Seven Ways to Kill a Cat

BACK IN BLACK

BEFORE IT GETS light, I leave the shack, moving quickly, pressing ahead like I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to be, like I’ve got someone waiting for me. But neither of those things is true. Truth is, I’m no one, I’m nothing, an empty space. So I wander in circles around the barrio in the dawn’s early light. Panicked. And what’s really freaking me out is how quiet it is. There’s not a soul around. It’s like I’m a ghost in a ghost town.

The only sign of life — and even that’s barely a murmur — comes from Fat Farías’s place. A sound so faint that — given the distance — I’m not sure if it’s real or if I’m imagining it. I want to go closer, but I don’t dare. I see two figures coming down the alley that leads to the station. Hand in hand. They’re about the same height, both dressed in black. They don’t say a word. I can’t be sure, so I hide behind the skeleton of a clapped-out car and wait.

‘Where are you headed, Grandma?’ I emerge from my hiding place when I see her.

‘M’hijo! You gave me such a fright …’ Mamina says.

I recognised her in the distance from her clothes. I didn’t recognise Quique. He looks different. He’s wearing his hair gelled down, a white shirt and a black jacket and trousers. He’s even wearing shoes. He looks perfect, like he’s making his First Communion. Mamina’s a crafty old dear. God knows where she got the cash to dress him up like that. I stand there dumbfounded, I don’t get it.

‘We’re going to the church, for his sister’s …’ Mamina can’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

‘Oh, Jesus … Oh shit, I’m really sorry, loco,’ I say to Quique and hug him hard.

I have to fill the silence, but the minute I open my mouth I regret it. Just words. He stands there like a stone. Stock-still. He doesn’t react. He barely moves his eyes, huge and round as the day that’s dawning. They flit wetly from one thing to another as though unable to make sense of the world. He doesn’t even seem to recognise me. He’s staring into the distance, towards a horizon that isn’t there.

‘And where are you off to with that bag?’ Mamina asks.

‘Wherever …’ I say. ‘If I stay here in the barrio, they’re going to kill me.’

‘Have you seen the way they’ve wrecked the house? Didn’t I tell you not to get mixed up with those people? What do I have to do to get through that thick skull of yours?’ Mamina scolds me. But it’s a waste of breath, there’s no way to fix this now.

‘I’m sorry, abuela,’ I say, staring at the ground like I used to when I was a kid.

But I know that it’s too late for apologies. You can’t put things right just like that …

Mamina pinches my cheek roughly and gives me a slap. She slaps me hard, but with love.

‘You’re like Antonio. You get mixed up with a bad crowd, get involved in all sorts. You’re going to end up just like him.’

There she goes again. But I’ve had it up to here with her hints and insinuations.

‘What the fuck did Toni ever do to you, Mamina?’ I explode. ‘Just give it to me straight, because he’s back here in the barrio.’

‘To me? Nothing. It was what he did to you. Don’t you remember?’ she answers in a whisper. Sweet and gentle as ever. I bite my lip, ball my fists, my eyes blazing. ‘No, obviously you don’t want to remember,’ she goes on. ‘You don’t remember how he seduced your mother, how he took her off to Zavaleta and made her work as a prostitute …? It’s his fault that Cecilia wound up in a ditch, and that’s something I can never forgive him for.’

Cecilia. Mamá’s name. I haven’t heard it in years. Cecilia. Now it’s just an empty word. Hollow. But it echoes inside me. I count: one, two, three … seven letters. Together they spell out something I’ve forgotten, then suddenly something clicks. And I remember. Inside my head, the images rain down like blows. Toni flirting with her as she hung out the washing and mamá laughing. I remember that he always used to say to her, ‘You’re only starving to death because you want to, Cecilia.’ I remember them whispering together in the street … And I remember a shape wrapped in a blanket lying on the hard shoulder next to a police car and Mamina pulling me away so I wouldn’t see …

‘You’re all grown up now, Gringuito, you’re your own man. If you need to leave the barrio, then leave … But if you go, that’s an end of it. Don’t come back crying to me,’ Mamina whispers and the look of scorn on her face unnerves me.

‘Don’t worry, abuela, I know what I have to do,’ I say defiantly, but I can feel my heart sink.

‘Come on, your mother’s all on her own keeping vigil over your sister,’ she says to Quique, but she’s looking at me.

‘Hang in there, loco,’ I say, squeezing his arm. ‘You need to stay strong, to support your mother.’

Quique nods at me and blinks. He stays strong. But on the inside, he’s shattered. He takes Mamina’s arm and calmly leads her away. As if it were true, as if Quique, in his First Communion suit, is the one who has to support Mamina. But it’s the other way round. Quique’s the one who’s about to commune with death. You might see the signs, but you never know when to expect it. Like with Chueco, taking communion from the Grim Reaper. I was the altar boy. The communion wafer was a bullet.

If there’s one out there for me, let it come now, without warning, because I’ve had about as much of this shit as I can take. Now the sun is tracing everything in yellow gold. Like it’s all new. The puddles, the line of shacks, the rubbish bags ripped open by the dogs, the far end of the street, Mamina’s shoulders and Quique’s dark hair framed against the sunlight … Every outline shimmers as though something is about to happen, as though somehow it might be possible to start over.

Cloudless. The clear morning sky greets the sound of bells. The call to Mass, a thankless, never-ending funeral. But it’s not the church bells ringing out, but shots. I can hear them clearly. Three bullet wounds in the silence of the dawn sky. It’s the signal.