Mano A Mano

by

George Francis

Carlos leant on the balustrade of the balcony and gazed sightlessly over the city in the green valley before him. The sunshine filtered through the heat-haze, and splattered indiscriminately on the white apartment blocks and red-roofed casas below. In the colorless distance the ramshackle slum barrios nuzzled up into the deep-green mountainsides, lowering over the slumbering valley, with the tallest mountain, Avila, topped with that phallic, round, empty Humboldt Hotel, symbolically dominating all.

The city dozed in early siesta, and Carlos paid little heed to the dull murmur of conversation behind him in the shaded hotel room.

A splash from below made him lean over to see who was using the swimming pool at this hour. A crewcut head surfaced in the green sparkling water, and Carlos snorted to himself: "Si-one of those loco norteamericanos-who else?"

He took his hand from the rail to brush back his long hair from his eyes, with fingers slim and delicate and white. He was proud of his white skin, and made sure he kept out of the sun-not like that crazy American with the tanned face and spiky hair.

The clatter of coffee-cups, an echoed "Buenos!" and a closing door-all told Carlos that Don Luis had left. He turned and faced the open french window, his face dark in the shadow. Jose came out on to the balcony, took the youth's pale hand, and gently stroked the long slender fingers.

"Well, say it, mi amor," he murmured. "You don't want me to do it, do you?"

hand.

Carlos hesitated. "I didn't say "No, but you want to."

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"Joselito, my little Jose-please-for my sake." Carlos gripped his friend's

"But I do it for your sake, Carlos-I've told you that before; but you can't seem to understand."

"No, I can't. You've made a fortune here in Venezuela alone-and now, just before we're due to go back home, you want to fight again. You've had too many fights already this season. Here," and Carlos made for the telephone in the large cool room, "I'll call Don Luis, and tell him you've changed your mind.” "And have a lawsuit on my hands? Carlos, I've already signed.”

The pale young man sank to the bed. "No, Jose, oh no! You don't know what I go through when I hear that trumpet call, and the gate swings open and el toro comes running into the sunshine; and you-you're not a small man,

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