THEY DO NOT ALWAYS REMEMBER

by William Burroughs

It was in Monterrey Mexico … a square a fountain a cafe. I had stopped by the fountain to make an entry in my notebook: “dry fountain empty square silver paper in the wind frayed sounds of a distant city.”

“What have you written there?” I looked up. A man was standing in front of me barring the way. He was corpulent but hard-looking with a scared red face and pale grey eyes. He held out his hand as if presenting a badge but the hand was empty. In the same movement he took the notebook out of my hands.

“You have no right to do that. What I write in a notebook is my business. Besides I don’t believe you are a police officer.”

Several yards away I saw a uniformed policeman thumbs hooked in his belt. “Let’s see what he has to say about this.”

We walked over to the policeman. The man who had stopped me spoke rapidly in Spanish and handed him the notebook. The policeman leafed through it. I was about to renew my protests but the policeman’s manner was calm and reassuring. He handed the notebook back to me said something to the other man who went back and stood by the fountain.

“You have time for a coffee señor?” the policeman asked. “I will tell you a story. Years ago in this city there were two policemen who were friends and shared the same lodgings. One was Rodriguez. He was content to be a simple agent? as you see me now. The other was Alfaro. He was brilliant, ambitious and rose rapidly in the force until he was second in command. He introduced new methods … tape recorders … speech prints. He even studied telepathy and took a drug once which he thought would enable him to detect the criminal mind. He did not hesitate to take action where more discreet officials preferred to look the other way … the opium fields … the management of public funds…bribery in the police force … the behavior of policemen off-duty. Señor he put through a rule that any police officer drunk and carrying a pistol would have his pistol permit canceled for one flat year and what is more he enforced the rule. Needless to say he made enemies. One night he received a phone call and left the apartment he still shared with Rodriguez … he had never married and preferred to live simply you understand … just there by the fountain he was struck by a car … an accident? perhaps … for months he lay in a coma between life and death… he recovered finally … perhaps it would have been better if he had not” The policeman tapped his forehead “You see the brain was damaged … a small pension … he is a major of police and sometimes the old Alfaro is there. I recall an American tourist, cameras slung all over him like great tits protesting waving his passport. There he made a mistake. I looked at the passport and did not like what I saw. So I took him along to the comisaria where it came to light the passport was forged the American tourist was a Dane wanted for passing worthless checks in twenty-three countries including Mexico. A female impersonator from East St Louis turned out to be an atomic scientist wanted by the F.B.I. for selling secrets to the Chinese. Yes thanks to Alfaro I have made important arrests. More often I must tell to some tourist once again the story of Rodriguez and Alfaro” He took a toothpick out of his mouth and looked meditatively at the end of it.

“I think Rodriguez has his Alfaro and for every Alfaro there is always a Rodriguez. They do not always remember.” He tapped his forehead. “You will pay the coffee, yes?”

I put a note down on the table. Rodriguez snatched it up.

“This note is counterfeit señor. You are under arrest.”

“But I got it from American Express two hours ago!”

“Mentiras! You think we Mexicans are so stupid? No doubt you have a suitcase full of this filth in your hotel room.” Alfaro was standing by the table smiling. He showed a police badge. “I am the F.B.I, señor … the Federal Police of Mexico. Allow me.” He took the note and held it up to the light smiling he handed it back to me. He said something to Rodriguez who walked out and stood by the fountain. I noticed for the first time that he was not carrying a pistol. Alfaro looked after him shaking his head sadly. “You have time for a coffee señor? I will tell you a story.”

“That’s enough!” I pulled a card out of my wallet and snapped crisply “I am District Supervisor Lee of the American Narcotics Department and I am arresting you and your accomplice Rodriguez for acting in concert to promote the sale of narcotics… caffeine among other drugs…”

A hand touched my shoulder. I looked up. A grey-haired Irishman was standing there with calm authority the face portentous and distant as if I were recovering consciousness after a blow on the head. They do not always remember. “Go over there by the fountain, Bill. I’ll look into this.” I could feel his eyes on my back see the sad head shake hear him order two coffees in excellent Spanish… dry fountain empty square silver paper in the wind frayed sounds of distant city… everything grey and fuzzy … my mind isn’t working right… who are you over there telling the story of Harry and Bill? . .. The square clicked back into focus. My mind cleared. I walked toward the caf6 with calm authority.

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