The Halfway House (New Directions Paperbook) by Guillermo Rosales

the shade of a tree. I go and sit there. I open the newspaper and start to read. A feeling of peace washes over me.
    SPURNED EX-BOYFRIEND KIDNAPS, GAGS AND KILLS HER.
DEATH THREATENS DARING HELICOPTER PILOTS IN THE DARK.
RUSSIAN LEADER PROPOSES A FAREWELL TO ARMS.
    Someone stands over me. I raise my head. It’s Frances. She followed me. She sits next to me. She takes me by the arm. She buries her head in my chest and stays still for a few seconds.
    “The mailman arrived,” she murmurs finally.
    “Do you know if he brought the checks?”
    “I don’t know,” she says. “That man … Curbelo, he grabbed the envelopes.”
    “Let’s go!” I say.
    I leave the newspaper on the wall and stand up. I lift her gently by the arm. She’s shaking.
    Looking up at the sky, she says, “Oh, my God!”
    “Calm down … ,” I’m dragging her gently.
    “Is the house beautiful, my angel?”
    “It’s perfect,” I say, squeezing her shoulders. “It has a living and dining room, a bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, a full-size bed, a sideboard, three chairs …”
    We walk toward the halfway house.
    When we get to the home, she goes to her room to pick up the last of her belongings and I go to my room to get my suitcase. When I pass Curbelo’s desk, I see that, sure enough, he’s there opening the envelopes with the social security checks. One-eyed Reyes goes up to him and asks for a cigarette.
    “Get away!” Curbelo says. “Can’t you see that I’m working?”
    I smile. I go on to my room. I grab the suitcase and stick two or three shirts in it, my books, a jacket and a pair of shoes. I close it. My books, more than fifty of them, make it pretty heavy. I take out the book of English Romantic poets and stick it in my pocket. I take one last look at the room. The crazy guy who works at the pizzeria is snoring in his bed with his mouth agape. A small cockroach runs across his face. I leave. I let my suitcase drop in front of Mr. Curbelo’s desk. He looks at me questioningly.
    “Give me my check,” I say. “I’m leaving.”
    “That’s not the way things are done around here,” he says. “I’ll give it to you, but that’s not the way things are done. You should have given me fifteen days’ notice. Now you’re leaving me with an empty bed. That’s money that I lose.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “Give me my check.”
    He looks for it in the collection of envelopes. He takes it out and gives it to me.
    “Get out of here!” he says, irritated.
    I leave. I place the suitcase in one corner of the living room, and go to the women’s room. Frances is there with her bags ready. I show her my check.
    “Go and ask for yours,” I say.
    She goes out in search of Curbelo. I sit on her bed and wait. After an interminably long time, she reappears with her face pale and her hands empty.
    “He doesn’t want to give it to me,” she says.
    “Why not?” I ask, furious.
    I run to Curbelo’s desk.
    “Frances’s check,” I say, standing before him. “She’s leaving with me.”
    “That’s not possible,” Curbelo says, looking over his glasses at me.
    “Why not?”
    “Because Frances is a sick woman,” he says. “Her mother brought Frances to this establishment herself and left her in my care. I am responsible for whatever happens to her.”
    “Responsible!” I cry scornfully. “Responsible for dirty sheets and filthy towels. For puddles of piss and inedible food.”
    “That’s a lie!” he says. “This is a tightly run operation.”
    Indignant, I take a step toward him and snatch the stack of checks out of his hands. He stands up. He tries to take them away from me, but I give him a shove that makes him fall on his ass in the wastebasket.
    “Arsenio!” he yells from there. “Arsenio!”
    I quickly look for Frances’s check. I find it. I put it in my pocket and throw the rest of the envelopes on the desk. Frances is waiting for me at the door.
    “Go!” I yell.
    She walks out with her two enormous bags. I