Read Online Firefly by Severo Sarduy - Free Book Online

leather that covered the desktop. Plunged into a meatball minus a bite was a little red plastic fork.
    â€œNow you’ve got the keys just like the man of the house . . .”
    Firefly wondered how and from whom Gator had learned that detail.
    â€œAt the least,” the reptile continued, “you, sir, ought to smoke a good cigar, don’t you think?”
    â€œAnd sure enough,” Isidro took up the lead voice, “here’s one of the finest Romeo y Julietas.”
    He broke into a sebaceous giggle.
    Gator struck a match and lit the Havana himself, inhaling hard.
    â€œSuck in that smoke!” he ordered. “You’ve got too much on your mind.”
    A snigger.
    Firefly was standing next to the desk. He tried with all his strength to say, “I don’t want to.” But not a word emerged.
    He had no idea why he looked at his feet. They were firmly on the ground, the laces well tied. He thought he heard the tinkling of the cut glass hanging from the dusty old lamp, as happened whenever there was a lot of wind or when disoriented birds,fleeing the fumigated warehouses of the port, found their way inside.
    Unaware how much time had passed, he heard in a dream or echoing over a loudspeaker the inquisitor’s stentorian voice: “Here is your cigar.”
    Firefly shook his head.
    Then the man with scaly skin and bloodshot eyes, loosening his tie and his fly at the same time, as if an urgent need had overcome him, swayed into the office next door and disappeared.
    He returned wielding another cigar, this one twisted and greenish. Closing his zipper, he came toward Firefly, his gaze fixed on something nonexistent but vile, like a liquor stain or a yellow smear.
    The poor melon-head watched him approach and hid his sweaty hands in his pockets. His knees were trembling and he understood at once that he would not be able to move or speak.
    â€œIf you don’t want that one,” Gator ordered, putting the Par-tagás Culebra in his own mouth, “then smoke one of these. They’re so mild even women like them . . .”
    Firefly grabbed hold of the Havana with his two small moist hands; the silky texture and the warmth of the leaves surprised him. He was about to bring the cigar to his lips when the first ash burned his fingers. He blew on them, his eyes full of tears.
    â€œI don’t know how to smoke or how to whistle,” he heard himself say. “No one ever taught me.”
    â€œLook,” the scaly one replied, shaking with laughter, “nothing’s easier.” And he rubbed his hands together like a mason about to build a wall. “Haven’t you ever seen a bat smoke?” *
    He surged forward, and using thumb and forefinger like a pincer he held the boy’s nose. Then he stuffed the cigar in his mouth. The little firefly began to choke.
    Isidro was breaking up the bread crumbs left on the tablecloth and devouring them compulsively. He tried to make the doughy ones into figurines, but they all came out grotesque, like ugly big-nosed priests.
    The poor buzzing insect managed to breathe in the smoke and cough it out. He clenched his belly, bent toward the floor, tried to throw up. But he could not. His red-rimmed eyes spun out of their orbits.
    â€œAgain, dammit!” was the executioner’s only response. “Again! Let’s see if you can learn!”
    Firefly sucked in air. He thought about his sister. He looked around for help.
    That was when Isidro, without a word, and with that instantaneousenergy only hatred can produce (had it germinated slowly between them like a miasma, an emanation of deep-seated rivalry or reciprocal envy?), knocked Gator aside with a sharp slap to the face.
    The reptile teetered. He grabbed onto a chair. He straightened as if preparing to return the affront. Indignation made his eyes glassy. He looked at the kitchen knife. His right hand trembled for a moment . . . Then he turned toward the door, stepped