fix, must have been horrible, and it was: because his wallet—oh no!? Unbelievable discovery, and—oh no! Plundered—when? During his sexual fervor, and through an oblique kind of reconstruction: aha! when what’s-her-name went to the bathroom … that the sign, that the surmise … Never to be recovered—needless to say!—the abrupt (and well-deserved) downfall of a simple sinner whose only recourse was to leave for Parras that late at night, because if he didn’t … a simple sardine (that’s how he felt) caught in a delicate though unfriendly net, and it was useless to ponder the what-ifs when the outcome, when all was said and done, would be the same, or worse. He therefore proceeded to his pickup in defeat. Fortunately his keys were still in his left pocket, this the extent of his consolation; but what about gas: would he have enough to reach Parras? A drop-by-drop dilemma, which would drip though not ooze, the liquid s-cum of an unforgettable sexual adventure: the ineffable delight seeping (simply) into a fiendish curse: not one red cent! And then: he couldn’t remember if he had had ten thousand pesos in his wallet, or more, though in either case his wealth had evaporated in a matter of seconds, the consequence of his nonpareil sin. So was it—divine punishment?, vengeance hurled against his perversions? It is important for you to know—unless you disagree—that his thoughts might get out of joint if he kept mulling his misfortune, which wasn’t done messing with him, because once on the road he feared he’d run out of gas. Evil shadows lurked, and, in fact, when he saw the star-studded sky he knew that something up there was speaking … If only it were astral mirth, a resounding word descending … It wasn’t long before the pickup stopped on its own, that is, deliberately. That’s what had to happen on the road to total rack and ruin. A sinister stop, in defeat, because—who would rescue him at that time of night? Every sound increased his disgrace, all to no purpose, a mockery in the midst of desolation, or an ever-widening lie … Demetrio’s only option was to sleep in the cab, though sleeping was a futile deferral, for once the new day came—then what? Delaying the solution: the infamous: a hardening, damn it, infusing further doubt … It wasn’t till about six the next afternoon that a stake-bed truck stopped and, well, let’s look at it this way: good people must show up, but not necessarily when you need them: to wit: they are the people who solve problems without asking for anything in exchange. Surely such a miracle can take years, or months, or—who knows! but herewith anew and very askew, Demetrio’s lucky though damaged star shone through, though the circumspect señor wanted to charge him for the gasoline. Which meant the big guy had to tell him what had happened from beginning to end. A story with a surprise ending? Of course, and because the señor was cracking up at the whole sexual welter and the other part: the sinister corollary of the dearth of funds. The theft—while astride a throne?! and the rest—in the mire! At a certain point Demetrio asked him:
“Hey, why are you laughing?”
“Because if I’m going to give you five gallons of gas the least you can do is let me laugh. But if you have a problem with my being entertained, then I won’t give you any.”
Then the señor laughed again, and quite explicitly explained what Demetrio would have to do if he wanted his help: he described how to plead on bent knees, joining his poor hands in dire supplication (ha), as well as a maelstrom of final flurries. No way! The guy was a reasonably good man who was holding all the cards, above all, his laughter sounded like a motorbike, though, if we are to be more precise, edged with forgiveness—so what could Demetrio do?: forbearance: scolded dog that he was! A long chiding though not very thorough, more like a drip that tickled, or, if you like, any exaggerated surmise. Let’s see if it’s appropriate now to say that the stranger’s laughter seemed to throw salt on open wounds: which lasted days, psychic fraying translated into a silence that made his mother suspicious, for day after day she watched her son in saintly seclusion. He ate little. Ever since he arrived in that sorry state, stepping out the door seemed dangerous, footfall by footfall! Colossal fear, tremors, consonant