I smelled sewage. The stink that crept out of drainage caps in wisps of cold smoke blanketed La Rambla del Raval every night as I walked home.
I took the quick left onto Carrer de Sant Antoni. Counted my steps. Doce. Trece. Catorce. Cince y allí. There. My apartment building was tucked somewhere in the mash of painted, peeling concrete. Not even a breeze blew down Sant Antoní. Quiet rang in my eardrums as I squinted into the darkness. It was Sunday in Barcelona. Metal grates covered every storefront. I walked home on these nights hoping to be the only person on the street.
But I never was. Allí. A golden wristwatch caught a glint of light and gave them away. Allí. The little fuckers who waited for me every night as I walked home from work. One of them was wearing my watch. Lurking in and out of shadows. Following me. He was always wearing my watch.
Twenty feet from my doorstep. I took one last drag of my cigarette and put it out on a low hanging windowsill. More flickers of light. They were on the move. I knew the dance well. Surround. Corner. Attack. Steal. Flee.
Ten feet from my doorstep. I pulled my keys from my pocket and held them between my fingers and thumb like small daggers. A shadow moved in the darkness of the storefront across from my apartment building.
Mierda.
Five feet from my doorstep. Armed. Sprinting. Heart hammering into my lungs. Adrenaline propelled me into the grates in front of my apartment building. One motion.
Smash. Stab. Turn. Lock. Slam.
The door shut on the face of two pimply teenagers who jeered at me from the other side.
No me jodas.
I spit on the grated doorway and turned my back to them. Silencio. They bored easily of yelling insults. It was their bedtime. They probably had school tomorrow.
No mail in my postbox. Thin dimness blurred the stairwell. Familiar glimmers of light sprayed in through tiny, barred windows that overlooked the alleyway between buildings.
Where were their mothers? The perpetual question passed through my mind. My head shook back and forth in an automatic motion. I knew their mothers. They sold me my cigarettes and oranges and phone credit. One day I would ask them. Do you know where your son got that watch? That jacket? Those Euros?
I fantasized about how angry my face would look. All squinting eyes and pursed lips. Your vampire sons terrorize the night! Why do you let them?! But they would already know the answers to my questions and I would never ask. I would buy their cheap oranges instead.
Four flights of dull air until I found my door. I keyed the lock. Siléncio. I pushed the doors weight with my own. My apartment filled with shadows. Table. Chair. Couch. Television. Lamp. The clang of my keys on the counter. Red, faded bed sheets hung from ceiling to floor, covering the doors to the balcony. I walked the length of the shadows to the makeshift curtains and let myself back into the night air.
Five stories high, an old Estrella beer can found a new life as an ashtray. I pulled a new cigarette from my back pocket and dug for my lighter. No está aquí. Used packs of matches hung in the corners of the balcony. Necesito fumar. I found an unused match. Scratch. Sizzle. Puff. Inhale. Exhale. I leaned back against the cool concrete into the shadow of my neighbor’s balcony overhead and blew hot smoke into the night.
I looked slick on Friday night when I left my apartment. Dark wash jeans, sport coat, and a new pack of cigarríllos in my back pocket. I passed the little fuckers staked out in their alleyway. Huddled in dark corners counting their spoils, kneeing their soccer balls back and forth, back and forth. The fattest sat on a sidewalk post, on guard, whistling at women who walked by. Guapa! Ven aquí!
I looked too good to pass by silently. Tranquilo! Pedezo de mierda… Kick. Whoosh. Dodge. Slam. Screech. The soccer ball aimed at my head hit an incoming taxi. Car stopped, door opened, arms waving, the driver staged his attack. I made my get away, took a quick right off Sant Antoní and ducked into the stairs to the catch the metro.
The subway cars snaked through their underground tunnels. Shades of dark with occasional blinding lights blurred by as I stood, bracing my feet, swaying back and forth, back and forth with the movement. At metro stop Fontana I started moving towards the exit. Beep. Beep. Beep. The edge of my jacket was almost bit by the hungry door. Dirty, warm air blew in my face when I stepped onto the escalator. Up. Up. Up. Into the low lights of the night.
I took a sharp right onto Carrer d’Asturies. Cobblestones. Wine bars. Orange trees. Grandmothers. Gracía was the northern perfection to my seedy, southern reality. But I paid one-third of the rent living in Barcelona’s ethnic neighborhood, as the brochures called it. I could walk Gracía’s tree lined streets for free, sit in her plaças to drink my copas and blend in well enough.
Straight down Plaça del Sol with it’s stray dogs running after loose soccer balls and pot smoking buskers. My chest swelled against my shirt just a bit when I thought about how good I looked tonight. One foot in front of the other. Click. Click. Click. My heels made hollow sounds until I ducked into Vinilo. Smokey. Dark. Loud. An old Bruce Lee film was projected onto the far wall, silently playing for unnoticing bar patrons. My eyes scanned the darkness. Allí. I smiled when I saw who I was looking for.
The L2 line always ran on a screwy schedule. I cut out of the bar early just so I wouldn’t have to walk home. My prospects with Laia hadn’t looked good; some Italian from her architecture class was buying her drinks. I looked slick, but he looked better and I knew I wouldn’t be staying at her place that night.
Usually on weekends I slid by, under the radar of the little thieves. The busy nightlife in Barcelona meant endless wallets to suck from pockets. But since the soccer ball incident I knew they’d make it a point to wait for me. I wanted to ride the metro as close to home as I could. Gather my strength for the upcoming battle.
But at Passeig de Gracía the train stopped for the night. Mierda. Out into the warm air I contemplated ducking into a club and coming home in the morning. Las Ramblas in front of me, fluorescent, loud, snaking down to the Mediterranean. The blackened maze of El Raval looming to my right. I knew I didn’t have the money to pay a club cover. Mierda. Into the lion’s den.
When I came to the corner of Sant Antoní, with my home tucked up somewhere in the middle of the string of buildings, I looked at my watch. An empty wrist. I forgot. My face heated with renewed anger, red and flushed. That one little thief, always with my watch. Teasing me. Daring me to get it back. I decided that tonight would be the night. Anoche. Ahora.
I ducked into the late-night kabob shop at the beginning of my street before any of the urchins saw me. I took a stool by the window, tucked myself into a corner and watched my kabob being made. Gigantic, horizontal hunks of meat slowly spun behind the counter. Sharpen. Slice. Sharpen. Slice. Thin pieces of lamb fell off the rotating spit. It piled high onto my pita. I took a bite. Grease dripped from the bottom and fell onto my jeans.
Mierda.
I chewed slowly and counted the little fuckers sprayed out on the street. Three were outside the Spar, the fat one still sat at his stake out but I could tell he was sagging to the side. Leaning on the building. He was getting tired. Soon I would make my move. Anoche. Ahora. Determination lumped in my throat and my stomach jumped as I anticipated the confrontation. Two more bites of lamb. Chew. Swallow. Chew. Shallow. Chew. Chew. Chew. Chew. Nerves hit me hard.
No plan. No tengo un plan. Mierda. Mierda. Worried heat reddened my face. Breathe damnit. In. Out. In. Out. Why was I nervous? That watch was mine! I had every right. Whatever I did tonight. I had every right. In. Out. In. Out. Out. Out. Vale. Okay. Time.
When I stepped out of the kabob shop, a group of heeled girls sauntered by, pinning me to the side of the doorway. Laugh. Shout. Stumble. Click. Click. Click. I maneuvered to the back of the group. I could see four thieves weaving between parked cars like a pack of wolves. Hungry and ready to attack. Hola guápa! Ven aquí! Before they surrounded us, I stepped out of the group. Onto the sidewalk. I walked fast, faster, away from the crowd. My brain told my legs to slow, I looked suspicious. Idiot. Stop drawing attention to yourself. Legs slowed, I snuck a quick peak over my left shoulder. One little fucker just stole a wallet. She didn’t even notice. They’d take an entire bag before they left them. Run up Sant Antoní until they couldn’t hear the screams or the clicking of running heels. Hurry back into the alley to count their spoils. I knew the drill. But I would be gone by then. Watch in hand.
Almost to the alley, I tucked myself between a dumpster and a parked car. Stuck my head out, slowly, slowly. There was the sidewalk post, but no fat ass sitting on it. I checked my surroundings. Couples walked arm in arm. Drunken Americans stumbled toward the metro. No little fuckers. I inched out from the shadows. Once on the sidewalk I slowly walked over to fat one’s post. The nerves in my fingertips tingled and stung. My stomach jumped into my throat and back down again. Flattened against the wall, I inched towards the opening in the sidewalk. Step. Breathe. Check left. Check right. Step. Breathe. Check. Check. Inhale. I peeked my left eye into the dark void.
Nada.
Nothing. Shallow darkness. Shadows lined the walls. A stream of hazed light shot down in streaks from a barred window above my head. Mind racing, I took in the unexpected. I’d yearned for confrontation. The kind that would have left me satisfied, watch or not. I wanted to yell. Throw a punch. I wanted all the couples walking by to stop. Hear my rant. Come to my aid. Applaud my cause. I wanted the women to look at me, lustful with admiration. So brave, so justified. I wanted the men to stand behind me, a small army of light in the darkness. But. Nada. Only a stream of luminescence that shone into nothing but shadows. Check left. Check right.
Screams. Click. Click. Click. Commotion. The dance had begun. I had a window of opportunity. Just a minute. Solómente un minúto. I wanted to see what was down that alley. I wanted redemption. I wanted my watch.
I left invisible footprints behind me. One. Two. Three. Four. Cinco. Seis. Siete. Ocho. I stopped in front of the first shadow. A legless chair sank into the sidewalk. Broken fans hung with glistening gold and silver chains. Black trash bags filled to the point of bursting towered in front of me. Torn cardboard boxes sat stacked up to my chest. I lifted a flap. Leather wallets. Watches. Rings. Cell phones. The spoils of the little thieves. As I sifted through the treasure my fingers started to tingle again, the expectation balled in my chest, about to explode. No. No. No. No. My watch wasn’t there. Maybe the little shit was still wearing it from the other day. Time moved quickly in the dark, I needed to leave soon if I was going to make a clean escape.
Flap down. I moved the top box and kneeled to sift through the other. No. No. Nothing. My old wallet! I’d lost it months ago to the little fuckers. I pushed the black leather into my jacket pocket. As I turned to stand, I spotted a flicker of light from behind a stack of trash bags. I squinted into the dark. One. Two. Three fingers spread from a hand lay limply on the concrete. A watch clasped around the wrist. Another wave of crimson heat lit up my face, this time with blunt fear. My legs sent me forward against my brains will. Fingers. Palm. Wrist. Watch. Forearm. Lifeless on the ground. I peeked behind the trash bags and saw the attached body. Limbs crumpled into black plastic, twisting into unnatural contortions. The fat one lay motionless. His eyes open to the sky. No blood on him. No life left in him. Flee. I must flee. I must run. My brain commanded my legs to run. Corré! But my watch! My watch on the wrist of the dead boy. Vomit crept up my throat, almost to my mouth. Tap. Turn. Whoosh. Crack. Pain. Cold. Blackness.
***
My eyes shot open into blinding dark. Fragmented, desperate questions raced through my head. Dónde? Qué occurio? Por qué? When my eyes adjusted into focused sight, I was staring upwards. Stars flickered weakly above my head, fading in early morning light. Pain shot through my neck, throbbing through my body, down into my toes. I tried to move my arms. Plastic trash bags rustled. Black trash bags. Cold eyes caught my own. Heat rushed back to my blood. The dead fat boy. I was caught in his maze of limbs, his arm entwined with my own. Panic attacked and propelled me upward. My legs collapsed under my weight. Throbbing in my neck, wrists, thighs. I was weak with hurt. I looked at my hand, it shone in the night. Illuminated, pale skin. I looked at the fat boy’s wrist. My watch still gleamed up at me. I looked closer. Black. Blue. Bruised. Red. Sore. My watch covered a wound on his wrist.
Summoning strength from my gut, I picked up my right arm and managed to slide the watch from his wrist. No finger marks. No cuts. A large, navy bruise in the shape of a half moon. Una boca. A mouth. A bruise in the shape of a mouth. I shifted my weight and looked closer. Needle pricks ran the length of the bruise. I lifted my own wrist into the night. Una boca. A mouth shaped bruise. Needle pricks. Click. Click. Click. Footsteps. I froze in my alertness. Closer. Closer. My brain told my eyes to close. My lungs barely breathed. I lay still, wrapped in the fat boy’s limbs.
Jordi. Jordi.
I felt wet on my forearm. Foreign scented breath on my face. Someone was saying my name. Crying. Not touching me. Not too close.
Jordi. I’m sorry. Not you. Not you. Why were you in here? En aquí? I’m sorry.
More wet on my arm. My mind jumbled and went blank. I concentrated on staying still in my confusion. The breath ceased. The weight of the fat one’s limbs shifted. He was being moved. My leg bent in an unnatural motion. I bit my tongue inside my mouth. No noise. No movement.
Jordi. He took your watch. I’m sorry. The fat shit took your watch from me. It was mine. Jordi. It was ours. It was ours and I wore it everyday and you noticed me. You noticed me when I wore your watch. And then he took it from me. I couldn’t let him have it. He soiled our gold, Jordi. Joder, Jordi. Mierda. Lo siénto. I’m sorry.
My leg settled back down, straighter, more comfortably. Plastic rustled more. The weight moved away. I could hear the scraping of shoes on concrete. The fat boy was being dragged. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. It became more difficult to hear. I fluttered an eyelid. Opened a slit of my right eye. One of the urchins was dragging the fat boy towards the dumpster at the end of the alley. I felt the cold metal of my watch against my fingertips. Our watch? I noticed? My brain focused on the words. I couldn’t form a cohesive thought. It made no sense. My body still throbbed. I heard the dumpster doors slam shut. Think. Think. Click. Click. Click. He was walking back towards me. Stillness.
Jordi. What do I do? Tell me what to do. I love you, Jordi. I love you and I did this to you. I’m sorry.
The metal brushed past my fingertips. Icy skin touched my own and froze my blood in my veins. Not human. He can’t be human. The dead fat boy’s skin wasn’t even that cold.
I’m sorry, Jordi. I don’t know what else to do. He won. He’ll lay with you. I hate him, Jordi! I hate that you’ll lay with him.
I felt ice hands wrap around my ankles. Mierda. He was dragging me to the dumpster. I’d never get myself out in time. The crush would kill me. My brain told my eyes to flutter again. I groaned. A small, pitiful groan. The coldness left my legs.
What? What? Not dead?! Oh shit. Oh shit. Jordi! JORDI! Can you hear me? Are you there? Wake up! Jordi!
My eyes fluttered again. Fear kept me from opening them completely. What would his face look like? He sounded desperate.
Jordi! Please open your eyes. Please! Por favor! Open them, look at me.
I looked through the slit of my right eye. White eyes shot back at me. The palest of blue engulfed black pupils. I groaned again. Louder.
It’s okay. Don’t open your eyes. It’s alright, Jordi. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back! Don’t move, Jordi!
A rush of air brushed past my exposed skin. I heard swift footsteps moving away from me. My eyes shot open now. The empty alleyway stretched out to the street, black into graying light. Don’t move, Jordi! I had to move. I needed to get out of black, into gray. I sent all my energy to my left leg. It hovered for a second and fell to the ground. An electric shock of pain shot through the vein in my leg and up into my chest. I sputtered and coughed for air. Hurt ricocheted inside my legs. Qué occurio? Quíen es? My entire body felt like it was resting on upturned nails. Pricks of fear over and over again. I had to move.
My palms rested on the cold concrete, ice against ice. Breathe. Push. Gasp. Fall. I had to try again. Breathe. Push. Gasp. Press. Lift. On my knees. My head spun, inside and out, white space soaring around and around. Nausea. Clear vomit covered my golden watch in iridescent slime. I sat on my knees, head in my hands. Plastic crinkled under me and I swayed back and forth, back and forth, waiting for focused vision. Mierda. Mierda. Por qué? I stuck my finger into a crack in the concrete over my head. Two fingers. Three fingers. Breathe. Pull. Gasp. I bent over now. Hand stuck in my wall, stomach pressed into my leg with one foot on the ground, like some pitiful Grecian statue. Click. Click. Click. My breath stopped. My body set on fire. I squeezed my eyes shut until I could only see black. One tear dripped onto my thigh.
Jordi.
Almost in a whisper. I tried to pry my eyes open
Jordi.
Soft. Quiet. I lifted my head, leaned my body against the wall, and opened my eyes. Left. Right. And steadied myself so I could see. He was one of them. One of the little fuckers. I didn’t know his name, but I recognized his face. Soft features. Brown eyes. Small nose. Full lips. Pimples scattered across his skin. His hand wrapped around a mother’s orange. I felt myself cough, but didn’t hear the sound. He jumped towards me as I did, but then stepped back.
Why did you come down here?
He whispered again. I could barely hear. I opened my mouth but no words came out. My neck was throbbing. I could feel more vomit creeping up my chest.
Jordi.
He said this. I lifted my eyes to him again. Glowing eyes looked back at mine. Once brown, now ice-blue. I felt another tear move down my cheek and drip off my nose.
Jordi!
Louder now.
JORDI!
Lustful. He almost screamed. I closed my eyes again. But felt his cold hands on me now. Pushing me down. My head hit the pavement. The crunch of my watch echoed in my ears and vomit streaked my cheek. I felt a cold pressure against my thigh. Force. Prick. Suction. Fire. Heat moved through my body, shot through my veins like a dragon’s breath. Weakness. I was getting weaker. My legs were taken by a numbness that consumed my body until my eyes fluttered and stopped. Slurp. Suck. Slurp. Suck. All I heard were the sounds of the greedy thief stealing my blood. Inhale. Exhale. Ache. Chill. Inhale.
Término.
