Books Burn Badly - Manuel Rivas [85]
‘on things that belong to the wind’.
‘Good, good. That’s our sublime farewell. Now I can really smash your face in.’
‘If you hurt me any more, I won’t be able to enter the radio competition and sing the cabaletta.’
There was an innocent, defenceless glint in Luís Terranova’s eyes. Dez watched the blood pouring out of his nostrils. It was the colour of lava.
‘I’ll take you to have that seen to,’ he said without letting go.
‘No, no. I’ll go on my own.’
‘On your own? You won’t go anywhere on your own. Do you think I’m crazy, Terranova?’
‘Don’t worry, Dez. I won’t talk to anyone. I’ll disappear into a hole and won’t come out until I’m healed. I promise. Let go of me, Dez.’
‘I like it when you’re meek and mild. Not another word. I’ll take you to a bonesetter, my little dove. Who’ll fix that cherub’s nose.’
Luís Terranova made one final attempt to escape when he saw the black car parked in the street and the stocky guy in an ashen hat and raincoat opening the back door. The two of them held on to him, laid him on the back seat and he stopped moving when he felt the barrel nuzzling under his ear. It was as if a bullet had gone into him without needing to be fired.
They beat him up on the far side of the lighthouse. The last thing he remembers hearing was a sound of his coming from outside. The crunching of teeth. Of his teeth. He then heard a voice from a state of unconsciousness, ‘You’ll never sing again, Terranova!’ And the first thing he heard when he woke up was actually a vision: the beams of light from the lighthouse.
‘Louder! Can’t hear you. Louder!’
Curtis’ Second Fight
Terror was crystallised on Luís Terranova’s face. The frost of night on top of the beating. Curtis ran to open the door when he heard the knocker’s Morse. He sat him in the middle of the room, under the lamp. This was his house on Atocha Baixa, a single room with a kitchen and bathroom, a kind of boxing ring which had grown walls and a roof. Even though he was sitting down, Luís carried on bending over under the lamp. His hands between his thighs, on his groin. The instinct to protect his private parts. He was barely able to speak. He gurgled words spattered with blood through the gaps of his broken teeth. But he didn’t stop. He knew Curtis understood every single trill of his. Could mend the onomatopoeias, the badly injured syllables. His face was swollen, the bald patches where they’d torn out his hair covered in scabs, his lips split open. They’d really given his mouth a hammering. Which is maybe why Luís Terranova didn’t stop trying to speak. He was checking to see if he was alive. He spluttered out a tango, a song he put together with disconnected bits from different pieces, scraps of ‘Downhill’, ‘Laugh Clown’ and ‘Chessman’ which began to make sense. He didn’t need to articulate them clearly. Curtis understood. He could see the words pushing through the clots, splashing in his saliva. He gave him a swig. Arturo da Silva was right. The terrestrial globe changes place, but there’s always one in Luís Terranova’s mouth.
‘Don’t drink it. It’s for rinsing and spitting out. Spit it out slowly.’
‘More champagne, if you please, boy . . .’
He knew what to sing all right.
‘Now I really look like a boxer, don’t I, Curtis? If Arturo da Silva saw me, he’d give me a ticking-off. He’d say, “Your face is the colour of raw flesh. How could they beat you up like that? Why didn’t you keep your distance? Make a feint, open a side corridor?”
‘“There wasn’t time, Arturo.” That’s what I’d tell him if he came round here. “I was going to open a side corridor, Arturo, I just needed a fraction of time.”
‘“A fraction is everything,” Arturo would say. “A fraction is the difference between life and death.”’
Curtis had filled a zinc bathtub with warm water. He prepared the brazier and placed it next to him. He took off his shoes and helped him to undress. Cleaned his wounds. Applied iodine. Cut his hair so that he could cure his head better. Sewed up an eyebrow. Three stitches without anaesthetic. And while he did this, Curtis made plans. He knew