The Dog Fighter (13 page)

You have a good heart dog fighter. The poet said as we left. But people only notice your shoulders and hands.

That night I stood at the window of my room looking over the garden on the rooftop. The cleaning woman had hung the clothes on the line earlier in the day and the smell of the cacti in the wet soil of their clay pots was comforting. The long walk with the poet had been good. The day had been dry and warm. Not too hot. I concentrated on the towers of the cathedral across the rooftops. The streetlamps cast thin lines of glaring light along the windmill blades. In the shadows of the windows I kept my questions. Stared into them standing in the dark of my room feeling the contours of my fists. I thought then of the dogs. Of my father. I feared somehow he was going to be at the fighting. Hunched with ragmen wrapping my arm. Or at the fence with red eyes like the drunk. I feared him standing among the yelling men. That he would whisper.

I put money on the dog.

A lamp turned on in the room of the dentists mother across the courtyard. Spilling into shadows and making other shadows. The dentist undressed his mother from her dress while she sat on the bed. Wrinkled skin the color of thin paper the poet used in his stall at the market. While he folded her dress she felt for the nightstand and then the pillow as she lowered herself to rest. Jorge pulled a thin blanket from the foot of her bed neatly to her chin. He spoke to her soft words I was not able to hear. He brought his ear to her mouth when she spoke. Then the door to the back room opened below and music from the Victrola seeped into the courtyard. One of the young men called for the dentist but Jorge kept his ear to his mothers whispers. Then the door to the back room closed and in the quiet Jorge turned off the lamp by his mothers bed and the shadows were dark again with time. I heard the dentist on the creaking stairs. The young men laughing in the back room. Then the sound of another door closing to me. Another light turned off.

In the quiet of the dark I stood at my window and listened for her in the music of the sea and the breeze and the laughing and the lights in the distant windows flickering votive candles. I thought about the fighting and my grandfather and the old poet and I was very nervous and scared even when I tried now to hear the yelling men calling my name.

I sat on my bed in the dark holding my own hands.

 

I
n the small room on the rooftop using a small knife Ramón worked at dismantling a skinny leg from a wood chair. He tried sawing through the leg at its narrow ends but the knife was not for sawing and when this became too difficult he cursed the knife and broke the chair against the metal railing of the spiral staircase.

Where do you hide yourself? Ramón asked me while trying to saw the leg. People in the cantinas are always asking where you are. Wondering why you never come out with us.

I saw you the other night. I told him then. You and some others.

Where?

Near the abandoned church.

You should have stopped us. We are always out late. Walking the streets. Causing trouble.

Maybe next time.

There is going to be a Christmas party next week. At the house of a friend of ours. Plenty of beautiful women. You should come.

When he had broken the chair over the railing he picked one of the legs off the floor and held it in his hand admiring it in the golden light. A wicked smile eased into the corners of his mouth.

I should have done that in the beginning. He said.

In the month since my first fight the cuts on my chest had healed. Ramón sat in a different chair rubbing the eucalyptus balm over the scar above his knee. Now it was nothing but a long pink slash of thick skin. To be fresh for more scars we stretched and did push ups and sit ups listening to the fighting on the rooftop. I could tell that something distracted Ramón. He looked to the stairs with much anticipation in his eyes. Listening to the sounds of voices two floors below where Elías the doorman stood guard. The yelling men on the rooftop cheered for the first two fighters but waited for Ramón and myself. For Ramón because he had beaten two of the dogs of Mendoza. And for myself because my great size is rare in Mexico.

When Vargas footsteps came heavily up the metal stairs Ramón walked quietly on his toes to a far corner of the room where the person climbing the stairs would have his back to him. When the fugitive reached the top of the spiral staircase he looked to me and smiled. His eyes scanned the room for Ramón but then across his face he realized where Ramón was and this was when Ramón hit him with the leg of the chair in the back of the head just above his thick neck. Vargas fell to the floor unconscious. A welt rose along his neck and below his ear instantly. Ramón giggled. He bent over and took from the fugitives hand the painted stick he had chosen below. Ramón replaced this stick with his own.

Let Mendoza be for someone else tonight. He said.

With the loud thud of the fugitive falling to the floor Elías came running up the staircase with his revolver drawn. He put the revolver back in his pants and he and Ramón stood over Vargas laughing.

One bottle or two? Elías asked while shaking the dog fighters hand.

No. Ramón answered. María.

María?

De los ojos grandes.

Muy bien.

When the door opened and Ramón went out to fight two ragmen helped the fugitive to sit in a chair. His eyes were glassy. They threw water in his face to wake him. I had not moved from where I sat.

You are going to have to kill him now. I said to Vargas as he shook his head to stir himself awake. He did not realize that Ramón had switched the painted sticks.

Why? He asked without looking me in the eyes. So Cantana can have me killed?

Ramón is friends with El Tapado?

They drink together in all the cantinas. Share women. Steal other mens women.

I sat quietly. Before I had not thought of Ramón as the way for me to meet her. I suspected the dog fighters spent time with all the businessmen except Cantana. Ramón was handsome though. And colorful in his fighting and this made him very popular.

Why do you think I spend time with him? Vargas said a moment later.

Cantana?

No. Ramón.

No sé.

I like the women he brings. I am not a handsome man like he is. I do not have the money or power Cantana has. But I do not mind their scraps. Their scraps are very tasty.

This was over a woman? I held my hand to the side of my neck where his welt was. María?

Some whore. He winked. I bet Ramón that he could not knock me unconscious. Vargas laughed a short laugh after saying this. It was a bet. Nothing more. The fugitive lowered his face and shook his head slightly to stir himself. I will get him though. You wait. The golden boy will get what he deserves.

But then came the yelling men.

Ramón! They chanted. Ramón! Ramón!

Cabrón! The fugitive chanted. Cabrón! Cabrón! He looked at me and smiled but I knew that he was disappointed.

I was next to fight. While the ragmen prepared my arm with the heavy rug I searched for her in the crowd of businessmen and yelling men busy placing their bets. The well dressed young man went among them but I did not see him stop in front of Cantana. I could not find Cantana.

It was not until I caught the back legs of the second dog I had to fight and swung its head against a metal pole of the ring that I saw her. Each time I did this the dog came back and flashing its teeth snapped uselessly at me until the skull was crushed and blood spilled from its ears onto the floor of the ring. Under the light of that full moon the businessmen stood around her yelling my name. Again and again while the mistresses of the businessmen cried and the businessmen themselves clapped their hands. When I found her alongside Cantana her eyes sunk like teeth into my skin. I was panting. Standing in the blood of the dogs I had just killed. And still I could think only of kissing her neck. Of rubbing the back of her soft hand against my cheek. Burying my face in the fragrance of her long black hair.

While Vargas killed his dog I stood among the men looking through the fence across the ring into her eyes. I did not care that Cantana could see this. The fighting had been between the three of us. Furious and violent between our eyes. She sat next to Cantana but never taking her eyes from me. Her high cheeks red from the warmth of the lights above the ring. The corners of her mouth turned down some but only enough to push up gently the plush of her lower lip. Her eyelashes long and dark and beautiful when she blinked. My mind went empty like the dark water surrounding us when we made love in the bay. The quiet of her eyes like stars falling onto my chest. Her singing to me in a voice she shared with no one else. Her smile a slight pinch at the corner of her eyes. But plenty.

I felt strong but of some different strength. I felt good. It was better than any number of men yelling my name. I felt myself a great man above the fury between us. I told her that I was for her alone. That my days were spent imagining us talking in the kitchen of our home. Kissing in the quiet of our small room. Our children asleep. She looked into me without judgment. And together we were alone surrounded by yelling men before the fighting of dogs.

After Vargas had killed his dog Cantana put his gloved hand on her arm. I awoke from her to find the businessman staring at me. His eyes hot coals behind his sunglasses. But a smile on his face because he recognized our love. He nodded at me then as he stood to leave. I knew that he enjoyed allowing this love. That this was the power of Cantana. It was this way when I stood in rooms knowing how scared others were of not what I did with my arms and hands and chest but what I could do. Cantana and I understood one another very well.

That night once more though he took her from me into the shadows beyond the light of the ring. We had stared into one another and admitted our love. But to do that without words was also to admit Cantanas hold over us both.

Five

T
he Christmas party the following week was held at the house of the young businessman Rodríguez. He was the fourth man that I had followed walking through the plaza mayor with Elías and Vargas and Ramón. He lived alone in a neighborhood at the north of Canción where in the hills the roads were of stone and the houses not built alongside one another but with fences around them containing landscaped yards. Tall palm trees lined the path to the front of the house and on the side wall I noticed a bougainvillea as old and beautiful as the one at the dentists. Music from a mariachi band came from the back of the house. Inside I heard women laughing and through some windows saw the twirl of their skirts dancing.

Earlier in the week to impress her I had bought a suit of cotton that the tailor was forced to fit especially for me. My feet were uncomfortable in the new dress shoes over the stone path. The shirt tight at my neck. I was nervous. When I came into the entry of the house Ramón was coming down the stairs with a beautiful woman. Rodríguez hurried behind them trying to get Ramóns attention.

Que chingón! Ramón yelled ignoring Rodríguez. Many turned to look. Who is this?

I handed a bottle of expensive tequila to Rodríguez.

At least one of you dog fighters has some courtesy.

Ramón shrugged and said.

I invited the women. It is not my fault you do not enjoy the company of women.

Ramón laughed more and squeezed the girl toward him while Rodríguez blushed trying to think of a response. Ramón recognized this and laughed more at the young businessman.

I am joking hombre. Everyone here knows that you love women. Ugly ones. But still.

There were many people in the house. It was very well built and similar to no other house I had seen in Canción. The floors were of stained hardwood with intricate designs around the doors and hallways. The walls were of stone but inside lath and plaster. On these walls someone had hung many paintings of the sea. There were also several portraits of one man who I guessed to be Rodríguez but older. Young men and women well dressed went from room to room carrying drinks or eating from plates of food. Several businessmen I recognized from the fighting sat on a large couch in the corner before a large stained glass window of the malecón and the Bay of Canción. These businessmen sat by themselves but with their mistresses constantly at their sides. One of the mistresses wore a close fitting green dress. She was a little drunk and begging one of the businessmen to dance with her but he wagged a stubby finger between them and shook his head no. His face very serious. Holding her hand tight like some treasure. Ramón and the young woman he was with had gone outside where I saw him through a window near the fountain making a group laugh. The women in this group stared at him with fixed eyes. The young woman he came down the stairs with continued to put her hand on his arm but it fell to the side ignored when he spoke with his great gestures. I turned from the window to the paintings.

I have a nephew with one eye and a clubfoot who rubs his snot on the furniture and it looks better than this. Vargas said suddenly standing next to me. He was dressed in black but wearing old comfortable huaraches. Nice shoes. He smiled.

Who is the man in these paintings?

The father. The mother died when Rodríguez was young. Or maybe she is still in Spain. I do not remember. I was drunk when he told the story.

And the father.

Dead. Vargas said sipping from a green bottle without a label. But not after making plenty of money in oil to leave to our friend here.

I think so. I said.

Do you? Vargas asked.

Cómo? I was confused by this answer from the fugitive. I was accustomed to speaking with the poet who when I said things such as this it was usually just to let him know that I was listening to his rambling. But now I did not agree with the tone of voice Vargas spoke in.

Nothing. He drank from the bottle.

What is that? I asked him.

Mescal. Homemade by some old man Rodríguez is friends with. Later we are going to drain the gasoline and see if Cantanas limousine will run on this. He held up the bottle for me to try. You want some?

I shook my head. Looked over the crowd. I was disappointed not to find Cantana. Not to see her. But I did not risk mentioning her or the businessman to Vargas.

I am surprised you came tonight. He said to me.

Why?

You do not seem like the type for parties.

The fugitive made me uncomfortable. I already felt very uncomfortable in my suit and without a glass of something in my hand I did not know whether to have my hands in my pockets or to cross my arms.

No sé. I said to say something.

You do not know what? The fugitive asked.

What do you mean?

He laughed more. Drank from the bottle and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. His eyes were already glassy and his breath sharp from the alcohol.

Well. Vargas said then. I am going to go and find a lady for the night. And if not then I am going to find someone to beat and take their money so I can buy myself a whore later.

I was happy to be alone again. I walked through the house admiring the paintings of Rodríguezs father. The detailed woodwork. In construction I was always doing much of the heavy labor. None of the careful work. But this always fascinated me. The details. How the joints of molding fit together neat around the doors. The cuts made and sanded in the railing and banister. The doorknobs were of brass. The doors stained dark red.

Soon I came to the back of the house. Outside lights had been strung and more chairs were set near a small stone fountain. The musicians in their sombreros with silver threads and silver buttons along their trousers. The horn sounding nicely with the strum of the guitar. The faces of the party becoming more and more flush from the alcohol as the night went on. One young man hunched over alone in the far shadow of the backyard vomiting. A friend went up to him and put his hand on his back and whispered something to him and then turned to those by the fountain and pointed down at the back of the young man heaving. They all pointed and laughed. There was much laughter and talking and at some point in the night there was a fight in the backyard between two young men over an idea but really over a woman.

The businessmen left before it was too late. The headlights of their cars showing through the uneven stained glass windows at the front of the house. I sat on the couch and listened to one young woman talking jealously to another about the gifts one of the businessmen had bought for one of the mistresses who had left. Most of those who remained at the party lingered outside smoking around the fountain or sitting in the chairs. Ramón came into the living room then. Tall and broad shouldered and handsome in his suit. He held a glass of red wine. The young women stopped talking when he entered. They noticed that he was alone. When he sat in a chair across from me he leaned toward me so that his forearms were on his knees. The light of a tall shaded lamp softened his face. His skin almost golden. The one girl with her back to me on the couch sat back so that the two of them faced Ramón.

Are you enjoying yourself in here with these two? He asked smiling at me only with his white teeth but also for the girls.

It is a wonderful party. I answered.

It is. He agreed. You should try enjoying it some.

I smiled with my lips closed.

There is a woman here asking about you. He said.

Who? I asked.

I do not remember. Ramón said. Then he turned to one of the young women sitting on the couch. What is your name?

Diana. She smiled. Holding out her hand but Ramón did not take it. Instead he turned to me and said.

Diana.

On the second floor of the house there was some yelling then. A mans voice laughing. Then heavy steps coming down the stairs. Rodríguez. He was drunk and with his pants unbuttoned. His face red and combed hair messy. He came down the stairs to Ramón and took the glass of wine from the dog fighters hand. He finished the wine in the glass in one long drink and then he smiled. His teeth stained red.

What was it you said the other night? He asked. Ramóns eyes judging him carefully. What is a woman like?

I do not remember. He answered plainly. He looked at the knots in the hardwood floor.

Women. You said. Are like a fine glass of wine.

Maybe that was it then. Ramón said without lifting his eyes. He was very embarrassed by the young businessman.

But I disagree. Rodríguez said. He stood unsteadily before Ramón. I prefer the women.

Later I walked with Ramón from the young businessmans house back toward the plaza mayor.

How old are you? He asked me then.

Nineteen. And you?

Twenty-two.

How old is Rodríguez?

Twenty.

Young for a businessman. I said.

His father died.

Vargas told me.

Vargas. Ramón laughed to himself. Shaking his head slightly.

We walked with our hands in our pockets at a slow pace. I enjoyed Ramóns company in the way I enjoyed the company of the old poet. But with Ramón I did not feel the need to be so careful with my words.

He is going to get himself into some trouble one of these days. Ramón said after a moment.

Vargas?

No. Rodríguez. He wants to fight dogs but the businessmen will not let him. This is why he is always taking us out and buying us drinks. He figures if he cannot be a dog fighter then at least he should be friends with them. I should probably not tease him so much.

Maybe. I said when it was my turn to speak.

We entered a neighborhood where the run down houses had been built almost on top of each other. The streets no longer stone but hard dirt. It was quiet and the light we had was that of the many stars now that the moon was new. The air pleasant and cool.

You do not talk much do you. Ramón said.

Why will they not let Rodríguez fight? I asked so that we would not have to talk about me.

He would be killed. Ramón answered. He does not have the mind for it. The heart maybe. But not the mind.

What mind? I asked him.

The one we have I guess.

The iron shutters of many of the windows were closed. We passed a skinny dog baring its teeth at us as he snuck up in the shadow of a wall toward some hens escaped from their pens. Ramón made as if to kick the dog but the dog lowered its ears and cowered against the wall. We went on. I was surprised that Ramón had left without a woman and I told him so.

I had to. He said. The girl I came with does not interest me anymore. Besides. He checked an expensive watch he kept tucked inside his coat. I have plans to meet that girl from the couch in an hour or so.

Diana? I asked.

Was that her name? He smiled.

From the beginning my intentions toward Ramón were dishonest. I decided he was to be my way to her. That I would use him somehow to be introduced to Cantana and by him to her.

I returned to the dentists late that night. Always I came and went from my room at the dentists only when it was dark or very early in the morning when I was certain no one noticed me. The compound was peaceful. As hidden in the world as I believed Canción was then. Because of how my life had been before I very often worried that I could be responsible for upsetting the calm of the compound. Ruin it somehow by my presence alone. That it was as if what troubled me most could follow me there and was not buried within. But was something I was.

One evening just after dark while I waited to leave for my evening swim I heard the voices of Jorge and the young men below. The courtyard was empty and the lights off but for the light of a dim lamp in the back room. Then carrying the end of a string of red light globes already lit Jorge stepped from the shadows bathed in red light. Two young men assisted the dentist by holding lengths of the looped and sagging cord while a third brought the ladder to stand on to hang the lights along the walls around the courtyard. Their faces glowing in that lit progression. Their eyes small and dark. Hooded by shadows. Music from the Victrola a melody beneath their barely intelligible voices.

Once the lights were hung Jorge led his mother into the center of the courtyard. The three young men stood off to the side close to one another but quiet. Jorge took his mother along the walls and where the strung lights drooped some he placed his thumb carefully in the palm of her hand and raised her arm so that her fingers could sense the warmth of the globe. The young men turned quietly toward the back room while Jorge led his mother whispering from light to light.

Later that night I sat in my chair with my forearm resting on the windowsill admiring the red hue of the empty courtyard. Palm frond shadows cast over the tiles. I had been sitting there for some time reciting the poems in English of the poets that I knew when the knocking came softly through the compound. The dentist crossed the sandy courtyard from the back room in his slippers. His steps quick but measured. Moments later he returned with the shadowy figure I had witnessed him with several times before. But with the strung red lights now I was able to distinguish more of this figure than before. He was a young man. The same height as the dentist but wiry. He wore all black clothes and his footsteps made no sound. Then something occurred that surprised me very much. Jorge tenderly wrapped his arm around the waist of this young man and rested his head on his shoulder. When they were in the full of the red light at the center of the courtyard the young man leaned forward as they walked and kissed Jorge on the lips.