walking toward him, and the pharmacist's face lit up with an infantile grin. He was still smiling as he stretched out his hand to Erdosain, who thought:
"How many women have loved him for just that smile."
Erdosain was unable to hold back the question:
"So did you and Hipólita get married?"
"Right, only when they found out at home all hell broke loose."
"What—they knew she was a prostitute?"
"No ... but she told them that afterward. You know before Hipólita was a prostitute she had been a servant?"
"So?"
"Right after we got married, Mama, Hipólita, me, and my sister all went to visit a family. You know how some people remember things? Ten years later they recognized Hip ó lita who had been their servant. That really put us on the spot. Mama and Juana versus me and Hipólita. It destroyed the cover story I had worked up to make Hipólita seem all right to marry."
"But why did she tell them she had been a prostitute?"
"She was furious. But, wasn't she right? Hadn't she gone straight? Couldn't she live in peace with me, something they'd never managed to do?"
"So how's it going?"
"Pretty well. The pharmacy brings in seventy pesos a day. In all of Pico nobody knows the Bible like me. I challenged the priest to a debate and he wouldn't take me up on it."
Erdosain looked at his strange friend with sudden hope. Then he asked:
"You still gamble?"
"Yes, because of my innocence, Jesus has seen fit to reveal to me the secret of roulette."
"What is it?"
"You don't know—the great secret—a law of static synchronism—I used it twice in Montevideo already and won a lot of money, but tonight Hipólita and I are going to break the bank."
And all at once he launched into an involved explanation:
"Look, in theory you play X amount on the first three balls, one out of each dozen. If you don't get different dozens, then, automatically, the whole thing is off balance. So you keep track of the dozen that come out. For the three balls after that, the dozen you're keeping your eye on will stay the same. Of course the zero doesn't count and you play your dozens in series of three balls. So then you raise by one the amount you have riding on the dozen without a cross, you go down one, I mean, two units on the dozen with three crosses, and on the basis of that you figure the unit smaller than those bigger ones and play the difference on the dozen or dozens that come out of that move."
Erdosain had not understood. He suppressed a laugh as his hope grew, for there was no denying that Ergueta was mad. So he replied:
"Jesus knows how to reveal such secrets to those whose souls are full of light."
"And also to idiots," argued Ergueta, looking at him mockingly and winking with his left eye. "Since I've gotten into these mysteries, I've done some hair-raising things, for instance, marrying that dummy."
"And are you happy with her?"
" ... to believe that people are good, when everyone is out to get you, to label you as crazy ... "
Erdosain frowned in impatience, then: "Why shouldn't they think you're crazy? You were, as you yourself put it, a great sinner. Then suddenly you hear some divine call, you marry a prostitute because it is written in the Bible, you talk about the fourth seal and the pale horse—sure, people are going to think you're crazy because you don't know anything at all about these things. Didn't they call me crazy, too, because I said they should set up shops to dry-clean and dye dogs and metallize shirtcuffs? But I don't think you're mad. No, I don't think so. Your problem is you have too much life, love, and neighborly feeling. Now, about Jesus revealing to you the secret of roulette, that's going a bit far—"
"But both times I won five thousand pesos—"
"So what? What saves you isn't the secret of roulette, but the beautiful soul that you have. You're someone who can do good, have mercy on some poor wretch about to go to jail ... "
"That's the truth," Ergueta interrupted. "And look, there's another