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buds, and still he was without the most necessary items for simple comfort, such as underwear, shoes, neckties ...
    He started giving money to beggars and big tips to waiters who served him, just to be rid of the last bits of that stolen money he carried in his billfold and that might be taken away from him at any moment.
    "So you never thought about new shoes?" insisted Haffner.
    "Really, now that you make me think about it, it does seem strange, but to tell the truth I never thought those things could be bought with stolen money."
    "So, what did you spend the money on?"
    "I gave two hundred pesos to a family of friends, the Espilas, to buy an accumulator and set up a small galvanoplasties lab, for the production of a copper rose, which is—"
    "Yes, I know already—"
    "Yes, I told him all about it," said the Astrologer.
    "And the other four hundred?"
    "I don't know ... I spent them just in a crazy way ... "
    "And what's your plan now?"
    "I don't know."
    "Don't you know anyone to help you out?"
    "No, no one. I went to a relative of my wife's, Barsut, ten days ago. He said he couldn't ... "
    "So you go to jail?"
    "Well, of course ... "
    The Astrologer turned to the pimp and said:
    "You know I need to have a thousand pesos. That's for setting up my big projects. So all I can give you, Erdosain, is three hundred pesos. Still, my friend, you sure manage to look after your affairs!"
    Suddenly Erdosain forgot all about Haffner and burst out:
    "It's unhappiness. You know what I mean? This fucking unhappiness is what pulls you under—"
    "How's that?" interrupted the Ruffian.
    "I said, it's unhappiness. You steal, you do all these crazy things because you're unhappy. You walk down the streets under a yellow sun, and it looks like a festering plague sun ... . Sure. You have to have been down to know. Walking around with five thousand pesos in your pocket, still you're miserable. And suddenly a little idea blooms: to steal. That night you can't sleep for joy. The next day you do your accounts, you're shaking all over but you make it look really good, and so you have to keep on with it—it's just like your suicide attempt."
    These words made Haffner sit bolt upright in his armchair and grip his knees with clenched fingers. The Astrologer tried to shush Erdosain. It was no use, for he went on in the same vein:
    "Yes, just like your suicide attempt. I've often pictured it to myself. You were sick of pimping. If you only knew how much I've wanted to meet you! I said to myself: that must be one strange pimp. Of course, out of a thousand men like you who deal in women, there's one who's like you. You asked me if I got pleasure from stealing. Now, you tell me if you get pleasure—But, what the hell, I'm not here to give explanations, see? What I need is money, not a lot of talk."
    Erdosain had got up, and now he stood clenching his hat brim in his fists. He glared indignantly at the Astrologer, at his hat blocking the view of Kansas on his map, and at the Ruffian, who stuck his hands between belt and pants. Haffner settled back into the armchair covered in green velvet, propped one cheek on his plump hand and with a smirk he said calmly:
    "Sit down, here, friend, I'll give you that six hundred pesos."
    Erdosain pulled his arms up against his sides. Then, not moving, he stared for a time at the Ruffian. The man insisted, and this time emphasized his words more clearly.
    "Relax, sit down. I’ll give you that six hundred pesos. What are real men for?"
    Erdosain did not know what to say. He was flooded with the same terrible torrent of sadness that had been unleashed in his soul when the pig-headed office boss told him he could go now. So, life was not so bad, after all.
    "Let's do it like this," said the Astrologer. "I give him three hundred pesos and you give him the other three hundred."
    "No," said Haffner. "You need the money. I don't. I have three women bringing it in." And, turning to Erdosain, he went on: "So see, now, how things have