big Hell
Guillermo Martinez
Many times when the store is empty and only hear the buzzing of flies, I remember the boy who never knew his name and that no one in town ever mentioned.
For some reason I can not quite explain what always imagine as first time we saw him, his clothes dusty, unshaven, and, above all, with that long and untidy hair that hung almost to his eyes. It was just the beginning of spring and so, when he entered the store, I figured it would be a backpacker passing to the south. Bought cans and grass, and coffee, while the bill made him looked in the reflection of the window, pushed the hair from his forehead, and I asked a hairdresser.
Two hairdressers were then in Old Bridge, I think now that if I had gone to the old Melchor may never have encountered French and nobody would have whispered. Anyway, the hairdresser was in Melchor other end of town and still do not believe that we can avoid what happened.
The point is that I sent him to the barber shop and it seems that while Cervino Cervino cut his hair looked the French. And the French looked at the boy as she watched the men. That's who started the damn thing, because the boy was in town and we all thought the same thing that was for her.
a year ago not to Matterhorn and his wife had settled in Old Bridge and there was little we knew about them. Were not given to anyone, as was discussed with resentment in the village. In fact, in the case of poor Cervino was just shy, but maybe the French were, yes, a bit arrogant. They came from the city, had arrived the previous summer, at the beginning of the season, and I remember when Matterhorn opened her salon I thought it would ruin the old Melchor soon because Cervino barber had diploma and prize in a contest of cutting knife had electric scissors, hair dryer and swivel chair, and he burst into a plant sap in the hair spray and even if not stop in time. In addition, the Matterhorn barbershop was always the last Figure in the magazine. And he was, above all the French.
never knew exactly why the French and told him I did not ever find out: I have been disappointed to learn, by example, that French was born in Bahia Blanca, or worse yet, in a town like this. Whatever it was, I had not ever known a woman like that. Maybe it was just not used bra and that even in winter could one realize that not wearing anything under the sweater. Maybe it was that his habit of showing up dressed only in the hairdressing salon and painted long before the mirror in front of everyone. But no, the French had something even more disturbing that this body that the clothes always seemed to disturb him, more disturbing than the depth of her cleavage. It was something that was in his eyes. I looked into his eyes, staring, until one down view. A look inviting, promising, but that came and with a gleam of mockery, as if the French were testing us and knew in advance that nobody would encourage you, as if he had decided that neither man was in town to measure . So, eyes and caused her eyes, disdainful, took off. And all in front of Matterhorn, which seemed not to notice anything, that he toiled silently on the necks, jingling his scissors once in a while in the air.
Yes, French was originally the best advertisement for the Matterhorn and the hairdresser was very popular during the early months. But I was wrong to Melchor. The old man was stupid and was gradually recovering its customers: somehow managed to pornographic magazines, which by that time the military had banned, and then when it came World gathered together all his savings and bought a color TV, which was the first town. Then started telling anyone who would listen that there was an old bridge and a hairdresser for men only: the Matterhorn was for sissies.
However, I think that if there were many who returned to the salon de Melchor was, again, because of the French: there is no man that supports long mockery or humiliation of a woman.
As I said, the boy stayed in the village. Camped outside, behind the dunes, near the house of the widow of Espinosa. The store had been very little made large purchases, for fifteen days or for the entire month, but instead went every week to the salon. And could not believe it was only to read the chart, people began to pity the Matterhorn. Because it was, at first all Cervino pitied. Indeed, it was easy to take pity on him, had a certain air of innocence of a cherub and ready smile, as usual with the timid. It was extremely quiet and sometimes seemed to sink into a world of intricate and remote: he lost his eye and spent a long time sharpening the knife, or scissors had snapped and was endlessly to return it to cough. Once, too, I was surprised by the mirror staring at the French with a silent and concentrated passion, as if even he could believe that such a female to be his wife. And I really felt sorry that look devout, without a shadow of suspicion.
On the other hand, it was equally easy to condemn the French, especially for marriageable married and the people, who had always made common cause against their formidable cleavage. But too many people resented the French: first, those who had the reputation of roosters in Old Bridge, as the Russian Nielsen, men who were not accustomed to scorn and even less to the scorn of a woman.
And it's because the World Cup was over and there was talk about, either because the people came missing the scandals, all the conversations flowed into the adventures of the boy and the French. Behind the counter I heard over and over again the same things: what he had seen Nielsen a night on the beach, it was a cold night and yet they both stripped and had to be drugged because they did something that Nielsen and men have finished ; what's widow said Espinosa, who from his window is always laughter and groans heard in the tent of the boy, the unmistakable sounds of two rolling around together, what had the greatest Vidal, who at the salon, before him and in the face of Matterhorn ... in short, who knows how true would all those gossip.
One day we realized that the boy and the French were gone. I mean, the boy did not see it no more and the French appeared, either in the salon or on the road to the beach, where I used to walk. The first thing is that we all thought were gone for two, maybe because leaks have always something romantic, or perhaps because the danger was far away, the women were now willing to forgive the French: it was clear that in this marriage something wrong, they said; Cervino was too old for her and the boy on the other hand was handsome ... And they said among themselves with giggles of complicity that perhaps they would have done the same.
But an afternoon talking again about the matter was in the store Espinosa's widow and the widow said in a voice of mystery to understand something worse had happened, the guy that, as everyone knew, had camped near his home and, although she had not seen since the tent was still there, and it seemed very strange, "repeated that, very strange - that would have gone without taking the tent. Someone said that maybe you should be warned the commissioner and then the widow whispered that it would be desirable to also monitor the Matterhorn. I remember I was furious but not sure how to respond: I have a policy not to discuss with clients.
I started to say feebly that one could not accuse anyone without proof, that it was impossible for me Cervino, Cervino that just ... But here I interrupted the widow, was well known that the shy, introverts, are beside themselves when they are more dangerous.
We were still going around about the same, when Cervino appeared at the door. There was silence, must realize that we talked about it because everyone tried to look away. I could see how I blushed and looked more than ever a helpless boy, who had not managed to grow.
When he noticed that the order had little food and had not bought yoghurt. While paying, the widow asked rudely by the French. Cervino
blushed again, but now, slowly, as if he felt honored to such solicitude. He said his wife had traveled to the city to care for the father who was very ill, but soon again, maybe in a week. When she finished talking to all sides had a curious expression, which cost me identify, was disillusion. However, scarcely was the Matterhorn, the widow returned to the fray. To her, he said, had not deceived the fake, never see the poor woman. And he repeated it low that there was a murderer loose in Old Bridge and that either may be the next victim.
passed a week, spent a month and the French did not return. The boy had also not seen again. Local boys began to play the Indians in the Old Bridge abandoned tent was divided into two camps: those who were convinced that the Matterhorn was a criminal and those who still hoped that the French came back, we were getting less. Cervino was heard saying that he had slain the boy with the knife, as he cut his hair, and mothers forbade their kids to play on the block to the hairdresser and I prayed for their husbands to return to Melchor.
However, strangely enough, the Matterhorn was not entirely without customers, the village boys are challenged each other to sit on the fateful barber chair to ask the court to the knife, and began to be a test of manhood lead hair shake and spray.
When we asked the French Cervino father repeated the story of the patient, who did not sound so real. Many people stopped to say hello and knew that Espinosa's widow had spoken to the commissioner for that stop. But the commissioner had said that while no bodies appeared nothing could be done. The village
then began to speculate on the bodies: a Cervino said he had buried in his yard, others who had cut into strips to be thrown into the sea, and so Matterhorn would be becoming an ever more monstrous.
I heard in the store to talk all the time as well and began to feel a superstitious dread, a feeling that those endless discussions would incubating a disgrace. Espinosa's widow, meanwhile, seemed to have gone mad. Open wells walked around with a ridiculous scoop beach, shouting that she would not rest until you find the bodies. And one day
found.
was an afternoon in early November. The widow came into the store asking if they had blades, and said loudly, for all to hear, who commanded the sheriff to get shovels and volunteers to dig into the dunes behind the bridge. Then, slowly dropping the words, said he had seen there, with his own eyes, a dog that ate a human hand. I shuddered, and suddenly it was all true and while looking in the tank blades and closed the store was still listening, still in disbelief, the conversation interspersed with horror, dog, hand, human hand.
The widow led the way, airy. I went last, carrying the shovels. Others looked and saw the same old faces, people who bought in the store yerba y fideos. Miraba a mi alrededor y nada había cambiado, ningún súbito vendaval, ningún desacostumbrado silencio. Era una tarde como cualquier otra, a la hora inútil en que se despierta de la siesta. Abajo se iban alineando las casas, cada vez más pequeñas, y hasta el mar, distante, parecía pueblerino, sin acechanzas. Por un momento me pareció comprender de dónde provenía aquella sensación de incredulidad: no podía estar sucediendo algo así, no en Puente Viejo.
Cuando llegamos a los médanos el comisario no había encontrado nada aún. Estaba cavando con el torso desnudo y la pala subía y bajaba sin sobresaltos. Nos señaló vagamente en torno y yo distribuí shovels and buried mine at the site that I found it harmless. For a long time the only sound was the dry roll of metal rammed earth. I was losing the fear of the shovel and I was thinking that perhaps the widow had been mistaken, that might not be true, when we heard an uproar of barking. It was the dog he had seen the widow, a poor sickly animal that was in despair around us. The commissioner wanted to scare cascotazos but the dog turned and came back and at one point seemed about to jump at it. Then we realized that this was the place, the sheriff returned to dig faster and faster, that was contagious frenzy, shovels rushed all together and suddenly shouted that the commissioner had found something, dug a little further and saw the first corpse.
The others just threw him out and returned immediately to the blades, almost with enthusiasm, looking for the French, but I went and made myself look carefully. He had a black hole in the forehead and eyes land. It was not the boy.
I turned around, to alert the commissioner, and it was as if I step into a nightmare: they were all found dead, it was as if sprouting from the earth, each paddle stroke shooting a bare head or a torso was maimed. Everywhere you looked dead and more dead, heads, heads.
The horror I was wandering back and forth, I could not think, could not understand until I saw a back riddled and beyond a head with blindfolds. I looked to the commissioner and the commissioner also knew, we ordered us to stay there, no one moved, and returned to the town to ask directions.
time elapsed until his return just remember the incessant barking of the dog, the smell of death and the figure of the widow with her shovel digging among the dead, shouting to be followed, which had not yet appeared the French. When the sheriff returned walked upright and solemn, as one who is ready to give orders. He stood before us and told us that the bodies enterrásemos again as they were. We all went back to shovels, no one dared to say anything. While the earth covering the bodies I was wondering if the boy would not be there too. The dog was barking and jumping mad. Then we saw the commissioner with the knee and the gun in his hands. He fired once. The dog was killed. He then two steps with the gun still in his hand and kicked it forward, so that also enterrásemos. Before returning
ordered us not what we were talking with anyone and scored one by one the names of those who had been there. The French returned
few days later, his father had fully recovered. Boy, the people never talk. The tent was stolen as soon as the season began. End
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