have whupped it out real good. Of course I can whup it out! I’m not afraid of a dust –up.” He paused. “Is everything they say about you true? You don’t look dangerous...if it wasn’t for that scar on your face.”
“Come on, man! A lot of petty thefts, a little something here and there but I only put my mark on eleven. Now, as for any deaths on my back, there aren’t any!”
“Fuck with this kid! And they even award him with a little pleasure trip through Andalucia. And when I say they’re going to cause a war I’m not wrong at all. The Caudillo must be in bad shape to allow these things. The gossip says it is his son-in-law that runs the country. That wouldn’t surprise me because the Moors are on the brink and if Franco was in his right mind Hassan II would never dare to threaten us with marching across the desert against us. He’d send you all over there to fire on the border of Morocco. None of this pansy therapy or anything. A little time with the Moors and you’d all come back as men. So you knifed eleven already? Fuck that, kid!”
“So you think that’s a lot?” For some time Damian hadn’t been having such a good time. “Well look, I had the opportunity to mark a lot more.”
“That doesn’t even matter! These days something like that is considered normal, right? And you say that so calmly. Oh fuck! Who would go up against a little angel with those characteristics?”
“You want some hash?” Damian asked him with the joint already rolled.
“Hash? You back to joking again? Where are you going kid? I don’t give a fuck about your shiv.”
“So do you want some of this, dude?” Damian showed him a badly-rolled joint. You talk so much about Morocco and you don’t even know what hash is. You’re behind the times old man.”
“Isn’t that a joint? I wouldn’t even think of it! Do you think you are with a buddy my boy? In this car nobody smokes joints.
Being cool just brings on trouble. In my day there weren’t any joints and youth was a lot more serious. You should be ashamed! Don’t they teach you any manners in the reformatory?”
“It’s your loss,” said Damian. “In your day youths killed each other for no reason in a meaningless civil war. And now we enjoy life even though some like to mess it up.”
“I’d give hemlock to the rabble! You read a newspaper and only see news about rapes, robberies and murders.” Manuel showed his indignation. “You call that enjoying life? Spending your youth in the reformatory is enjoying life? Don’t fuck with me my boy. Franco got rid of all the rabble in this country, but man, he’s old and now the reds are inflitrating in a big way. Communism is God’s punishment for all our sins.”
“This hash is prime stuff. A legionaire brings it up the peninsula for me and I assure you it isn’t easy or cheap to obtain. That, yes, is good quality.”
“You mean Gentleman Legionaire! I respect the Legion. More thanks to them we could sweep Spain clean of all the swine that were killing priests and burning churches... I respect the Legion more! And what they represent. Spain needs another Millán Astray who turned men into seekers of death to defend the homeland the same as the youth of today with all their demonstrations for freedom. What the fuck do you all know about freedom? In the thirties we had to fight for freedom but now ...with the long hair and strange trousers you all look like little dolls.”
“You think the Legionaires don’t do weed? Manuel, PLEASE!”
“A gentleman Legionaire does not smoke joints. Only the riff-raff and the reds smoke joints. We real men drink whiskey, my boy. Those were the days. Back then there was class and nobility, not like the rabble of today. There weren’t even any work stoppages because anyone who tried a work stoppage, why, they would work him over and throw him out. Now you can go to the employment office and show your face, just show it, and they turn you in for menacing the staff. You know why? Because the reds are running the damn unions. If Franco wasn’t so shaky and shot a few every day there wouldn’t be any riff-raff or reds or anything. You know what the unions are good for? To divide Spaniards, to stuff the minds of respectable workers with absurd and dangerous ideas. Don’t they get paid a salary? Well then shut your mouth, fuck. Ten years ago everybody dreamed of having a Fiat 600 and Franco made it possible. Nowadays they don’t think much of it. Now everybody has a refrigerator, television, record player...when has Spain been better? We’ve never been happy with anything and we quickly forget past miseries.”
“I don’t know that man,” said Manitas, “But what they say about him is that there’s nothing good about him. When all the politicians in the world are against him it must be for something.”
“Iconoclasts who want to destroy the country, because I’m telling you the people love him. And those few things that are bogged down in Spain, well you know who did that... Franco! Low cost housing for indigents, Franco!”From his tone of voice it seemed Manuel was practising for a political debate. “Thanks to him many poor families sleep under roofs in their own homes. Spain was in ruins and he rebuilt it. Thanks to Franco we Spaniards have seen a new glimmer of well-being.”
“I’ve heard them comparing him to Hitler.”
“That’s blasphemy from the riff-raff! Franco has been the only world leader that stopped Hitler in his tracks. Yes sir, he has balls. Not long ago I saw a report in El Nodo(3) where you see Hitler desperately waiting at a train station when El Caudillo left him in the lurch.
Damian ignored that without losing sight of the road. He didn’t trust Manuel’s skill at all, even less when his pronouncements on real subjects bordered on fantasy. Once in a while Manuel would look at him out of the corner of his eye without daring to ask questions that interested him. But, just in case, he took charge of his valuable flask. He was proud of his patriotic dissertation and thought he had regained control over his traveling companion. Damian’s joint went out quickly and his curiosity remained intact.
“It don’t smell that bad, huh?” commented Manuel, apparently longing to try it. “Maybe a little too strong, I don’t know, the odor is overwhelming.”
“You know, your problems disappear from your head like magic. It’s like you’re floating through the air and everything is possible. Is something getting you down and won’t let you relax? You’ll forget everything with this.” Said Damian with a clear objective.
––––––––
(3) Nodo: a weekly newsreel shown in Spain between years 1946 and 1976.
“Will you let me...Will you let me have a toke?” Manuel’s face had turned friendly. “I offered you my whiskey!”
“Well you don’t like it! I don’t want to force you. Don’t do it for my sake...”
“I haven’t tried it yet to know if I like it or not! This way, when they talk to me about joints I’ll know how to answer correctly. And besides, since you say the Legionaires smoke it, that’s even more reason to try it.”
“I don’t know. It’s not good to mix it with alcohol...”
“Come on kid, Don’t make me beg! Just a toke to try it, that’s all. You gonna turn me down?”
“OK if you grab a toke don’t say anything. You’re old enough to control yourself.”
Manuel inhaled anxiously and after several deep tokes he consumed the whole joint. After a long silence, their eyes showed they were both loaded.
“I feel just fine, like I was floating, like you said. I feel like a Gentleman Legionaire.”
“Watch the road Manuel!” Damian said, worriedly.
“You don’t know how good I feel. But my mouth is dry and with a bitter taste. And what’s worse, the whiskey is gone. Damn flask! Now what the hell will I do without whiskey?”
“That’s easy, when you come to the next truck stop you can buy another bottle.”
“Sure, and they’ll throw us out like they did the last time.”
“I’ve never been in this area in my life.”
Hidden behind a large tree with roots threatening to crack the asphalt, Damian had no difficulty recognising him. In spite of the distance which separated them, his bony body and sharp features were unmistakable. With exaggerated gestures the individual attempted to get the attention of the occupants of a vehicle that approached too slowly.
“Stop!” Damian shouted at Manuel, who showed no interest in doing so. “Stop! Fuck! I said stop!”
“By braking abruptly he managed to stop the Mercedes right beside the person. Damian quickly got out, and in front of the astonished taxi driver he shared a warm embrace with the unknown individual. Moments later he invited him to sit in the rear seat. They spoke so softly that with the noise of the engine Manuel could not catch what was said.
“No way!” he said. “I’m paid to take one and I don’t want any problems. Get out kid! This cage is only for one jailbird.”
“Don’t be a fuddy duddy!” answered Damian from the back seat. “This is a buddy of mine and you know I can’t just leave him on the roadside. We were together two years and went through all kinds of trouble together. Thanks to him I was able to escape from the fuzz a lot of times.”
“I’m sorry about your buddy. I’m sure another car will stop for him soon, although from the looks of him I doubt anyone will want to run the risk. Things aren’t such that in this country one can just let the first person one finds on the street. Come on kid! Night is falling!”
Damian stared him up and down challengingly.
“I told you, no! Fuck! Say good bye. Time is wasting.”
They both got out of the car. Arm in arm, they began walking in the wrong direction on the shoulder. Manuel could not believe his eyes. He had never been in a situation like that and nobody would believe anything the kids said.
He thought about letting him leave and returning to Barcelona but it was inevitable there would be problems with the authorities. A better solution would be to come to an agreement with them and if at any time they crossed the line well, there was a reason he had the pistol in the glove compartment. The warden had made it very clear: If necessary, shoot.
“Just a minute!” He shouted before the two friends got out of sight. “What about if we resolve this in a friendly manner?”
Satisfied, they returned. Manuel observed the two friends’ faces shining with satisfaction which irritated him even more. He counted to three to calm down a little.
“If we have an accident, what do we do?” he asked Damian “Answer fast because I don’t like being on the road at night! Let’s go!”
“If such a remote, hypothetical situation should occur, we’ll say you were forced at gunpoint. I will corroborate that version of the facts. It’s possible my friend Sent up is the subject of a nationwide search and seizure.”
“Sent up? That’s his name? What have I done to deserve this punishment? Are all the crazies coming after me?”.
“He’s no crazy!” Damian said, irritated. “He’s a correctional buddy.”
“Oh, so we got another famous jailbird? How do I know the two of you aren’t going to attack me? I’m too young to die at the hands of young punks.”
“You don’t,” answered Damian humorously. “You wouldn’t be asking us for a signed contract? Diego, are you hearing what I hear? What do you think about this guy?”
“He’s nuts.” Responded the fellow.
“You intend for me to take you without thinking about my own safety? You think I’m that crazy? Give me something as a guarantee. Your shiv for example.” He asked matter of factly in case they took the bait. “When we get there I’ll return it.”
“Manuel, to do you in I don’t need anybody’s help, understand? All I have to do is take the weapon you have in the glove compartment and take two shots.” He approached him and softly spoke in his ear: “And I assure you that if the time comes my hand don‘t shake. My word is good and I am confident that yours is too.”
“How do you know I have a weapon?” Manuel answered nervously. “Who gave you permission to search my car?”
“A revolver with the serial number filed off from those they seized from us in the reformatory. That way the record of the owner is gone. The warden gave it to you in case you want to eliminate me. So he can solve two problems at once. They charge you with murder and I get out of his life forever. Shall I tell you more?”
“No, that’s not necessary. I see you did your homework before the trip.”
Both friends got into the back seat with no opposition.
Manuel reluctantly started the engine and continued the trip, more observant of the rear view mirror than of the road. He already knew Damian, and though he was cocky, he thought he could control him if an embarrassing situation should present itself. The new guy he didn’t like, especially his look, continuously moving. He showed agitated breathing also which didn’t seem normal. Between his brows he had a huge black mole like he had never seen.
“Manuel, this is my buddy.” Said Damian bringing him out of his thoughts. “His name is Diego but we all know him as Sent up.”
“Sent up? Who sent him up? God or Satan? Fuck. What riff-raff.” he murmured, shaking his head without taking his eyes off the road. “Well I’m Napoleon, disguised as a taxi driver! Don’t fuck with these hoodlums! Just let me know when the Anti Christ shows up because sooner or later he will appear. Am I wrong? What kind of folks am I taking in my taxi? Even in the city I don’t get this caliber of gate crashers.”
“Don’t worry, this guy just talks gross,” Damian told his companion. “Ever since Josephine stepped out on him there isn’t anybody in the world who can stand him. I have called him Sir to show him that I’m more civilized than he is.”
“Josephine stepped out on me because I slept with your mother! Riff-raff, you’re riff-raff.” Manuel answered, livid.
He really was, more because of Damian’s attitude than from what he had said, since he had spoken with his companion without even looking at him. He ignored him completely.
––Cañaílla (4 ) Give me a cig. “Diego suddenly asked Manuel, who looked at him strangely. “Give me a cigarrette, Don’t be stingy!”
“I’m not who you say,” he anwered him almost whispering. “And when you speak to me, do it with more respect. I have no obligation to give you anything.”
At the denial Diego became more nervous.
“Nothing is going to happen if If you give me a cig, caña, in our town we aren’t tight fisted.”
“I was born in Barcelona. I have nothing to do with cañaillas,” said Manuel loudly. “My parents were Andaluces but born in Barcelona. Is that clear? I’m very proud of being Catalan.
“So where are cañaillas from? asked Damián
“It’s apparent you haven’t done your patriotic duty my boy. Half of Spain does its military service in San Fernando. The residents are called cañaillas. Does that satisfy your curiosity?” Answered Manuel. “I did my service there and had some good times that’s all.”
“Where do you know this man from to call him cañailla? “ Damián asked his friend. He says he is Catalán. Which one do I believe?”
“Come on, I called him cañaílla, but I don’t know him from a crab! In Cataluña there are a lot of children of Andaluces, raised there, and they deny their origin. He says his parents are Andaluces, right? Let him say from where.”
“I’ll say what I feel like saying,” Manuel looked more bothered. “And I don’t have to give you any explanation. You know why? Because I’m not spilling my guts. Got it?”
––––––––
(4) Cañailla: person from San Fernando, province of de Cádiz (Spain).
“He’s made it clear that he doesn’t know you. Come on, Diego, this gentleman is a serious person.” Damian held back his laughter.
“He’s got to be from the island, buddy. Can‘t you see the cañaílla shape of his head? I’m telling you this guy is from the island.”
––––––––
“I don’t know. I just met him this morning at the Barcelona reformatory.” Answered Damian. “and he doesn’t have an Andaluz accent. Please be more respectful or you’ll make him mad.”
“Yes, that face is from the island. I have a special skill for recognising people from the island,” insisted Diego “I’ve seen this fellow at the Vargas truck stop, at a flamenco party where Camarón (5) sang with Rancapino (6). I’m sure it was him. That cañailla shaped head is unforgettable.”
“I’m not from the island and I’ve never been at that truck stop in my life!” responded Manuel angrily. “And I said you will address me respectfully! I’m up to here with you so shut up now or if you don’t you’re out of here.”
“OK fine, caña, no big deal!” answered Diego sarcastically. “I’ll shut up. You’re pretty old to be so disagreeable.”
“Oh what a trip!” murmured Manuel, resigned.
––––––––
(5) Camarón: artistic name of the flamaenco Singer flamenco José Monge Cruz.
(6) Rancapino: artistic name of the flamenco Singer Alonso Núñez.
How could Sent-up possibly have recognised him, he asked himself, flustered? He had been gone from his town for so many years. On the occasion when Camarón and Rancapino had sung at the truck stop he had been present but it had been so long ago. Camarón had been a child. Coincidences are possible but so many?
The sun had set, and on a side road nearly impassable due to the potholes, they stopped to rest. Manuel’s eyes showed extreme exaustion.
“The gentlemen may get out when they wish. One must stretch his legs a bit.”
“Aren’t we going to eat?” asked a hungry Damian.
“To my knowledge, for many kilometers around there are no restaurants. There is no point to go looking around like crazy. We’ll sleep a few hours and after dawn we’ll see where we’ll eat.”
“In my backpack there is a loaf of bread, some sausage, a deli container of potatoes and one with gypsy stew,” said Diego. “The dinner problem is solved.”
“There is enough for both of us.”
“And what about me?” asked Manuel.
“You aren’t hungry. And if you are you can deal with it.”
“You want revenge for the fright I gave you at the truck stop, right?”
Manuel always came out scrapping. As Damian was aware, he enjoyed it tremendously.
“Are you that resentful? Didn’t I pay for your food?”
The two friends got out of the car without a word and dropped down at the foot of a massive tree. Since the cold was becoming noticable, in a few minutes they had lighted a nice bonfire.
Manuel didn’t appear until the bread and sausage showed up in Diego’s hands. In spite of everything, he consumed more than anyone.
Damian prepared another joint but this time fatigue overcome him and Manuel returned to the car to sleep. The youths remained chatting around the embers of the bonfire.
“That Manuel dude is such a pain. I thought he would never leave us alone.” commented Diego. “You seem so subdued Damian. Are you holding out on me?”
“No, I’m not...”
“Any change of plans from what Telephone told me?”
“Well,” Damian conntinued staring at the nearly extinguished fire. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe I got a little ahead of myself.”
“Explain yourself then because I don’t understand you.” Said Diego, confused, as he spat a wad of chewing tobacco at the embers. “You know I risked my life so you can escape. You can’t back out now. What’s the problem? What’s going on in your head?”
“I never back off! My word is sacred! I don’t know. I think this isn’t going to turn out the way I planned. Prophet warned me that this trip would end up wrong if I try to escape. And that guy is never wrong.”
“What makes you think that? All your doubts are over the words of the Prophet? Are you going to base your plans on the words of a nut?”
“And Arsenic,” he said dryly.
Diego thought for a few seconds.
“In a few months,“ explained Damian “They’re going to try me for some recent crimes: thefts, contempt of authority, that’s all. Several years in stir and out to the street. You know? I’m trying to tell you I don’t want any murder charges but with Arsenic involved, it’s hard. I don’t know how I agreed to get involved in this.”
“So what is the alternative? If there is any, I don’t see it.”
“It’s too late now for us to back out. We’re going to follow the plan to the letter. We have to intimidate the taxi driver so he leaves on his own without the car. Since he won’t want to be called a coward, he’ll take a while before he reports it to the police. We’ll use that time to cross the pond. If the taxi driver has any guts we’ll have to put off my escape for another time.” Diego looked dubious. “Calm down, I’ve tested him on the trip and he’s a real coward. He puts up a fierce front like nobody’s business but he doesn’t have enough balls.”
“Arsenic won’t like it.”
“I know that. I want your word that you won’t fail me. If you’re not in, I’d prefer that you just leave now. I’m sorry bud, really, I’m serious, because I don’t want any deception between us.”
“You can count on my help. I don’t much like violence if it’s not necessary. Now, Arsenic, I’m not so sure of...The meeting point is tomorrow evening in the Paco truck stop, near Málaga. By then you have to have it all worked out because you’ll be an hour from the Port of Algeciras, the sailing point to cross the pond.”
“Tomorrow when this fucker gets up we’ll have to fake your death so the guy believes that you really killed yourself. I don’t know how, but we have to invent some way to do it. He’s such a coward and if he’s scared he’ll be putty in our hands and we can manipulate him at will. Let’s rest a while. We have a long way to go.”