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“Look! One thirty-five pounds! Another miracle!”
The men stared at his right hand and the card, at his left hand and a soiled ten-dollar bill.
Gómez swayed. Sweating, he licked his lips. Then his hand shot out, seized the money.
“The clothing store! The suit! Vamos!”
Yelling, everyone ran from the poolroom.
The woman’s voice was still squeaking on the abandoned telephone. Martínez, left behind, reached out and hung the voice up. In the silence he shook his head. “Santos, what a dream! Six men,” he said, “one suit. What will come of this? Madness? Debauchery? Murder? But I go with God. Gómez, wait for me!”
Martínez was young. He ran fast.
Mr. Shumway, of SHUMWAY’S SUNSHINE SUITS, paused while adjusting a tie rack, aware of some subtle atmospheric change outside his establishment.
“Leo,” he whispered to his assistant. “Look …”
Outside, one man, Gómez, strolled by, looking in. Two men, Manulo and Domínguez, hurried by, staring in. Three men, Villanazul, Martínez, and Vamenos, jostling shoulders, did the same.
“Leo.” Mr. Shumway swallowed. “Call the police!”
Suddenly six men filled the doorway.
Martínez, crushed among them, his stomach slightly upset, his face feeling feverish, smiled so wildly at Leo that Leo let go the telephone.
“Hey,” breathed Martínez, eyes wide. “There’s a great suit over there!”
“No.” Manulo touched a lapel. “This one!”
“There is only one suit in all the world!” said Gómez coldly. “Mr. Shumway, the ice-cream white, size thirty-four, was in your window just an hour ago! It’s gone! You didn’t—”
“Sell it?” Mr. Shumway exhaled. “No, no. In the dressing room. It’s still on the dummy.”
Martínez did not know if he moved and moved the crowd or if the crowd moved and moved him. Suddenly they were all in motion. Mr. Shumway, running, tried to keep ahead of them.
“This way, gents. Now which of you …?”
“All for one, one for all!” Martínez heard himself say, and laughed. “We’ll all try it on!”
“All?” Mr. Shumway clutched at the booth curtain as if his shop were a steamship that had suddenly tilted in a great swell. He stared.
That’s it, thought Martínez, look at our smiles. Now, look at the skeletons behind our smiles! Measure here, there, up, down, yes, do you see?
Mr. Shumway saw. He nodded. He shrugged.
“All!” He jerked the curtain. “There! Buy it, and I’ll throw in the dummy free!”
Martínez peered quietly into the booth, his motion drawing the others to peer too.
The suit was there.
And it was white.
Martínez could not breathe. He did not want to. He did not need to. He was afraid his breath would melt the suit. It was enough, just looking.
But at last he took a great trembling b
reath and exhaled, whispering, “Ay. Ay, caramba!”
