Outlaws Read Free Page B

was all. Do I mean by this that I soon forgot about Zarco and Tere? Not at all. At first I was afraid they’d show up at the arcade again, but after a few days I was surprised to find myself wishing they would, or at least that Tere would. It never crossed my mind, however, to accept Zarco’s invitation, to go into the red-light district one afternoon and turn up at La Font: at sixteen years of age I had an approximate but sufficient idea of what the district was, and I didn’t like the idea of going there, or maybe I was just scared. In any case, I soon convinced myself that I’d met Zarco and Tere because some unlikely coincidence had made them stray outside their territory; I also convinced myself that, as well as unlikely, the coincidence was unrepeatable, and that I would not see them again.
    ‘The same day I arrived at this conclusion I had a terrible scare. I was on my way home after having helped Señor Tomàs close the arcade when I saw a group of kids walking towards me on Joaquim Vayreda. There were four of them, coming from Caterina Albert, on the same side of the street as me and, in spite of the fact that they were still quite a way off and it was getting dark, I recognized them immediately: it was Batista, Matías and two of the Boix brothers, Joan and Dani. I wanted to just keep walking along, but before I could take another two or three steps I felt my legs buckling and I started to sweat. Trying not to give in to panic, I began to cross the street; before I reached the other side I saw that Batista was doing the same. Then I couldn’t help it: instinctively I took off running, reached the kerb and turned right down an alley that led into La Devesa; just as I got to the park Batista jumped me; he brought me down and, kneeling on my back and twisting my arm behind me, immobilized me on the ground. Where’re you going, asshole?, he asked. He was panting like a dog; I was panting too, face down in the dirt of La Devesa. I’d lost my glasses. Looking around desperately for them, I asked Batista to let me up, but instead he asked me the same question again. Home, I said. Through here?, Batista asked, digging his knee into my back and twisting my arm till I screamed. You’re a fucking liar.
    ‘At that moment I heard Matías and the Boix brothers catch up. From the ground, in the leaden light shining from a streetlamp, I saw a blurry confusion of jean-clad legs and feet in sneakers or sandals. Nearby I caught sight of my glasses: they didn’t look broken. I begged them to pick them up and someone who wasn’t Batista picked them up but didn’t give them to me. Then Matías and the Boix brothers asked what was going on. Nothing, said Batista. This fucking catalanufo , he’s always lying. I didn’t lie, I managed to say in my defence. I just said I was going home. See?, said Batista, twisting my arm harder. Another lie! I screamed again. Let him go, Matías said. He hasn’t done anything to us. I felt Batista turn to look at him without letting go of me. He hasn’t done anything?, he asked. Are you a dickhead or what? If he hasn’t done anything why does he take off running as soon as he sees us, eh? And why has he been hiding? And why does he keep lying? He paused and added: Well, Dumbo, tell the truth for a change: where were you coming from? I didn’t say anything; as well as my back and arm, my face was hurting too, pressed against the ground. See?, said Batista. He keeps quiet. And a guy keeps quiet when he has something to hide. Just like a guy who runs away. Yes or no? Let me go, please, I whined. Batista laughed. As well as a liar you’re a dickhead, he said. You think we don’t know where you’ve been hiding? You think we’re idiots? Eh? What do you think? Batista seemed to be waiting for an answer; suddenly he twisted my arm even harder and asked: What did you say? I hadn’t said anything and I said I hadn’t said anything. Yes you did, said Batista. I heard you call me a son of a