El Monstruo

Prompt Three: personify the greatest human emotion in a poem or story (compassion).

El Monstruo

        As Panchito crouched upon the ledge of the rust-colored, stucco hotel, a street lamp popped on. Its stark glow outlined the cobblestones in the front part of the alley forty feet below while the building’s angled shadow sliced the rest into darkness. Cradled in his right elbow, rested his dependable movie camera. Panchito was paparazzi. For the past five years he had disdained the regulation 35mm camera for something unconventional in pursuit of candid shots of the famous. Although more challenging, the greater demand for motion pictures reaped higher rewards.

        That explained his precarious position on the ledge. The doorman of the Apartamento Madrid had tipped him off that Gavilanes, the Spanish director, was scheduled to meet his mistress at 22:00 hours. Information like that usually provided little value. After all, when was it news for a celebrated director to keep a mistress? Panchito snorted at the thought. But this time the mistress was cast in the lead of Gavilanes’ new movie, El Regreso – The Return. Penelope Satie was news! The two together – a bombshell! Caught on film, especially with an embrace or more, the tryst could be worth a fortune. The meeting was to take place in the apartment across the alley.

        Panchito paid Fernando, the doorman, many pesos for a special favor – to enter Satie’s apartment and place several custom-designed hooks to jam the curtain rollers. Since the light from the apartment would be enough to illuminate his subjects, the window curtains must stay open. A thumbs-up from Fernando through the window signified “mission accomplished”. The hooks were set; all that remained was reeling in the "fish".

        Panchito selected his hotel room for its vantage point. Located directly across and slightly above Penelope Satie’s apartment, the perfect camera angle lay eight feet from his window on the twelve inch ledge. Practicing the maneuver several times earlier, he had opened the room’s window, stepped out on the narrow shelf, and moved into position. He didn't foresee problems; he could either sit or hunker down. With a circus performer’s balance, nimble feet, and no fear of heights, his size worked to his advantage. Sometimes being a dwarf was useful.

        Peering through the view finder of his Canon movie camera, he panned the bedroom and living area. He could make out most of the living room, part of the kitchenette, and a small section of bedroom, containing the all important bed. With a little interior light mixed with a bit of luck, his camera would make him a wealthy man. He lowered himself into a sitting position. It was still early.

        The street lamp seemed to brighten as the night grew darker. A cool breeze caressed his cheeks and rippled the bill of the cap covering his close-cropped hair. The silence was broken only by conversation from passersby on the street and the rattling of a garbage can lid below. His mind wandered as he waited.

        Some thought Panchito ruthless, but he disagreed. He considered only the rich and prominent fair game. They needed to be taken down a notch, but he went out of his way to help birds with broken wings and mistreated animals. He showed compassion to the less fortunate -- like the blind street beggar on his corner. He almost always dropped a fat coin into Tico's cup and often brought him some fruit or a tasty treat from the market. Yes, underdogs had to stick together.

        His diminutive size had always played the defining role in his life. Not many could perform the trick he was doing now. One slip would land them on the stones below and put them in a hospital bed or a coffin. As his feet dangled, he thought about the Barcelona airport, 1963. A new rock group was arriving for a concert. His size allowed him to squeeze between the legs of reporters and cameramen to the first row. When the group descended the stairs from the plane, his camera rolled, catching the only motion pictures of the Beatles’ first visit to Spain. He sold the footage for a handsome sum to news outlets across Europe. The incident also gained respect from other paparazzi.

        However, during his youth his size proved far from an advantage. He remembered running home from school, chased by a group of raucous boys throwing rocks and shouting “el monstruo”. Seeking refuge in his room, Fausto, the black dog he'd rescued from the streets, licked the tears from his face, and Panchito clung to him, finding solace in his affection. When his mother entered the room, she grabbed him by his shoulders. “Now, Pancho, no more tears. Be strong. They are the monsters. They need someone small to make them feel big. The world measures a real man by the size of his heart. If you have the courage to confront these riffraff, you will accomplish great things in life.”

        Panchito wanted to believe his mother, but he craved friends. He didn’t relish a lonely test of courage every day of his life.

        When he was thirteen, Reynaldo, the school’s star soccer player, approached him with a request. “Panchito, we need a goalie for practice today. Can you stay after school?”

        Panchito felt flattered at first. Then a wary sensation crept over him, and he steeled himself for the worse. “Si, Reynaldo. My pleasure.”

        “Good. But you have it wrong, amigo. The pleasure will be ours.” A crooked smirk marred the handsome face of the soccer player.

        For half an hour several boys targeted Panchito with penalty kicks. Blast after rocket blast from their feet smashed the ball off the dwarf’s pint-sized frame. Each time he couldn’t deflect or catch the ball, it careened off his body with an audible thwack! Finally growing tired of the game, the boys ceased their onslaught. By forcing them to quit first, the dwarf had earned their grudging respect. When Panchito returned home and pulled off his shirt, his body flaunted bruise marks – each purple blotch a badge of courage. The boys never bothered him again.

        A light flickered on in the apartment across the way, returning his attention again to the task. Penelope Satie entered the apartment. Panchito focused his camera on her. She moved to the window. Hanging over her shoulders, her raven hair contrasted with a yellow sundress as she tugged at the curtain drawstrings. No luck. Her furrowed brow and pursed lips showed her frustration. Beautiful! Absolutely gorgeous, thought Panchito, as she retreated to the kitchen. If nothing else, this brief footage will help with rent.

        Looking at his watch, he realized several minutes still remained until Gavilanes’ arrival. Carefully placing his camera back on the ledge, Panchito drifted off in thought once more. He recalled how shy he’d acted around girls – until he discovered photography. Fascinated by the black and white family photos his uncle took with an old-fashioned box camera, he bought his first 35mm Minolta at a pawn shop when he was sixteen.

        He soon discovered his skill at photography, especially his pictures of women. Instinct told him how to coax the best from his subjects. He knew how a sash should hang, how to arrange a collar, if the hair should be swept back on one side, both sides, or not at all. He could distinguish the pose that flattered his subject. Girls flocked to him for personal portraits. Dominica especially fascinated him. Remembering her from primary school as gangly and shy, she had matured into an auburn-haired beauty with sparkling eyes, an unpretentious smile, and fabulous figure. She even allowed him to take nude photos.

        Her supple, pert breasts and well-proportioned hips and thighs tempted him, but he feared getting too personal -- until she made the first move. “Panchito,” she began, “it’s not fair. You see me naked all the time, but your body is always covered.”

        “Dominica, I don’t want to offend you. Besides, I can’t imagine your interest in my little body.”

        “I’m curious. You are short, but your head and hands appear normal in size.” Then, with a mischievous grin, she pointed to the mound between his legs. “Is your manhood small?”

        Panchito blushed. “Oh, Domi, I can assure you that it’s normal.”

        “Chico, I won’t believe you unless I see for myself.” Her eyes narrowed, and she put her hands on her hips. “Just one look. If you are shy, I will help.

        Panchito relented, and as Dominica began unbuttoning his trousers, he became aroused. As she pulled down his shorts, his member sprang to attention. She placed both hands over her cheeks and gasped, “But it’s so . . . so big.”

        Panchito grinned impishly and winked. “Ah, you have discovered the real reason they called me el monstruo in school.”

        Dominica understood his joke. Both convulsed in laughter, as she fell naked next to him on the bed. That incident began Panchito’s first secret love affair, lasting for nearly a year.

        Suddenly the headlights of an automobile illuminated the alley below. Gavilanes’ black Citroen pulled to a stop. The director shut the door gently. First looking right, then left, he entered the building through the alley door.

        Seizing his camera, Panchito resumed his crouching position. To his left the squeak of an opening window and some loud words startled him. No time to look.

        Through his viewfinder, a shadow revealed the opening of Satie’s apartment door. Then a soft, mewing sound diverted his attention to the ledge several feet to his left. A tiny kitten in distress, no more than a few weeks old, limped toward him. What could he do? The film footage could make him rich. But the kitten’s injured paw could make the cat fall. Laying down his camera, he shuffled three steps to his left, reached down, and picked up the bundle of fur. Putting him under his jacket, he made his way to the window of his room, stepped inside, and placed the animal on the bed. The tiger-striped tabby held his right paw suspended and lopsided, refusing to put pressure on it.

        “Someone has hurt you, gatito. Let me see.” He gently held its paw and inspected it. “No blood. Maybe it is sprained, but with that twist, I think it is broken.” Then, recalling his assignment, he sprang to his open window. Blankets covered both windows across the alley. Panchito breathed a long, disappointed sigh. After retrieving his camera, he reentered the room and sat on the bed next to his new friend.

        “Well, I guess I will have to wait a little longer to get rich. And all because of you – tsk, tsk.” He shook his head and sighed again as the kitten meowed and looked at him with his head cocked to the side. “I guess we little guys have to stick together. Let’s get that paw looked after.”

        *    *

        Pancho mixed a gin and tonic with an extra squeeze of lime in his sea view apartment. Ten years to the day had elapsed since he’d chosen compassion for an abused kitten over the chance at a small fortune. But he couldn’t complain. Life had treated him well. Tiring of his hectic, paparazzi life, he now worked as a cameraman for a local television station. His job brought in less money, but also allowed him to settle down in stunning Malaga. He gazed beyond his small terraza over the terracotta roofs at the azure waters of the peaceful Mediterranean.

        A huge, striped tabby cat slouched through the open terraza door. “Hola, amigo. It's time to celebrate our tenth anniversary. The tape of our favorite movie is ready.” He patted the cushion of the overstuffed chair. The cat, with a slightly splayed right paw, sauntered to Panchito and pounced on his lap. Too enormous to curl up, he lounged instead across his master’s legs, licking the condensation off the bottom of the cocktail glass.

        As the credits to El Regreso rolled by, Panchito stroked his furry friend. “Just think, for a year I called you 'Little One', but you grew out of the name.” He chuckled at the irony. “Now, the name Monstruo fits you perfectly.”

1983 words