Читать книгу Playing for the Devil's Fire - Phillippe Diederich - Страница 12

6.

At recess, I met Mosca in the schoolyard by the swings. He was surrounded by a group of boys who wanted to see the devil’s fire. Word had spread about the diablito rojo. For now, Mosca was the king of the marble world.

Mosca held up a fist. Then he turned it and slowly opened his hand. There, in the center of his palm, was the little red sphere: el diablito rojo. It was bright red and iridescent with a soft swirl of yellow at the center. It was beautiful. It didn’t even look like a real marble. It glowed like a jewel, like fire.

“You see it, cabrones?” Mosca said as if daring anyone to cross him and deny that he had won the legendary marble.

Then someone said. “Let’s play for it.”

Mosca closed his hand into a fist and shoved the marble back in his pocket. “You wish.”

“What’s the matter?”

“You chicken?”

Mosca laughed. “I’m not afraid of any of you amateurs. I’m going to keep it until I find a worthy adversary. Besides, what’s the point of playing for your common marbles? What do I get if I win?”

“Ya, Mosca, don’t be so dramatic.”

“That’s not it, Chato. If you win, you get the devil’s fire, but if I win, all I get is your common agüita and perico marbles. I have thousands of those.”

“Money.” Pepino pushed through the crowd and came face to face with Mosca. “How much is it worth?”

Mosca grinned. “Plenty. I don’t think you can afford it.”

“A hundred pesos.”

Some of the boys sighed. Mosca didn’t flinch. “Maybe.”

“You think about it, enano, because I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here whenever you’re ready to lose the little red rock.”

Pepino nodded at Chato and Kiko. They were like the three stooges—Chato with his flat face and crossed eyes and Kiko, who looked just like Kiko from El Chavo del ocho with his buckteeth and fat cheeks. And Pepino. Those three were inseparable.

“I’ll let you know,” Mosca said.

Pepino turned as if he was someone important and marched away with his friends.

Mosca and I sat in the shade.

“You gonna do it?” I asked.

“For a hundred, I don’t think so. But I’ll bet you anything he comes back with another offer. Pepino hates to lose.”

“And if you lose?”

He shrugged. “I’ll be the guy who played a marble against a couple of hundred pesos, no?”

“Pinche Mosca, you’re smarter than I thought.”

“It’s all about reputation. I mean in the end, the devil’s fire is just a stupid marble, no?”

Across the yard Ximena was leaning against the chain link fence, talking to some guy I didn’t recognize. He was older, tall, and wore a clean white cowboy hat with a green, white and red band.

Mosca nudged me. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” I didn’t want him to know I had a thing for Ximena. I would never hear the end of it. I kicked at the dirt. “My parent’s aren’t back from Toluca. I have to go to the panadería after school.”

“Ah, don’t worry, we’ll shine shoes on the weekend.”

“It’s not that. It’s just that they should have been home by now. Or at least called.”

“Take it easy.” He nudged me with his elbow. “You know how it is in Toluca. They’re probably having a good time.”

“But they could call, no? They always call.”

“Boli, you worry too much. Let them do their thing. Enjoy your freedom.”

Now Ximena had her hand up on the fence, and the guy on the other side had his hand in the same place, their fingers touching. It looked as if they were kissing.