translated by Toshiya Kamei

“I’m drunk,” he said. “I’m dead drunk.”

He sounded almost as if he were awarded a Medal of Honor, however modest. He took out a cigarette and was about to light it when the young anorexic girl sitting in front of him mumbled indistinguishable words and, at the same time, pointed to the “No Smoking” sign. The last thing he expected was that he was not allowed to light a cigarette on that train, which ran from Concepción to Hualqui. The drunk looked over at the fat woman seated next to the anorexic girl.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, but I want to do it with both of you at once. I’d like to do it with both of you,” the drunk said.

The fat woman opened her eyes, looked the drunk up and down, and studied his face to make sure she hadn’t imagined what she had just heard.

“How dare you! She’s my daughter!” cried the fat woman.

“I don’t care. We’ll get along better,” replied the drunk.

The drunk rearranged himself in his seat and looked toward the door that led to the corridor, but he couldn’t see beyond the closed curtains. Then he took the suitcase that was next to him, took out a revolver, and pointed it at the women.

“Hahaha, I’m drunk,” he said.

“What are you doing?” asked the fat woman.

“Yes, what are you doing?” the anorexic girl emphasized.

“Hahaha, I’m totally drunk. I think I deserve a little fun.”

“Oh, Mom!” exclaimed the anorexic girl.

“Put away your weapon,” the fat woman ordered.

“I’ll be the one who decides that.” He smiled and belched. “Hahaha,” he laughed and added, “We’re about to fuck, right?”

The two women looked at each other in alarm.

“Be careful what you say,” the anorexic girl replied, undaunted.

“Are you going to hit me?” the drunk said, very serious.

The anorexic girl got up, intending to get away, and tried to hit the barrel of his revolver. Without meaning to, the drunk pulled the trigger. The bullet went through the anorexic girl’s neck. She fell to her side, into the fat woman’s lap.

“Oh no!” The fat woman exclaimed.

“It’s not my fault. It was this stupid girl’s fault,” the drunk said, annoyed.

The drunk loaded another bullet into his gun.

“Why are you doing this?” asked the fat woman, terrified.

“It was her fault.” He pointed his chin at the girl. “I warned that fool.”

“Oh my God!” the fat woman exclaimed again.

“What?” the drunk asked.

“Out! Get out of here!”

“I don’t take orders from anyone. I’m drunk,” said the drunk. “Come on, turn around.”

He put the barrel in his waist. The fat woman obeyed. He seemed happy. At last, he managed the situation. Then he felt a blow at the back of his neck, turned around, stunned, and found those two faces staring at him.

“Come on, Pancho. Wake up. We have arrived. We need to get off,” said his wife, already too fat to move with grace. Their anorexic daughter looked at him with a smile.

“He drank again,” the anorexic girl said. “Grab his bottle, Mom. He keeps it under his coat.”

Three days later, they were in the house. The father locked himself in the bathroom. There he got drunk and stroked his gun.

There is no point in telling the gruesome events that happened next. He had blown her daughter’s brains out and while he cut her up, limb by limb, the mother told him to calm down, that it was no longer worth it.

“It’s over,” roared the father, who had just finished half a bottle of whiskey. “It’s over. Is this what you meant when you said, ‘You’ll regret it later?’”

“I’m asking you. Please, Pancho, leave it now,” the fat woman pleaded.

“Leave what?” asked the drunk.

He dragged the body through the furniture and, looking over his shoulder, he saw, for the first time, that the anorexic girl had her head hanging to one side and the blood was pouring down her chest where a knife was stuck. The drunk had taken off his shoes. His breathing was ragged and his eyes danced like dice, from side to side. He hurled his daughter’s body on the sofa.

“Leave the girl alone,” the mother whispered, glancing at the inert body. “Stop putting her flesh in your mouth. Pancho, dear, you’re a vegetarian.”

“I know I’m drunk. I know I am, but this time, things will never be the same again. Do you want to hit me on the nape of my neck? Well, come on, try it. Meanwhile, I’m going to take full advantage of it. Why not?”

“This is not a dream, you dimwit.” The fat woman gave him a slap on the back of his head and felt more panicked, because it was as if that slap had done nothing but make her husband happy. She burst into tears.

“As you wish,” the drunk exploded and belched. “I need someone intelligent, sensitive, who really loves me. Life would be simpler if you were not so grossly fat and if you ever wanted to make love.”

The drunk threw himself on top of the anorexic girl and began to kiss her still warm body, touch her under her clothes, and stick his tongue in her mouth.

“Come on, move, baby. Please move, baby…”

But the anorexic girl was as stiff as a board.

“This stupid girl certainly knows how to dress. She looks like a whore. I guess you taught her, right?”

“But you have killed your daughter, Pancho,” replied the fat woman. “You’re not a murderer. If you go on like this, the DA and the press will have a field day with this.”

The drunk stopped, put on a macabre face, and looked at the fat woman as if he did not recognize her. He got up with a little jolt, took the revolver and the knife, and the fat woman ran out of the house. Already on the street, he followed her some ten feet away. He shot her and the bullets seemed to enter her flabby flesh and settle in there, while the fat woman kept walking for four, five, six blocks. At the end, he crawled, trying to avoid feeling the cold and death behind him. People locked themselves in their houses for fear that the deranged man would take it out on them. When the police arrived, he was killed on the spot. And when he fell to the ground, he was amazed that the sharp pain that spread throughout his body was so real and no dream.