Offramp making farewell to the motorway. A clear path free of potholes and speedbumps. Cumbia rattling glass in the university parking lot. Paco put the money in the wallet. Raced down the hallways. Entered the classroom sweating and sat himself down next to Meche. “According to Bakhtin, in the monological novel” – the professor did not acknowledge him – “all of the arguments, characters, and situations in the narrative are deployed either to affirm or negate a thesis. The writer who put an end to this type of novel is Dostoyevsky.” He looked at the diagrams drawn on the chalkboard and in the notebook of his classmate, made a few notes, and then left the room. Chato and Raquel were chatting with a few people at the end of the hall. Should he go over or wave from a distance? The bathroom was empty. He aimed his stream at the disintegrating piece of soap at the bottom of the urinal. What a shit class. First the heroes and villains thing, like something out of a videogame, and now this shit about monologic. When were they going to get to read some actual literature? It bothered him that they spent entire hours talking about essays that talked about novels. The theorists had constructed entire edifices of knowledge based on the fictional stories of other people. And these were far less clear and far less agreeable than the fiction itself. The books they were dealing with in class seemed to have this need to build endless labyrinths around the essential thing. Paco didn’t stop to look in the mirror or wash his hands after pissing. He walked straight over to them. “I don’t get this fixation the Russians have with literary theory,” he said, after greeting the group. “Now we’re looking at yet another one.” “Ah,” Chato said, scratching his head, “yeah I have no idea.” “We don’t have to bother with that,” interjected Raquel. “We’re doing scriptwriting for radio.” “Sounds better. I’d rather read novels than go to classes.” “Then do it…”
“I don’t have the time. I’ve got two jobs and a shitload of things to study.” “That’s heavy. I have to walk my dog,” Raquel smiled. “That’s my only job.” “Do you know the corner park?” “No.” “We should go. It’s close to our houses and you could bring your dog.” “Cool.” “No can do for me, bro,” said Chato. “I have to take my little brother to Muay Thai in the afternoon. If I don’t, I don’t get to borrow the car.” “Shit… Well - me and you could go for a bit?” Paco asked Raquel. “Let’s.” “See you there at 5?” “Sounds good.” “Alright I’ve gotta get back to class.” “Go on – if anything comes up, I’ve got your number.” “Get a move on, bro.” Meche was taking notes. Grinning, she turned her notebook towards him. The professor opened Crime and Punishment and wrote something on the chalkboard. Where to even begin? Paco copied a few words and heard laughter from the hallway. “In the next class, we’ll be looking at centrifugal and centripetal forces in the narrative.” “We’re going back to Lukács?” “It’s what we were looking at in today’s class. But on top of arriving late, you had left the room.” “I’m sorry.”
“Well, you’ll have to make copies from Meche, Paco. Because I’m not going to repeat what we’ve been doing. If you keep missing out, you’re going to fail.” “I’ll make copies, prof. I’m sorry – I had to work.” “Not my fault,” he said on his way out the door. Meche went out after him. Paco put his things in a bag, hung it over his shoulder, and then turned off the air conditioning. He walked out toward the parking lot, practically dragging his feet. A security guard was standing with his arms crossed at the entrance. Palm trees arching from the weight of their bunches of coconuts. He lowered the volume on the car stereo. Yo sé que nunca besaré tu boca, tu boca de púrpura encendida. What a drag having to ask for copies from Meche. He hadn’t even read the last ones. She at least had managed to find a copy of the book. He circled the roundabout and arrived back at home. The dog was chewing at the cone around his neck and came over to sniff at Paco’s feet when he got out of the truck. “Ma – Balam is trying to get his cone off.” “He’s already chewed it off twice.” “I hope he doesn’t open the stitches.” “I’m getting tired of being the one to have to care for him. For a moment there I was going to tell you to take him to Mocochá and leave him with Camello.” “Well yeah… but that would be sad. He’d be more lonely out there.” “You think so? Who knows what your dad would have done…” “The dog meant nothing to him. He would’ve left him in the woods and told the horsemen to toss him scraps of food.”
“It was that kind of thing I never liked about him. But these days I’ve been missing him…” “I know what you mean, Ma.” “But I’m fine,” Teté said, drying her eyes. “I’m fine. I’ve been spending time with your aunts. The other day I won 500 pesos playing cards.” “That’s great, Ma. Dad never played around with money like that.” “Not him, no. He was a tightwad.” Teté went into the kitchen and Paco went up to his room. His bed was perfectly made. He turned on the air conditioning, threw himself on the bed, and took the pages out of his backpack. Zola’s descriptions of horseraces constitute a splendid example of his literary virtuosity. He read the parts that were underlined. Tolstoy doesn’t describe a “thing,” but rather narrates the destinies of individuals. He closed his eyes.
Paco sat down on a bench. A ways off from the main avenue, the park consisted of an oxidized seesaw, some monkey bars, and a handful of plants. Two fuzzy caterpillars ambled by together, bending themselves like straws. He wondered if they were having sex, or if writhing was just their way of inhabiting the world. Raquel arrived, being pulled by a Labrador, dressed in all black and wearing shorts. “Meet Chili.” “Hello there!” he said, petting the dog. “I almost never let him off the leash – he’s too big. But I love him.” The dog rubbed his head on Paco’s fingers. “And what’s up with you?” Raquel asked. “Do you have any pets?” “Yeah I have a dog. His name’s Balam. He got bit by a rattlesnake recently. He lives with me and my mom and our maid, Lisi.”
“The truck.” “Ah – because it’s fucking huge, and I don’t know. It brings back memories.” “That’s why I like riding with Chato. Whenever I go alone I crank up the music.” “Ah yeah. I loved what you were playing in there the other day.” “Thanks. I feel like I’m a bit of a music-addict.” “And what happens when there’s silence?” “I get bored, or a little sad. Depending on the moment.” “Ah yeah – I get you. I wish I had more time to read. That’s what helps me get outside myself. The shitty thing is that I’m sick of all the theory we have to read in school. I don’t have the time or the motivation to read it. I’m afraid I’m gonna burn out. How do you do it?” “Well, the first midterms are coming up, and I won’t be able to take half of them due to all the classes I’ve missed.” “Damn – that’s harsh.” “Yeah, but there’s no worries. My dad’s the one who pays the tuition, and never in my life has he scolded me.” “And they don’t give you any shit about the activism – the picketing and all that?” “No. My parents don’t have a clue, and neither do the professors. And the other kids in my program don’t give a shit about anything except partying. They’re always coming to class totally hungover, smelling awful.” “Ah, well – they would hate me in your program.” “Why – you smell bad?” Blushing, Raquel took Chili’s paw in her hand. “I feel like you’d get on well with them, given the things you read and all that. Anyways, I think it’s cool that you’re kind of a nerd.” “No – it’s that I almost never go out to parties or anything. Truth is, I don’t drink.”
“I live with my mom, too. We get along well. She’s an anthropologist. Or rather, a historian. Or both of those,” she laughed. “I don’t know, really. But she writes and reads a lot.” “Damn – lucky. The only book in my house is the Bible.” “Well, maybe. Intelligent people can be difficult. Wait – how’d he get bit by a snake?” “My house has this huge patio. When my dad was alive, he made sure everything was kept in order. He even had a shotgun. He’d kill foxes and snakes. He was a country guy – he was into that kind of thing. But I never knew where he hid it.” “But did the snake just come into your house? Just like that, as if it were nothing?” “I don’t know. The maid found Balam half dead and they took him to the vet. And there they found out it was a snake.” “Damn – poor little guy.” She hugged Chili. “I’m totally afraid of snakes. I hope there’s none in my patio.” “My dad would shoot ‘em with the gun. But usually he was out in the country, in Mocochá, not here in Mérida. I’ve never heard of a snake appearing in a patio and biting a dog.” “Me neither.” “That’s why I’m freaked out. Hey – did you ride back with Chato today?” “Yeah. We’re supposed to take turns driving each week, but we almost always take my car because his mom is using his.” “Today I had to drive in the truck. I hate that thing.” “What I do is I always make Chato drive. I can’t be bothered.” “No shit.” “Why do you hate it?” “What?”
“Seriously?” “Yeah.” “Wow – I’ve never known a teetotaler before. What do you do when you go out?” “Dance, chat…I don’t know. Normal things.” “Weird. That’s really cool.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. Drunks annoy me. Always saying stupid shit.” “That’s true.” “Well, I’m glad you got to meet Chili. But I’ve got to go walk him now. He hasn’t shit yet.” “Want me to come with you?” Raquel leaned backwards to counteract the weight of the dog pulling on the leash, and Paco looked at her for a second. Should he offer to help? He kept silent. Didn’t want to come on too strong. They went out through the back of the park, the streets full of color. He couldn’t remember ever having walked this way and didn’t realize the facades of the houses shined so brilliantly. “Hey – I have a few cats up for adoption if you’re interested or know anyone who might be.” “No cats allowed in my house unfortunately. But I’ll let you know.” “Damn. Chato can’t take them either.” He felt a sharp pain within. He wanted to ask if Chato was her boyfriend, or if she wanted to get back together with Roi, or why she agreed to go on this outing to the park with him. Raquel stopped walking, and Paco wanted to silence his doubts with a kiss. His heart beat faster and faster and he couldn’t stop looking at her lips. She took out a key and opened the door.
“Hey – you want to go to a show?” “Totally. Where is it?” “In the city center. I’ll send you the flyer.” “Sounds good. Let me know.” She gave him a farewell kiss on the cheek. Snaking vegetation, incomprehensible graffiti, skinny dogs, speedbumps without warnings, curiously shaped potholes. Everything was full of life. As if the whole neighborhood of Chuburná were suddenly coming into being. He felt like taking off running, climbing onto a roof, and throwing himself to the wind. The energy was overflowing. The blood in his veins, each and every muscle in his body, were bidding him to break something. Whatever that might be. “Are you going to bring the truck in, son?” Teté was watering the garden and Balam was drinking water from the hose. “What?” “You left your Dad’s truck outside.” “Ah yeah – I’ll bring it in right now,” he said, picking the cone up from the yard.