The Revolutionaries Try Again by Mauro Javier Cardenas Page A

you, Leopoldo, even though I didn’t think of you since I was occupied trying to forge a new life in San Francisco, I’ve missed you, and what worries Antonio more than whether Leopoldo’s plans to run for office are realistic or not is whether he’s capable of meeting with his dear old friend Leopoldo without slighting him somehow — I’m back from the First World, you provincial nincompoops — although perhaps it’s too late: Antonio’s already wearing his most expensive black suit.
    â€”
    Don Alban!
    Muchachón!
    Leopoldo didn’t tell me we were meeting at your restaurant. I didn’t even know you had a restaurant. What a wonderful surprise, Don Alban. Looks great.
    De a poco we jumpstart the franchise.
    Now that I know your place’s here I’ll be coming back every day.
    My restaurant is your restaurant, niño Antonio. Leopoldo lunches here daily. My sopa de bollo he loves. One time when your classmateswere here he stood up, you know Leopoldo, always the speechman, and delivered his Ode to Don Alban’s Sopa de Bollo. The bollo here does have heft, niño Antonio. I ask Hurtado, Economista, where’s your friend? Ah Don Alban, he says to me, still hooked on blondes up north. Your other friend I still see on Saturdays.
    Mazinger?
    Rafael, yes. That’s the one.
    He’s not going to Mapasingue still, is he?
    To Mapasingue and to the dumpster, too. The apostolic group never ended for him. Every Saturday before sundown he and Father Cortez head to the city dumpster to deliver antibiotics and bread. That boy used to be quite the kicker.
    Had that robotic speed.
    See him sometimes on the soccer field on Sundays. Your classmates still play together.
    Rafael’s still kicking the ball into outer space? Monkey Shooter we used to call him, remember?
    We’re out of monkeys, muchachón. How about you, niño Antonio? Did you show the Americans how it’s done?
    I stopped playing soccer when I got there and . . .
    I remember your fast finta dribble. You would grab the soccer ball and bolt. Unstoppable. Staying for good?
    For a little while. Longer, maybe.
    Let me clear a table for you. Sit, niño Antonio, sit.
    I’ve called Rafael a few times but he hasn’t . . .
    I remember driving you and Leopoldo and Rafael to Mapasingue every Saturday, remember?
    The apostolic group bus. How could I forget?
    â€”
DROOL :    
First we raise their salaries.
MICROPHONE :    
Can’t. Inflationary.
DROOL :    
Enforce a minimum wage.
MICROPHONE :    
Cost goes up, can’t compete, factories shut down and reopen in Colombia.
DROOL :    
We pact with the Colombians.
MICROPHONE :    
Shut down and reopen in Perú.
DROOL :    
Pact with the Perúvians.
MICROPHONE :    
Remember Paquisha?
MAID KILLER :    
Paquisha / es historia / saaaagraaadaaa.
DROOL :    
Screw borders. Petty maps.
MICROPHONE :    
The impact of cartography on the onanistic tradition. Let us . . .
MAID KILLER :    
Ona what?
MICROPHONE :    
Nistic.
CHORUS :    
Chanfle.
DROOL :    
Tax incentives. For factories to stay.
MICROPHONE :    
Excellent.
MAID KILLER :    
He’s got you now, Microphone.
MICROPHONE :    
Time?
MAID KILLER :    
Two till.
MICROPHONE :    
We can be late for Berta’s class.
MAID KILLER :    
Bobeeeeerta.
MICROPHONE :    
Drool wants to keep his milk program?
DROOL :    
That’s a bovine question.
MAID KILLER :    
Bovine! What is?
CHORUS :    
Your mom.
MICROPHONE :    
Your tax incentive just holed our budget. We’ll have to axe your milk program.
DROOL :    
You wouldn’t do that.
MAID KILLER :    
Seen the