THE THIRD CIRCLE {Stories}

 

 

 

There's more to San Francisco's Chinatown than you can dream of in heaven and earth. Actually, Chinatown is divided into three parts: the one that the guides show, the one that they don't show you and the one that no one has ever heard of. This story has to do with that last part. A lot of them could be written about that third circle of Chinatown, but, believe me, they will never be written—at least until the neighborhood has been, as it were, drained of the city, as a fetid bog is dredged, and then we can see the strange and fearful life that is stirring down there, oozing deeply—  that crawls and writhes through the mud and darkness. If you think this is not true, ask a Chinese detective (the usual patrol is not to be trusted) and ask him to tell you the story of the Lee On Ting case, or what they did to old Wong Sam, who thought he could end the trafficking of enslaved girls, or why Mr. Clarence Lowney (a Minnesota priest who believed in direct methods) is now a "dangerous" inmate of the State Asylum... Ask them to explain why Matsokura, the Japanese dentist, came home faceless... Ask them to tell you why Little Pete's killers will never be discovered, and tell them to tell you about the little slave Sing Yee or—no, on second thought, you can spare that story.

The story I'm going to tell you here began about twenty years ago, in a See Yup restaurant in Waverly Place -demolished a long time ago-, but I don't know where it will end. I think it is still going on. It began when young Hillegas and Miss Ten Eyck (they were from the East and had become engaged) went to the restaurant Las Setenta Lunas late in the night of a March day. (It was the year after Kearney's downfall and the subsequent bewilderment of amateur baseball players.)

"What a beautiful, picturesque, and ancient place!" cried Miss Ten Eyck.

He settled into an ebony stool with a marble seat, and laid his gloved hands on his lap, looking around at the huge hanging lanterns, the engraved golden screens, the lacquerware, the inlay, the stained glass, the dwarf oaks planted in satsuma pots, the marquetry, the painted mats, the metallic jars of incense,  tall as a man's head, and all the grotesque trinkets of the East. At that time there was not a soul in the restaurant. Young Hillegas pulled up a stool to sit in front of her and rested his elbows on the table, throwing his hat back and pulling out a cigarette.

"It's as if we were in China itself," he said.

"As if?... - she replied. We're in China, Tom... In a little piece of China transplanted here. Even though all of America and the nineteenth century are just around the corner! Scope! You can even see the Palace Hotel from the window. And beyond, above the roof of that temple, the Ming Yen, I can see Aunt Harriett's rooms.

"Well, look, Harry"—Miss Ten Eyck's first name was Harriett—"let's have tea.

"Tom, you're a genius!" It will be a lot of fun! Well, of course you have to have tea. What a laugh! And you can even smoke, if you feel like it.

"This is the way to know places," said Hillegas, as he lit a cigarette. Stick your nose out there without anyone watching you and discover things. The guides have never brought us here.

-No, they never have. And I wonder why. We have had to find it alone. So it's ours, isn't it, honey, for having discovered it.

At that moment Hillegas was convinced that Miss Ten Eyck was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. There was a great delicacy in her—an undoubted elegance in her custom-made dress, as well as in the scarcely perceptible inclination of that new hat which enhanced her charm. She was pretty, no doubt, possessed that fresh, vigorous, and wholesome beauty which is found only in certain specimens of genuine American stock. Suddenly, Hillegas stretched out his arm on the table, took her by the hand, and kissed the small round lump of flesh that lay uncovered where the glove was buttoned.

The Chinese waiter appeared to take their order, and while they waited for tea, dried almonds and pieces of watermelon, the couple approached the balcony that faced the outside to contemplate the darkening streets.

"There is the soothsayer again," observed Hillegas. See? Down there, on the steps of that stage.

-Where? Oh yes, I see.

"Let us bring him up, shall we, let him give us his fortune while we wait."

Hillegas yelled for him to come and eventually got the man into the restaurant.

-Golly! "You are not Chinese," said Hillegas when the soothsayer placed himself under the circle of light of the lantern. The other showed him some brown teeth.

"Half Chinese, half Kanak.

"Kanak?"

"Like in Honolulu, you know?" My mother, Mrs. Kanaca, washed sailors' clothes back in Kaui. And he laughed as if he had just explained something funny.

"Well, I'll call you Jim," said Hillegas. I want you to give us good fortune, you know? What is going to happen to the lady? Who are you going to marry, for example?

-No future... Tattoos.

-Tattoos?

-Only tattoos. All birds. Three, four, seven, many little birds in a lady's arm. What? Do you want a tattoo?

He pulled a tattoo needle out of his sleeve and pointed it at Miss Ten Eyck's arm.

"Tattoo my arm?" What an idea, though it might be funny, right, Tom? Aunt Hattie's sister came back from Honolulu with a beautiful butterfly tattooed on her finger. I partly feel like doing it. And it would be so eccentric and so original...

"Well, let him do it on your finger, then." If it is on your arm, you will never be able to wear an evening dress.

-Of course. I can get a ring-shaped tattoo, and I can always cover it with the glove.

The Chinese-Kanak drew a fantastic-looking butterfly on a piece of paper with a blue pencil, licked the drawing a couple of times, and wrapped it around Miss Ten Eyck's little finger, the little finger of her left hand. When he detached the wet paper, the imprint of the drawing was imprinted on it. Then he poured the ink into a small seashell, dipped the needle into it, and within ten minutes he had finished the tattoo of a small, grotesque insect that could be a butterfly as well as anything else.

"That's it," said Hillegas, when the work was finished and the soothsayer had gone. It's already yours, and it will never vanish. Now you better not plan a small robbery, or forge a check, or strangle a baby to keep his coral necklace, because you can always be identified by that butterfly on the little finger of your left hand.

"I almost regret having let it happen. Will he never leave? Golly! "But I really find it very chic," said Harriett Ten Eyck.

-But, well! Hillegas cried, jumping to his feet. Where are the tea, cupcakes, and so on? It is getting late. We can't spend the night waiting. I'm going to go find the boy and hurry him up.

The Chinese man who had placed his order was not on that floor of the restaurant. Hillegas went down the stairs in the direction of the kitchen. There didn't seem to be a soul in that place. On the ground floor, however, where they sold tea and wild silk, Hillegas found a Chinese man who was making beads using some balls strung on wires. The Chinese man in question was a very good-looking guy who sported round tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and a dress that looked like a dressing gown, made of quilted blue satin.

"Hey, John," Hillegas told him. I want some tea, do you hear me? Up. Restaurant. Tell it to the Chinese waiter, who doesn't even show up with gunshots. Let's see if you get going, okay?

The merchant turned and looked at Hillegas over his glasses.

"Ah," he said slowly. I regret the delay. Without a doubt they will attend to you right now. New to Chinatown?

-Ahem..., well, yes... I—we are, yes.

"Without a doubt—without a doubt!" murmured the other.

"I suppose you are the owner, aren't you?" Hillegas ventured to ask.

-I? Oh, no! My agents have a silk house here. I think they rent the upper floors to the See Yup. By the way, we just received a batch of Indian silk shawls that you might like to see.

She spread out a bunch of shawls on the counter and selected one that was especially beautiful.

"Allow me," he remarked solemnly, "to offer it to you as a present for your distinguished companion.

Hillegas felt that his interest in this extraordinary oriental was awakened. I was looking at an aspect of Chinese life that I had never seen or even suspected. He stayed for a while talking to this man, whose attitude might have been that of Cicero before an assembly of the senate, and said goodbye to him after agreeing that he would visit him the next day at the consulate. He went back to the restaurant and found that Miss Ten Eyck was gone. He never saw her again. Not him or any other white man.

I have a friend in San Francisco who goes by the name of Manning. He's a wanderer of the Plaza—that is, he sleeps all day in the old Plaza, that crowd where so much human waste has gone—and at night he goes about his business in Chinatown, a block up. Manning was once a scuba diver looking for pearls on Oahu, and now, since his eardrums burst on one of his dives, he can smoke from both ears. That achievement was the first thing that made me like him, but then I discovered that I knew more about Chinatown than is usual and even prudent to know. The other day I bumped into Manning in the shadow of Stevenson's ship, recovering from the effects of a binge of undiluted gin, and I told him, or rather reminded him, of the story of Harriett Ten Eyck.

"I remember," he said, leaning on one elbow and chewing grass. A good mess was made at the time, but nothing was ever known... Nothing more than a good mess and they also killed one of the Chinese detectives in the Gambler's alley. The See Yups specially brought an uncle from Beijing to take care of the matter.

"A hitman?" I asked him.

"No," Manning said, spitting greenish. It was a two-knife Kai Gingh.

-And that?

"Two knives—one in each hand—" You cross your arms and then you put them together, right and left, like scissors... He almost split that guy in two. They paid him five thousand. After that, detectives said they couldn't find a single clue.

"And of Miss Ten Eyck nothing was heard from again?"

"No," Manning replied, nibbling on his nails. They took it to China, I suppose, or maybe to Oregon. That kind of thing was a novelty twenty years ago, and that's why the one that was put together was put together, I suppose. But now there are a lot of women who live with Chinese and everyone doesn't care, even if they are Chinese from Canton, the lowest class of coolies. One of them lives in Saint Louis Place, just behind the Chinese theater, and is Jewish. A very strange couple, the Hebrew and the Mongolian, and they have a boy with coppery curly hair who massages in a hammam. A curious gang, yes, and there are three other white women in a slave slum below Ah Yee's tanning salon. That's where I stock up on opium. They even speak a little English. It's funny: there's one that's mute, but if you get her drunk enough she lets loose a bit in English. I swear! I've seen her do it often—you can get her drunk until she starts talking. "I'll tell you something," Manning added, rising to his feet with effort. Now I'm going there to see if I can get some drugs. You can come with me and we'll take Sadie (her name is Sadie), put her up to the top, and ask her if she's heard of Miss Ten Eyck. "They've got a big business," Manning said as we drove over there. It's Ah Yee, those three women, and a policeman named Yank. They collect all the yen shee, that is, the residue that remains in the opium pipes, you know, and turn it into pills that they pass on as foreigners to the prisoners of San Quintín through someone they trust. When he arrives at the prison yard, the dose of drugs has risen from five dollars to thirty. When I was there, I saw a guy being stabbed for a pea-sized pill. Ah Yee gets the material, the three women turn it into pills and the policeman, Yank, passes it on to his cronies. Ah Yee is already a rich and independent man, and the policeman has a bank account.

-And the women?

"Those are slaves... Ah Yee's slaves! And they usually take a slap at the first change.

Manning and I found Sadie and her two companions four stories below the tanning salon, sitting cross-legged in a room the size of a large trunk. At first, I was convinced that they were Chinese, until my eyes became accustomed to the darkness that reigned in this place. They were dressed in Chinese style, but I quickly noticed that they had brown hair and a high bridge of their nose. They were making pills from the contents of a jug of yen shee that was in the center, on the floor, and they were moving their fingers with a speed that seemed horrible.

Manning spoke to them briefly in Chinese while lighting a pipe, and two of them answered him in genuine Canton sonsonnet: all vowels and not a single consonant.

"This is Sadie," Manning said, pointing to the third girl, who was silent.

I turned to her. He was smoking a cigar and occasionally spit through his teeth, as a man would. That woman was a fearsome-looking beast, wrinkled like a dried apple, her teeth blackened by nicotine, and her hands bony and prehensile like the claws of a hawk... But she was undoubtedly a white woman. At first, Sadie refused to drink, but the smell of Manning's gin can put an end to her objections: after half an hour, her loquacity was unstoppable. I can't say what effect alcohol had on his paralyzed organs of speech. Sober, she did not let go; drunk, she could emit a series of discreet bird chirps that sounded like a voice coming from the bottom of a well.

"Sadie," Manning said, blowing smoke from his ears, "what are you doing living in Chinatown?" You're a white girl. You'll have family somewhere. Why don't you go back to them?

Sadie shook her head.

"I prefer the Chinese," he said, in a voice so weak that one had to make an effort to understand it. Oh Yee is very good to us... There's plenty to eat, plenty to smoke, and all the yen shee we can handle. Oh, I'm not complaining.

"But you know you can get out of here whenever you feel like it, don't you?" Why don't you stop one day when you're out there? Go to the Sacramento Street Mission... They will treat you well there.

"Oh," said Sadie, absently, kneading a pill between the stained palms of her hands. I've been here so long that I've gotten used to it, I guess. I have nothing to do with white people. They would take away the yen shee and cigars, and that's pretty much all I currently need. If you dedicate yourself to the yen shee for a while, you end up not wanting anything else. Pass me the gin, will you? I'm going to faint from one moment to the next.

"Wait a little," I said, taking Manning's arm. How long have you been living with Chinese people, Sadie?

"Oh, what do I know. All my life, I intuit. I don't remember much from the past... Only fragments here and there. Where's that gin you promised me?

"Only fragments here and there?" I asked him. Can you remember how you embarked on this kind of life?

"Sometimes yes, and sometimes no," Sadie replied.

And suddenly, his head slung over his shoulder as his eyes closed. Manning shook her hard.

-For! For! she exclaimed, sitting up. I'm dying of sleep, don't you see?

"Wake up and stay awake if you can," Manning told her. This gentleman wants to ask you something.

"Ah Yee bought it from a sailor on a junk boat on the Pei Ho River," one of the women interjected.

"What do you say, Sadie?" I asked. Have you ever been on a reed in a river in China? Hey? Try to remember it.

"I don't know," she said. Sometimes I think so. There are many things I can't explain, but it's because I don't remember much in the long term.

"Have you ever heard of a girl named Ten Eyck..., Harriett Ten Eyck, who was kidnapped by some Chinese here in San Francisco, a long time ago?"

There was a long silence. Sadie stared straight ahead, her eyes wide open; the other women continued to make pills at a good pace. Manning watched the scene over my shoulder, still fuming from his ears; and then Sadie's eyes began to close, and her head tilted to one side.

"I've run out of cigars," he murmured. You said you'd bring me gin. Ten Eyck! Ten Eyck! No, I don't remember anyone with that name. His voice broke suddenly, and then he sighed. Hey, how did they do this to me?

He extended his left hand and I saw a butterfly tattooed on his pinky.

 

The end

Traslate Spanish to English by Paya Frank

 

EL TERCER CÍRCULO {Relatos}

 

 

 

Hay más cosas en el barrio chino de San Francisco de las que se pueden soñar en el cielo y la tierra. En realidad, Chinatown se divide en tres partes: la que enseñan las guías, la que no te muestran y aquella de la que nadie ha oído hablar jamás. Esta historia tiene que ver con esa última parte. Podrían escribirse un montón de ellas sobre ese tercer círculo de Chinatown, pero, creedme, nunca se escribirán…, al menos hasta que el barrio haya sido, por así decirlo, drenado de la ciudad, del mismo modo que se draga una ciénaga fétida, y entonces podremos ver la vida extraña y temible que se agita ahí abajo, supurando en lo más hondo…, que se arrastra y se retuerce entre el barro y la oscuridad. Si creéis que esto no es cierto, preguntad a algún detective chino (la patrulla habitual no es de fiar) y pedidle que os cuente la historia del caso de Lee On Ting, o lo que le hicieron al viejo Wong Sam, que creyó que podría acabar con el tráfico de muchachas esclavizadas, o por qué el señor Clarence Lowney (un sacerdote de Minnesota que creía en los métodos directos) es ahora un «peligroso» interno del Manicomio Estatal… Pedidles que os expliquen por qué Matsokura, el dentista japonés, volvió a casa sin cara… Pedidles que os cuenten por qué los asesinos de Little Pete nunca serán descubiertos, y decidles que os hablen de la pequeña esclava Sing Yee o…, no, pensándolo bien, esa historia os la podéis ahorrar.

La historia que os voy a contar aquí empezó cerca de veinte años atrás, en un restaurante See Yup de Waverly Place -derruido hace ya mucho tiempo-, pero no sé dónde acabará. Creo que aún continúa. Empezó cuando el joven Hillegas y la señorita Ten Eyck (eran del Este y se habían comprometido) acudieron al restaurante Las Setenta Lunas ya avanzada la noche de un día de marzo. (Fue al año siguiente de la caída de Kearney y el posterior desconcierto de los beisbolistas aficionados).

-¡Qué sitio tan bonito, pintoresco y antiguo! -exclamó la señorita Ten Eyck.

Se acomodó en un taburete de ébano con asiento de mármol, y posó en el regazo las manos enguantadas, mirando a su alrededor hacia los enormes farolillos colgantes, las doradas pantallas grabadas, los lacados, los taraceados, el vidrio de colores, los robles enanos plantados en macetas de satsuma, la marquetería, las esteras pintadas, las metálicas jarras de incienso, altas como la cabeza de un hombre, y todas las grotescas baratijas de Oriente. A esas horas no había un alma en el restaurante. El joven Hillegas acercó un taburete para sentarse frente a ella y apoyó los codos sobre la mesa, echándose el sombrero hacia atrás y sacando un cigarrillo.

-Es como si estuviésemos en la misma China -comentó.

-¿Como si?… -repuso ella-. Estamos en China, Tom… En un trocito de China trasplantado aquí. ¡Aunque toda América y el siglo diecinueve estén a la vuelta de la esquina! ¡Mira! Hasta se puede ver el hotel Palace desde la ventana. Y más allá, por encima del tejado de ese templo, el Ming Yen, ¿no?, puedo ver las habitaciones de la tía Harriett.

-Pues mira, Harry -el nombre de pila de la señorita Ten Eyck era Harriett-, vamos a tomar el té.

-¡Tom, eres un genio! ¡Será muy divertido! Pues claro que hay que tomar el té. ¡Qué risa! Y hasta puedes fumar, si te apetece.

-Ésta es la manera de conocer sitios -dijo Hillegas mientras encendía un pitillo-. Ir metiendo las narices por ahí sin que nadie te vigile y descubrir cosas. Las guías nunca nos han traído hasta aquí.

-No, nunca lo han hecho. Y me pregunto por qué. Lo hemos tenido que encontrar solitos. Así que es nuestro, ¿verdad, cariño?, por haberlo descubierto.

En aquel momento Hillegas estaba convencido de que la señorita Ten Eyck era la chica más guapa que hubiera visto jamás. Había en ella una gran delicadeza…, una indudable elegancia en su vestido hecho a medida, así como en la apenas perceptible inclinación de aquel sombrero nuevo que realzaba su encanto. Era guapa, sin duda alguna, poseía esa belleza fresca, vigorosa y saludable que sólo se halla en ciertos especímenes de genuina estirpe americana. De pronto, Hillegas extendió el brazo sobre la mesa, la cogió de la mano y besó el pequeño bulto redondo de carne que quedaba al descubierto donde se abotonaba el guante.

Apareció el mozo chino para tomarles el pedido, y mientras esperaban el té, las almendras secas y los trocitos de sandía, la pareja se acercó a la balconada que daba al exterior para contemplar las calles que se oscurecían.

-Ahí está de nuevo el adivino -observó Hillegas-. ¿Lo ves? Ahí abajo, en los peldaños de ese templete.

-¿Dónde? Ah, sí, ya lo veo.

-Hagámosle subir, ¿vale?, que nos eche la fortuna mientras esperamos.

Hillegas gritó para que viniera y, finalmente, consiguió que el hombre entrara en el restaurante.

-¡Caramba! Usted no es chino -dijo Hillegas cuando el adivino se colocó bajo el círculo de luz del farol. El otro le mostró unos dientes marrones.

-Mitad chino, mitad canaco.

-¿Canaco?

-Como en Honolulu, ¿sabe? Mi madre señora canaca, lavaba la ropa de marineros allá en Kaui. -Y se echó a reír como si acabara de explicar algo gracioso.

-Pues te llamaré Jim -dijo Hillegas-. Quiero que nos eches la buenaventura, ¿sabes? Qué va a ser de la señora. Con quién se va a casar, por ejemplo.

-No futuro… Tatuajes.

-¿Tatuajes?

-Sólo tatuajes. Todo pájaros. Tres, cuatro, siete, muchos pajaritos en brazo de señora. ¿Qué? ¿Quiere tatuaje?

Se sacó de la manga una aguja de tatuar y apuntó con ella hacia el brazo de la señorita Ten Eyck.

-¿Tatuarme el brazo? ¡Menuda idea!, aunque podría ser divertido, ¿verdad, Tom? La hermana de la tía Hattie volvió de Honolulu con una mariposita preciosa tatuada en el dedo. En parte me apetece hacerlo. Y sería tan excéntrico y tan original…

-Pues que te lo haga en el dedo, entonces. Si te lo hace en el brazo, nunca podrás ponerte un vestido de noche.

-Pues claro. Puede hacerme un tatuaje en forma de anillo, y siempre puedo taparlo con el guante.

El chino-canaco dibujó una mariposilla de aspecto fantástico en un trozo de papel con un lápiz azul, lamió el dibujo un par de veces y lo enrolló en torno al meñique de la señorita Ten Eyck, el meñique de la mano izquierda. Cuando desprendió el papel mojado, la huella del dibujo quedó impresa en él. Luego vertió la tinta en una pequeña concha marina, sumergió la aguja en ella y, en diez minutos, había terminado el tatuaje de un insecto pequeño y grotesco que tanto podía ser una mariposa como cualquier otra cosa.

-Ya está -dijo Hillegas cuando el trabajo hubo concluido y el adivino se hubo marchado-. Ya es tuyo, y nunca se esfumará. Ahora más te vale que no planifiques un pequeño robo, ni falsifiques un cheque, ni estrangules a un bebé para quedarte con su collarcito de coral, porque siempre te podrán identificar por esa mariposa que tienes en el meñique de la mano izquierda.

-Casi lamento habérmelo dejado hacer. ¿No se irá nunca? ¡Caramba! Pero la verdad es que lo encuentro muy chic -dijo Harriett Ten Eyck.

-¡Pero bueno! -clamó Hillegas, poniéndose en pie de un salto-. ¿Dónde están el té, los pastelitos y demás? Se hace tarde. No nos podemos pasar la noche esperando. Voy a ir a buscar al chico y meterle prisa.

El chino al que le habían hecho su pedido no se hallaba en aquella planta del restaurante. Hillegas bajó la escalera en dirección a la cocina. En aquel lugar no parecía haber ni un alma. En la planta baja, sin embargo, donde vendían té y seda salvaje, Hillegas encontró a un chino que estaba haciendo cuentas sirviéndose de unas bolitas ensartadas en alambres. El chino en cuestión era un tipo con muy buen aspecto que lucía gafas redondas con montura de carey y un vestido que parecía un batín, hecho de satén azul acolchado.

-Oye, John -le dijo Hillegas-. Quiero algo de té, ¿me oyes? Arriba. Restaurante. Díselo al mozo chino, que no aparece ni a tiros. A ver si os ponéis en marcha, ¿vale?

El comerciante se dio la vuelta y miró a Hillegas por encima de las gafas.

-Ah -dijo con parsimonia-. Lamento la demora. Sin duda alguna ahora mismo le atenderán. ¿Es usted nuevo en Chinatown?

-Ejem…, pues sí… Yo…, lo somos, sí.

-Sin duda…, ¡sin duda! -murmuró el otro.

-Supongo que usted es el propietario, ¿no? -se aventuró a preguntar Hillegas.

-¿Yo? ¡Oh, no! Mis agentes tienen una casa de sedas aquí. Creo que alquilan los pisos de arriba a los See Yup. Por cierto, acabamos de recibir un lote de chales de seda india que tal vez le gustaría ver.

Extendió un montón de chales sobre el mostrador y seleccionó uno que era especialmente hermoso.

-Permítame -comentó en tono solemne- que se lo ofrezca como un regalo para su distinguida acompañante.

Hillegas sintió que se despertaba su interés por ese oriental extraordinario. Estaba ante un aspecto de la vida china que nunca había visto ni tan siquiera sospechado. Se quedó un ratito hablando con ese hombre, cuya actitud podría haber sido la de Cicerón ante una asamblea del Senado, y se despidió de él tras acordar que lo visitaría al día siguiente en el consulado. Volvió al restaurante y se encontró con que la señorita Ten Eyck se había ido. Nunca la volvió a ver. Ni él ni ningún otro hombre blanco.

Tengo un amigo en San Francisco que se hace llamar Manning. Es un vagabundo de la Plaza -es decir, que se pasa el día durmiendo en la vieja Plaza, esa aglomeración a la que ha ido a parar tanto desecho humano-, y de noche va a lo suyo por Chinatown, una manzana más arriba. En otros tiempos, Manning fue un submarinista que buscaba perlas en Oahu, y ahora, desde que le estallaron los tímpanos en una de sus inmersiones, puede echar humo por ambas orejas. Ese logro fue lo primero que hizo que me cayera simpático, pero luego descubrí que sabía más de Chinatown de lo que es habitual y hasta prudente saber. El otro día tropecé con Manning a la sombra del barco de Stevenson, recuperándose de los efectos de una borrachera de ginebra sin diluir, y le conté, o más bien le recordé, la historia de Harriett Ten Eyck.

-Me acuerdo -dijo él, apoyado en un codo y mascando hierba-. Se armó un buen lío en su momento, pero nunca se llegó a saber nada… Nada más que un buen follón y además liquidaron a uno de los detectives chinos en el callejón del Tahúr. Los See Yup trajeron especialmente a un tío de Pekín para que se encargara del asunto.

-¿Un sicario? -le pregunté.

-No -repuso Manning soltando escupitajos verdosos-. Era un Kai Gingh de dos cuchillos.

-¿Y eso?

-Dos cuchillos…, uno en cada mano… Cruzas los brazos y luego los juntas, derecha e izquierda, en plan tijeras… Casi parte en dos a aquel tío. Le pagaron cinco mil. Después de eso, los detectives dijeron que no podían encontrar ni una sola pista.

-¿Y de la señorita Ten Eyck no volvió a saberse nada?

-No -contestó Manning, mordisqueándose las uñas-. Se la llevaron a China, supongo, o puede que a Oregón. Ese tipo de cosas era una novedad hace veinte años, y por eso se armó la que se armó, supongo. Pero ahora hay un montón de mujeres que viven con chinos y a todo el mundo le trae sin cuidado, aunque sean chinos de Cantón, la clase de coolies más baja. Una de ellas vive en Saint Louis Place, justo detrás del teatro chino, y es judía. Una pareja de lo más extraña, la hebrea y el mongol, y tienen un niño con el pelo cobrizo y rizado que da masajes en un hammam. Curiosa pandilla, sí, y hay otras tres blancas en un tugurio de esclavas que está debajo del salón de bronceado de Ah Yee. Ahí es donde me proveo de opio. Incluso hablan un poquito de inglés. Es gracioso: hay una que es muda, pero si la emborrachas lo suficiente se suelta un poco en inglés. ¡Te lo juro! Se lo he visto hacer a menudo…, la puedes emborrachar hasta que se lanza a hablar. Te voy a decir una cosa -añadió Manning poniéndose de pie con esfuerzo-. Ahora me voy para allá a ver si consigo algo de drogas. Puedes acompañarme y cogeremos a Sadie (se llama Sadie), la pondremos hasta arriba y le preguntaremos si ha oído hablar de la señorita Ten Eyck. Tienen un gran negocio -dijo Manning mientras íbamos hacia allá-. Son Ah Yee, esas tres mujeres y un policía llamado Yank. Recogen todo el yen shee, o sea, el residuo que queda en las pipas de opio, ¿sabes?, y lo convierten en pastillas que les pasan de extranjis a los presos de San Quintín a través de alguien de confianza. Cuando llega al patio del presidio, la dosis de droga ha subido de cinco dólares a treinta. Cuando yo estaba allí, vi cómo apuñalaban a un tipo por una pastilla del tamaño de un guisante. Ah Yee consigue el material, las tres mujeres lo convierten en píldoras y el policía, Yank, se lo pasa como sea a sus compinches. Ah Yee es ya un hombre rico e independiente, y el policía tiene una cuenta bancaria.

-¿Y las mujeres?

-¡Ésas son esclavas!… ¡Las esclavas de Ah Yee! Y suelen llevarse un guantazo a la primera de cambio.

Manning y yo dimos con Sadie y sus dos compañeras cuatro pisos por debajo del salón de bronceado, sentadas con las piernas cruzadas en un cuarto del tamaño de un baúl grande. En un principio, estaba convencido de que eran chinas, hasta que mis ojos se acostumbraron a la oscuridad que reinaba en aquel lugar. Iban vestidas al estilo chino, pero enseguida reparé en que tenían el cabello castaño y el puente de la nariz alto. Estaban elaborando píldoras con el contenido de una jarra de yen shee que estaba en el centro, en el suelo, y movían los dedos con una rapidez que llegaba a parecer horrible.

Manning habló con ellas brevemente en chino mientras encendía una pipa, y dos de ellas le contestaron con el genuino sonsonete de Cantón: todo vocales y ni una sola consonante.

-Ésta es Sadie -dijo Manning señalando a la tercera chica, que se mantenía en silencio.

Me volví hacia ella. Estaba fumando un puro y, de vez en cuando, escupía a través de los dientes, como lo haría un hombre. Esa mujer era una bestia de aspecto temible, arrugada como una manzana seca, los dientes ennegrecidos por la nicotina y las manos huesudas y prensiles como las garras de un halcón… Pero se trataba sin duda alguna de una mujer blanca. Al principio, Sadie se negaba a beber, pero el olor de la lata de ginebra de Manning acabó con sus objeciones: al cabo de media hora, su locuacidad era imparable. No sé decir cuál era el efecto que causaba el alcohol en sus paralizados órganos del habla. Sobria, no soltaba prenda; ebria, podía emitir una serie de discretos gorjeos pajariles que sonaban como una voz que llegase desde el fondo de un pozo.

-Sadie -dijo Manning mientras expulsaba humo por las orejas-, ¿qué haces viviendo en Chinatown? Eres una chica blanca. Tendrás familia en algún lado. ¿Por qué no vuelves con ellos?

Sadie negó con la cabeza.

-Prefiero al chino -dijo con una voz tan débil que había que esforzarse para entenderla-. Ah Yee es muy bueno con nosotras… Hay mucho para comer, mucho para fumar y todo el yen shee que podamos aguantar. Oh, yo no me quejo.

-Pero sabes que puedes salir de aquí cuando te apetezca, ¿no? ¿Por qué no te largas un día que estés por ahí fuera? Vete a la Misión de la calle Sacramento… Ahí te tratarán bien.

-Oh -dijo Sadie, ausente, amasando una pastilla entre las manchadas palmas de las manos-. Llevo aquí tanto tiempo que ya me he acostumbrado, supongo. No tengo nada que ver con los blancos. Me quitarían el yen shee y los puros, y eso es casi todo lo que necesito actualmente. Si te dedicas al yen shee durante un tiempo, acabas por no desear nada más. Pásame la ginebra, ¿quieres? Me voy a desmayar de un momento a otro.

-Espera un poco -dije yo agarrando del brazo a Manning-. ¿Cuánto tiempo llevas viviendo con chinos, Sadie?

-Oh, yo qué sé. Toda la vida, intuyo. No recuerdo gran cosa del pasado… Sólo fragmentos aquí y allá. ¿Dónde está esa ginebra que me prometiste?

-¿Sólo fragmentos aquí y allá? -le pregunté-. ¿Puedes recordar cómo te embarcaste en esta clase de vida?

-A veces sí y a veces no -respondió Sadie.

Y, de repente, la cabeza se le desplomó sobre el hombro mientras se le cerraban los ojos. Manning la zarandeó fuertemente.

-¡Para! ¡Para! -exclamó ella incorporándose-. Me muero de sueño, ¿no lo ves?

-Despierta y mantente despierta si puedes -le dijo Manning-. Este señor quiere preguntarte algo.

-Ah Yee se la compró a un marinero en un barco de juncos del río Pei Ho -intervino una de las mujeres.

-¿Qué me dices, Sadie? -inquirí-. ¿Has estado alguna vez en un junco en un río de China? ¿Eh? Intenta recordarlo.

-No lo sé -dijo ella-. A veces creo que sí. Hay muchas cosas que no puedo explicar, pero es porque no recuerdo mucho a largo plazo.

-¿Alguna vez oíste hablar de una chica llamada Ten Eyck…, Harriett Ten Eyck, que fue secuestrada por unos chinos aquí en San Francisco, hace mucho tiempo?

Se hizo un largo silencio. Sadie miró fijamente hacia delante, con los ojos abiertos como platos; las demás mujeres seguían haciendo pastillas a buen ritmo. Manning contempló la escena por encima de mi hombro sin dejar de echar humo por las orejas; y, entonces, los ojos de Sadie empezaron a cerrarse y su cabeza se inclinó hacia un lado.

-Se me ha acabado el puro -murmuró-. Dijiste que me traerías ginebra. ¡Ten Eyck! ¡Ten Eyck! No, no recuerdo a nadie con ese nombre. -La voz se le quebró súbitamente, y luego suspiró-. Oye, ¿cómo me hicieron esto?

Extendió la mano izquierda y vi una mariposa tatuada en el meñique.

 

FIN

 

Rage bait “contenido que provoca indignación” palabra del año para Oxford 2025

 

Oxford ha elegido rage bait como la Palabra del Año 2025. El término ha adquirido relevancia en un contexto marcado por disturbios sociales, debates sobre la regulación del contenido en línea y una creciente preocupación por el bienestar digital. Según los expertos, su uso refleja un cambio más profundo en la forma en que hablamos sobre la atención —cómo se capta y cómo se ofrece— y sobre el compromiso y la ética en los entornos digitales. Los datos lingüísticos muestran que el uso de rage bait se ha triplicado en los últimos doce meses. Aunque está formado por dos palabras, Oxford aclara que no se trata de una trampa lingüística, ya que la Palabra del Año puede ser tanto un término simple como una expresión considerada una unidad de significado. Rage bait combina rage (rabia o estallido violento de ira) y bait (cebo o bocado atractivo). Ambas palabras existen desde el inglés medio. Aunque guarda cierta relación con clickbait, el concepto de rage bait se centra específicamente en provocar enfado, discordia y polarización. La aparición de rage bait como término independiente demuestra la flexibilidad del inglés para unir palabras ya establecidas y crear expresiones nuevas que capturan fenómenos actuales. En este caso, el término refleja un rasgo característico del mundo digital contemporáneo y de las dinámicas que moldean nuestra comunicación en línea.

The prophecy of the end

 

The Earth was devastated and, after years of radiation and mutations, humanoids neither knew nor remembered the history of humanity. Daily life consisted of hunting giant scorpions and centipedes to feed themselves, trying to act in groups; one that pointed the spears towards the mouth and the center of the eyes of the beasts and another that linked the sting, because in the case in which they were in danger of death they stuck the sting themselves, poisoning the flesh. The hunt was carried out especially in the gloom that preceded dawn or sunset, since the destruction of a large part of the ozone layer made the exposure to the sun too great to even bear to be under its rays. They could run upright, but they were adapting to running on all fours again.

They subsisted as groups of nomadic humanoids, however the inclement weather prevented them from undertaking long migrations. Their skin was leathery and black, as melatonin protected from UV rays that entered directly into the atmosphere. Nature always adapting despite the mistreatment inflicted on it by the ancestors of these beings, who were paying the price of having been the most evolved species in the history of the planet. Some humans set out on intergalactic journeys in search of new planets that would provide them with the necessary conditions to survive, but these migrations failed after the Great Nuclear Explosion. Humanity as we knew it in the middle of the twenty-first century was completely extinct; the dust that was, dust was.

But in that rudimentary language of the new humanoids persisted the oral tradition and the deep-rooted belief of the thinking beings in the Divinity, forces that could deflect the sting of the scorpion that was hunted, that allowed them to find plants that were not bitter or poisonous due to radiation or that allowed them to find a well where the water was sweeter.  knowledge that was dominated and monopolized by the priests, who in turn supported or deposed the rulers of the tribes.

And among them appeared the Stranger, with pale and hairy skin, whose words were difficult to understand, but he surprised them with his miracles. He healed the sick and raised the dead, he behaved in an affectionate way. A strange man who looked so much like the Ancients and who was beginning to generate so much distrust among the priests and rulers because of the number of followers who joined his cause. At the same time the Stranger appeared, whose influence on the powerful increased as he revealed to them secrets and stories of the Ancients, especially of a book with a strange sign on its flap. The powerful did not know how to read, but the Stranger gradually revealed to them what the book told. He first made them swear that they would not say anything about what he was telling them and told them that the Stranger was already known to the Ancients and that there was a way they could make the planet go back to the way it was before the Big Bang, that precisely for this reason the Stranger and he himself had come,  just at that moment.

He asked them to accompany them to one of the ruins of the Ancients and inside the remains of a church he showed them the figure of the Crucified. He told them that this man had died on the cross to save mankind and wash them from their sins by the shedding of his blood. That he had first preached the word of God and promised them the Kingdom of Heaven and that he had to be sacrificed so that God would forgive mankind. That now he was back and that surely God would forgive them all and transform the earth into a Paradise again if they sacrificed him again, on the cross, as the first time. He told them that in order for the prophecy to be fulfilled, the Stranger could not know that he had revealed his story to them and that they should leave him for a while longer sharing with the tribe until the precise moment came when the holocaust would be repeated, that they should not listen to his pleas when the time came, because after all fear would invade him like anyone else. He ordered them to call the tribesmen one by one, to make them promise under oath that they would reveal nothing to the Stranger, and to prepare to love him in such a way that his death would redeem them all as promised.

The Stranger knew that in order for his new mission to be accomplished he would have to fight with the Stranger. He sensed it and knew it was close, even if he hid from it. What I didn't know was the direct influence that the Stranger was exerting on the people this time. The combat would take place and once the Stranger was defeated, the Kingdom of Heaven could be established on earth with the Stranger as King of Kings, for so it was written in the book of Revelations.

The tribe, which knew nothing of prophecies and second comings, understood the meaning of sacrifice to alleviate their hardships. When the Stranger least expected them, they surrounded him in a loving and deadly embrace and, despite the fact that he struggled and shouted, they crucified him outside the town, in the depths of the desert. It was useless for Jesus Christ to beg them, to explain to them that the Stranger was the Antichrist and that, if they killed him, hell would be established once and for all. They hurried to tie him tightly to the cross despite his pleas. They kissed and caressed him in the meantime, thanking them for all the miracles he had done for them, and tried to retire to the sunset, just before nightfall. Jesus was groaning even though he was not hurt, but when he saw the giant scorpions beginning to approach, he began to howl.

 

The end

Translated from Spanish to English by Paya Frank