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Off from the large courtyard of El Corralon branched a causeway heaped with ordure, leading to a smaller courtyard that in winter was converted into a fetid swamp. A lantern, surrounded with a wire netting to prevent the children from breaking it with stones, hung from one of the black walls.
"And just as they were about to catch him, he killed himself," one of them was saying. Out of curiosity Manuel hastened his step, and approached a group that was discussing the event at the entrance to the Corralon. "Where did this fellow come from that killed himself?" asked Manuel of Aristas. "Why! It was Leandro!" "Leandro!" "Yes, Leandro, who killed Milagros and then killed himself."
"Do you live in the same house where the shoe shop is?" asked Roberto. "No. I live over in the Paseo de las Acacias, in a house called El Corralon." "Good. I'll come to visit you there, and you already understand that whenever you happen to go to any place where poor folk or criminals gather, you're to let me know." "I'll let you know. I was watching that blonde eye you. She's pretty." "Yes."
Because of the great esteem in which he held craft and cunning, Manuel felt deep admiration for the Rebolledos, father and son, who also lived in the Corralon. The father, a dwarfed hunchback, a barber by trade, used to shave his customers in the sunlight of the open, near the Rastro.
"Poverty's the only thing you can see here," said Leandro. "Yes, yes indeed," answered the woman. "Now if you wish, we'll go to La Blasa's tavern." They left the Corralon for Embajadores lane and walked along the black fence of a laundry. It was a dark night and a drizzle had begun to fall. They stumbled along the surrounding path. "Look-out," said Leandro. "There's a wire here."
From the Paseo del Canal, crossing a stubble patch, they reached the Plaza de las Penuelas, then, after going up another street they climbed the Paseo de las Acacias. They entered the Corralon. Manuel and Vidal, after having arranged to meet the gang on the following Sunday, climbed the stairway to Senor Ignacio's house and as they drew near to the cobbler's door they heard cries.
"I would, too, even if her grandfather were here," exclaimed Leandro, with a savage laugh. "Come on, let's be off," he added, turning to Manuel. "I'm sick and tired of these whores." They left the gallery and were soon out of El Corralon. "What was the matter?" asked Manuel. "Nothing. It's all over now," answered Leandro.
I can't discover a thing," grumbled Roberto. "Good-bye. See you again." Manuel was left alone, and musing upon Don Alonso's tales and upon the mystery surrounding Roberto, he returned to the Corralon and went to bed. The Kermesse on Pasion Street "The Dude" A Cafe Chantant. Leandro eagerly awaited the kermesse that was to take place on Pasion street.
Some called this La Corrala, others, El Corralon, still others, La Piltra, and it boasted so many other names that it seemed as if the neighbours spent hours and hours thinking up new designations for it.
One day the woman and child disappeared together with their pretty poodle; they left nothing in their quarters except a worn-out, broken tambourine. Don Alonso got into the habit of visiting the Corralon; he would exchange a few words with Rebolledo, he of the modernist barber-shop who chattered away, and would witness the gymnastic prowess of Aristas.
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