As we passed by one of the avenues running alongside San Cristóbal in the taxi, Irene, looking at the park wrapped in a gloomy darkness, said:
"Holy God and Jesus, that place looks terrifying. It seems a million times creepier than Central Park in Home Alone 2."
"And don't doubt for a second that it is. And not only is the bastard creepy as hell, but it's also dangerous as fuck. Look, I can almost guarantee that right now, at this very moment, someone is probably dying inside that jungle."
Irene looked at me, surprised, her mouth slightly open. Then she said:
"Dying? No way! You really think so?"
"The weird shit and atrocities that don't usually happen in the peaceful parts of this city, over there, they're everyday occurrences, pretty girl," I replied, then turned to the cab driver. "What do you think, man?"
The driver said:
"I think that if there really is an underworld full of demons, that place would be like Disneyland compared to San Cristóbal."
Irene grabbed my hand and squeezed it. But not because she was scared. Not at all. Irene was excited by the adventure.
We got out of the taxi and went into the building. We took the stairs because, of course, no doubt about it, the two elevators, once luxurious, were broken. Only God, and maybe even Satan, knew how many years those two machines had been stuck on the ground floor. When I arrived at the building at fifteen, after leaving home, there was an old man who thought he was Diogenes of Sinope (a philosopher of the Cynic school, also known as the Dog) living inside one of the elevators. One time, that old man told me: "Don't be afraid of anything, kid. Not even death. If you believe in something with all your heart, do it and fuck everything else. If you fail, well, who cares, man? At least you failed doing what you were sure you had to do. Now, to be sure, first, you have to conquer fear. A man who's afraid never makes good choices. Fear leads to doubt, and doubt leads directly to doing some dumb shit you wouldn't have done if you hadn't doubted in the first place. And listen, once fear is gone, clarity and confidence will come. And yeah, I know what you're thinking. Who the hell am I to give advice? And if you think I'm a loser, you're not wrong. Yeah, I'm a loser in this meaningless life. I'm what you'd call a broken, useless human being. But hey, don't forget, even a broken clock is right twice a day." Damn old bastard. He never let me talk. Before I could ask him something, he would ask himself what he thought I was going to ask and then keep talking and talking. The old man died in that elevator he had turned into his home. When they told me what happened ("The crazy old man Gaspar kicked the bucket, man. You know, his body's cold now."), I didn't ask what he died of or how. As usual, since it had nothing to do with me, I wasn't curious. Of course, maybe I didn't ask because I already knew how that man had met his end. Maybe I had been there when he took his last breath. Whatever. It didn't matter. That old man's story was irrelevant in the grand scheme of human history.
As we climbed the stairs, Irene asked:
"Have you always lived here?"
"No, not always. Just since I was fifteen. Since I left home."
"Did you run away?"
"Not exactly. You run away from a place where you're not free. That wasn't my case. I've always been free because no one ever gave a damn about my life."
"And your mom and dad?"
"Doing their own thing. Dad's a low-level con artist whose scams always turn out badly, and Mom's an alcoholic who gets a few welfare checks."
I decided not to tell Irene that, for as long as I could remember, my mother had been a street prostitute. I quickly concluded that it wasn't relevant.
Irene said:
"I never would've thought you were really poor."
"I know how to disguise myself well. And you know what?"
"What?"
"My father hates that word."
"What word? Poor?"
"Yeah, that word: poor. The bastard has never held anything of real value in his hands, but he refuses to be considered poor. Dad says he's lower middle class."
"And what do you live on?"
"For now, but not forever, I'm a good son to my mother and do what she taught me. I get a welfare check, too."
The welfare check part, obviously, was a lie. But the rest? That was the truth. I made a living doing what I learned from my mother. I sold my body too.