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an increase in the number of people who were trying to get into the crowded taxis and express buses. They didn’t stand in line, they were a small mob waving their hands at the buses with blue and white grilles that passed without stopping. Suddenly, among the bodies, two tiny identical silhouettes, two heads of dark hair: the Valler-riestra twins. Popeye pushed the curtain aside and waved to them, but they didn’t see him or didn’t recognize him. They were tapping their heels impatiently, their fresh and tanned little faces kept looking at the clock on the Banco de Crédito, they must have been going to some matinee downtown, Skinny. Every time a taxi approached they went out onto the street with a determined air, but they always lost their place.
    “They’re probably going by themselves,” Popeye said. “Let’s go to the matinee with them, Skinny.”
    “Are you dying for Teté, yes or no, turncoat?” Santiago asked.
    “I’m dying only for Teté,” Popeye said. “Of course, if instead of the matinee you want to go to your house and listen to records, I’m all for it.”
    Santiago shook his head without enthusiasm: he’d got hold of some money, he was going to take it to the Indian girl, she lived around there, in Surquillo. Popeye opened his eyes, to Amalia? and began to laugh, are you going to give her your allowance because your folks threw her out? Not my allowance, Santiago snapped the straw in two, he’d taken a hundred soles from the piggy bank. And Popeye put a finger to his temple: heading right for the booby hatch, Skinny. It was my fault they fired her, Santiago said, what was so bad about giving her a little money? Even if you’d fallen in love with the Indian, Skinny, a hundred soles was a lot of money, with that we can invite the twins to the movies. But at that moment the twins were getting into a green Morris and Popeye too late, brother. Santiago had started to smoke.
    “I don’t think that Sparky gave any yohimbine to his girl friend, he made that up to look like a devil,” Popeye said. “Would you give yohimbine to a decent girl?”
    “Not to my sweetheart,” Santiago said. “But why not to a half-breed girl?”
    “So what are you going to do?” Popeye whispered. “Are you going to give it to someone or are you going to throw it away?”
    He’d thought about throwing it away, Freckle Face, and Santiago lowered his voice and blushed, then he was thinking and he stammered, that’s when he got an idea. Just to see what it was like, Freckle Face, what did he think.
    “So stupid there’s no name for it, you can do a thousand things with a hundred soles,” Popeye said. “But it’s up to you, it’s your money.”
    “Come with me, Freckle Face,” Santiago said. “It’s right here, in Surquillo.”
    “But then we’ll go to your house to hear records,” Popeye said. “And you’ll call Teté.”
    “You really are a shithead suitor, Freckle Face,” Santiago said.
    “And what if your folks find out?” Popeye asked. “What about Sparky?”
    “My folks are going to Ancón and won’t be back until Monday,” Santiago said. “And Sparky’s gone to a friend’s ranch.”
    “Be prepared in case it doesn’t agree with her, in case she faints on us,” Popeye said.
    “We’ll only give her a little bit,” Santiago said. “Don’t be chicken, Freckle Face.”
    A small light went on in Popeye’s eyes, do you remember when we spied on Amalia in Ancón, Skinny? From the roof you could see the servants’ bathroom, two faces side by side in the skylight and below a hazy outline, a black bathrobe, delicious, the half-breed, Skinny. The couple at the next table got up and Ambrosio pointed to the woman: that one was a hooker, son, she spent the day in La Catedral looking for customers. They saw the couple go out onto Larco, saw them cross the Calle Shell. The bus stop was deserted now. Express buses and taxis passed half empty now. They called the waiter, split the check, and