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it not true, thought Martínez, that when Vamenos passed by, avalanches itched on mountaintops? If he walked under windows, people spat, dumped garbage, or worse. Tonight now, this night, he would stroll beneath ten thousand wide-opened windows, near balconies, past alleys. Suddenly the world absolutely sizzled with flies. And here was Vamenos, a fresh-frosted cake.
    â€œYou sure look keen in that suit, Vamenos,” said Manulo sadly.
    â€œThanks.” Vamenos twitched, trying to make his skeleton comfortable where all their skeletons had so recently been. In a small voice Vamenos said, “Can I go now?”
    â€œVillanazul!” said Gómez. “Copy down these rules.”
    Villanazul licked his pencil.
    â€œFirst,” said Gómez, “don’t fall down in that suit, Vamenos!”
    â€œI won’t.”
    â€œDon’t lean against buildings in that suit.”
    â€œNo buildings.”
    â€œDon’t walk under trees with birds in them in that suit. Don’t smoke. Don’t drink—”
    â€œPlease,” said Vamenos, “can I sit down in this suit?”
    â€œWhen in doubt, take the pants off, fold them over a chair.”
    â€œWish me luck,” said Vamenos.
    â€œGo with God, Vamenos.”
    He went out. He shut the door.
    There was a ripping sound.
    â€œVamenos!” cried Martínez.
    He whipped the door open.
    Vamenos stood with two halves of a handkerchief torn in his hands, laughing.
    â€œRrrip! 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.
    Gómez 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.
    â€œHere is my last fifty cents. Who else will help me buy back Vamenos’s share of the suit?”
    â€œIt’s no use.” Manulo showed them ten cents. “We got only enough to buy the lapels and the buttonholes.”
    Gómez, 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.
    â€œI bet he eats a hamburger in that suit,” mused Villanazul. “I’m thinking of the mustard.”
    â€œDon’t!” cried Gómez. “No, no!”
    Manulo was suddenly at the door.
    â€œI need a drink, bad.”
    â€œManulo, 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.
    â€œI think I’ll walk down to the plaza, friends.”
    He was not gone a minute when Domínguez, waving his black book at the others, winked and turned the doorknob.
    â€œDomínguez,” said Gómez.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œIf you see Vamenos, by accident,” said Gómez, “warn him away from Mickey Murrillo’s Red Rooster Café. They got fights not only on TV but out front of the TV too.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t go into Murrillo’s,” said Domínguez. “That suit means too much to Vamenos. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt it.”
    â€œHe’d shoot his mother first,” said Martínez.
    â€œSure he would.”
    Martínez and Gómez, alone, listened to Domínguez’s footsteps hurry away down the stairs. They circled the undressed window dummy.
    For a long while, biting his lips, Gómez 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