The Ship of the Alvares Family

The man slipped into his clothes and left the house.

He came home as soon as the work bell reminded him that working hours were over. He read the paper and watched the news, the inevitable tequila double shot in front of him. He fell asleep and woke up just in time, never missing the presence of his family. On the fifth day, when water and electricity bills came pouring in, Lazaro got scared. He did not know what to do with them – never had he taken any responsibility for things at home. Then, for the first time, he asked himself where his wife and children had gone. He could go to their school to see them, ask questions there where they lived and what they did. But he had no hint of where their school was. By the end of the fifth day the fear had engulfed him. It resembled a huge cucaracha in shining black armour which was crawling towards him, eyes agog. The nearer it came the fleshier its body seemed. He had to run away. He came to his senses the moment he entered the pub on 11th and 22nd street.

Hey, hombre, Toni met him with a smile and reached across the bar to greet him. Lazaro slumped on the stool and brushed away the perspiration from his forehead.

Surely, no cucarachas here? he asked in tremor.

We had them exterminated all, caballero, the barman calmed him down reaching for the bottle of rum.

The man poured the contents of his glass down his throat and stared at Toni. For the first time he noticed that he was lame. He watched him carefully and saw that one leg was shorter than the other by a couple of centimetres. This revelation astonished him. His head filled with memories of Carry squeezing him in a tight embrace.

How is she, surprisingly, it was his voice that asked this question.

Who? Toni addressed him.

The name was Carry, wasn’t it? He tried to sound indifferent.

You actually remember her?

Yes, Lazaro said simply and handed him his glass for a refill.

The barman refilled it and handed it back. Pulling a chair behind the bar, he took a seat. He lit a cigarette and had half smoked it by the time he gave him an answer.

She left.

Really?

You heard me.

What about you?

What do you mean?

What are you going to do, I am asking.

I always stay, hombre.

His fingers were slowly putting out the fag in the ashtray. Someone has to pour out rum to men like you. This is the only thing I know how to do.

You are a lucky man, Lazaro replied.

Why do you think so, Toni’s eyes fixed his from behind the bar.

There are so many men like me who you have to pour out your rum.

He gulped down the second shot, left four pesos and left.

The next day he was 40 years old. Lazaro Alvares had noone to toast on this. Even the huge cucaracha with its shinin