A man tells his story from the bar counter. Round after round, he reconstructs a life shaped by a violent father, a traumatic childhood, and the schooling of the street and prison. He knows that every action has consequences, but he believes he has found a way to escape his past. And his listeners, though they do not know it, are the key to making it happen.
In Zenda we reproduce the first pages ofNobody will get out of here (Grijalbo), by Íñigo Bordiu.
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1
The Neighbor Next Door
Give me another, Rafa.
Goddamn it, how many years have we been coming here, the same four guys? And you, Rafa. How the hell have you managed to put up with us to the point of closing the bar just for us? Look at us, damn it. All grown men getting drunk in a bar on a Tuesday in February at three in the morning.
We’ve been coming here almost every day for fifteen years. One day even Humos came in with the damn flu, hell of it. He didn’t infect us because God didn’t want him to. God with a lowercase g, because he doesn’t even dare to look at us anymore. He left us aside the moment he was born. Don’t make that face, Fermín, damn it, we know each other… not as well as you know Alfonso. Because you lot really are friends outside these four filthy walls, aren’t you? How much have you spent in total on that machine? You’re burning through the damn pension with all those lights and blaring sounds. Can you please stop playing? That racket gives me a headache, damn it.
Well, back to what I was saying… We’re lonelier than a nun, guys. Who would want four drunks, closer to the other side of town than to this one, whom life has been roughing up since their first cry. Although there was some light among so much shadow. What am I saying, light? We live in the deepest darkness. But, damn it, at least we have each other. Fermín, Alfonso, Lázaro and me. You, Rafa, you’re different. A guy like us, but different, after all. A fucking working man, one of those who are scarce nowadays. You opened this dive when you were twenty. Listen, damn it: this wretch is seventy years old and he’s still here, putting up with us. BAR GIMLET, yes, in capital letters. It’s my second home, especially since what happened…
Well, we’ll get to that. Somehow this place has been a kind of refuge where I come to drown my sorrows. I know you’re all the same, I’m not trying to act above anyone, stay calm. After all, my story is also yours and ours, the story of this neighborhood.
But tonight is different, gentlemen. Listen to me: today the circle closes. This beer, the next, and perhaps one more, will be the last we share together. There is a story that ends today. This ends here for some.
Don’t get nervous, damn it, we’re friends. And this is nothing more than a simple pistol. Two bullets, there are only two. Lázaro, treat yourself to one of those. Do you know there was a time when I could beat the vice? But there is a truth in life: an addict is always an addict, even if they pretend otherwise. Come on, give me one and wipe that look off your face—as if you’ve seen a dead man. At least, not yet.
Please, Rafa, treat the gentlemen to one on my behalf as well. Let them order whatever they want, which is what we usually do, I suppose.
Cut the talk, man. You’re giving me a headache, damn it.
I’m just chatting, Lázaro. Don’t be unfriendly.
That’s it, Barrena, we just want to have the night in peace. Put that away, you piece of crap.
Look at that: Fermín Valdés, alias “El Duros,” has left the little machine alone. If there’s one thing I admire about you, it’s that you still use the word “crap.” I feel it’s becoming less and less common, don’t you think?
Come on, Salva, leave it be.
Rafa, do me a favor and bring the drinks to the gentlemen.
You’re right, Salva. If you could at least put away that gadget, we’d be calmer.
Christ, does this make you nervous? You should’ve said so earlier, damn. The last thing I want is for you all to feel uncomfortable. I’ll put it away now, see? Here, under my coat. Better? Alfonso, quit that face and enjoy the whisky, mine to pay. What time do you start your shift today?
Today I close the book, Salva.
Perfect. Then, come on, let’s toast. Rafa, pour yourself one for a change.
I’m fine, don’t worry about me.
Bah, as you wish. Cheers. To us. To our life, to our neighborhood. Even if everything is miserably depressing.
[…]
Author: Íñigo Bordiu. Title: Nobody will get out of here.Publisher: Grijalbo. Sales: All your books.
© Fran Moreta