Free Mona and Other Tales by Reinaldo Arenas Page B

and offered the key to my room, and everything in it, in exchange for some money. I got a lot of excuses but no cash. Late on Sunday I went to Wendy’s, where, as a security guard, I had spent the best part of my life. At the cash register I talked to the stout black woman who had been so good to me (in every sense of the word). She let me have a salad, a quart of milk, and a hamburger, all for free. About five o’clock in the morning, the establishment was deserted and I dozed off on my seat. Another employee who was mopping the second floor called the cashier to pass on some piece of gossip. While they chatted, I took advantage of the situation and grabbed all the money from the cash register. Without counting it, I ran to Grand Central. I wanted to take a train and go as far as possible. But the three long-distance trains would not leave until nine in the morning. I sat on a bench and, while waiting, began to count the money. There was twelve hundred dollars. I thought this was salvation. By eight A.M. the station was swarming with people—or rather with beasts: thousands of people who pushed and shoved mercilessly to make it to work on time. By nine, I hoped, I would be sitting on a train, fleeing from all those people and, above all, from that thing.
    But it didn’t turn out that way. I was standing in line to buy my ticket when I saw Elisa. She was below the big terminal clock, oblivious to the crowd but with her eyes fixed on me, with her enigmatic smile and her folded hands. I saw her coming my way and started to run toward the tracks. But since I did not have a ticket, I could not get in. Pushing people, and trying to find a place to hide, I went across the room again. But she was everywhere. I remember dashing through the Oyster Bar, colliding with a waiter, and upsetting a table on which a number of lobsters were arrayed. At the back door of the restaurant, Elisa was waiting for me. I knew, or sensed, that I could not stay alone with that “woman” a second longer, that the larger the crowd around me, the harder it would be for her to kill me or drag me into her swamp. I began screaming in English and in Spanish, begging for help, while I pointed at her. But the people, the masses of people, rushed by without looking at me. One more madman shouting in the most crowded train station in the world could not alarm anyone. Besides, my clothes were dirty and I had not shaved for a week. On the other hand, the woman I was accusing of attempted assault was a grand lady, serene, elegant, expertly made up and attired. I realized that I was not going to attract anybody’s attention by shouting, so I rushed to the very center of the main hall, where it was most crowded, and quickly took off my clothes and stood there, naked. Then I began to jump about in the crowd. Evidently that was more than even a madman is allowed to do in the very center of the city of New York. I heard some police whistles. Arrested, I felt relieved and peaceful, for the first time in many days, as they handcuffed me and shoved me roughly into the patrol car.
    Unfortunately, I only stayed overnight at the police station. There was no evidence on which to hold me as a criminal of any sort, and if I was insane—and I quote the officer in charge—“luckily, that would not be a matter for the New York police; otherwise, we would have to arrest almost everybody.” As for the money, it had disappeared into the hands of the arresting officers when they searched my clothes. So there was no evidence that I had committed any crime. Of course, among other things, I confessed to being a thief, which was nothing but the truth, and mentioned the money that had been stolen from me. Apparently the police found no computer record of any accusation by the Wendy’s management or any report of the loss of that money. 13
    On Tuesday I was again roaming the streets of Manhattan. The drizzle and strong winds were unbearable, and I