Tears in Rain

by Rosa Montero

  Caín’s apartment was identical in layout to hers, except that it was a mirror image and on the second floor rather than the seventh. Bruna remembered it as impersonal, empty and dusty, and her impression as she went in again now, nine days later, confirmed her recollection. It was still a very sad place. The blind on the large window was lowered almost completely, and the room was submerged in a quiet, dirty semidarkness that seemed almost funereal.

  “House, raise the blinds,” Bruna requested of the screen that was flickering weakly in the dark.

  But the computer didn’t respond; clearly it didn’t recognize her as an authorized voice. So the rep crossed the lounge room to use the manual control and immediately noticed something unusual. She hurriedly raised the blind and turned around to inspect the room. It was a complete mess. There was no way the police would have left it like that. Ever since the state had been ordered to pay two million gaias in the scandalous John Gonzo case a few years back, the police followed very strict orders regarding tidiness. Which meant that someone else had been hunting around here. You could see shreds of clothing everywhere, probably taken out of Caín’s closet and then ripped and left looking like rags. A corner of the carpet had been torn off and was nowhere to be seen, so perhaps the intruder had taken it with him. What would you need six inches of cheap carpet for? To stuff in someone’s mouth and choke them to death? On the table, a cushion was sliced open and the stuffing removed. Could the intruder have taken it with the carpet? Two drawers had been pulled off their runners, their contents scattered onto the floor and the drawers smashed, but three other drawers were still in place. Bruna went over to them and looked inside. The contents were neatly arranged, so the drawers probably hadn’t been opened. Whoever had been here must have found what he was looking for.

  The rep poked around a little inside the untouched drawers. Family photos, colored ribbons, cheap necklaces, teenage paper diaries. All the fake memento paraphernalia. Caín had it stored away out of sight, but she hadn’t gotten rid of it.

  The unmistakable sound of glass breaking could be heard close by. Bruna turned around with a jump and rested her back against the wall so as to be protected from behind. She stayed very still. It had come from the bedroom. Or maybe the bathroom. The seconds passed slowly while the silence stretched like elastic. The rep was on the verge of deciding it had been a false alarm when her enhanced hearing again picked up something: a furtive noise, a tiny tinkle of glass. Something was moving in the bedroom. Someone was in there. Then she realized that if there were still some unopened drawers, that was because she’d surprised the intruder hard at work.

  Bruna stealthily made her way to the bedroom door, wishing she had her plasma gun. As she went through the kitchen area, she grabbed a knife from the countertop; it was just a small table knife, but she was capable of doing a lot with that. She scanned the bedroom from the doorway. The bed was unmade, the closets were half-open. The window was partially ajar. The intruder must have come in through there. And it was likely he’d also end up going out that way. The detective held her breath for a moment to concentrate fully on any sounds, and she heard a tiny rubbing again on the other side of the bed, next to the closets. No, he hadn’t gone. Bruna weighed up all possible movements. She could move slowly, she could move quickly, she could go around the bed, or jump on top of the mattress, or roll along the floor. She could even turn around and try to leave Caín’s apartment without offering any resistance. But the fact that the intruder hadn’t attacked her so far suggested that he wasn’t feeling very sure of himself. It was likely that he was neither armed nor very dangerous, and he might in fact be a good source of information. Moreover, he clearly had to be lying on the floor between the bed and the wall, without a weapon; this left him at a considerable disadvantage.

  “I know you’re over there. I have a gun,” Bruna said, lying. “Stand up with your hands in the air. I’m going to count to three: one...”

  And as soon as she said the first number, Bruna leaped onto the bed and threw herself toward the intruder’s hiding place. She landed on her feet, not on a body as she had expected, but on the floor.

  “By the great Morlay!”

  In front of her, among the remains of a broken mirror, a hairy thing was looking at her with a frightened expression. It was a small animal, about eighteen inches tall, with a body like that of a small monkey but minus the tail, potbellied and covered all over with curly, red hair. Then came a neck that was too long and a head that was too small, triangular, with huge black eyes. It vaguely reminded her of an ostrich’s head, except that it was furry and had a squashed nose instead of a beak. On the top of the flattened head was a crest of stiff hair. The creature looked both helpless and amusing. Bruna recognized it: it was a...What did they call it? A greedy-guts. It was an alien domestic animal—she couldn’t remember from which planet right now—and it had become fashionable as a pet. The little bicho was looking at her and shaking.

  “And where have you come from?” she asked herself out loud.

  “Cata,” gabbled the animal in a fuzzy but understandable voice. “Cata, Cata.”

  Bruna dropped the knife and lowered herself to the bed, stunned. A talking monkey. Or a talking ostrich. Either way, a hairy thing that talked.

  “Do you understand me?” she asked the bicho pet haltingly.

  “Cata!” the thing repeated in its nasal and somewhat shrill voice.

  The rep wikied the word greedy-guts on her mobile and an image appeared on the screen of a being very similar to the one in front of her, together with an article:

  BUBI (pl. bubes, colloq. Erth. greedy-guts)

  A creature native to Omaá, the bubi is a small domestic mammal that has recently been introduced to Earth with considerable success, because its resistant and adaptable constitution allows it to be reared easily on our planet and because it makes an ideal pet. It is a heterosexual species and lacks dimorphism: male and female are identical save for their genital equipment, and even the latter is difficult to distinguish externally. The adult bubi weighs about twenty pounds and can live for up to twenty years. It’s a clean animal, easy to train, calm, affectionate toward its owner, and capable of articulating words thanks to a rudimentary speech system. The majority of scientists consider that the bubi’s speech is nothing more than an imitative reflex similar to that of parrots on Earth. Some zoologists, however, maintain that these creatures possess a high degree of intelligence, almost comparable to that of chimpanzees, and that there is an expressive intentionality in their verbal utterances. The bubi is omnivorous and voracious. Its main food sources are insects, vegetables, and cereals rich in fiber, but if hungry, it can eat almost anything, especially cloth and cardboard. This constant eating has gained it the nickname “greedy-guts” on Earth. Various animal associations, both regional and planetary, have presented legal arguments seeking the same taxonomic consideration for bubes as for our great apes, and therefore, recognition as sentient beings.

  This was followed by several other articles with anatomical and ethological details, but Bruna skipped them. She looked at the animal again. It was still trembling.

  “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you,” the detective said gently.

  The bicho had blood on its arm: maybe a cut from a piece of the broken glass. The blood was red and shiny, like human and rep blood. Bruna stretched out her hand very slowly and the bubi squashed itself up against the closet even more and emitted a little moan.

  “Shhh...Be quiet...Calm down...I just want to see your wound.”

  The animal’s hair was thick and strong, but not nearly as rough as Bruna was expecting. She slightly separated the curls, which were stuck together with blood, and inspected the wound carefully. It wasn’t much. A small, superficial cut that was no longer bleeding. Under the reddish hair, the skin was gray.

  “Okay...it’s nothing. See? Calm down.”

  She stroked the nape of its neck and its back a little. She could see why greedy-guts were so pop
ular; they were cute little bichos that inspired affection. The animal’s shivering was lessening under her hand, although it continued to stare at her with a watchful gaze. Bruna stood up.

  “And now what am I going to do with you?”

  “Bartolo. Cata. Bartolo beautiful, Bartolo beautiful,” said the bubi.

  And having said that, the creature took the torn corner of the carpet out from behind its body and, holding it delicately with its two little gray-fingered hands, started gnawing at it.

  Cata, thought Bruna. Meaning that Cata Caín had a pet bubi? And Bartolo must be the animal’s name. She’d have to get in touch with some shelter that took care of animals.

  “Bartolo? You’re Bartolo?”

  “Bartolo beautiful,” repeated the greedy-guts, still chewing.

  Judging by the surrounding destruction, Bartolo had been on his own and without food for the past nine days. Frightened, he had probably escaped to the patio during the police search, and that was why the police hadn’t found him, although when she’d come in with the janitor, she hadn’t seen him either. Could he have escaped earlier? Let’s assume that Caín was assaulted and they injected the mem using force, thought Bruna. Let’s imagine the bubi witnessed the attack and took off through the window. Would he be capable of recognizing the aggressor? Didn’t they say the bubi was a very intelligent animal? She observed him with a critical eye as he applied himself to chewing the carpet, and she wasn’t very impressed with what she saw.

  She decided to extricate herself from the pet for the moment and got down to searching the apartment with rapid efficiency. The bedroom, the bathroom, and finally the living room. She didn’t find anything worthwhile. The bubi had followed her timidly into all the rooms, but would sit in a corner and not bother her. When she’d finished searching the kitchen area, which was lacking in even the basics, Bruna turned toward the animal.

  “What the...”

  In two strides she reached the bubi and yanked her wool jacket from his hands; or rather, the half-eaten remains of her genuine wool jacket. She’d left it in the lounge room when she came in and hadn’t noticed that the greedy-guts was eating it. She looked at him indignantly.

  “Bartolo hungry,” said the bubi with a contrite expression.

  I’m going to call an animal shelter right now to come and take him away, she thought, enraged. But then she decided it would be better to check first where the pet came from. She bent down and picked up the animal. The bubi clung confidently to her neck. It had a hot, sour smell, not unpleasant. A smell of moss and leather. The rep left Caín’s apartment, closed the door, and removed the tweezers so that the police beam would reactivate. Then she went in search of one of the janitors who lived in the huge apartment complex. She managed to find one, the same one who’d accompanied her to Cata’s the day of the attack. She’d clearly woken him up from his nap, and he was in quite a bad mood.

  “It’s Sunday, Husky. You tenants think that because we live here we’re your slaves,” he grunted through a waft of bad breath.

  “I’m sorry. Just one question: do you know if this animal belonged to Cata Caín?”

  The man looked at her with sleepy, spiteful eyes.

  “I don’t know if it was this one, but Caín had one like it, yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you say so when we went to her apartment?”

  “Was it important? Anyway, it would have been better if it had disappeared. If it were left to me, I’d ban all those wretched pets. No dogs, no cats, no birds, no nothing. All they do is make a mess. And then who cleans it up? The slave, of course.”

  “Okay, okay. Thanks, and sorry for bothering you,” said the rep, giving him a ten-gaia bill.

  So Bartolo was indeed Cata’s animal companion, Bruna thought. The detective stood in the middle of the landing with the greedy-guts in her arms, not quite knowing what to do next. Then she heard breathing, light and regular. A gentle snore. The bubi had fallen asleep, his head resting on her shoulder. What the hell, she thought. I’ll take him home with me for now, and then we’ll see.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Bruna woke up with one foot frozen and the other boiling hot, and when she sleepily sat up in bed to see why, she discovered with amazement that one of her extremities was uncovered and the other was covered by a sort of fluffy, red cushion. It took her a few seconds to recognize that the cushion was in fact an animal, and to remember the bubi she had rescued from Caín’s apartment the previous afternoon. The greedy-guts was curled up on her right foot and was calmly chewing the thermal blanket. He had already made a considerable hole in it, through which her left foot was now protruding. With growing annoyance, the rep now verified with revulsion that her foot was soaked by the creature’s drool, which explained why it felt so cold. The android let out a roar and sent the bubi flying to the floor with a kick. The creature yelped.

  “Bartolo beautiful, Bartolo beautiful,” he babbled.

  “I’ll give you Bartolo beautiful! I’m going to call that animal shelter right now,” the android scolded as she put on her Chinese bathrobe and bent over to inspect the hole.

  At that moment, a call from Nopal came in. Unconsciously, Bruna stretched, cleared her throat, and tried to look vivacious. The writer was very brief. He said he had some interesting information for her and asked to meet her. The rep expressed her delight at the news and accepted, but she couldn’t avoid a stab of unease, a worry she failed to decipher to her satisfaction. The memorist made her nervous. Very nervous. Was that merely because he was a memorist? Or because of the way he was? Opaque and ambiguous, arrogant and at the same time, too amiable. There was something about the man that hypnotized her while still sending shivers up her spine. The fascination of a snake.

  They had arranged to meet at 13:00 in the Bear Pavilion, and Bruna, who had gone to bed early the night before, had woken up feeling really well despite the business with the greedy-guts. It was the second morning in a row that she had awoken without the shadow of a hangover, a feat she hadn’t been able to achieve for quite some time. Now she was standing in the middle of the lounge room, reasonably pleased with life, which was something she rarely felt. She looked at the frightened bubi and again felt sorry for him; the creature had in fact scarcely eaten the night before, because the rep had very little food in the apartment. It was no wonder that he had started to nibble. Never mind the anxiety he must be feeling because of the violent loss of his owner, the abandonment that followed, and so many other changes. Anxiety was something that Bruna could understand. She, too, often felt like chewing and biting, except that she resisted the urge.

  “All right. You can stay here for now. You may yet be able to help me, but you have to behave better.”

  “Bartolo good. Good Bartolo.”

  Bruna was impressed. The little animal really did seem to understand what she was saying to it. She called a Super Express and ordered cereals with fiber, apples, and prunes for the bubi, and a small shopping list with a bit of everything for herself. Express stores were very expensive, but she didn’t feel like going out. While she was waiting for the robot courier, she gave Yiannis a brief holo-call and introduced him to Bartolo, and she even had time to add four pieces to the jigsaw puzzle. Then the food arrived and they both ate a big breakfast. The bubi sat sprawled on the floor, his back against the wall, the living picture of satisfaction. Bruna squatted down beside him.

  “Bartolo, do you know what happened to Cata? Did you see anything? Did someone hurt her?”

  “Yummy, yummy,” said the greedy-guts, a satisfied glow in his eyes.

  “Listen, Bartolo: Cata? Hurt? Ouch? Pain? Cata Caín? Attack? Bad people?”

  Bruna didn’t really know how to speak to him or how to reach his little brain. She acted out an attack with gestures: she grabbed her throat and shook herself, rolled her eyes. The bubi watched her, fascinated.

  “Dammit, do you know what happened to Cata or don’t you?”

  “Cata good. Cata not here.”

&
nbsp; “Yeah, I already know she’s not here. But do you know what happened? Did you see anyone? Did someone hurt her?”

  “Bartolo alone.”

  Bruna sighed, scratched the tuft of stiff hair on top of the bubi’s head and stood up.

  “Hungry!” yelled Bartolo.

  “Again? But you’ve only just finished eating a huge amount of food.”

  “Hungry, hungry, hungry!” repeated the greedy-guts.

  Bruna grabbed a bowl, filled it with cereal and handed it over.

  “Take it and shut up.”

  “No, Bartolo no! Hungry, hungry, hungry!” repeated the animal while he kept pushing away the bowl.

  The rep looked at the creature, taken aback. She offered him the food again, and again he refused.

  “Hungry!”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The bubi lowered his head, as if discouraged by the lack of communication. But immediately afterward, he happily started to scratch his tummy.

  “Bartolo good.”

  He’s a scatterbrain, Bruna thought to herself; it would be odd indeed to be able to get anything useful out of him. When she got back from her appointment, she’d call an animal shelter to take care of him.

  The meeting with the memorist was at 13:00. There was still a couple of hours to go and the rep was bursting with energy, so she tidied up the apartment a bit and did a set of exercises with light weights. She didn’t want her muscles to deaden her agility. After that, while the bubi was snoozing (apparently they spent their days sleeping and eating), the rep spent an unusually lengthy period of time getting dressed. She even tried on several outfits. Eventually she chose a form-fitting, rust-colored jumpsuit with wide pant legs. She was almost on the point of heading out when, on the spur of the moment, she put on one of the only two pieces of jewelry she owned: a large, geometric pectoral made from a sheet of gold as light and as fine as tissue paper. It was the famous gold from the mines of Potosí, where it was subjected to a secret chemical process that ensured that the fine metal sheets wouldn’t break. The pectoral had been a gift from a human whose life Bruna had saved during some riots, when the rep was still doing her military service and found herself stationed on the remote mine planet. Bruna had made two teleportation transfers, from Earth to Potosí, and back to Earth. Fortunately, she appeared not to have suffered any of the consequences typical of TP disorder. Although you could never be absolutely certain.