The driver of Eve
Diablo, the woman screamed. He was thinking about that when asked to stop the taxi on a street corner Martí, where the lights did not work. He dropped the bill spent on the long front seat. Seeing the rough, broad and serious look of man stuck in the bit of mirror stuck on the rearview mirror, the driver was upset looked on without turning, all his movements. He did not ask the other hand, did not care. Relojpulsera saw crystals on the tips of the needles, still had twenty minutes. He pushed the heavy door yellow-cab driver had stopped at a street sale of Christmas decorations, "Guzman failed to open completely, the roundness of the fender and the bag dark prevented him from moving freely. "What days, what dates damned," said grumbling. The driver allowed a slight smile, remembering that the sales were there all the year: Labor Day, that of revolution, and the dead, and the virgin, and the burning of the devil, and the kings, and Christmas, and all the days for which he could and had always wanted to buy any crap, old fool, said without taking his eyes bent man that had become Guzmán. He took the glove folded paper where he had noted the list of commitments, what unfolded. Turned on the radio, circled to the tuner and stopped at the frequency where sounded "Cascabel, cascabel, sweet bell", so the list was organized with a pencil stub that dipped into the tongue every time he thought necessary to draw a line . Sometimes returning the smile when he recalled the design of the pump, then started forgetting the traffic light and the anger that caused the old to the somatic door. The traffic was flowing, always was, but at that time of peace, not yet understood, their fellow citizens the strangest surfaced savagery. Guzman walked a few paces, then stopped in front of a child who offered key chains with pictures of naked women.
"The only genre of art that dares to show shamelessly having sex sex is the offer you like the picture of Santa Claus now in full Christmas season.
"But it always buy the child," he apologized -.
"Yes, I understand," he said, ruffling his head -.
She saw the clock was still time.
"Then, when you bought one back.
-Take it and pay me back.
- Aha! now is that the brats are more effective techniques for business, "he said taking a keychain -.
Behind, the sound was spectacular. Both Guzman and children, made the involuntary movement of the self. Some of the shirts flew over the infant's head, the other fell against Guzman. Greasy stain his fingerprint was printed on the abdomen and sex transparent portrait. For a moment thought that someone had planted the bomb himself in the old car from the bakery every morning park opposite the entrance to the market October 20, where the child's mother, a lover of Garcia, a local police captain who Guzman had forbidden to settle in the middle of the wide sidewalk that separated the crowded, dirty and sometimes smelly streets and the crowded room where her apron and blue eyes, I saw him with an air of menace as he was standing with the bag hanging on the fingertips. "It was a shock," said the child when everything had calmed down -.
Guzman indomitable up with a premonition that stretched behind the ears to the entire neck, as an advanced heat equal to the ones that happened after the first sip. The uproar did not let him see clearly, was not of those who need to see out of curiosity, if something was preferred to leave, but now the feeling was like pinching his mother when he harassed to do something.
- Can you keep my luggage? - Said the child looked at him as if to ask the same thing a thousand times, do not let your mother finds out, you know where they hide.
"If my mother sees me coming with a suitcase, will ask, and if you find out is yours ...
-Ni heaven forbid. You take away the bag, hide it well without your mom to realize that back as soon as I find out what happened.
lowered his suitcase off the swift legs of the child. He did a twist on the knee that it hurt. Short and slow steps left on the clock time. Sometimes I could see more clearly the noise of the accident, although those moments were sudden and not give him time just to think about what I always told her son, who was like a repetitive sermon as he sounded even plan, and the son with an eye on the road clutching fingers one by one on the wheel, as a way of releasing the cry was not allowed out of respect for the old engarabatado that increasingly seemed to him to his father. "The pump never believed it, son, but wanted to make it not failed me," she said when she spotted the crumpled package excessive the yellow taxi - as if truth were in the back seat and the child is hidden by glancing bit stuck in the rearview mirror.
The child was fighting against the current of onlookers. Brought embraced some of the key chains and with his other hand pulled the suitcase with the other shirts on top, sometimes leaping from the floor Graditas.
- What happened? Asked the mother wiped her hands on her apron -.
"Nothing, son of Don Guzman had an accident on the corner.
"Do not tell me that this case is that of the old.
"No, Mom.
- Do not know what to charge? Did not I told ya? are snakes, poison, pure filth of the Devil.
Guzman had tears sprout. Someone took the man shouted that he was the father. A city firefighter was approaching when he took off his helmet and put it under his left arm with the grimace of the mouth, announcing the death. In the dining room and the two mazacuates coral twisted crazy mother in the suitcase on fire. The key chains exploiting scattered charred by fire. The child was left without saying anything, not believing that things were pure burned the Devil.
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