2024-04-13
He was released in April, married in June, and divorced the following May. Daniel Alvaréz was walking alongside the main street of Tripaso where he used to walk so frequently so long ago. He stroked his hands alongside along the concrete wall and it crumbled and he remembered how he had used to play soccer against it with friends after school, slightly mischievous. He remembered, then older, with the same friends (although different people), spraying graffiti on that same wall. The building stood now stoically gray, any hint of graffiti long gone, or any imprints of a soccer ball. He was remembering, not missing it, just remembering it all, he told himself. Except for those very physical objects, immutable as they be, the all so familiar street was unrecognizable to Daniel.
He went into a restaurant on the corner. It was a tired old affair full of cliches: a good looking middle aged waitress who had stayed too long, overfull flimsy ashtrays made out of cheap thin metal, yellow tinted windows, a coughing chef in the back who might as well be a microwave dressed up in a mustache and a voice box, and a bunch of dead azaleas stuffed into a beer glass partly filled with water on the glass counter top, and a range of dried-up desserts from last year lined in meticulous order beneath it. Daniel sat down at the booth next to the partly opened window as far away from the entrance as he could and lit a cigarette. The waitress slowly, but confidently --- like she didn't really care --- walked over.
"What'll it be?"
"I'm not really sure. How about I just start with a menu and a beer?"
"No menus."
"Then just a beer." Daniel said, and the waitress turned around, whereupon Daniel shouted, "And some peanuts." to which the waitress didn't respond, but most certainly heard. She returned promptly with a cold beer and a wooden bowl of salted peanuts.
Except for Daniel the place was deserted. Periodically people passed by the window who gave him a momentary glance, but he never recognized anyone. He ordered another beer, and as she dropped it off, he heard the door open, followed by a series of loud and rambunctious shouts. Daniel turned his head and saw as they sat down at a booth close to the door. Typical youth gang. One obvious leader in the middle to which everybody else almost seemed to check with before they said anything, or even laughed. But he was not young, judging by some slight gray airs on his temple, and that unfortunate burgeoning bald spot at the crown of his head. He sat with his arm spread out across the back of the red sofa, which made the young man next to him having to sit all the way to the front of his seat to avoid having his shoulder touch the armpit hair of the leader. It either takes a lot of guts or a lot of seniority to command that amount of respect dressed in a white tank top. The rest of them were simply the ghost of what youth is, trying to pretend they're adults so they can say they're above the idiotic musings of their peers. The waitress, as before, made her way over to the band of new patrons, and as before, in a nonchalant tone asked "What'll it be?" The leader stopped speaking, and the rest of the gang followed suit, and then the leader let the silence fester. It was a game of power he was playing with the waitress. A scooter whirled by. Someone in the gang lit a cigarette. Then, he finally said, "What about some hard-boiled eggs?"
"Best I can do is either pouched or scrambled" she said, pronounced as 'gouged' and 'tangled' respectively. This wasn't her first time. She was a bona fide professional.
"Well," he said in a very distinctive trill which seemed very familiar to Daniel, "in that case how about beers and whatever else you think'll tickle our fancy." obviously making sure that the final 'fancy' had been pronounced as overtly greasy as possible. She clicked her tongue and tapped her pencil on her empty writing pad, and then turned to leave. The man made sure to watch her leave, before launching directly into what sounded like the punchline of the world's funniest joke judging from the volume of the consequent laughter.
Daniel put out his cigarette. Daniel remembered. The leader's name was Franco Romero, it had to be. But it couldn't be. It could be, it had to be. He remembered old days, of red banners and rallies, riots and revolutions. He and Lucas Gonzalez had been part of the youth-movement clique, with Franco trailing their trail like a shadow. Although, at the time they admired the presence of an admirer --- a bringer of legitimacy to what they were doing. But Franco had been a kid then, practically indistinguishable from the quite distinguishable man who sat in a bear-like position across from him in the restaurant.
The waitress returned with a tray expertly carried containing six bottles of beer. She set it gently down in the middle of the table. "Your food will be right out" accompanied to a fake smile that would even make babies cry a little bit inside.
Daniel thought back to the days of roaming the street with a sense of power, not a power over others, but a power to change things. The future was malleable then, and the present but the obstacle to that reform. He scratched his bald head and swatted away a fly, downing the last drops of his beer. Now, after twenty years listening to the watch's hands drop had left him in a state of mind outside time itself, he couldn't say that the future interested him that much anymore. In fact, the present was hardly up to past expectations, because, Daniel had realized that you never stop working for an idea. The job is never done, because it never was. He gestured with a finger to the waitress, and soon afterwards she arrived with another beer, and depositing it on the table without a word. She ducked into the kitchen and soon reappeared with plates of food lining her arms.
"Here we go boys, beans & rice for the lot, and one garbage plate --- all of our best food on one plate only for 'special boys'." the restaurant was deathly quiet, and the men were waiting to see how their leader would respond. She began to hand out the different plates as if the tangible tension was optional. When she got to Franco's plate, as she is putting it down, he grabbed her hand, "How about you join us for a while? There are no other customers except that old man in the corner" he nodded towards Daniel's table, "You must be tired. Come take a break."
"For you? For you I'm stuck in a benzedrine binge, never stopping for ever catching my breath. " She tried to gently, but firmly, escape his grasp.
"Did you hear that boys? It sounded like she wanted to see how we live." he said, to which the boys said incomprehensible passively charged noises in choir. Franco stood up and the plates clattered. One beer bottle crashed to the ground. She began to visibly struggle, and pleading under his breath for him to stop. The boys went out the door first, before Franco had even got out of his seat. Just as Franco began to rise, and she was crying, Daniel sat down opposite to Franco.
"Bring us two more beers, will you?" Daniel said calmly to the waitress still struggling to get free, "For two old friends" Daniel added, to which Franco let go, curious, and began to study the stranger opposite engaged in monologue. The boys at the edge of the door didn't know what to do, unsure of even their posture, or whether they should hold the door open in case their leader decided to leave. The waitress quickly leapt into the kitchen. Daniel lit up a cigarette. "Well," he said, mockingly imitating Franco, "Speechless for me, didn't expect that of my old protege." while Daniel was good at hiding his feelings he couldn't quite hide his sarcastic tone.
Franco smiled, revealing his aquamarine decorated tooth, "Well, I'll be." he said slowly, "When did you get out?"
"Last year." the waitress came over with two unopened beers. She sat them down almost reaching over so as to be as far away from Franco as possible, but he reached over and grabbed her arm, and with one instinctive movement pulled her besides him. She was too surprised and horrified to say anything, and Daniel could see her quivering, retreating in towards herself. "Got married after getting out, but it didn't last. I am sure you realize the difficulty in letting things go."
"Sometimes, though, one can keep things forever, even though small things change." he pulled the waitress closer though she had stopped squirming. Daniel exchanged a glance with her, she looked terrified.
"Yes, yes --- but how you still have a lot to learn. Youth, despite its intellectual naivety, takes longest to shed its emotional naivety. Did you?"
Franco scoffed, "You were always a bit pretentious Alvaréz, but prison must've really done a trick on you." he paused, drinking half of his beer slowly, put it down and smacked his lips. "At first we couldn't believe that you had gotten arrested, always seemed like you'd be the one who went down in a shootout with the police."
"They got me when I was in the can."
Franco laughed, "No kidding."
"Shit was embarrasing, you're right --- a shootout I'd at least have gone down with a little bit of dignity."
"But you survived. Not many of the old ones who were thrown in can say that."
"Surviving comes in many shapes and forms."
Franco nodded, "I reckon it does."
"So, did you ever get in contact with Hector when you got out, you used to be inseparable."
"Every person from those days weren't friends. We had mutual interests and ideas; mostly those who involved change for change's sake, though what I suspect what we all crave for was..." Daniel let it trickle out. They now spoke a silent language; Daniel was telling him to let her go; Franco was simply saying, "What are you going to do about it, old man?" Franco knew that Daniel couldn't stop them without risking legal consequences, which in the post-revolution days were anything but lenient. The government would especially not look kindly on an ex-revolutionary. Now it was simply a dance on whose turn it was to lead.
They continued the tense game of stare-out. The boys were still lingering in the doorway, some standing outside on the street, and kicking debris. Waitress shivering.
"Well, it was nice to see you again, but me, the boys, and this lovely lady need to get going." Franco began to get up, dragging along the waitress.
Daniel grabbed her arm, "You and the boys are going, but the waitress needs to finish her shift, don't you, honey?" She nodded.
Franco smiled, dropping the act; "Didn't think you'd rise to the challenge." he dropped her arm, and she quickly jumped back into the kitchen. They both rose and stood opposite each other, about ten feet apart. It was a dance, movements not aggressive in any ways. They agreed before hand regarding every move in silence, all to the rhythm of the music that they both heard without any notes. "Boys!" Franco shouted, and they were summoned, and instantaneously lined up as plastic army men.
Daniel leaned against the chair behind him, "Just let it go Franco, it isn't worth it."
Franco pulled out a knife, "I've been waiting a long time for this kind of fun. You know, everybody young now-a-days are too meek and weak or too much of a freak --- not like when we used to conquer the streets. The world was brutal then, as it is now, only we were honest then."
Daniel knew how quickly things usually went. He took a deep breath and reached into his jacket pocket with the other. Franco lunged forward, and Daniel instinctively took a small step to the left, allowing his shoulder to catch the blade. Before the blood started seeping out the wound, Daniel pulled out his right arm and pulled the trigger. Franco fell backwards. The boys were too shocked to say anything. Franco looked up towards Daniel in disbelief, "You son of a bitch, coward you, you son of a bitch..." Daniel went calmly past the row of boys and grabbed two towels from behind the corner, throwing one to Franco, while he himself sat down on a chair and tied the towel to his shoulder. He lit a cigarette, offering one to Franco, who didn't accept it.
"I'm too old for a coward Franco, at this point I'm but an antiquated survivor --- we both are --- some things are just too late to learn, and some are just words which change meaning."
"We both pay in blood Alvaréz, I just never pay in my own --- You'll see. You'll see."
Somewhere down the street a lonesome voice was singing a song to the accompaniment of a drunken trumpeter. The sun was shining on Daniel Alvaréz, but it didn't seem like the sun which he was familiar with. The warmth was colder, the way it hid behind foggy clouds. Even the cicadas hadn't greeted him the same. He hadn't slept, of course, he wasn't insane enough to waste the little time he had left. Franco had survived, and managed to convince not only the boys (which wasn't a surprise), but even the waitress to testify against him. That he had --- unprovoked --- pulled out a gun and shot Franco. Some shady doctor testified that he was on the edge of death's door, and that it was a miracle that he survived. That Daniel Alvaréz had violent anti-social tendencies. Sociology professor testifying of his extremist views which were a danger to society. Pair that with what must have been a hefty bribe to the judge, and --- even to the surprise of Franco --- Daniel Alvaréz got sentenced to death in two weeks time. The law was for Franco, and not for Daniel Alvaréz.
Everyday feels further away from some places, in some things you're just lost. Daniel Alvaréz, being led up to the hangman's noose was thinking of his ex-wife, how she always added cilantro to scrambled eggs, or how her nose frowned when they discussed politics (how they had met, at a café). The days are short, and they don't last long.