Seven Ways to Kill a Cat

HEADING BACK

THERE’S FIFTEEN MINUTES before the train leaves. It’s the last one back to the barrio. I check the time on the rusty panel in Buenos Aires station. A guard has just turned the handle that controls the three timetables: destinations, times, platforms. After mine, on the south branch line, there’s one train twenty minutes later heading south-west. After that, nothing.

If I’d hung around a little longer, I’d have had to spend the night in the station. And I can’t say I much fancy the idea. There’s not even a clean bench you could stretch out on. Next to the ticket office a filthy tramp is setting up cardboard boxes to bed down for the night. Further along, a cripple with a begging sign is ranting and raving like some psycho. He’s necking a carton of panther piss and arguing with the ghosts clouding his vision. To complete the set, a dark-skinned guy with a pockmarked face is closing up the news-stand and kicking the metal shutter down.

Up on the platforms there’s a gang of kids sniffing glue from Coke cans. Not much chance of a good night’s sleep with them around. When they’re stoned, they could easily set fire to you while you’re asleep — just for a laugh. I think I recognise one of them from the barrio. I think he hangs with Quique, but I’m not sure. They’re all the same, those kids. Doesn’t matter whether they’ve got mothers, fathers, brothers, their real family is on the street. Chueco was like that. So was I. But we’re grown up now and we’ve got things sussed. No one calls us sons of the street now, they call us sons of bitches.

I dodge a couple of delinquents fucking around on the platform and spot a café that’s still open. I go in and sit at the counter. The guy’s already closing up. He’s just finished cleaning the coffee machine and started in on the grill. He picks out a piece of dried-up meat and puts it on a plate. Just as he’s about to throw away a burnt piece of sausage, I say, ‘Hey, if you’re going to toss it, give it to me, boss.’

The guy turns and glares at me. He obviously doesn’t find the joke funny. I back down, I don’t want any grief.

‘Could I get a sausage sandwich, please boss, and a glass of wine?’

‘If you want it hot, you got no chance, kid, there’s no charcoal on the grill.’

‘No, as it comes is fine …’ I say.

While he’s dealing with the food, I fumble for my money. A handful of coins to pay him. I slip the number Toni gave me and a couple of big bills into my book. I put the rest back into my pocket. The wine is even worse than the muck Fat Farías sells and the bread is stale. When you’re served rat poison there’s nothing you can do. I use the bread to sop up the chimichurri sauce which makes it just about edible. As I’m taking the second bite, I hear my train called over the loudspeaker. I knock back the wine, pay up and leave, still chewing.

By the time I climb aboard the train, it’s already pulling out. I walk through the carriages towards the front of the train. I don’t really know why — it’s not like there’s no empty seats. There are only a couple of passengers in each carriage, stretched out so they can sleep. In the third carriage, I see her. She’s sitting in a window seat, her back to me. I recognise her straight off. Without thinking, I plonk myself down next to her.

‘Yani! Qué onda?’

‘Fine,’ she says, startled. ‘How are things with you?’ She’s lying; she looks terrible. It’s hardly surprising.

‘How’s your old man?’ I ask. I sound like an arsehole, but I genuinely want to know.

‘You heard then? He’s OK. I’m just on my way back from the hospital. The doctors did X-rays and a brain scan, and it turns out there’s no serious damage, thank God. They gave him five stitches, put a dressing on the gash in his head. He’s got a broken rib, but it’s not serious. They’re letting him out tomorrow.’

‘That’s good. Are you going to pick him up?’

‘No. El Jetita is going to collect him in his car,’ she says.

‘El Jetita?’ I slip up.

‘Yeah. It’s really weird,’ she says, studying me carefully. ‘These days, he and my old man are inseparable as arsecrack and underpants. He even showed up at the hospital today …’

I swallow hard, trying to think of a way out of this mess.

‘What about you? How are you bearing up?’

‘Fine …’

‘What’s with the face then? Were you worried?’

‘No, of course not. I knew he’d be fine. You know what my old man’s like. By the time I found him, he was washing the blood out of his hair, and was all for closing up the wound with superglue. Didn’t even want to see a doctor. It took me an age to get him to go to the first-aid clinic.’

‘So what is it then? What’s up with you?’

She clicks her tongue, sighs, stares out the window. She’s pissed off or she’s scared, one of the two. But mostly, she’s cute. Her mouth tightens up like a purple flower. She half closes her eyes and the ends of her eyebrows curve upward. She looks like a cat on heat. All she needs is a pair of little pointy ears. She pushes back her long black hair and gives me a sidelong glance.

‘OK, I’ll tell you, Gringo, but you can’t say a word to anyone, OK?’ She’s staring at me evenly now.

I try to read her eyes, but they’re inscrutable. I nod and wait for her to say something.

‘I’m worried about what’s going on between El Jetita and my old man. I don’t know what deal they’ve got going, but whatever it is I don’t like it. El Jetita’s following me around all the time and coming on to me and papá doesn’t say anything …’

‘Because your Papá is a first-class cunt,’ I think, and the more I think about it the angrier I get. Fat Farías has always been the gamekeeper, keeping poachers away from his little girl, and now he’s prepared to serve her up on a plate to that fucking pervert. Either he’s getting something out of the deal — and it would have to be something big, otherwise it wouldn’t make sense — or else El Jetita’s got him by the balls and he’s got no choice but to turn a blind eye. But whatever the reason, the fat fucker is prepared to peddle his own daughter. I should have let Chueco kick him all the way into the next barrio.

‘Don’t let it get to you, Yani,’ I say, choking back my anger. ‘You can count on me, anything you need …’

She looks at me sceptically. I go on.

‘El Jetita’s a fucking psycho, playing the gangster. Someone needs to put a stop to it, that’s all.’

‘And you’re the one to stop it?’ she asks mischievously and smiles at me.

‘What, you think I’m chicken?’ I say like it’s a joke, but I’m deadly serious.

Yani does her best to change the subject and I go along with it for the next couple of stops, but after that we sit in silence. Each deep in our thoughts.

A conductor comes through the carriages closing the metal blinds. He nods for Yani to pull down the one next to her. He doesn’t bother to explain — not that he needs to, we know the deal — and goes on his way. We’re coming into prime stone-throwing territory — kids throwing rocks big enough to split the head of anyone dumb enough to have the windows open in summer, or smash the train window in winter. I’ve seen it happen. But it’s all quiet this trip. Nothing going bump in the night.

Yani tries to pick up the conversation, asks what I’ve been up to. I lie a bit, and then tell her what I did with my day. She asks about the book, and I lie again, try to sound interesting. She talks about the books her teacher had her read for class last year. El Matadero, which was disgusting, and Amalia, which she loved. This year she’s doing her final exams.

‘Are you going to keep it up? The studying?’

‘Don’t know. What about you?’

‘What about me?’ I glare at her.

She looks embarrassed and I regret the words straight away. I make like a mental defective, ask her to repeat the question and she laughs and we’re cool again.

‘I was only asking if you’re planning on finishing school, babes. They run a class at night school for adults to take their exams. You’re nineteen, right, you’re an adult? Three years and you could have a qualification.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe if I could get a cushy morning job I might go back to school.’

The train is pulling in. The station is dark. I say the first thing that comes into my head, trying to sound mysterious and enigmatic to make her laugh. And she does. I love the way her cheeks dimple when she smiles. She’s so pretty. Just hearing her laugh turns me on. I imagine her laughing like that, stark naked. For me, in my bed.

We stand there for a minute or two until the train pulls out. We’re about to say goodbye. I’m going across the tracks, she’ll be heading down the hill. I tell her again, seriously this time, that if she has any trouble with El Jetita she can count on me. She thanks me. She kisses me on the cheek like we’ve been friends our whole lives, and then she’s gone.