Siete minutos, Ismael Camacho Arango [read with me TXT] 📗

he said.
“That’s not enough.”
As her pubic hair danced in the darkness of her body, she open her labia and he saw her pink flesh inviting him to sin.
“Go away,” he said.
“You’ve raped me,” she said.
“Crazy woman.”
Homer expected someone to blame him for her misconduct in the middle of the street but the seagulls went on their way.
“You’ll be sorry,” she said.
“I won’t.”
Homer left her, before she had any more ideas under the rays of the sun and moved by the beach, admiring a few boats swaying in the water. Boats for sale, he read in a white cardboard with red letters.
“Can I help you?” a voice interrupted his reverie.
A man with an earring in his left ear stood by his side. Homer must have met him in another world where everyone had to be ugly.
“Are you selling them?” Homer asked.
He nodded. “I need the money.”
The boats seemed all right, even if they needed a coat of paint. Miguel or Jaramillo must have planned the whole thing in order to help with his business.
“I’ll give you one thousand five hundred pesos for all of them,” Homer said.
“No way,” the man said.
“Two thousand pesos.”
“No.”
Homer shrugged. “I’ll find something else then.”
The man followed him along the pier, where the seagulls flew overhead trying to find their food in the sea while a few of them moved down the beach. Homer kicked the stones in his way, feeling the breeze in his face, a few voices interrupting the calm.
“We want aguardiente,” a few men sang outside a bar.
He liked the music, full of the rhythm of the sea in a cool afternoon as the barmaid showed him her thighs, tanned by the sun. The men interrupted his reverie by laughing aloud.
“Hi Cesar,” one of them said. “When does the world end?”
Homer noticed the little man standing by his side, a little dog guarding his rear against any enemies. Cesar did a rude gesture with his fingers, before disappearing down the path.
“Is he your friend?” they asked.
Homer shook his head. “He sells boats.”
“He’s a liar.”
The men debated whether Cesar owned any boats and if they could sail the sea, as Homer felt that anguish again.
“Don’t trust Cesar,” they said.
The aguardiente burnt his throat while the girl with the big teats flirted with him, even though she wanted to populate the earth with his babies.
“What’s your name?” Homer asked.
“Maria,” she said.
He had met a few Marias in his life, but none of them had cared about him. She came to his side, where she caressed his chest for a few moments.
“You look strong,” she said.
“I can prove it to you.”
Homer kissed her lips, tasting of gin, while she lowered her hands along his chest tickling his stomach and playing with his pubic hair. Leading her away from the door, he let her touch his balls inside his pants, his semen filling the pores in her fingers. She didn’t charge for the extra service she had provided for his health as he got ready to go.
“I’ll come back later,” he said.
Homer didn’t say whether it would be on the same day or sometime in the future as she collected the glasses from the other customers.
“God will punish you,” she said.
“You are funny,” Homer said.
“Wait for us,” the sailors said.


Cesar
Homer had to find the man selling his boats for a few thousand pesos, the best bargain in the world. The clouds loomed over the water, as the seagulls flew overhead and the waves crashed against the vessels he wanted to buy with the money from the library. It was a beautiful view, where the sky met the future forever bright in Homer’s mind. Cesar moved along the dock, followed by the dog.
“I’ll give one thousand pesos for your boats,” Homer said.
The man smiled, turning to look at him.
“They’re the best ships in the world,” he said.
“It’s my last offer.”
Homer counted the pesos he had collected in the library, a small price for someone who loved the sea, as Simon Bolivar’s face smiled at him from the bills and the sailors inspected the boats.
“They must be faulty,” they said.
“Shut up,” Cesar said.
He found a tray with some glasses inside one of the cupboards, before opening a bottle of aguardiente stored in the shadows.
“You can’t trust the sun but you’ll believe the sea,” Cesar said.
“Why?” Homer asked.
“I just know.”
“He doesn’t,” the sailors said.
They opened another bottle of aguardiente, the smell of alcohol filling Homer’s senses. He had to organise his life before losing a grip on the world.
“I’ll work for you,” Cesar said,
“He’ll drown us.”
“Bastards.”
They fought with each other, while brooms and mops fell on the floor, as the sea roared forever.
“You’ll be the captain,” Homer said.
Cesar smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Homer.”
“He’s crazy,” the sailors said.
“Shut up,” Cesar said.
Homer opened another bottle of aguardiente while thinking of his plans.
“You’ll go to the Caribbean Islands,” he said.
“That’s a nice place,” Cesar said.
“He’ll kill us all,” the sailors said.
On remembering the other Homer’s book, Homer wanted to honour his namesake with his boats.
“I’m calling them Athena, Esparta and The Thermopiles,” he said.
Cesar nodded. “They remind me of Salvacion.”
“Why?” Homer asked.
“We had a horse called Athena.”
Homer thought Cesar was a man full of surprises, even if he annoyed everyone most of the time.
“I was born in Salvacion,” Cesar said.
“It must be a beautiful place.”
“The president is a football fan,” Cesar said.
“That is fantastic.”
“Hurrah to Salvacion.”
Cesar saluted an invisible flag, while Homer longed to do business with Salvacion in the future. Then Cesar turned serious, his eyes getting darker.
“It could happen at any time, Mr. Homer.”
“What is it?” Homer asked.
“Armageddon,” Cesar said. “The world must be ready.”
Homer heard about the sun exploding in a billion atoms at the end of the world.
“I read it in the bible,” Cesar said.
“It’s interesting.”
Homer listened to the horrors of the future when mankind would awaken to hell, as radio and television stations would explain the scriptures to the masses.
“That’s incredible,” Homer said.
“Hurrah to Salvacion,” Cesar said.
Salvacion couldn’t save them from Armageddon.


Homer is ill
After coming back from the port, Homer decided to save some money. Miguel helped in the shop but Homer did his own cleaning, cooking and guarded the premises as a dog. On spending most of his time chewing coca leaves, he saw the squirrels gathering nuts for their families in the fields. Homer could sell the trees, the flowers and the grass to rich entrepreneurs interested in nature, as Miguel appeared by his side.
“You haven’t eaten anything for a few days,” he said.
“Food cost money,” Homer said.
“You have lots of food in your shop.”
Homer could open a tin of beans and no one would know but he needed his money. Be tough, his mother’s voice shouted through the abyss of time.
“Why don’t you come with me to the doctor’s surgery?” Miguel asked.
“I’m not ill.”
“You must be healthy to get rich, Mr. Homer.”
Homer didn’t want to pay for any drugs the doctor prescribed for him, but then he saw his thin arms in the mirror. He used to be plump when having mother’s food an eternity ago.
“I do whatever I want,” he said.
“You can’t enjoy your money in the cemetery, Mr. Homer.”
Homer had to sort out his life before Armageddon came to the world.