“We're really going to doña Elvira's house?”

“Why are you surprised? I've got to take care of some urgent business.”

But upon arriving at the door, Hipólito hesitated pensively and, hearing footsteps inside, turned and plunged away, dragging Jenaro with him.

“Never mind. Now's not a good time. Take me to the bench where people will think that we're waiting for the streetcar or something … and hurry, idiot! If they open the door they'll see us. Look if there's anyone on the balcony … No? Good, that's good.”

Once they were sitting down on the bench, their backs to the house and half hidden by the little garden, Hipólito breathed easier, lit a cigarette, and for the millionth time in recent days, interrogated his guide, listening carefully and reflecting on the boy's responses, which were not without spirit, color, and perceptiveness.

“Jenaro, hijo, tell me what Santa looks like …”

“Again, don Hipólito?” exclaimed Jenaro, who was barefoot and busy drawing letters and shapes in the sand with his big toe. “Well, Santa's real pretty, don Hipólito …” began the boy, not paying too much attention, for the moment, to the verbal portrait. “Imagine a woman a couple of inches … no, an inch, or a little more … taller than you … and strong, not with muscles, I mean, but … how do I explain? Firm all over, like you could squeeze her hard and not hurt her, almost like one of those statues in the Zócalo.”

“How would you know? Have you squeezed her?”

“Gosh, no! Really squeezed her, no … but there's been times when I was waiting for you in the courtyard, and she's come by with a gentleman and kind of bumped into me and mashed me against the wall, like she didn't see me … on purpose, but just playing, you know, and laughing … She's good as gold to me, you know, always saves me some food from her plate, and on Saturdays she always gives me some coins and tells me to get cleaned up 'cause I'm always dirty. And I think she's going to buy me some clothes and, you'll see, I'm going to look cleaner than a bar of Puebla soap … And down at Tivoli, she has them give me those things with meat between slices of bread, what's that called? And sometimes cake, too.”

“What do I care about all that stuff you're yakking about? I asked you to tell me what she looks like, in detail, starting with her hair and finishing with her feet. Okay? Now come on, Jenaro. Come on. We were saying she is very tall and very firm. Continue … and remember that you see her every night and I've never seen her at all. Draw me a picture of her, feature by feature, and talk to me slowly, so I understand and really get the picture … as if you were talking to a child … or, what am I saying, because almost all children can see … as if you were talking to a blind man. You've described a million things to me, right? … Well, okay then, man. Like that. Except forget colors because those don't mean anything to me … or, go ahead and describe her in your own way and I'll understand it in mine. Let's go … her hair?”