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Gomez could not tear his eyes from that disreputable Vamenos. At last, impulsively, he yanked his shirt off over his head. ‘Ay-yeah!’ he howled. ‘Ay-yeee!’
Whisper rustle … the clean shirt.
‘Ah…!’
How clean the new clothes feel, thought Martinez, holding the coat ready. How clean they sound, how clean they smell!
Whisper … the pants … the tie, rustle … the braces. Whisper … now Martinez let loose the coat which fell in place on flexing shoulders.
‘Olé!’
Gomez turned like a matador in his wondrous suit-of-lights.
‘Olé, Gomez, olé!’
Gomez bowed and went out the door.
Martinez fixed his eyes to his watch. At ten sharp he heard someone wandering about in the hall as if they had forgotten where to go. Martinez pulled the door open and looked out.
Gomez was there, heading for nowhere.
He looks sick, thought Martinez. No, stunned, shook up, surprised, many things.
‘Gomez! This is the place!’
Gomez turned around and found his way through the door.
‘Oh, friends, friends,’ he said. ‘Friends, what an experience! This suit! This suit!’
‘Tell us, Gomez!’ said Martinez.
‘I can’t, how can I say it!’ He gazed at the heavens, arms spread, palms up.
‘Tell us, Gomez!’
‘I have no words, no words. You must see, yourself! Yes, you must see –’ And here he lapsed into silence, shaking his head until a
t last he remembered they all stood watching him. ‘Who’s next? Manulo?’
Manulo, stripped to his shorts, leapt forward.
‘Ready!’
All laughed, shouted, whistled.
Manulo ready, went out the door. He was gone twenty-nine minutes and thirty seconds. He came back holding to doorknobs, touching the wall, feeling his own elbows, putting the flat of his hand to his face.
‘Oh, let me tell you,’ he said. ‘Compadres, I went to the bar, eh, to have a drink? But no, I did not go in the bar, do you hear? I did not drink. For as I walked I began to laugh and sing. Why, why? I listened to myself and asked this. Because. The suit made me feel better than wine ever did. The suit made me drunk, drunk! So I went to the Guadalajara Refritería instead and played the guitar and sang four songs, very high! The suit, ah, the suit!’
Dominguez, next to be dressed, moved out through the world, came back from the world.
The black telephone book! thought Martinez. He had it in his hands when he left! Now, he returns, hands empty! What? What?
‘On the street,’ said Dominguez, seeing it all again, eyes wide, ‘on the street I walked, a woman cried, “Dominguez, is that you?” Another said, “Dominguez? No, Quetzalcoatl, the Great White God come from the East,” do you hear? And suddenly I didn’t want to go with six women or eight, no. One, I thought. One! And to this one, who knows what I would say? “Be mine!” or “Marry me!” Caramba! This suit is dangerous! But I did not care! I live, I live! Gomez, did it happen this way with you?’
Gomez, still dazed by the events of the evening, shook his head. ‘No, no talk. It’s too much. Later. Villanazul…?’
Villanazul moved shyly forward.
