A month and a half ago, a report appeared in this newspaper in which David Gistau evoked the sinister figure of the well-psycho ex-boy who in 1958 murdered four people in one of the most sleazy escabechinas that Villa and Corte remembers. He was an erotomaniac, a tombeur of femmes , a vampire, a player, a cocaine man, a gourmet , a dipsomaniac, a splurge. No vice was alien to him. The trail of blood began on a Saturday and ended two days later. The victims, in fact, were not four (two men and two women), but five, because one of them was pregnant. I will save the reader the details, which Gistau already detailed, but I am going to add some of a smaller amount that by chance rub me against the side. The first three crimes were perpetrated at number 57 of Lope de Rueda street. I was born and still lived at number 21. So let's say a couple of blocks away. I could not, however, meet the murderer, because his bloody feat caught me in the Carabanchel prison, where he would be executed twelve months later. In the Colegio del Pilar we did not agree, because it took me twelve years and the whole cycle of studies lasted eleven, but it was short. Maybe we did it in the night Madrid of the time (Chicote, El Abra, Erika, Las Palmeras, the slums of Echegaray, Pidux), he in a big way and making first steps of turkey age, bohemia and cursing. I spent ten months in jail and I was in it when they were enchanted to that camuñas. My classmates and I saw him go through the porch of the courtyard of the fifth gallery when he was taken before the judge, to speak with his defender or to the visiting booth. He was rigorously isolated in a punishment cell. His figure, colossal, impressed. It was a giant with the face of a Roman emperor coin and a halo of Neronian ferocity. We all fell silent. They gave him a vile club a year later. I, by then, had already left the trullo, but the chaplain Gumersindo Placer , who had married me and the one I kept seeing, attended him and told me about him, who until the last moment kept the chulería and the airs of greatness. A curious detail: that friar told me that Jarabo, when he was already in the chapel, suffered priapism, and walked several days with his painfully erect penis. Pure karma To urinate, he told me, he had to stand a meter away from the toilet and calculate the parabola of the jet. God punished him like this for two more sins.
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