Mona and Other Tales by Reinaldo Arenas Read Free Book Online

at one of the officers and saw in his eyes that sneering attitude of a free human being who looks down upon a madman, an imprisoned one at that. And I realized they were not going to listen to me.
    The only thing left for me to do is to write, to describe the events, to write the whole thing up quickly and in a logical manner, as logical as my situation allows, and see if someone finally believes me and I am saved, though that is very unlikely.
    Since I came to New York—and that was more than six years ago—I have worked as a security guard at the Wendy’s on Broadway between 42nd and 43rd streets. It is open twenty-four hours a day, and since I had the night shift, my job was always very lively, dealing with many different kinds of people. Without overlooking my responsibilities, I had the opportunity to meet many women who came in for a snack or who just passed by, and from my post behind the glass wall and in my well-pressed and gold-braided uniform, I beckoned them in. Of course, not all of them took the bait, but many did. I want to make very clear that I am not bragging. One night, in just one shift, I managed to have three women (not including the Wendy’s cashier, a very solid black woman I made it with in the ladies’ room). The trouble came at quitting time: the three of them were waiting for me. I managed somehow, but this is no time to go into it. I left with the one I liked best, though I was really sorry I had to give up the other two. I have no family in this country, and all my lovers and even friends have been these nameless women whom I spotted while at my post at Wendy’s or who (and I say this without any false modesty) spotted me and came in with the pretext of having a cup of tea or something.
    One night I was on the alert, watching the street and looking for a woman worthy of a wink, when a truly extraordinary female specimen stopped outside. Long reddish hair, ample forehead, perfect nose, fine lips, and honey-colored eyes that looked me over openly (a bit shamelessly) through long false eyelashes. I must confess, she struck me instantly. I straightened my uniform jacket and took a good look at her body, which even under bulky winter clothes promised to be as extraordinary as her face. I was fascinated. Meanwhile, she came in, took off the stole or cape she had around her shoulders, and uncovered part of her breasts. That same night we agreed to meet at three o’clock in the morning, when I finished my shift.
    She told me her name was Elisa, that she was of Greek ancestry, and that she was in New York for just a few weeks. This was enough for me to invite her to my room on 43rd Street, on the West Side, only three blocks away. Elisa accepted without hesitation, which pleased me enormously because I don’t like women who play hard-to-get before going to bed with you. These are the ones who later, when you want to get rid of them, make your life unbearable. Since I didn’t want to have that kind of trouble at Wendy’s, I stayed away from these kinds of “difficult” women, who later, when you are not interested anymore, become quite a nuisance, capable of following you all the way to Siberia if necessary.
    But with Elisa—let’s keep calling her Elisa—that was no problem. From the start, she laid her cards on the table. She obviously liked me and wanted to go to bed with me often before returning to Europe. So I did not ask her any more personal questions (if you want to have a good time with a woman, never ask her about her life). We went to bed, and I must confess that in spite of all my experience, Elisa surprised me. She possessed not only the imagination of a real pleasure-seeker and the skills of a woman of the world but also a kind of motherly charm mixed with youthful mischief and the airs of a grand lady, which made her irresistible. Never had I enjoyed a woman so much.
    I noted nothing strange in her that night, except for a peculiar