“Hipo,” said Santa, turning as serious as he, “there is already a man who offers me something like that.”

“That one,” scowled Hipólito, “he'll never do all that, never in a million years! He is already happy. He's had nothing but good luck. What you need is somebody who's only had bad luck, you know what I mean? Somebody who will feel like you're doing him a favor … You've fallen in a hole, right? So be careful that you don't grab on to the first hand that someone extends from above, a hand that might get tired and let you go. No, no. Instead, look around you, look at you own feet, and settle for someone that you find there. Lift him up, and he'll help you get out of here. Then it doesn't matter where you go … The important thing is that he loves you, whoever it is, inside and out, that it's not just his whim, a matter of vanity, or because he likes you in bed. It's got to be a man who loves and wants all of you, they way you really are, blemishes and all.”

“And where am I going to find that man, Hipo?” inquired Santa, impressed by his vehemence and already suspecting how he might reply.

“Where, Santita?” repeated Hipólito, short of breath, putting both his hands on the keyboard without playing a single note. “Well, okay then, I'm going to tell you, even if it makes you laugh, but you won't laugh, no, why would you laugh? … I'm going to tell you because I know that you already love someone else, the one we were referring to, and that you'll probably go away with him … I can just see it, even with these eyes that don't see anything else! … I'm going to tell you because you have got to know, and because this secret is going to kill me … Santita, come close because I don't want anybody to hear … Santita, I am that man! It's me … who's just an ugly worm that wants to follow you and follow you wherever you go and whoever you're with … me, it's me, the only one you'll ever find who will always be willing to …”

“Come on, Hipo! Play the piano, why don't you, and quit bending Santa's ear!” shouted la Gaditana, furious to see their conversation go on so long.

The musician played with exceptional inspiration, and Santa, without uttering a syllable, went to sit in the darkest corner of the parlor, legs stretched out in front of her, head resting on the back of the chair, arms hanging limply, eyes on the ceiling, and her mind thinking, thinking, thinking …

A pair of ordinary customers appeared at the door, and the girls greeted them, Hipólito fell silent, and Santa sat up. The customers were all business. They drank beer, served just so, without too much foam in the glasses, and emptied each bottle completely before beginning the next.