But first, warn me if anybody can hear us.

Scipio: Nobody, as far as I can tell, though there’s a soldier near here dozing. This time of night, he’d rather sleep than eavesdrop.

Berganza: If I can talk in safety, then listen. If you tire of what I tell you, you can always tell me to shut up, or at least call me on it.

Scipio: Talk till dawn, or until somebody finds us. I’ll listen to you gladly, without butting in unless you’re asking for it.

Berganza: Well, I seem to remember that I first saw the light of day in the Seville slaughterhouse, beyond what’s called the Gate of Blood. From this you might imagine (if you didn’t know what I’m going to tell you later on) that my parents were watchdogs raised by the lords of that confusion, the meatpackers. My first master went by the name of Nicky Flatnose—a strong hothead, like all the butchers. This Nick trained me and some other pups how to go with the older mastiffs, attack a bull, and make ourselves a prize of his ears. In no time, I became expert at this.

Scipio: Berganza, I’m not shocked that—since there’s good and bad in all of us—we get the hang of evil in no time.

Berganza: What can I tell you, brother Scipio, of what I saw in that slaughterhouse, and of the outrages that take place there? First you have to understand that everybody working in it, from the lowliest to the top of the heap, are people of little conscience and less soul, merciless, fearing neither king nor justice—and most of them are living in sin. They’re like buzzards, supporting themselves and their mates on whatever they can steal. Every morning on meat days, all these toughs and their molls show up before dawn, each carrying bags that arrive empty but go home heavy with chunks of meat, and the maids tote away organ meats and sirloins of pork. Nobody kills anything there without these people carrying off the choicest gobbets first. Since in Seville there’s no meat inspector, everybody can grab whatever cut they please of the freshest and the best, and there’s always plenty to go around.

Their masters defer to these worthies, not to stop them from stealing—which would be impossible—but just in hopes that they might cut back on the pilfering and gouging of carcasses, which they carve and prune as if they were topiary. But nothing amazed or disgusted me more than how these butchers kill a man as easily as you would a cow. In an instant, two or three of them plunge their horn-handled dirks into someone’s belly as if they were goring a steer. Hardly a day goes by without fights, or blood, or even a death. Everyone prides himself on his bravery and outlaw flair. Each has his guardian angel in the courthouse at St. Francis Square, paid for with beef tongues and pork roasts. In short, I once heard a clever man say that the king needed three districts to carry Seville: the game market, the fish market, and the slaughterhouse.

Scipio: Friend Berganza, if you insist on running down every last particular of the masters you’ve had, and all the shortcomings of their trades, we’ll have to petition heaven to let us keep talking for a year. Even then, at the rate you’re going, you won’t tell even half your story. And I’d like to warn you about one thing, which you’ll appreciate when I tell you the events of my life: some stories are enough by themselves, and their wit lies in the story itself. With others, it’s all in the telling. I’m here to tell you, some can entertain without any throat-clearing or wordy frills. But others you have to dress up in words, to make something out of nothing with eye-rolling and gestures and whispers. That way, even a dull, thin, depressing story can become piquant and juicy. Don’t forget this, and take advantage of it from here on in.

Berganza: I will if I can, so long as you humor this great impulse I have to talk. I get the feeling I’m going to have my hands full just holding back the floodgates.

Scipio: Just watch your mouth, because that’s where the worst of man’s woes begin.

Berganza: Anyway, as I was saying, my master taught me to carry a basket in my mouth and guard against anyone trying to take it from me. He also showed me his girlfriend’s house—that way, her maidservant wouldn’t have to visit the abattoir—so I could bring to her at dawn what he’d filched during the night. One morning at daybreak, when I was dutifully bringing her portion, I heard someone call my name from a window. I lifted my eyes and saw an exceedingly pretty girl.