Armed with a staple gun, Argenis occupied himself with draping the columns and uppermost beam on the stage with black fabric. It was really discarded hospital sheets they’d dyed with Wiki-Wiki, though the blood and shit stains eluded all efforts at cleaning; the ink had seeped into the stained parts less forcefully, creating a streaked appearance. From the top of each column he used wire to hang human skulls provided by a student at the University of Medical Sciences. Strips of wine-colored cloth, part of the interior upholstery of his suitcases, emerged like vomit from the mouths of the skulls. From the central beam he hung bits of bone, eyeless doll heads, and spiny bougainvillea stems he’d painted red, like mobiles of horror. The backdrop, made from another recycled and dyed sheet, was covered in splatters of red paint, abstract scribbles, and spiky symbols.

When the stage was ready, they went out onto the patio to eat a few boxes of rice and pork Iñaki had brought for them. They sat next to a drained swimming pool in the shade of an enormous mango tree whose rotten fruits were being pecked by a black chicken at the bottom of the pool. The pork was cold and possibly spoiled, but Vantroi swallowed it almost without chewing. In Santo Domingo Argenis would never have put such a thing in his mouth, but he was hungry and so he held his breath. For the first time he felt the urge to shoot up, and he calculated how many Temgesic vials he would be able to get in exchange for one of the Johnny Walker bottles he’d seen behind the bar. He lay down on the floor on his back and relaxed, detaching himself from the desire to use, understanding the means by which it had arisen, until little by little he rid himself of his anxiety. With eyes closed, he went over the costume he’d designed for his friend: the military pants dyed black, his cousin Juani’s black boots, the chain belt. The red scraps of curtain that would cross the dark face makeup and torso like dried blood, the lipstick outlining the soft, womanly mouth that would hide teeth covered in aluminum foil, the black rumbero-sleeved shirt, and a beret like Che’s from whose center sprouted not a star but a cow’s horn, like Dagoth’s magic horn in Conan the Destroyer. He had filled the beret with stuffing so it wouldn’t lose its shape, so it would stay fixed in place during the choreography and could thus crown the monstrous revolutionary cadaver Vantroi would become.