The Cubs and Other Stories

by Mario Vargas Llosa

Genres: Historical Fiction; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

The Cubs and Other Stories is Mario Vargas Llosa's only volume of short fiction available in English. Vargas Llosa's domain is the Peru of male youth and machismo, where life's dramas play themselves out on the soccer field, the dance floor, and on street corners.

The title story, "The Cubs," tells the story of the carefree boyhood of P.P. Cuellar and his friends, and of P.P.'s bizarre accident and tragic coming of age. Innovative in style and technique, it is a work of both physical and psychic loss.

In a candid and perceptive forward to this collection of early writing, Vargas llosa provides background to the volume and a unique glimpse into the mind of the Nobel Prize-winning artist.

Release date: March 4, 2011

Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Print pages: 160

Sample

1.
They were still wearing short pants that year, we weren't smoking yet, they preferred soccer to all the other sports and we were learning to surf, to dive from the high board at the Terraces Club, and they were devilish, smooth-cheeked, curious, very agile, voracious. That year, when Cuéllar enrolled in the Champagnat Academy.

Brother Leoncio, is it true a new boy's coming? into 3A, Brother? Yes, with his fist Brother Leoncio pushed back the forelock hanging in his face, now let's have some quiet.

He appeared one morning at inspection time, holding his father's hand, and Brother Leoncio put him at the head of the line because he was even shorter than Rojas, and in class Brother Leoncio sat him in the back with us, at that vacant desk, young man. What's your name? Cuéllar, and yours? Choto, and yours? Chingolo, and yours? Manny, and yours? Lalo. From Miraflores? Yes, since last month, before that I was living on San Antonio and now on Mariscal Castilla, near the Colina movie theater.

He was a grade grubber (but no apple polisher): the first week he came out fifth and afterwards always first until the accident, then he started goofing off and getting bad grades. The fourteen Incas, Cuéllar, Brother Leoncio would say, and he would recite them without taking a breath, the Ten Commandments, the three stanzas of the Marist Hymn, the poem "My Flag" by López Albujar—without taking a breath. What a whiz kid, Cuéllar, Lalo said to him and Brother a very good memory, young man, and to us, follow his example, you rascals. He would polish his nails on the lapel of his jacket and look at the whole class over his shoulder, showing off (well, not really, at heart he wasn't a show-off, just a little goofy and lots of fun. And, besides, a good pal. He'd whisper answers to us during tests and during recess he'd offer us lollipops, money bags, taffy, lucky stiff, Choto would say to him, they give you a bigger allowance than all four of us get, and he 'cause he pulled good grades and us it's not so bad 'cause you're an okay guy, you little grade grubber, that saved him).

Classes for the lower grades let out at four, at four-ten Brother Luke had them break ranks and at a quarter after four they were on the soccer field. They would throw their books on the grass, their jackets, their ties, hurry up Chingolo, hurry up, get to the goal before the others grab it, and in his cage Judas went crazy, gr-r-r, his tail stood straight up, gr-r-r gr-r-r, he bared his fangs, gr-r-r gr-r-r gr-r-r, he jumped in somersaults, gr-r-r gr-r-r gr-r-r gr-r-r, he shook the wire fence. Jeez, if he escapes one day, Chingolo said, and Manny if he escapes you gotta stay quiet, Great Danes only bit when they smelled that you're scared of them, who told you? my old man, and Choto I'd climb on top of the goal, he couldn't reach up there and Cuéllar took out his penknife and swish swish he was dreaming it, he was slicing away and burrrrryiiiin, looking up at the sky, iiiiiinnnnggg, his two hands over his mouth, ahahahhh: you like how I imitated Tarzan's yell? They only played until five o'clock, well at that hour the upper classes let out and the big guys ran us off the field like it or lump it. Tongues hanging out, brushing ourselves off and sweating they picked up their books, jackets and ties and we went out onto the street. They went down the crosstown avenue shooting baskets with their book bags, get this one, baby, we crossed the park up near Delicacies, I got it, did ya see, babe, and in the D'Onofrio candy shop on the corner we bought ice cream cones, vanilla? combo? pile on a little more, man, no gypping, a little lemon, stingy, a little extra strawberry. And then they continued along the crosstown avenue, the Gypsy's Guitar, not talking, Porta Street, absorbed in their ice cream, a traffic light, shhlp sucking shhlp and crossing over to the St. Nicholas Building and there Cuéllar said good-bye, man, don't go yet, let's go to Terraces they'd ask Chino for his ball, don't you want to try out for the class team? man, you'd have to train a little for that, c'mon, let's go, let's get a move on, just till six a quick game of soccer at Terraces, Cuéllar. He couldn't, his father wouldn't let him, he had to do his homework. They walked him home, how was he going to make the class team if he didn't practice? and we finally ended up going to Terraces alone. Nice guy but a real bookworm, Choto said, he neglects sports for his studies, and Lalo it wasn't his fault, his old man must be a ball breaker, and Chingolo sure, he was dying to come with them and Manny it was going to be real hard for him to make the team, he doesn't have the build, no kick, no stamina, he poops out right there, no nothing. Still, he butts well, Choto said, and besides he was our buddy, he had to get on somehow Lalo was saying, and Chingolo so he's with us and Manny, yeah, we'd get him on, but it was going to be tough work!

But Cuéllar, who was stubborn and dying to play on the team, practiced so much in the winter that the following year he was picked for the left inside forward position on the class team: mens sana in corpore sano, Brother Augustine said, now did we see? you can be a good athlete and zealous in your studies, that we should follow his example. How'd you do it? Lalo asked him, where'd you get that control, those passes, that grip on the ball, those angle shots. And he: his cousin Sparky had trained him, and his father took him to the stadium every Sunday and there, watching the pros, he learned their tricks, did we catch on? He had spent the three months without going to the movies or the beach, just watching and playing soccer morning and afternoon, feel these calves, hadn't they firmed up? Yes, he's gotten a lot better, Choto was saying to Brother Luke, the coach, really, and Lalo he's a fast, hardworking forward, and Chingolo he sure organized that offense swell and, especially, he never lost his morale, and Manny did you see how he comes right down to the goal to get the ball when the opposition's got it, Brother Luke? we have to put him on the team. Cuéllar laughed happily, blew on his fingernails and polished them on his 4A jersey, white sleeves and blue chest: you're already on, we told him, we already got you on but don't let it go to your head.

In July, for the intramural championship, Brother Augustine authorized the 4A team to practice two times a week, Mondays and Fridays at the hour for drawing and music. After the second recess, when the courtyard was left empty, dampened by the drizzle, polished like a brand-new boot, the chosen eleven went down to the field, we changed uniforms and, with soccer shoes and black warm-up suits, they came out of the changing room Indian file, jogging, led by Lalo, the captain. At every schoolroom window appeared envious faces to catch a glimpse of them running laps, there was a cold breeze wrinkling the water of the swimming pool (would you go swimming? after the match, not now, brrr it's cold), of their goal kicks, and stirring the crowns of the eucalyptus and fig trees in the park peeping over the academy's yellow wall, of their penalty kicks, and the morning flew by: great practice, said Cuéllar, terrific, we'll win. An hour later Brother Luke blew his whistle and, while the classrooms were emptying out and the grades were lining up in the courtyard, we team members got dressed to go home for lunch. But Cuéllar lagged behind because (you copy all the pro shots, said Chingolo, who'd ya think ya are? Toto Terry?) he always jumped into the shower after practice. Sometimes they all showered, gr-r-r, but that day, gr-r-r gr-r-r, when Judas appeared in the doorway to the locker room, gr-r-r gr-r-r gr-r-r, only Lalo and Cuéllar were washing up: gr-r-r gr-r-r gr-r-r gr-r-r. Choto, Chingolo and Manny jumped out the windows, Lalo screamed he escaped look man and he managed to shut the shower door right on the Great Dane's snout. There, shrunk back, white tiles and trickles of water, trembling, he heard Judas's barking, Cuéllar's sobbing and only barking and a lot later, I swear to you (but how much later, asked Chingolo, two minutes? longer man, and Choto five? longer much longer), Brother Luke's booming voice, Brother Leoncio's curses (in Spanish, Lalo? yeah, and in French too, did you understand him? no, but you could tell they were curses, stupid, from the anger in his voice), the shits, the my Gods, the get outs, the scrams, the get losts, the get goings, the brothers' desperation, their terrible fright. He opened the door and already they were carrying him out, wrapped up, you could hardly see him between the black robes, passed out? yeah, naked, Lalo? yeah, and bleeding, man, I swear, it was horrible: the whole shower was pure blood. What else, what happened afterwards while I was getting dressed, Lalo asked, and Chingolo Brother Augustine and Brother Luke put Cuéllar in the school station wagon, we saw them from the stairway and Choto and Manny they tore off at high speed, honking and honking the horn like firemen, like an ambulance. Meanwhile, Brother Leoncio was chasing Judas who was racing back and forth in the yard, taking leaps and tumbles, he grabbed him and pushed him into his cage and between the wires (he wanted to kill him, Choto said, you should have seen him, it was scary) he whipped him savagely, beet red, his forelock bobbing in his face.

That week, Sunday mass, the Friday rosary and the prayers at the beginning and end of the classes were for Cuéllar's recovery, but the brothers got furious if the students talked among themselves about the accident, they grabbed us and a whack on the head, silence, take that, detention until six. Still, that was the only topic of conversation during recess and in classes, and the following Monday when school let out they went to visit him in the American Clinic, we saw that he didn't have a scratch on his face or hands. He was in a nice little room, hi Cuéllar, white walls and cream curtains, better already, pal? alongside a garden with little flowers, grass and a tree. They we're getting even, Cuéllar, every recess pelting Judas's cage with stone after stone, and he that's great, soon there won't be one unbroken bone in that bastard, he laughed, when he got out we'd go to the academy at night and climb in over the roof, long live the kid, pow pow, the Masked Eagle, swoosh swoosh, and we'd make him see stars, in good humor but so skinny and pale, that dog, like he did to me. Seated at the head of Cuéllar's bed were two ladies who gave us chocolates and went out into the garden, sweetie, you go on talking with your friends, they'd smoke a cigarette and come back, the one in the white dress is my mother, the other's an aunt. C'mon, tell us, Cuéllar, what happened, did he hurt you bad? real bad, where had he bitten him? well, was it right there and he got jittery, on your peepee? yes, blushing scarlet, and he laughed and we laughed and the ladies from the window hello, hello, sweetie and to us only a little longer, a secret, his old man didn't want, either did his old lady, anybody to know, my boy, better if you don't say anything, what for? it was only on the leg, sweetie, okay? The operation took two hours, he told them, he'd be back to school in ten days, look at all the vacation, how lucky you are the doctor had said to him. We left and in class everybody wanted to know, they sewed up his belly, right? with needle and thread, right? And Chingolo how embarrassed when he told us, maybe it was a sin to talk about that? Lalo no, how could it be, every night before going to bed his mother asked him did you brush your teeth? did you make weewee? and Manny poor Cuéllar, what a lot of pain he must've been in, if a ball hits you there it'd knock anybody out what would a bite be like and especially think about Judas's fangs, pick up some stones, let's get out on the field, one, two, three, gr-r-r gr-r-r gr-r-r gr-r-r, how'd you like that? bastard, take that and that'll teach you. Poor Cuéllar, Choto said, he won't be able to shine in the championship match beginning tomorrow, and Manny all that practicing for nothing and what's worse is, Lalo was saying, it's crippled the team, we've got to make an all-out effort if we don't want to stay at the bottom, guys, swear you'll make an all-out push.

2.

He only went back to the academy after the national holiday and, funny thing, instead of having learned his lesson from soccer (wasn't it on account of soccer, in a way, that Judas bit him?) he came back more of a player than ever. On the other hand, studies started mattering less to him. And that was understandable, he was no fool, he didn't have to grind away anymore: he went into exams with very low averages and the brothers passed him, bad exams and excellent, miserable homework and passed. Ever since the accident they're treating you with kid gloves, we told him, you don't know a thing about fractions and, what nerve, they gave you a ninety. In addition, they had him serving at mass, Cuéllar read the catechism, carry this year's banner in the processions, erase the blackboard, sing in the chorus, pass out the notebooks, and on first Fridays he would come into breakfast even though he had not received communion. Nobody like you, said Choto, you treat yourself to the swell life, too bad Judas didn't bite us too, and he that wasn't why: the brothers made him their pet out of fear of his old man. Idiots, what have you done to my son, I'll have this academy shut down, I'll have you sent to prison, you don't know who I am, he was going to kill that damned beast as well as the rector, calm down, calm yourself down, sir, he shook him by the collar. That's how it was, honest, said Cuéllar, his old man had told his old lady and although they talked in a whisper he, from my bed in the clinic, heard them: that was why they made him their pet, nothing else. By the collar? what a liar Lalo said, and Chingolo it's got to be true, the damned animal had disappeared for some reason. They must've sold him, we said, he must've escaped, they might have given him to somebody, and Cuéllar no, no, sure that his old man came and killed him, he always did what he promised he'd do. Because one morning the cage was empty at daybreak and a week later, in place of Judas, four white bunnies. Cuéllar, take them some lettuce, oh Brother's little helper, give them some carrots, how they coddled you, change their water and be happy.

But not only the brothers had begun to spoil him, his parents had too. Now Cuéllar came to Terraces with us every afternoon to play ball (your old man doesn't get mad anymore? no more, just the opposite, he was always asking him who won the match, my team, how many goals did you score, three? great! and he don't get upset, Mama, I tore my shirt playing, it was an accident, and she silly, what did it matter, sweetheart, the girl would sew it up and you could wear it around the house, he should give her a kiss) and later we would go to the balcony of the Excelsior or the Ricardo Palma or the Leuro movie house to see serials, movies not proper for young ladies, Cantinflas and Tin Tan pictures. Every once in a while they'd raise my allowance and they buy me whatever I want, he used to tell us, he had his parents in his back pocket, they let me do whatever I like, I've got them right here, they'd do anything for me. He was the first of the five to have ice skates, a bicycle, a motorcycle, and they Cuéllar how about your old man giving us a cup for the championship, how about his taking us to the stadium pool to see Merino and Bunny Villaran swim and how about his picking us up in his car when the matinee's over, and his old man gave it to us and took us and picked us up in his car: yes, he had him right here.

Around that time, not long after the accident, they began to call him P.P. The nickname was coined in the classroom, was it smart aleck Gumucio who made it up? sure, who else would it have been and at first Cuéllar, Brother, he was crying, they're calling me a bad name, like a queer, who? calling you what? a nasty thing, Brother, he was embarrassed to repeat it to him, stammering and the tears were pouring out, and later during the recesses the students in the other classes P.P. what happened? and the snot was dribbling out, how ya doin', and the brother, look, he ran to Leoncio, Luke, Augustine or Professor Cañon Paredes: it was him. He complained and he also became furious, what did you say, P.P. I said, white with anger, fag, his hands and voice trembling, let's see if you dare say it again, P.P., I already dared and what happened and he shut his eyes then and, just as his dad had advised him, don't let them son, he flung himself, sock 'em in the kisser, and he challenged them, stick out your foot for him, and thud, and he punched, an undercut, a header, a kick, anywhere, in the line-up or on the field, knock him down on the ground and it's over, in the classroom, at chapel, they won't bother you anymore. But he got more annoyed and they pestered him more and once, it's getting out of hand, Brother, his father came spitting nails at the rector, they were torturing his son and he wasn't going to stand for it. Let him wear the pants, let him punish those snot-faced kids or he'd do it himself, he'd put everybody in their place, what insolence, pounding the table, it was the last straw, it was the limit. But they had stuck the nickname to him like a postage stamp and, despite the brothers' punishments, despite the rector's be more humane, the rector's take a little pity on him, and despite Cuéllar's sobbing and kicking and threats and punches, the nickname got out onto the street and little by little it was making its way around the sections of Miraflores and he could never get it off his back, poor guy. P.P. pass the ball, don't be greedy, how'd you do in algebra, P.P.? P.P., I'll swap a Life Saver for a gumdrop, make sure you come tomorrow on the trip to Chosica, P.P., they'd go swimming in the river, the brothers would bring gloves and you'll be able to box with Gumucio and get back at him, P.P., got boots? because we'd have to climb the hill, P.P., and when we get back we still might make the early show, P.P., like the plan?

They too, Cuéllar, we who were careful at first, started letting it slip out, old man, against our will, brother, pal, all of a sudden P.P. and he, blushing, what? or pale, you too, Chingolo? opening his eyes wide, man, sorry, it wasn't with bad intentions, him too, his friend too? man, Cuéllar, don't be that way, if everybody called you that it was catching, you too, Choto? and it rolled off his tongue without his wanting to, he too, Manny? so that's what we were calling him behind his back? the minute he turned his back and they P.P., right? No, what an idea, we bear-hugged him, promise never again and anyway why are you getting mad, brother, it was a nickname like any other and finally don't you call lame Pérez Gimpy and cross-eyed Rodríguez Pock Face or Evil Eye and the deaf-mute Rivera Golden Tongue? And didn't they call him Choto and him Chingolo and him Manny and him Lalo? Don't get mad, brother, keep on playing, c'mon, it's your turn.

Bit by bit he was growing resigned to his nickname and by the sixth grade he did not cry or get tough anymore, he pretended not to notice and sometimes he even joked, not P.P., Big P.P. ha ha! and in the first year of junior high school he had become so accustomed to it that, instead, when they called him Cuéllar, he became serious and looked distrustfully, as if uncertain, was it a joke? He even put out his hand to new friends saying how do you do, P.P. Cuéllar, glad to meet you.

Not to girls, of course, just to men. Because at that time, besides sports, they were already interested in girls. We had started making jokes, in class, hey, yesterday I saw Martínez with his girl, during recess, they were walking hand in hand on the embankment and all of a sudden, pow, a hit! and at the end of periods, on the mouth? yes and they'd stayed a hell of a long time kissing. Soon, that was the main thing they talked about. Kiki Rojas had a girlfriend, older than him, blond, with blue eyes and on Sunday Manny saw them going into the afternoon show at the Ricardo Palma together and after the show let out her hair was all messed up, sure they'd made out, and the next day at night Choto caught the Venezuelan in the fifth year, the one they call Jaws 'cause of his big mouth, man, in a car, with a really painted-up doll and, sure enough, they were making out, and you, Lalo, made out yet? and you, P.P., ha ha, and Manny liked Chickie Saenz's sister, and Choto was starting to pay for an ice cream and he dropped his wallet and he had a photo of some Little Red Riding Hood at a kids' party, ha ha, don't make faces, Lalo, we already know you're dying over that skinny Rojas, and you, P.P., dying for anybody? and he no, blushing, not yet, or pale, he wasn't dying over anybody, and you and you, ha ha.

If we got out at five on the button and raced down Pardo Avenue as if the devil were on our heels, we made it just as the girls were coming out of school. We would stand on the corner and look at that, there were the buses, they were the ones in third year and the one in the second window is Canepa's sister, hello, hello, and that one, look, shout hello to her, she laughed and laughed, and the girl answered us, hello, hello, but it wasn't for you, snot-nose, and that one and that one. Sometimes we brought little notes we skimmed through the air at them, you're really good-looking, I like your braids, your uniform fits you better than anybody else's, your friend Lalo, watch out, man, the nun already saw you, she's going to punish them, what's your name, I'm Manny, want to go to the movies Sunday? she should answer him tomorrow with the same kind of note or let me know shaking her head yes as the bus went by. And you Cuéllar, didn't he like any of them? yes, that one in the back, four-eyes? no, the one right next to her, then why didn't he write her? and he what would I say to her, let's see, want to be my girl? no, how dumb, he wanted to be her boyfriend and sent her a kiss, yes, that was better, but it was short, something sneakier, I want to be your friend and he was sending you a kiss and I adore you, she'd be the cow and I'll be the bull, ha ha. And now sign your first name and your last name and do a little drawing for her, what for instance? anything, a little bull, a little flower, a little peepee, and so we spent our afternoons, running after the buses of the Academy of the Indemnity and, sometimes, we went as far as Arequipa Avenue to watch the girls from Villa Maria in their white uniforms, just made your first communion? we'd shout at them, and we even took the express and got off at St. Isidor to take a look at the girls from St. Ursula and from Sacred Heart. We didn't play as much soccer as before.

When birthdays turned into mixed parties, the boys stayed out in the garden, pretending to play tag, you're it! who's got the button or ring-a-lievo, caught you! while we were all eyes, all ears, what was going on in the living room? what were the girls doing with those big guys, what envy, who already knew how to dance? Until one day they decided to learn too and then we spent Saturdays, whole Sundays, men dancing with each other, at Lalo's house, no, at mine it's bigger, it was better, but Choto had more records, and Manny but I've got my sister who can teach us and Cuéllar, no, at his house, his parents already knew and one day, here, his mother, sweetheart, they gave him that hi-fi, just for him? sure, didn't he want to learn to dance? He'd put it in his room and call his friends and would lock himself up with them as long as he wanted and also buy records, sweetheart, go to the Record Center, and they went and we picked out huarachas, mambos, boleros and waltzes and they sent the bill to his old man, that's all, Mr. Cuéllar, 285 Mariscal Castilla. The waltz and bolero were easy, you had to remember and count, one here, one there, the music didn't matter too much. The hard ones were the huaracha, we have to learn the steps, said Cuéllar, the mambo, and to twirl and move apart and show off. We learned to dance and smoke almost at the same time, tripping over ourselves, choking on the smoke from Luckies and Viceroys, prancing until suddenly, now brother, you got it, it was coming out, don't lose it, move a little more, getting sick at our stomachs, coughing and spitting, hey did he let it out? liar, he was holding the smoke under his tongue, and P.P. me, we should count for him, did we see? eight, nine, ten and how he blew it out, did he or didn't he know how to take a drag? And also to blow it out through his nose and to squat down and twirl around and get up without losing the beat.

Before, what we liked most in the world were sports and the movies, and they would give anything for a soccer match, and now instead it was girls and dancing most and what we would give anything for was a party with Pérez Prado records and permission to smoke from the lady of the house. They had parties almost every Saturday and when we didn't go as guests we crashed and, before entering, they would go into the corner bar and banging on the bar with a fist, we would ask the bartender for five shots! Bottoms up, P.P. said, like this, glub glub, like men, like me.

When Pérez Prado came to Lima with his orchestra, we went to wait for him at the airport, and Cuéllar, let's see, who shoved through like me, managed to make his way through the crowd, got up to him, grabbed him by the coat and shouted to him: "The Mambo King!" Pérez Prado smiled at him and also shook my hand, I swear to you, and he signed his autograph album, look. They followed him, lost in the caravan of fans, in Bobby Lozano's car, to Plaza San Martin and, despite the archbishop's prohibition and the warnings of the brothers from the Champagnat Academy, we went to the bullfight, to Sol Stadium, to see the national mambo championship. Every night, at Cuéllar's we'd put on El Sol Radio and listen in a frenzy, what a trumpet, man, what a beat, the Pérez Prado broadcast, what a piano.

They were already wearing long pants by then, we slicked our hair with tonic and they had grown, especially Cuéllar, who from being the smallest and the puniest of us five turned into the tallest and strongest. You've gotten to be a Tarzan, P.P., we told him, what a build you're growing muscles every day.

3.

The first to have a girlfriend was Lalo, when we were in our freshman year. One night he came into the Tasty Cream, real dreamy, they what's up with you and he, beaming, puffed up like a peacock: I've asked Chabuca Molina to go steady, she said yes to me. We went to celebrate at the Indian Messenger and with the second glass of beer, Lalo, how did you put it to her, Cuéllar started getting a little nervous, had he held her hand? a little annoying, what had Chabuca done, Lalo, and full of questions, c'mon, did you kiss her? Pleased, he told us, and now it was their turn, cheers, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, let's see if we'll hurry up and get a girlfriend and Cuéllar, banging the table with his glass, what did she say, what did you say to her, what did you do. You sound like some priest, P.P., Lalo said, you're giving me confession and Cuéllar, tell us, tell us, what else. They had three beers and, at midnight, P.P. got sick. Leaning against a lamppost, right on Larco Avenue, in front of the public clinic, he vomited: chicken, we said to him, and also what a waste, throwing away that beer after what it cost, what squandering. But he, you double-crossed us, he wasn't in the mood for joking, double-crosser Lalo, spitting up, you went ahead, puking all over his shirt, falling for a girl, his trousers, and not even telling us he was chasing her, P.P., bend over a little, you're making a mess of yourself, but he nothing, that just wasn't done, what's it to you if I make a mess of myself, you lousy friend, double-crosser. Later, while we were cleaning him up, he cooled down, and got sentimental: we'd never see you anymore, Lalo. He would spend Sundays with Chabuca and you won't look for us anymore, you fairy. And Lalo what an idea, man, my girlfriend and my friends were two different things but they don't compete with each other, there's no reason to be jealous, P.P., calm down, and they shake hands but Cuéllar didn't want to, Chabuca should shake his hand, I'm not going to shake it. We went with him to his house and all along the way he was muttering shut up man and swearing, we're there already, go in real slow, real slow, tiptoe like a thief, careful, if you make a racket your parents will wake up and catch you. But he began to shout, let's have a look, to kick his front door, let them wake up and catch him and what was going to happen, chicken, we shouldn't go, he wasn't scared of his parents, we should stay and we'd see. Something's gotten into him, said Manny, as we raced toward the crosstown street, you said I asked Chabuca to go steady and friend his face and mood changed, and Choto he was jealous, that's why he got drunk and Chingolo his parents are going to wring his neck. But they didn't do anything to him. Who opened the door for you? my mother and what happened? we asked him, she hit you? No, she started crying, sweetheart, how could you, how could he drink at his age, and my old man came in too and he bawled him out, nothing else, you'll never do this again? no Papa, wasn't he ashamed of what he'd done? yes. They gave him a bath, they put him to bed and the next morning he told them he was sorry. And Lalo too, man, I'm sorry, the beer went right to my head, see? I insulted you, I was bugging you, wasn't I? No,