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what’s going on. Nothing, I answered. Then why don’t you answer me?, he asked. Because I don’t have anything to say, I replied. My father kept quiet and turned towards my mother, who half-closed her eyes and begged him in silence to let it go; my sister was watching the scene with barely disguised satisfaction. Look, Ignacio, said my father. I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but I don’t like you behaving the way you’ve been behaving: if you’re going to keep living in this house . . . And I don’t like to be lectured, I interrupted; then I continued, fired-up: When did you start drinking? When did you start smoking? At the age of fourteen? Fifteen? I’m sixteen, so leave me alone. My father didn’t interrupt me; but, when I finished speaking, he left his cutlery on his plate and said without raising his voice: The next time you speak to me like that, I’ll knock your teeth out. It felt like a blow to the chest and throat, I looked at my almost empty plate and then at the TV: on the screen, the Minister of the Interior – a man with square-framed glasses and a severe countenance – was condemning the terrorist attack on behalf of the government. As I stood up from the table I murmured: Fuck right off.
    ‘My father’s shouts chased me to my room. My sister was the first to come to offer her understanding and advice; naturally, I ignored her. I ignored my mother too, although she seemed truly worried. Lying on my bed, trying in vain to read, I felt too proud of myself, and wondered why I wasn’t capable of confronting Batista as serenely as I confronted my father; before falling asleep I promised myself, full of resolve, that the next day I’d go to La Font and speak to Zarco to ask him not to bother Señor Tomàs, and then I’d speak to Tere to ask her if she was going out with Zarco: if the answer was no, I promised myself, I’d ask her to go out with me.
    ‘The next day I went to La Font without stopping in at the arcade. At the same table as the day before were Gordo, Lina, Drácula and Chino, who didn’t seem surprised when I joined them. Zarco and Tere arrived a little while later. Yesterday you left without saying goodbye, said Tere, sitting down beside me. I didn’t think you’d come back. I apologized with the truth – or half the truth: I told her I’d gone to close up the arcade – and remembered the double promise I’d made myself the night before. Feeling incapable of speaking to Zarco, but not to Tere, after a while I told Tere I wanted to speak to her. What about?, she asked. Two things, I answered. Tere waited for me to begin. I nodded towards Zarco and the rest and said: Not here.
    ‘We went outside. Tere leaned on the wall beside the door to La Font, folded her arms and asked me what I wanted to talk about. I immediately knew I wasn’t brave enough to ask her if she was Zarco’s girlfriend. I decided to talk to her about the arcade and, after pressing up against the wall to let a drinks truck past that barely fit in La Barca Street, I asked her: Are you guys going to do something to Señor Tomàs? Who’s Señor Tomàs?, asked Tere. The old man who runs the Vilaró arcade, I answered. Are you going to rob him? Tere looked surprised, she laughed and unfolded her arms. Where did you get that idea?, she wanted to know. Yesterday Zarco asked me about the arcade, I answered. And the first day we met as well. So I thought that . . . Second thing, Tere interrupted me. What?, I asked. Second thing, she repeated. You told me you wanted to talk about two things, didn’t you? The first is fucking stupid; what’s the second? She stared at me with all the cruelty her eyes were capable of and her lips curved into a half-ironic half-contemptuous sneer; I wondered where the girl from the arcade washroom had gone and why she’d made me go to La Font, was glad I hadn’t asked her if she was going out with Zarco, and felt completely ridiculous. There is no second thing, I said.