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Updated: June 8, 2025
In general, they exploited the laundries more than any other place. Vidal, like the clever fellow he was, managed to Convince El Bizco that he was the most gifted of the three for the work. The cross-eyed thug, out of sheer vanity, always undertook the most difficult part of the task, seizing the booty, while Vidal and Manuel kept a sharp lookout.
They must be waiting for us already." "What do you mean, pirates?" "Bizco and the others." "And why do they call 'em that?" "Because they're like the old time pirates." Manuel and Vidal stepped into the patio and leaving the house, walked off down Embajadores lane. "They call us the Pirates," explained Vidal, "from a certain battle of stones we had.
"And what are we going to return to that guy?" asked El Bizco. "Return? Nothing," answered Vidal. "Why, that would be robbing him of his whole year's profits," objected Manuel. "What of it? Deuce take him," retorted Vidal. "We came darn near getting caught ourselves, with nothing for our trouble."
Vidal, El Bizco and Manuel, chagrined that they could not go in, continued on their way, passed Las Ventas and took the road to Vicalvaro. The south wind, warm and sultry, laid a white sheet of dust over the fields; along the road from different directions drove black and white hearses, for adults and children respectively, followed by gigs containing mourners.
Carriages, horses, carts came rattling by; the itinerant hawkers cried their wares from their sidewalk stands; there was a deafening din.... At the end of one street, against the coppery splendour of the dusk stood out the tapering outlines of a belfry. "And don't you ever see Vidal?" asked Manuel. "No. See here, Have you got any money?" blurted El Bizco. "Twenty or thirty centimos at most."
The flame flickered, illuminating now a corner of the den, now the pale face of one of the players, and as the light blinked, the shadows of the men grew long or short on the sandy walls. From time to time was heard a curse or a blasphemy. Manuel thought that he had beheld something like this before in one of his feverish nightmares. "I'm not going in," he said to El Bizco.
"Fine." Manuel bought a loaf of bread, which he gave to El Bizco, and the two drank a glass of brandy in a tavern. Then they went wandering about the streets and, at about eleven, returned to the Puerta del Sol. Around the asphalt caldrons had gathered knots of men and tattered gamins; some were sleeping with their heads bent against the furnace as if they were about to attack it in bull fashion.
That soldier there just won six duros." Hearing this, one of the rustics drew near, and seeing that Manuel and El Bizco were winning, he wagered a peseta and won. The fellow's companions advised him to retire with his winnings; but his greed got the best of him and he returned to bet two pesetas, losing them. Then Vidal bet a duro.
Despite his scruples and his remorse, Manuel spent the summer under the protection of El Bizco and Vidal, living in Casa Blanca with his cousin and his cousin's mistress, a girl who sold newspapers and practised thievery at the same time.
The fellow's hat was pulled down over his eyes and his face was not visible. "Who's that?" asked Manuel of El Bizco. "He's the captain of the cave gang: El Interprete." "And what's he talking to the kid like that for?" El Bizco shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of indifference. "What's' the trouble?" Manuel inquired of the boy.
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