Seven Ways to Kill a Cat

BURNING A HOLE

I PAY FOR my ticket like a proper gentleman and board the train. Life’s easier when you’ve got money. And it’s better too: the sky is bluer, the heat is more bearable, even the passengers I’m sharing the carriage with seem like decent people. But I still can’t shake off the shreds of fear clinging to me. Anyway, I haven’t a fucking clue where I want to go or what I want to do. I’ve spent years dreaming of having the cash to be able to do the things I want, but now I’ve got it, I don’t know what they are. ‘I don’t know what the fuck I want,’ I mutter, thinking about skinhead Lucas, ‘but I want it now.’ At least I know that much.

I count the money discreetly, so as not to get dirty looks from the passengers. It’s not exactly a fortune, but it’s enough to finance my vices for a couple of months. Or I could blow the lot in a couple of days.

In Buenos Aires, I get off the train at Belgrano station and walk down Entre Ríos towards the centre. It’s a bit of a slog, but the whole city’s gridlocked. There’s marches and demos and picketers everywhere — striking teachers, old-age pensioners, the unemployed, civil servants, everyone’s out demonstrating against something. Police cars and sirens. But as I cross the Plaza Congreso there’s not a living soul. Callao, Corrientes and the Avenida de Mayo have been cordoned off by the milicos — the cops. At Talcahuano I run into a little group of students with flags, placards, signs, whistles and rattles marching under a huge banner. They’re taking orders from some skinny guy in glasses who’s shouting into a megaphone. There’s only four of them, but they’re acting like there’s a crowd stretching all the way back to Liniers. What’s really fucking funny is they haven’t sussed they’re heading straight for the police cordon about two hundred metres up ahead.

I stand for a minute, amazed, watching them pass — particularly this one girl in a Rasta cap who’s so fucking hot it’s a crime, marching with a sexy little swing of her hips. Half a block from the cordon, she stops dancing and the kids sit down in the middle of the street to weigh up the situation. It’s all bullshit, an act.

I leave them there and head down Lavalle. I go into the first cinema I find open and buy a ticket without even asking what’s on. The cashier hands me back way too much change.

‘First screening is half price,’ she says seeing my surprise.

Inside the cinema, I can only make out three people in the semi-darkness. It’s some Yank movie. A shoot-’em-up. Five minutes in I’m already bored rigid, but I stay to the end. And it ends just like I expect. Happy ever after. Piece of shit.

I go out, spark up a negro and wander about for a bit. I’m hungry. I go into a pizza place and order the most expensive pizza on the menu — it’s got everything: mushrooms, ham, artichokes, peppers …

‘Thick crust, chief,’ I say to the waiter, indicating the thickness with my thumb and index finger. ‘And a beer …’ I pick the most expensive beer too. It’s imported. Black as Coca-Cola. And it’s lush.

I stuff myself till I’m full. I almost can’t finish, but I force myself. When I go to pay, it’s the cinema ticket all over again.

‘Today’s offer is the house special and a beer,’ the waiter explains.

I pay up and leave. I walk around aimlessly and, without meaning to, I find myself in the Once district. I haven’t been here for years. The old Jewish businesses are still here, but not the Jews. It’s all Koreans now. I only see one Jewish family walking hand in hand down the street in their Sunday best — the mother and the two daughters in long skirts, the father in black with a broad-brimmed hat and those two long curls that hang down from the sideburns. The little boy is wearing short trousers and a tiny hat, a sort of skullcap held on with hairpins like the ones Mamina uses.

On the opposite pavement, two Peruvians are arguing over a whore. A chubby girl, pretty enough. I’m not really paying them any attention. Neither are the Jewish family. They keep walking. The argument gets louder and eventually the two guys come to blows. The short fat one headbutts the other guy and breaks his nose. Looks to me like we have a winner. Show’s over. But the crowd of gawpers doesn’t move. They’re waiting to see how it turns out. I leave them to it.

I stop in front of a shoe-shop window and see the pair of shoes I’ve been wanting for ages. I go in. I’m all happy when it turns out they’re the most expensive pair in the shop. It’s stupid, but to me it’s funny. I try them on, but when I check them out in the mirror, they look too flash. I wouldn’t make it to the next street corner wearing these — with the country fucked up the way it is, it’s just asking to be mugged. I find something more low-profile, but when it comes to paying for them, it’s the same shit again. Turns out they’re on special offer. I tell the girl in the shop not to bother wrapping them, I’ll wear them. I leave my old pair with her. They’re no use to anyone.

They’re got rips on both sides and the soles have split.

I head down towards the port. The afternoon is drawing in and I still can’t seem to shake off the fear. I’ve got money burning a hole in my pocket, but with all the fucking special offers and half-price promotions, I can’t manage to get rid of it. Probably for the best, I tell myself, but I’m not really convinced.

Passing a bookshop I go in and browse around. I’m prepared to buy pretty much anything by this stage. Among the dusty, dog-eared books, there’s one that catches my eye. A fat book with a drawing of a white whale ripping apart a ship full of sailors on the cover. Moby Dick, it’s called. I like the drawing, I don’t really know why. I look at it for a bit, then I remember this cartoon with a flying whale I used to watch when I was a kid. It was a bit gay but I liked it. I used to watch it on the colour TV cousin Toni brought round one day. Probably robbed it.

The whale on the cover is just like the one on TV. Same shape, same eyes, but it looks more savage, more realistic. It’s a proper whale.

I space out, thinking about cousin Toni. He was my hero back when I was a kid. He smoked, he dated girls and he always used to give me money. I must have been about ten at the time. And it’s been ten years since I last saw him. He disappeared. He got himself mixed up in some shit. They say he was on the Feds’ most wanted list.

‘I’ll take this,’ I say to the old guy dozing behind a pile of books.

He gets up, stretches, takes the book I’m holding.

‘This one’s really good, it’s a classic!’ he tells me. ‘That’ll be four pesos.’

Fuck knows what I think I’m doing. I’ve read exactly one book in my whole life, and here I am buying another one. To make matters worse, the guy’s practically giving it away when all I was trying to do was get rid of my money …