The Killer's Tears

by Anne-Laure Bondoux

  “I was beginning to worry about you,” Luis called out to them.

  “I can see that,” Angel said, taking off his coat.

  “Come over here, Paolo,” Luis said, beckoning to him.

  The child went shyly near the fire. He did not dare look at Delia, afraid that her eyes would glitter with that particular love shared only by adults. He feared it would spoil the memory of the almost motherly hug and kiss that had troubled him so deeply.

  “Did Angel take good care of you?” Luis asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see the boats?”

  “Yes. B-o-t-e-s.”

  A large smile came over Luis's face. “Very good, very good indeed!”

  Delia was laughing. Paolo almost looked at her but checked himself.

  “It's not quite the way to spell boat,” Luis explained, “but who cares? The important thing is that I understood what you meant, right? Let's have a drink.”

  Delia got up to fetch glasses and a bottle of wine from the kitchen, and Luis made Paolo sit on his lap.

  “Tomorrow is the big day. We'll go to the fair very early. It will still be dark. But you'll get to see the best cattle sold before noon.”

  Paolo got off Luis's lap when he heard Delia coming back. He wondered what was going to happen once the fair was over. Would Delia be coming to live with them in the forlorn house? It would mean having to buy another horse, and crowding a little more to sleep.

  The four of them sat around a table and poured wine into the glasses. Even Paolo was given some. Gradually he loosened up. His body filled with warmth and he leaned against Angel's chest. The murderer did not seem as sullen this evening. In fact, he was laughing and clinking glasses. The innkeeper joined them and told innkeeper stories. In the thirty years he had run this place in Punta Arenas, he said, he had seen many characters. It was from Punta Arenas that adventurers set out on expeditions: seafaring people who sailed or rowed, skydivers, waterskling buffs, all of them fascinated by this part of the world and willing to risk their lives and savings to realize their dreams.

  The innkeeper became animated and chewed on his pipe. The onion smell was getting stronger, indicating that the soup was almost ready. The man told them that when adventurers got lost, the police asked Delia to draw the missing person's portrait in charcoal. This work helped to butter the bread; and thanks to Delia's drawings, many of these adventurers had been saved.

  Cozy in his comfort, Paolo was falling asleep in his chair. He shivered from time to time, remembering that he had almost died that very morning. He had made Angel swear that he would not talk to anyone about what had happened. The words they had said to each other on the cliff's edge would remain buried within them forever. Just as the Poloverdos and the fox were. When he made the promise, Angel had smiled: all these secrets were beginning to establish a serious link between the two of them. A link that a father and son would share, or, at the very least … friends.

  The next morning Paolo was awakened by Angel's cool, large hands on his forehead. It was time to go to the cattle market.

  “Pack your belongings,” Angel advised. “We won't be coming back to the inn.”

  “Are we leaving right afterward?”

  “Yes.”

  “With our sheep and our cow?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And Luis?”

  Angel shrugged.

  “And Delia?”

  “Dress quickly, please.”

  The child obeyed. He wrapped Delia's painting in the raincoat that Angel had brought with him, felt his pants pocket to make sure that the sweet was still there, and waited by the door. He watched as Angel tidied up the room, first wiping the sink with a sponge, then straightening the sheets and blankets on the bed. Although he did not know why, Paolo sensed that this was a very important moment in his life. Later, whenever he would impatiently wait for something, he always remembered this sound of sheets being straightened and the lingering smell of onions.

  In turn, Luis and Delia came tiptoeing out into the corridor. They did not look too good, no doubt due to lack of sleep. Downstairs the four of them drank some warm milk; then they buttoned their coats.

  “Let's go,” Angel muttered.

  They left the muddy courtyard and fetched the animals. None of them turned for a farewell look at the pitched roof and dirty windows of the inn. Not even Paolo, who was conscious of leaving something behind. And not Delia, who had packed her art supplies, as well as a large bag, all of which burdened the donkey's back.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THERE WAS A crowd under the market roof. Farmers from Argentina had come from nearby Patagonia with their sheep, cows, dogs, wives, and children, and everyone was camping like refugees. They warmed their hands around the braziers, drank strong coffee, and were already discussing prices. The youngsters were still sleeping in the stacks of straw, all curled up and huddled together under the vigilant gaze of the women.

  Some less fortunate farmers were selling their cattle just outside the market. This created total chaos, in spite of the fences and the warnings from the organizers.

  Once the donkey and horse had been secured in a temporary box at the end of the street, Angel and Paolo weaved their way into the market. They had agreed to meet up with Luis and Delia later on to talk about their first impressions and to discuss eventual purchases.

  “Ten sheep and a cow,” Paolo reminded Luis.

  “Yes, yes,” Luis muttered. “We'll see.”

  Paolo held on to Angel's hand. Paolo was moving like a sleepwalker in the middle of the rising agitation and shouts of the merchants. So this was what a fair looked like! Half filled with wonder, half scared, Paolo went on tiptoe to catch sight of the bulls. He was used to smaller animals. These muscular beasts left him speechless.

  “Would you like us to buy a bull?” Angel asked as he lifted the child onto his shoulders.

  From this height, Paolo could see the entire fair. Hundreds of men and heads of cattle billowed in the half-light, as dogs barked, sheep bleated, and merchants shouted and slapped hands with buyers. All this produced a festive uproar.

  The change from the money that Luis had given Angel was in Angel's pocket, and the coins jingled as he walked.

  “Do you want a pancake?” he asked Paolo.

  They made their way to a stall where a large woman wrapped in a poncho was cooking rounds of dough in a dented frying pan. Around her, the smell of hot oil mixed with that of wet straw. Paolo took the pancake in his hands and ate it. It burned his tongue, which amused Angel.

  “Now let's move on and give the sheep a closer look,” Angel said.

  They stopped in front of an enclosure where clean, fat sheep jostled each other. At the far end, the seller was already bargaining with two farmers. Paolo gripped the fence and hoisted himself up to stroke a lamb. Meanwhile, Angel approached the merchant, and the three men not only made way for him but stopped their discussion.

  “How much a head?” Angel asked.

  “It depends,” the seller said.

  “We would like ten of them.”

  “Only ten?”

  “Our farm is small,” Angel said apologetically.

  At that moment, Paolo called out to him.

  “I want this one!” he shouted. “Look, we're friends already.”

  Delighted, the child plunged both hands into the fleece of the gentle lamb. Angel turned back to the merchant. At his side, the two farmers were frowning suspiciously. Suddenly Angel felt his throat tighten. He did not like the look in the eyes of these men.

  “Well,” he said in a low voice, “we'll come back later.” And he hurried toward Paolo. “Come.”

  “But … my lamb?”

  “Not now.”

  “Why?”

  “We have to talk to Luis,” Angel explained. “Come quickly.”

  He took Paolo's hand and pushed him ahead as they entered the crowd. Instinctively he pulled the hood of his coat over his head. An old fright had co
me upon him, much as the body of a drowned man comes back to the surface of a lake. Those looks! How many times had he caught the same flash of suspicion in the eyes of others? Dozens of times! But this had not happened in a long while, not since he had arrived at the Poloverdo house.

  “Why are you running?” Paolo asked. “Where are we going?”

  Angel had not noticed his quickened pace. They soon found themselves at a square, at the back of the market. The sun had risen and the cloudless sky was shining above the roofs, promising a nice day.

  “Oh!” Paolo shouted. “The bank!”

  They were opposite the bank building. The day they had arrived, Angel had not noticed the market, as it had been empty and silent. They moved forward, near the few people tapping their feet as they waited for the bank to open. Among them, Angel noticed Luis and Delia, who was carrying the large bag on her back.

  “You're here,” Luis said, surprised. He seemed upset.

  “I saw a lamb,” Paolo said with enthusiasm. “We're friends. I'm sure you'll love him too!”

  Then he noticed Luis's pale face and realized that something strange was happening. He didn't know why, but he thought Luis seemed afraid. What was there to fear on such a magnificent day as this one?

  “Why are you going to the bank?” Angel asked.

  “I've—well—I must—” Luis stammered.

  Delia took his arm and spoke for him.

  “We have to withdraw some more money,” she said. “Luis does not have enough to buy ten sheep.”

  “I hadn't factored in the purchase of the painting, and then the money I gave you yesterday,” Luis explained.

  Angel remained silent. His hood fell loosely over his eyes, casting a troubling shadow on the top of his face.

  “Can I come with you?” Paolo asked Luis.

  He was dying to go into the magical bank again. He wanted to feel the carpeting under his feet, and see the water fountain, the clock, all the nice things.

  “You know, I won't be but a minute. Delia is coming with me. We shouldn't be so many at the counter. You'll be in the way.”

  Paolo opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to remind Luis how respectable it was to go into a bank with a child. That was what Luis had said the other day! What was different now? Paolo looked at Delia. Of course, she was the difference.… But, suddenly, Angel pushed him toward Luis.

  “The child wants to go,” he said.

  “It's not necessary,” Luis said again.

  Just then, the doors of the bank opened and Paolo caught a glimpse of the gray-haired woman, who was welcoming the first clients with a jovial smile. He wondered if she would offer him another sweet. That would make two talismans!

  “Take the child with you,” Angel ordered.

  Luis sighed and took Paolo's hand.

  As they entered the bank, the heat blew on Paolo's face. He smiled. Nothing had changed since two days ago. It was the same peaceful place, the same padded atmosphere that made one feel one was inside a bubble.

  Delia and Luis whispered secrets in line. At the counters, other people were also talking softly, and all the hushed tones sounded like the rustling of the wind in the trees.

  Paolo pulled on Luis's sleeve. “Do you think I can have a glass of water?”

  “Go ahead,” said Luis.

  Slowly the child went over to the fountain. He admired the pile of cups, the tap, and noticed a pedal at the foot of the machine. He took a cup and pushed on the pedal with his right foot. A clear stream of water ran from the tap. Paolo put his cup under it and waited until it was full. With care, he brought the cup to his lips. He did this a few times with growing pleasure.

  In his house at the tip of Chile, water was in short supply. Whenever he saw the bottom of the pitcher, he always hesitated to pour again, because it meant that he would have to go out into the cold, the wind, the rain, and walk to the well and pull on the chain, which hurt his fingers. Here all he had to do was push on the pedal and he could drink until he dropped.

  “You should stop, child,” a man who was passing near Paolo told him. “This fountain is not a toy.”

  Paolo blushed. He threw away the cup and joined Luis and Delia. They both had their elbows on the counter and were leaning forward. Paolo pulled on Luis's sleeve.

  “What now?” Luis said, out of temper.

  “Do you think I'll get another sweet?” Paolo asked.

  Luis shrugged and turned away. Abashed, Paolo insinuated himself close to the counter. He wanted to make sure that it was the nice gray-haired lady who was there, but Luis's body hid the teller's face.

  “What do you need an authorization for?” Luis was saying tensely. “I'm in a hurry.”

  “That's the rule for large amounts,” the teller answered. “It's the law.”

  “Very well! Call the bank manager!” Luis said excitedly. Then he felt Paolo between his legs and gave him a nasty look. “Go play somewhere else!”

  “The fountain is not a toy,” Paolo answered.

  “Then go outside with Angel!”

  Paolo hung his head down. He did not like the way Luis was speaking, or the way he acted, or looked, or … It was Delia's fault. Luis was different since he had met her. With a heavy heart, Paolo went to the exit. This time, he would not be getting a sweet. He felt sad. And when he pushed the door open, tears came to his eyes.

  “Where is Luis?” Angel asked.

  His throat tight, Paolo did not answer.

  “What's the matter?” Angel knelt in front of the child. “You're crying? Is it because of Luis?”

  Paolo nodded.

  “Is it because Luis no longer wants to buy the sheep?” Angel wiped the tears running down the child's cheeks. “Don't worry, I promised that you would have your lamb. One way or the other, we'll get one, I swear.”

  Suddenly, Angel saw a change come across Paolo's face. The child's sadness was replaced by a look of astonishment. Paolo's eyes were fixed on a spot above Angel's shoulder. Angel tried to turn around, but Paolo grabbed his face roughly between his hands.

  “Don't move,” he whispered.

  Angel felt his heart stop. Again!

  “What do you see?” he asked between clenched teeth.

  “Men,” Paolo answered.

  “What are they doing?”

  “They are behind you, near the market entrance.”

  “What are they doing?” he repeated.

  “They're sticking up posters.”

  Paolo's hands were squeezing Angel's face like a vise, while his anxious eyes followed the movements of the bill stickers.

  “What is on the posters?” Angel asked, though deep down, he already knew.

  “It's your portrait, Angel. Your picture in charcoal.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE MAN AND the child exchanged glances. They did not need to say a word to understand each other. Once the bill stickers had gone inside the market, Angel got up slowly and, hand in hand, he and Paolo walked in the direction of the boxes.

  Under his hood, Angel was dripping with perspiration. The feeling of danger was suffocating him. In the past, when he knew he was hunted, he had just left town. He acted as a trapped animal would, without thinking. It was, after all, a kind of game. The cops, the thieves … who would run faster? And even if he had been arrested and sent to jail, what would have been the difference? To live alone,whether free or locked in a prison cell, would be to endure the same suffering. But this time, it was no longer a game.

  Angel could feel Paolo's small hand in his, and he knew that he could not bear to have Paolo taken away. As a free man he could continue to live with the child. But in a prison cell …

  He dismissed these thoughts. He had to stay focused and alert, and to stop thinking about the terrible things that broke his heart and weakened his legs.

  As the morning went on, the flow of farmers and buyers grew in the adjacent streets. Trucks with muddy wheels parked near the market, unloading their cargo of bleating and bellowing catt
le, while men in ponchos shouted and blew on piercing whistles. In the midst of this human and animal commotion, Angel and Paolo welcomed the protection that the crowd offered them, so they let themselves be pushed from right to left and left to right, following the flux.

  When they arrived near the boxes, Angel noticed a man in uniform. He quickly turned back and dragged Paolo along to the shelter of a house porch.

  “Go and look,” he said. “Be careful.”

  Paolo made his way toward the boxes. Posters of Angel were glued on wooden posts. Three policemen were keeping watch over the donkey and horse. The child recognized the farmer from the Pampas, whose horse they had stolen; he was kicking his heels in front of the boxes. The Belgian alpinist was not there. Maybe he was still shouting at the top of his lungs out on the desolate plain, or maybe his embassy had sent him back to his mountainless country. …

  As fluid as a snake, Paolo left and returned to the porch where Angel was waiting. They no longer had any means of transportation, or money, or place to hide in town. Paolo observed Angel's face, his tense features, the cold glimmer in his eyes.

  “As long as they're looking for me at the market, we have a chance,” Angel said.

  Paolo took his hand. “I'll do what you want,” he said. “But don't leave me.”

  Angel gave Paolo's hand a gentle squeeze and swore that he would never abandon him. Paolo was the only person in the world to whom he could make promises, the only one to whom he could say words as improbable as always and never. He pulled Paolo onto the crowded street and headed toward the harbor.

  On this festive day, the whole town was in a frenzy. Cars blocked the main roads, horses and pedestrians crowded the sidewalks, and, near the harbor, the cries of the seagulls competed with the honking cars.