{"id":26243,"date":"2026-02-18T23:45:02","date_gmt":"2026-02-19T03:45:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=26243"},"modified":"2026-02-18T23:45:04","modified_gmt":"2026-02-19T03:45:04","slug":"mariana-enriquez-an-invocation-of-the-big-eared-runt","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/mariana-enriquez-an-invocation-of-the-big-eared-runt\/26243\/","title":{"rendered":"Mariana Enr\u00edquez: An Invocation of the Big-Eared Runt"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis:<\/strong> \u201cAn Invocation of the Big-Eared Runt\u201d (Pablito clav\u00f3 un clavito: Una evocaci\u00f3n del Petiso Orejudo<\/em>) is an unsettling short story by Mariana Enr\u00edquez, published in the collection Las cosas que perdimos en el fuego<\/em> (2016). The story centers on Pablo, a guide of macabre tours in Buenos Aires, who begins to see the specter of the Petiso Orejudo, an infamous murderer from the early twentieth century. The criminal\u2019s supernatural apparition becomes a disturbing reflection of the protagonist\u2019s personal and familial crisis. Enr\u00edquez intertwines historical horror with psychological terror, creating a dense and chilling atmosphere that explores obsession, guilt, and the loss of human connection.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"Mariana<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

An Invocation of the Big-Eared Runt<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Mariana Enr\u00edquez
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The first time he appeared to Pablo was on the bus during the nine-thirty tour. It happened during a pause in his narration while they rode from the restaurant that had belonged to Emilia Basil (dismemberer) to the building where Yiya Murano (poisoner) had lived. Of all the tours of Buenos Aires the company he worked for offered, the murder tour was the most popular. It ran four times a week: twice by bus and twice on foot, two times in English and two times in Spanish. Pablo knew that when the company appointed him as a guide on the murder tour, they were giving him a promotion, even though the salary was the same (he knew that if he did well, sooner or later the salary would go up, too). He\u2019d been quite happy about the change: before, he\u2019d been leading the Art Nouveau of Avenida de Mayo tour, which was interesting at first but got boring after a while.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had studied the tour\u2019s ten crimes in detail so he could narrate them well, with humor and suspense, and he\u2019d never felt scared\u2014they didn\u2019t affect him at all. That\u2019s why, when he saw the apparition, he felt more surprise than terror. It was definitely him, no doubt about it. He was unmistakable: the large, damp eyes that looked full of tenderness but were really dark wells of idiocy. The drab sweater on his short body, his puny shoulders, and in his hands the thin rope he\u2019d used to demonstrate to the police, emotionless all the while, how he had tied up and strangled his victims. And then there were his enormous ears, pointed and affable. His name was Cayetano Santos Godino, but his nickname was El Petiso Orejudo: the Big-Eared Runt. He was the most famous criminal on the tour, maybe the most famous in Argentine police record. A murderer of children and small animals. A murderer who didn\u2019t know how to read or add, who couldn\u2019t tell you the days of the week, and who kept a box full of dead birds under his bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it was impossible for him to be there, where Pablo saw him standing. The Runt had died in 1944 at the Ushuaia penitentiary in Tierra del Fuego, a thousand miles away, down at the end of the world. What could he possibly be doing now, in the spring of 2014, a ghost passenger on a bus touring the scenes of his crimes? Pablo was positive it was him. The apparition was identical to the many photos that had survived. Plus, it was bright enough to see him well: the bus\u2019s lights were on. He was standing almost at the end of the aisle, demonstrating with his rope and looking at the guide\u2014at him, Pablo\u2014somewhat indifferently but undeniably.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pablo had been telling the Runt\u2019s story for a while (two weeks now) and he liked it a lot. The Big-Eared Runt had stalked a Buenos Aires so distant and so different from today\u2019s that it was hard to be disturbed by the thought of such a character. And yet something must have left a deep impression on Pablo, because the Runt had appeared only to him. No one else could see the apparition\u2014the passengers were talking animatedly and they looked right through him, they didn\u2019t notice him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pablo shook his head, shut his eyes tightly, and when he opened them, the figure of the murderer with his rope had disappeared. Am I going crazy?<\/em> he thought, and he comforted himself with some pseudo psychology: surely he was seeing the Runt because he and his wife had just had a baby, and children were Godino\u2019s only victims. Small children. On his tour, Pablo explained where, according to the experts of the time, the Runt\u2019s predilection had come from: the Godinos\u2019 first son, the Runt\u2019s older brother, had died at ten months old in Calabria, Italy, before the family immigrated to Argentina. The memory of that dead baby had obsessed him. In many of his crimes\u2014and his attempted crimes, which were much more numerous\u2014the Runt imitated the burial ceremony. He\u2019d told the detectives who interrogated him after he was caught: \u201cNo one comes back from the dead. My brother never came back. He\u2019s just rotting underground.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pablo would tell the story of the Runt\u2019s first simulated burial at one of the tour\u2019s stops: the intersection of Calle Loria and San Carlos, where the Runt had attacked Ana Neri, eighteen months old, the daughter of a neighbor in the Liniers tenement. The building no longer existed, but the site where it had once stood was a stop on the tour, with a short contextualization to explain to the tourists what living conditions had been like for those recently arrived immigrants fleeing poverty in Europe: they were stuffed into rented rooms that were damp, dirty, noisy, unventilated dens of promiscuity. It was the ideal environment for the Runt\u2019s crimes, because the squalor and chaos ended up driving everyone out to the street. Living in those rooms was so unbearable that people spent all their time on the sidewalks, especially the children, who roamed unchecked from a very early age.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ana Neri. The Runt brought her to the empty lot, hit her with a rock, and once the girl was unconscious he tried to bury her. A policeman chanced upon him before he could finish, and the Runt quickly improvised an alibi: he said he\u2019d been trying to help the child after someone else had attacked her. The policeman believed him, possibly because the Big-Eared Runt was a child too: he was only nine years old.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It took Ana six months to recover.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that wasn\u2019t the only attack involving a simulated burial: in September 1908, shortly after he dropped out of school\u2014and after he started having fits of what seemed like epilepsy, though they never really figured out what caused the Runt\u2019s convulsions\u2014he brought another child, Severino Gonz\u00e1lez, to a vacant lot across from the Sacred Heart school. There was a small horse corral on the lot. The Runt submerged the boy in the animals\u2019 water trough and then tried to cover it with a wooden lid. A more sophisticated simulacrum: an imitation coffin. Once again, a policeman passing by put a stop to the crime, and once again the Runt lied and said that he was actually helping the boy. But that month the Runt couldn\u2019t control himself. On September 15 he attacked a fifteen-month-old baby, Julio Botte. He found him in the doorway of his house at 632 Colombres. He burned one of the boy\u2019s eyelids with a cigarette he was smoking. Two months later, the Runt\u2019s parents couldn\u2019t bear his presence or his actions anymore, and they turned him over to the police themselves. In December he was sent to the juvenile detention center in Marcos Paz. He learned to write a little while he was there, but he was most notorious for throwing cats and boots into steaming pots in the kitchen when the cooks weren\u2019t looking. The Runt served three years in the Marcos Paz reformatory. When he was released, his desire to kill was stronger than ever, and soon he would achieve his first, longed-for murder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pablo always ended the section on the Runt with the police interrogation after his arrest. It seemed to leave quite an impression on the tourists. He would read from a transcript to make it seem more immediate. The night the Runt appeared on the bus, Pablo felt somewhat uncomfortable repeating the killer\u2019s own words with him standing there, but he decided to proceed as usual. The Runt just looked at him and played with his rope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Isn\u2019t your conscience troubled by the crimes you have committed?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014I don\u2019t understand what you are asking me.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014You don\u2019t know what a conscience is?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014No, sir.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Do you feel sadness or regret about the deaths of the children you killed?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014No, sir.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Do you think you have the right to kill children?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014I\u2019m not the only one. Others do it too.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Why did you kill the children?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Because I liked it.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

This last response brought on general discomfort among the passengers. They usually seemed happy when the tour moved on to the more understandable Yiya Murano, who poisoned her best friends because they owed her money. A murderer born of ambition. Easy to wrap your head around. The Runt, on the other hand, made everyone uneasy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, when he got home, Pablo didn\u2019t tell his wife that he had seen the Runt\u2019s ghost. He hadn\u2019t told his coworkers either, but that was only natural: he didn\u2019t want any problems at work. It bothered him, though, that he couldn\u2019t talk to his wife about the vision. Two years ago he would have told her. Two years ago, back when they could still tell each other anything without fear, without mistrust. It was only one of so many things that had changed since the baby had been born.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His name was Joaqu\u00edn and he was six months old, but Pablo still called him \u201cthe baby.\u201d He loved him\u2014at least, he thought he did\u2014but the baby didn\u2019t pay much attention to him. He still clung to his mother, and she didn\u2019t help, she did not help at all. She had turned into a different person. Fearful, suspicious, obsessive. Pablo sometimes wondered if she might be suffering from postpartum depression. Other times he just got sulky and thought back to the years before the baby with nostalgia and a little\u2014well, more than a little\u2014anger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everything was different now. For example, she didn\u2019t listen to him anymore. She pretended to, she smiled and nodded, but she was thinking about buying carrots and squash for the baby, or about whether the skin of the baby\u2019s hips was irritated from the disposable diaper or from some spreading disease. She didn\u2019t listen to him, and she didn\u2019t want to have sex with him, because she was sore from the episiotomy that just wouldn\u2019t scar over. And to top it off, the baby slept with them in the conjugal bed. There was a bedroom waiting for him, but she couldn\u2019t bring herself to let him sleep alone; she was afraid of sudden infant death syndrome. Pablo had had to listen to her talk about that white death for hours while he tried in vain to calm her\u2014she who had never been afraid before, who once upon a time had gone with him to scale high peaks and sleep in mountain huts while the snow fell outside. She who\u2019d taken mushrooms with him, hallucinating for a whole weekend, that same woman now cried over a death that had not come and that maybe never would.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pablo couldn\u2019t remember why having a baby had even seemed like a good idea. Now she never talked about anything else\u2014no more gossiping about neighbors, no more discussing movies, family scandals, work, politics, food, travel. Now she only talked about the baby and pretended to listen when other subjects arose. The only thing she seemed to register, as if it woke her up from a trance, was the name of the Big-Eared Runt. As if her mind lit up with the vision of the idiot assassin\u2019s eyes or as if she knew those thin fingers that held the rope. She said Pablo was obsessed with the Runt. He didn\u2019t think that was true. It was just that the other murderers on the Buenos Aires horror tour were all boring. The city didn\u2019t have any great murderers if you didn\u2019t count the dictators\u2014not included in the tour for reasons of political correctness. Some of the murderers he talked about had committed crimes that were atrocious, but they still conformed well to any catalog of pathological violence. The Runt was different. He was strange. He had no motive besides desire, and he seemed like some kind of metaphor, the dark side of proud turn-of-the-century Argentina. He was a foretaste of evils to come, a warning that there was much more to the country than palaces and estates; he was a slap in the face to the provincialism of the Argentine elites who worshipped Europe and believed only good things could come from the magnificent and yearned-for old country. The most beautiful part was that the Runt didn\u2019t have the slightest awareness of any of this. He just enjoyed<\/em> attacking children and lighting fires\u2014because he was a pyromaniac, too. He liked to see the flames and watch the firefighters as they worked. \u201cEspecially,\u201d he told one of the interrogators later, \u201cwhen they fall in the fire.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a story about fire that really made his wife fly off the handle: she\u2019d gotten up from the table screaming at him that he was never to talk about the Runt around her again, ever, not for any reason. She had shouted it while clutching the baby like she was afraid the Runt would appear and attack him right there. Then she\u2019d locked herself in the bedroom and left Pablo to eat alone. Under his breath, he told her to go to hell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The story really was impressive. No cause for such a fuss, he thought, but it was pretty brutal. It had happened on March 7, 1912. A five-year-old girl, Reina Bonita Va\u00ednikoff, daughter of Latvian-Jewish immigrants, was looking in the window of a shoe store near her house on Avenida Entre R\u00edos. The girl was wearing a white dress. The Runt approached her while she was absorbed in the sight of the shoes. He was holding a lit match in his hand. He held the flame to her dress and it caught fire. The girl\u2019s grandfather saw her from across the street as she was engulfed in flames. The grandfather ran desperately to reach her, but he never even got near the girl: mad with fear, he hadn\u2019t noticed the traffic. A car ran over him and he died. Very strange when you consider the slow speed of cars in those years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Reina Bonita died too, but only after sixteen days of agonizing pain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Poor Reina Bonita\u2019s murder wasn\u2019t Pablo\u2019s favorite crime. He liked\u2014because that was the word, what can you do?\u2014the murder of Jesualdo Giordano, three years old. Without a doubt, that one inspired the most horror in the tourists, and maybe that\u2019s why he liked it: maybe he found it pleasant to tell the story and wait for the reaction of his audience\u2014they were always shocked. Plus, it was the crime they\u2019d caught the Runt for, because he committed a fatal error.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As was his habit by now, the Runt brought Jesualdo to an empty lot. He strangled him by winding the rope thirteen times around his neck. The boy fought back with all his strength, he cried and screamed. The Runt told the police that he\u2019d struggled to keep the boy quiet because he didn\u2019t want to be interrupted as he\u2019d been on other occasions: \u201cI grabbed that kid with my teeth right here, near his mouth, and I shook him the way dogs do with cats.\u201d That image distressed the tourists, who squirmed in their seats and murmured \u201cmy God\u201d under their breath. But they never asked him to stop the story. Once he\u2019d strangled Jesualdo to death, the Runt covered him with sheet metal and went out to the street. But something kept tormenting him, an idea burning in his mind. So after a while he went back to the scene of the crime. He was holding a nail. He drove it into the boy\u2019s skull, though Jesualdo was already dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He committed his fatal error the next day. Who knows why, but he attended the wake of the boy he had killed. Later on he would say that he wanted to see if the nail was still in the head. He confessed this desire when they brought him in to witness the autopsy, after the dead boy\u2019s father had pointed the finger at the Runt. When the Runt saw the cadaver, he did something very strange: he covered his nose and spat as if he were disgusted, though the body had not yet begun to decompose. For some reason\u2014the police records of the time don\u2019t explain it\u2014the medical examiners made him remove his clothes, and the Runt had an enormous erection. He had just turned sixteen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pablo couldn\u2019t tell that story to his wife. Once, he\u2019d tried to tell her about how the tourists reacted to the Runt\u2019s final crime, but before he could even begin the story he realized that she wasn\u2019t listening to him. Instead, she started complaining, demanding they move to a bigger house when the baby was older. She didn\u2019t want him to grow up in an apartment. She wanted a yard, a pool, a game room, and all in a peaceful neighborhood where the boy could play in the street. She knew perfectly well that such a place barely existed in a city the size and intensity of Buenos Aires, and moving to a rich and tranquil suburb was far beyond their means. When she finished listing her desires for the future, she asked him to get a new job. \u201cI won\u2019t do that,\u201d he said. \u201cMy degree is in tourism, things are going well for me. I\u2019m not going to quit\u2014it\u2019s fun, the hours are good, and I\u2019m learning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe salary is pitiful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, it\u2019s not pitiful.\u201d Pablo was getting angry. As he saw it he was earning good money, enough to decently maintain his family. Who was this woman, this stranger? Once upon a time she had sworn that as long as she was with him, she could live in a motel, in the street, under a tree. It was all the baby\u2019s fault. The baby had changed her completely. And why? He was a charmless kid, boring, all he ever did was sleep, and when he was awake he cried almost nonstop. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you<\/em> go to work if you want more money?\u201d Pablo asked his wife. At that she seemed to bristle, and she started shouting like she\u2019d gone crazy. She screamed that she<\/em> had to take care of the baby\u2014what was he thinking, that she could just dump him with a babysitter, or with his crazy grandmother? My mother isn\u2019t crazy<\/em>, thought Pablo, and to avoid another shouting match he went out to the sidewalk to smoke. That was another thing: since the baby had been born, she wouldn\u2019t let him smoke in his own apartment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The day after the argument, the Runt came back to the bus. This time he was closer, almost right next to the driver, who clearly couldn\u2019t see him. Pablo didn\u2019t feel any different, just a little uneasy; he was afraid one of the tourists would be able to see the ghostly Runt and would cause chaos on the bus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the Runt appeared, holding his rope, they were almost at the end of the tour, at the house on Calle Pav\u00f3n. That was where one of the Runt\u2019s oldest victims had been found, after one of his strangest attacks. Arturo Laurora, thirteen years old, had been strangled with his own shirt; his body was found inside the abandoned house. He wasn\u2019t wearing pants and his buttocks were bruised, but he hadn\u2019t been raped. While Pablo told this story, the ghost of the Runt, standing beside him, appeared and disappeared, trembled, faded, as if he were made of smoke or fog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the first time in many nights someone had a question. Pablo smiled at the curious man with all the insincerity he could muster. Pablo thought the tourist must be Caribbean, judging by the way he pronounced the word clavo<\/em>, nail. The man wanted to know if the Runt had driven a nail into any of his other victims\u2019 heads. \u201cNo,\u201d replied Pablo. \u201cWe only know of the one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s very strange,\u201d said the man, and he ventured that if the Runt\u2019s criminal career had been longer, maybe the nail would have become his trademark, his signature. \u201cMaybe so,\u201d Pablo answered politely as he watched the spectral Runt disappear completely. \u201cBut I guess we\u2019ll never know, huh?\u201d The Caribbean man scratched his chin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pablo went back to his house thinking about the nail, and then about a math teacher he\u2019d had in school. When he got a problem right she\u2019d say, \u201cPablito! You hit the nail on the head.\u201d Then he thought about a tongue twister his mother had taught him when he was little: Pablito clav\u00f3 un clavito. \/ \u00bfQu\u00e9 clavito clav\u00f3 Pablito? \/ Un clavito chiquitito.<\/em> He opened the apartment door to find the tableau that had become so common in recent months: the television on, a plate with Ben 10<\/em> cartoons on it smeared with the remains of pureed squash, a half-empty bottle, and his bedroom light turned on. He looked in. His wife and son were sleeping on the bed, together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pablo walked to the room that he himself had decorated for his son before he\u2019d been born. It was so empty he felt cold. The inert crib was dark. It was like a dead child\u2019s room kept untouched by a family in mourning. Pablo wondered what would happen if the boy died, as his wife seemed to fear. He knew the answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He leaned against the empty wall where months ago, before the birth, before his wife turned into a different person, he\u2019d planned to hang a mobile: a universe that would spin over the baby\u2019s crib and keep him entertained during the night. The moon, the sun, Jupiter, Mars, and Saturn, the planets and satellites and stars shining in the darkness. But he had never hung it because his wife didn\u2019t want the baby to sleep in his crib and there was no way of changing her mind. He touched the wall and he found the nail still there, waiting. He yanked it out with one tug and put it in his pocket. He thought it would make a great prop, adding to the dramatic effect of his story about the Runt. He would take it from his pocket right when he was telling about Jesualdo Giordano\u2019s murder, at just the right moment, when the Runt came back and drove the nail into the dead boy\u2019s head. Maybe some na\u00efve tourist would even believe it was the very same nail, perfectly preserved a hundred years after the crime. He smiled as he imagined his small triumph, and he decided he\u2019d lie down right there on the living room sofa, far from his wife and his son, the nail still clutched in his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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