‘Fascinating.’
‘Did he tell you why he was interested in the subject?’
‘Quite frankly, Señor Martín, our relationship isn’t that close. The governor merely threatens me with mutilation of various sorts unless I carry out his orders within four weeks and I merely say “yes, sir”.’
‘Don’t worry, Fermín. In four weeks’ time you’ll be out of here.’
‘Oh, sure, on a beach in the Caribbean, with two well-fed mulatto girls massaging my feet no less.’
‘Have faith.’
Fermín let out a despondent sigh. The cards of his future were being dealt out among lunatics, thugs and dying men.
12
That Sunday, after the speech in the yard, the governor cast Fermín a questioning look, rounding it off with a smile that turned his stomach. As soon as the guards allowed the prisoners to fall out, Fermín edged over towards Martín.
‘Brilliant speech,’ Martín remarked.
‘Historic. Every time that man speaks, the history of Western thought undergoes a Copernican revolution.’
‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Fermín. It goes against your natural tenderness.’
‘Go to hell.’
‘I’m on my way. Cigarette?’
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘They say it helps you die faster.’
‘Bring it on then.’
He didn’t manage to get beyond the first puff. Martín took the cigarette from his fingers and gave him a few pats on the back while Fermín seemed to be coughing up even the memories of his first communion.
‘I don’t know how you can swallow that. It tastes of singed dogs.’
‘It’s the best you can get here. Apparently they’re made from cigarette stubs picked up in the corridors of the Monumental bullring.’
‘The bouquet suggests it’s more likely from the urinals.’
‘Take a deep breath, Fermín. Feeling better?’
Fermín nodded.
‘Are you going to tell me something about that cemetery so that I have a bit of offal to throw at the head swine? It doesn’t have to be true. Any nonsense you can come up with will do.’
Martín smiled as he exhaled the fetid smoke through his teeth.
‘How’s your cellmate, Salgado, the defender of the poor?’
‘Here’s a story for you. I thought I’d reached a certain age and had seen it all in this circus of a world. But, early this morning, when it looked like Salgado had given up the ghost, I hear him get up and walk over to my bunk like a vampire.’
‘He does have something of the vampire,’ agreed Martín.
‘Anyway, he comes over and stands there staring at me. I pretend to be asleep and when Salgado takes the bait, I see him scurry off to a corner and with the only hand he has left he starts to poke around in what medical science refers to as the rectum or final section of the large intestine,’ Fermín continued.
‘What did you say?’