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too much. Later. Villanazul . . .?"
Villanazul moved shyly forward.
Villanazul went shyly out.
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Villanazul came shyly home.
"Picture it," he said, not looking at them, looking at the floor, talking to the
floor. "The Green Plaza, a group of elderly businessmen gathered under the stars and
they are talking, nodding, talking. Now one of them whispers. All turn to stare.
They move aside, they make a channel through which a white-hot light burns its way
as through ice. At the center of the great light is this person. I take a deep
breath. My stomach is jelly. My voice is very small, but it grows louder. And what
do I say? I say, 'Friends. Do you know Carlyle's Sartor Resartus? In that book we
find his Philosophy of Suits . . .'"
And at last it was time for Martinez to let the suit float him out to haunt the
darkness.
Four times he walked around the block. Four times he paused beneath the tenement
porches, looking up at the window where the light was lit; a shadow moved, the
beautiful girl was there, not there, away and gone, and on the fifth time there she
was on the porch above, driven out by the summer heat, taking the cooler air. She
glanced down. She made a gesture.
At first be thought she was waving to him. He felt like a white explosion that had
riveted her attention. But she was not waving. Her hand gestured and the next moment
a pair of dark-framed glasses sat upon her nose. She gazed at him.
Ah, ah, he thought, so that's it. So! Even the blind may see this suit! He smiled up
at her. He did not have to wave. And at last she smiled back. She did not have to
wave either. Then, because he did not know what else to do and he could not get rid
of this smile that had fastened itself to his cheeks, he hurried, almost ran, around
the corner, feeling her stare after him. When he looked back she had taken off her
glasses and gazed now with the look of the nearsighted at what, at most, must be a
moving blob of light in the great darkness here. Then for good measure he went
around the block again, through a city so suddenly beautiful he wanted to yell, then
laugh, then yell again.
Returning, he drifted, oblivious, eyes half closed, and seeing him in the door, the
others saw not Martinez but themselves come home. In that moment, they sensed that
something had happened to them all.
"You're late!" cried Vamenos, but stopped. The spell could not be broken.
"Somebody tell me," said Martinez. "Who am I?"
He moved in a slow circle through the room.
Yes, he thought, yes, it's the suit, yes, it had to do with the suit and them all
together in that store on this fine Saturday night and then here, laughing and
feeling more drunk without drinking as Manulo said himself, as the night ran and
each slipped on the pants and held, toppling, to the others and, balanced, let the
feeling get bigger and warmer and finer as each man departed and the next took his
place in the suit until now here stood Martinez all splendid and white as one who
gives orders and the world grows quiet and moves aside.
"Martinez, we borrowed three mirrors while you were gone. Look!"
The mirrors, set up as in the store, angled to reflect three Martinezes and the
echoes and memories of those who had occupied this suit with him and known the
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bright world inside this thread and cloth. Now, in the shimmering mirror, Martinez
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saw the enormity of this thing they were living together and his eyes grew wet. The
others blinked. Martinez touched the mirrors. They shifted. He saw a thousand, a
million white-armored Martinezes march off into eternity, reflected, re-reflected,
forever, indomitable, and unending.
He held the white coat out on the air. In a trance, the others did not at first
recognize the dirty hand that reached to take the coat. Then:
"Vamenos!"
"Pig!"
"You didn't wash!" cried Gómez. "Or even shave, while you waited! Compadres, the
bath!"
"The bath!" said everyone.
"No!" Vamenos flailed. "The night air! I'm dead!"
They hustled him yelling out and down the hall.
Now here stood Vamenos, unbelievable in white suit, beard shaved, hair combed, nails
scrubbed.
His friends scowled darkly at him.
For was it not true, thought Martinez, that when Vamenos passed by, avalanches
itched on mountaintops? If he walked under windows, people spat, dumped garbage, or
worse. Tonight now, this night, he would stroll beneath ten thousand wide-opened
windows, near balconies, past alleys. Suddenly the world absolutely sizzled with
flies. And here was Vamenos, a fresh-frosted cake.
"You sure look keen in that suit, Vamenos," said Manulo sadly.
"Thanks." Vamenos twitched, trying to make his skeleton comfortable where all their
skeletons had so recently been. In a small voice Vamenos said, "Can I go now?"
"Villanazul!" said Gómez. "Copy down these rules." Villanazul licked his pencil.
"First," said Gómez, "don't fall down in that suit, Vamenos!"
"I won't."
"Don't lean against buildings in that suit."
"No buildings."
"Don't walk under trees with birds in them in that suit. Don't smoke. Don't drink-"
"Please," said Vamenos, "can I sit down in this suit?"
"When in doubt, take the pants off, fold them over a chair."
"Wish me luck," said Vamenos.
"Go with God, Vamenos."
He went out. He shut the door.
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There was a ripping sound.
"Vamenos!" cried Martinez.
He whipped the door open.
Vamenos stood with two halves of a handkerchief torn in his hands, laughing.
"Rrrip! Look at your faces! Rrrip!" He tore the cloth again. "Oh, oh, your faces,
your faces! Ha!"
Roaring, Vamenos slammed the door, leaving them stunned and alone.
Gómez put both hands on top of his head and turned away. "Stone me. Kill me. I have
sold our souls to a demon!"
Villanazul dug in his pockets, took out a silver coin, and studied it for a long
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while.
"Here is my last fifty cents. Who else will help me buy back Vamenos' share of the
suit?"
"It's no use." Manulo showed them ten cents. "We got only enough to buy the lapels
and the buttonholes."
Gómez, at the open window, suddenly leaned out and yelled. "Vamenos! No!"
Below on the street, Vamenos, shocked, blew out a match and threw away an old cigar
butt he had found somewhere. He made a strange gesture to all the men in the window
above, then waved airily and sauntered on.
Somehow, the five men could not move away from the window. They were crushed
together there.
"I bet he eats a hamburger in that suit," mused Villanazul. "I'm thinking of the
mustard."
"Don't!" cried Gómez. "No, no!" Manulo was suddenly at the door.
"I need a drink, bad."
"Manulo, there's wine here, that bottle on the floor-"
Manulo went out and shut the door.
A moment later Villanazul stretched with great exaggeration and strolled about the
room.
"I think I'll walk down to the plaza, friends."
He was not gone a minute when Dominguez, waving his black book at the others, winked
and turned the doorknob.
"Dominguez," said Gómez.
"Yes?"
"If you see Vamenos, by accident," said Gómez, "warn him away from Mickey Murrillo's
Red Rooster Café. They got fights not only on TV but out front of the TV too."
"He wouldn't go into Murrillo's," said Domlnguez. "That suit means too much to
Vamenos. He wonldn't do anything to hurt it."
"He'd shoot his mother first," said Martinez.
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