The Day it Rained Forever

"Vamenos!’ cried Martinez.

He whipped the door open.

Vamenos stood with two halves of a handkerchief torn in his hands, laughing.

‘Rrrip! Look at your faces! Rrrip!’ He tore the cloth again. ‘Oh, oh, your faces, your faces! Ha!’

Roaring, Vamenos slammed the door, leaving them stunned and alone.

Gomez put both hands on top of his head and turned away. ‘Stone me. Kill me. I have sold our souls to a demon!’

Villanazul dug in his pockets, took out a silver coin and studied it for a long while.

‘Here is my last fifty cents. Who else will help me buy back Vamenos’s share of the suit?’

‘It’s no use.’ Manulo showed them ten cents. ‘We got only enough to buy the lapels and the buttonholes.’

Gomez, at the open window, suddenly leaned out and yelled, ‘Vamenos! No!’

Below on the street, Vamenos, shocked, blew out a match, and threw away an old cigar butt he had found somewhere. He made a strange gesture to all the men in the window above, then waved airily and sauntered on.

Somehow, the five men could not move away from the window. They were crushed together there.

‘I bet he eats a hamburger in that suit,’ mused Villanazul. ‘I’m thinking of the mustard.’

‘Don’t!’ cried Gomez. ‘No, no!’

Manulo was suddenly at the door.

‘I need a drink, bad.’

‘Manulo, there’s wine here, that bottle, on the floor –’

Manulo went out and shut the door.

A moment later, Villanazul stretched with great exaggeration and strolled about the room.

‘I think I’ll walk down to the plaza, friends.’

He was not gone a minute when Dominguez, waving his black book at the others, winked, and turned the doorknob.

‘Dominguez,’ said Gomez.

‘Yes?’

‘If you see Vamenos, by accident,’ said Gomez, ‘warn him away from Mickey Murillo’s Red Rooster Café. They got fights not only on TV but out front of the TV, too.’

‘He wouldn’t go into Murillo’s,’ said Dominguez. ‘That suit means too much to Vamenos. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt it.’

‘He’d shoot his mother first,’ said Martinez.

‘Sure he would.’

Martinez and Gomez, alone, listened to Dominguez’s footsteps hurry away down the stairs. They circled the undressed window dummy.

For a long while, biting his lips, Gomez stood at the window, looking out. He touched his shirt pocket twice, pulled his hand away, and then at last pulled something from the pocket. Without looking at it, he handed it to Martinez.

‘Martinez, take this.’

‘What is it?’

Martinez looked at the piece of folded pink paper with print on it, with names and numbers. His eyes widened.

‘A ticket on the bus to El Paso, three weeks from now!’

Gomez nodded. He couldn’t look at Martinez. He stared out into the summer night.

‘Turn it in. Get the money,’ he said. ‘Buy us a nice white panama hat and a pale blue tie to go with the white ice-cream suit, Martinez. Do that.’

‘Gomez –’

‘Shut up. Boy, is it hot in here! I need air.’

‘Gomez. I am touched. Gomez –’

But the door stood open. Gomez was gone.

Mickey Murillo’s Red Rooster Café and Cocktail Lounge was squashed between two big brick buildings and, being narrow, had to be deep. Outside, serpents of red and sulphur-green neon fizzed and snapped. Inside, dim shapes loomed and swam away to lose themselves in a swarming night sea.

Martinez, on tiptoe, peeked through a flaked place on the red-painted front window.

He felt a presence on his left, heard breathing on his right. He glanced in both directions.

‘Manulo! Villanazul!’

‘I decided I wasn’t thirsty,’ said Manulo. ‘So I took a walk.’

‘I was just on my way to the plaza,’ said Villanazul, ‘and decided to go the long way round.’

As if by agreement the three men shut up now and turned together to peer on tiptoe through various flaked spots on the window.

A moment later, all three felt a new very warm presence behind them and heard still faster breathing.

‘Is our white suit in there?’ asked Gomez’s voice.

‘Gomez!’ said everybody, surprised. ‘Hi!’

‘Yes!’ cried Dominguez, having just arrived to find his own peephole. ‘There’s the suit! And, praise God, Vamenos is still in it!’