‘Evita Lives’ (Translated Text)


I met Evita in a cheap hotel, oh, many years ago! At the time, I was living- well, I was with- a black sailor called Jimmy who had picked me up while cruising around the harbour. I remember it was a summer night, perhaps in February, and very hot. I was working in a late-night bar, on the till until three in the morning. But that night I had just fought with Lelé- oh, Lelé!- a jealous queer who wanted to steal all the guys from me. We were pulling each other’s hair behind the bar when the boss suddenly appeared: “Three days’ suspension for rowdiness.” What did it matter to me; I quickly returned to my room, opened…and was faced by the sight of her with the sailor. Of course, my first reaction was one of anger; still het up from my previous fight, I almost threw myself at her without even looking at her, but Jimmy- sweet as sugar- threw me a sensual look and said something like: “Come over here so that you can catch up.” Well, that was actually no lie; with him it was me who would give up in fatigue, but in the first instance- because of jealousy, the home, the situation, who knows- I said: “Well, fine, but who are you?” The sailor bit his lip because he saw that I had entered into my tantrum mode and at that time, when a surge of rage hit me, it was really terrible; now it’s not so bad, I’m more, I don’t know, balanced. But back then I was what one could call a bad queer, one to be feared. She answered me, looking me in the eyes (until this moment I had had my head in between the legs of the sailor and of course, in the semi-darkness, I hadn’t seen her properly): “What? You don’t know me? I’m Evita.” “Evita?” I said, unable to believe it. “You, Evita?” and I shone the lamp in her face. And indeed it was her, unmistakable with that shiny, shiny skin and the marks from cancer down below, which in truth didn’t suit her badly at all. I kept silent, but naturally it wasn’t the thing to appear like a dummy who is unsettled by any unexpected visit. “Evita, darling,”- oh, that’s what I thought then- “wouldn’t you like some cointreau?” (because I knew she liked fine drinks). “Don’t trouble yourself, darling, right now we have other things to do, don’t you think?” “Oh, but wait!” I said to her, “At least tell me how you two know each other.” “From a long time ago, honey, a long time ago, practically back as far as Africa.” (Afterwards Jimmy told me they had only met an hour beforehand, but these are nuances that don’t go with her personality. She was so beautiful!). “Do you want me to tell you what it was like?” I, anxious and completely indifferent to the guarantee of going to bed together, replied: “Yes, yes, oh Evita, wouldn’t you like a cigarette?”, but I was to remain filled with the desire to understand her lie forever (or else the sailor had lied to me, I never found out), because Jimmy was growing bored of so much talk and said “Alright, that’s enough”, took hold of her head- that completely undone bun she had- and put it between his legs. The truth is, I can’t remember whether I remember more of him or her, well, I’m such a whore, but I’m not going to talk about him today; the only thing I’ll say is that the Jimmy was so happy that day he made me cry out like a swine; ultimately, I was covered in love bites. She stayed the following day for breakfast and while Jimmy was out buying pastries, she told me that she was very content, and didn’t I want to accompany her to Heaven, which was full of blacks and blondes and guys like that. I didn’t believe much of this, because if it were true, why was she coming to search for them in Reconquista street of all places, do you think… But I didn’t say anything (what use would it have done?); I told her no, that I was fine for the moment, there with Jimmy (if it were today, I would have said ‘exhaust the experience’, but at that time no one used the expression), and that, should there be any cause to, I would call her, because with sailors, one never knows, you see. Afterwards, we drank the milk and she left. She left me a little handkerchief to remember her by, which I kept for some years; it was embroidered with gold thread, but then somebody- I never knew who- took it (it was such a long, long time ago). The hankie had ‘Evita’ and a boat stitched into it. My most vivid memory of her? Well, she had long nails painted green, which was a very unusual colour for nails at the time, and she cut them. She cut them so that the black sailor’s enormous dick could penetrate further and further into me and meanwhile she would bite his nipples. It was in this way that she got the most pleasure.


We were in the house where we used to gather together to smoke joints. The guy who was bringing the drugs that day turned up with a blonde woman of about thirty-eight; she had an air of wildness about her, was overdone with make-up and had her hair in a bun… Her face seemed familiar to me and I suppose to the others as well, but she was a bit stupid. She was with Jaime, who was shooting up Instilasa and I had the condom for him. I mentioned this to him in a low voice and he said something like “Cut it out, crazy,” With blank eyes, he seemed to do it in a distant way. We all sat down in the flat and she started to get out joints and joints. The guy with the drugs put his hand on her tits and she recoiled like a viper snake. Then she wanted it to be injected into her neck, the two of them rolled about together in the flat while the rest of us watched on. Jaime was just giving me a long, soft kiss, that was great because two idiots got really pale and nervous amongst all the gayness and the older woman, and they left. But then the cops were at the door and within five minutes they were all there, even the deputy superintendent, man, we had already lost; just as well Jaime had turned eighteen last week, but equally crazy was that we had asked for Evita’s rouge and nearly all of us were painted like Alice Cooper’s doors. The cops entered very determinedly, the boss ahead of the officers, the guy going around with a bag full of pot said to him: “Just a moment, sergeant,” but the policeman gave him a brutal shove. Then she- the only woman present- adjusted the strap of her summer dress and got up. “You fool, how are you going to arrest Evita?” The sergeant was pale, the two officers drew out their guns but the superintendent gestured to them to return to the door and stay in their formation. “No, you listen, everybody listen,” said the bold woman, “You want to put me in prison now, when twenty-two, yes, or twenty-three years ago I myself brought that bicycle to your house for the boy; you were just a poor police conscript, you dummie, and if you don’t want to believe me, if you want to pretend you don’t remember, I know what the evidence is.” (Wow, it was an incredible delirium, she ripped the cop’s shirt from his shoulder and revealed a fat red wart like a strawberry and began to lick it, the superintendent squirmed like a little bitch and the others watching from the door firstly shit themselves laughing, but then they began to be filled with terror because they realised that yes, this woman really was Evita). I took advantage of this opportunity to suck off Jaime in front of the cops who didn’t know what to do or where to stand; suddenly, the van driver entered into this commotion and started shouting “Comrades, comrades, they want to arrest Evita!” throughout the corridor. People from other rooms started to stick their heads out to see her, and an old woman appeared yelling “Evita, Evita fell from Heaven.” The situation was this: the cops took them, whacked the two idiots who, on top of everything else were acting all superior and she very calmly walked with the guy, telling the people first in the courtyard and then at the door: “Thank you, thank you my dears, Evita is watching over everything, Evita will return to this neighbourhood and to all neighbourhoods to see to it that nothing is done to the workers.” Man, even the old people were crying, some wanted to get closer to her but she told them “I have to go now, I have to return to Heaven”. We stayed on smoking a little longer and then left; some girls made us come into their rooms to tell them the story – the very same ones who until an hour ago had brought an unbelievable war on us. Jaime and I made a comedy of it all: she had had to take drugs because she was very unhappy, and well, man, if you were feeling down it was unbearable. Of course, the people didn’t understand us, but seeing as we hadn’t been doing base work, just ‘public relations’ in order to have a decent place to have a good time, it didn’t matter to us. We were completely off our heads and the old women wouldn’t stop wailing. We requested them to cut out this amphetamine comedown, yes, completely; Evita would be back, she had gone on a rescue mission and would come back, she wanted to share out a batch of marijuana to each poor person so that all the humble people would have a great time and no one would eat a bite more, man, not even a steak.


If I told you where I saw her for the first time, I’d be lying. It shouldn’t have made any particularly great impression on me, she was just one of the many skinny girls who used to go to the town of Viamonte; all of them were friends of a young queer there, half naked, so that we could be instantly stopped by the sleazebags. The thing is that all of them- male and female- knew where to find us, in the kiosk of Independencia and Entre Ríos. That hustler Alex would send us old men and women there any time he could; they bribed us with a couple of million, so afterwards we returned the favour to him for free and didn’t go stealing his tape recorder or fine clothes. I remember how she approached, in a black Caravelle driven by a nice blonde queer who I had already fucked once in Rosemarie. We were hanging around the flower stand with the girls when he called me aside and told me: “I have a woman for you, she’s in the car.” Just to me. I got in. “I’m Evita. And you are?” “Chiche,” I replied. “You’re certainly not trans, you beauty. Let’s see, Evita what?” “Evita Duarte,” she told me, “and please don’t be insolent, or you go.” “Go? Go down on me?” I whispered in her ear while stroking my bulge. “Let me touch your pussy to make certain.” You should have seen how she got excited when I put my finger down her underwear! So we went to her hotel; that little fag Alex wanted to watch me while I showered and meanwhile she lay in bed. Being well-endowed as I am, they just queue up to see me. She was a cunning whore, I licked her out like the gods. Three rounds later, I left her finished and kept the room for the queer, who honestly deserved it. The woman was a lady. She had a cracked, sensual voice like a radio announcer. She asked me to return if I needed anything. I answered no, thanks. Down below there was a smell of death about her which I didn’t like at all. When she wasn’t looking I opened a jewellery box and stole a necklace. I think that faggot Francis noticed, but he didn’t say anything. When we finished fucking, she said with a mouth full of semen: “All the men of this country would envy you, little one; you’ve just screwed Evita.” Scarcely two days had passed when I arrived home to find my old woman crying in the kitchen, surrounded by two plain-clothed cops. “You idiot!” She shouted at me. “How could you steal Evita’s necklace?” The jewels lay on the table. I hadn’t been able to get anything for them, because according to the Sosa, it was too valuable for him to buy and he didn’t want to rip me off. The cops didn’t ask me anything, they just gave me a brutal beating and a warning that they’d kill me if I said anything about the necklace. We distanced ourselves from that experience and that crowd. For this reason, the names that I give here have all been falsified.

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