“The puppies.”
Alice threw her arms around his neck with all the spontaneity that her thirteen years allowed her.
“You don’t think it’s kind of early? Maybe the owners of the puppies are still asleep.”
“Don’t worry. I already went by and they’re up. I took Petita for her walk and I went to have a look. Do you want some time to shave and change clothes?”
“I can’t go like this?”
“Oh, Espinosa. I’ll come by in half an hour, all right?”
“All right, I’ll put on my special puppy-visiting outfit.” Half an hour later, they were walking up one of the streets that surrounded the Peixoto District.
“Espinosa.”
“Speaking.”
“You said you were married.”
“That’s right.”
“What was your wife like?”
“She was great. She was with me in law school. We got married as soon as I graduated. She graduated two years later.”
“Was she pretty?”
“She was. She probably still is: she’s only forty.”
“Older than my mom.”
“Your mother and she are both still young.”
“Did you have kids?”
“We had one. He’s two years older than you.”
“You don’t ever see him?”
“Rarely. He lives in the United States, in Washington.
He only comes to Brazil once a year.”
“Don’t you miss him?”
“I do. And I think he misses me too.”
“Did his mother get remarried?”
“She did.”
“Is that why she went to the United States?”
“That’s right. She married someone who works at the
Brazilian embassy in Washington.”
“Why did your marriage end?”
“It was my fault.”
“What did you do?”
“It’s less what I did, honey, and more what I stopped doing.”
To Espinosa’s surprise, Alice didn’t ask any more questions. She seemed to understand his reply.
The building they were going to was in the highest part of the neighborhood. The apartment was on the ground floor, with a large covered patio at the back. A foreign-looking woman spoke with Alice as if they’d known each other their whole lives. She greeted Espinosa with excessive respect when Alice introduced him as “my friend Sergeant Espinosa.” The puppies were in the covered patio. The mother, lying on her side, napped while the five puppies fought over her teats. She opened her eyes to examine the visitors, gave a slight wag of her tail when Alice called her name, and got up, two puppies still dangling off her stomach. Alice, already on intimate terms with all of them—woman, mother, and puppies—took a sand-colored male, let the mother take a sniff, and passed him to Espinosa.
“This is yours. He still doesn’t have a name.”
Espinosa looked at the owner and held the little Labrador in his cupped hands. The baby still smelled of milk; he immediately started to lick Espinosa’s fingers.
“So?” Alice’s eyes were bright.
“He’s very sweet.”
“In another month you can take him home.”
“But …”
“I already told you I’d take care of him. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll walk him, bathe him, take him to the vet. All you have to do is like him.” She shot a meaningful glance at the owner, and both looked at Espinosa.
Alice talked the whole way back about the advantages of the Labrador breed.
“Espinosa, they’re the dogs they use to lead the blind.”
“You think I’m—”
“I know you’re not blind, even though you don’t always get everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Let’s pick out a name for him.”
Before they got back to the building, several dozen names had already been proposed.
“Since he’s always going to be a little bit here and a little bit there, why don’t we call him Neighbor?” Espinosa proposed.
“Great. We’re neighbors and he’s our Neighbor. I like it.”
“So that’s that. What I still haven’t figured out is how I’m going to keep a dog if I’m away all day. But according to you that’s not a problem. He can wag his tail for me on the weekends and destroy my apartment from Monday to Friday.”
They decided to meet at the same restaurant as last week. Again, when Irene arrived, Olga was already seated, at the same table. She was working on her first beer and looking around in expectation. Like the first time, she waved when she saw her friend enter the hallway leading to the Lamas Room—and once again Irene proved that she was able to attract almost every eye in a crowded room.
“At last we get to talk about the meeting.”
“Thanks so much for coming with us. It was horrible. I’m so embarrassed that I brought you along.”
“But Olga, I loved it! And that officer … What a waste. A man like that, surrounded by crooks.”
“I thought you—”
“I had a great time. Your guy isn’t bad either. A little pale for my taste, but nothing some fun on the beach won’t fix. I just didn’t understand what he wanted with the officer. Nobody did anything wrong. What’s the real problem?”
“I just don’t know anymore. I’m really confused. I thought that by going along with him to the meeting I could help Gabriel, but I think I just made things worse.”
“But you didn’t do a thing. You hardly spoke. Now: your guy said exactly—”
“He’s not my guy. Ever since that day, he’s gotten even weirder. He doesn’t speak to anyone at the office, and even when he has to go to the bathroom he’s careful to choose a moment when he won’t run into anybody on the way. I think he’s going nuts.”
“Or he always was and nobody noticed.”
“No. He was cheerful. It’s true he wasn’t chatty, but he never avoided his coworkers. He was always so nice to me. Everything changed on the day that fucking psychic told him he was going to kill someone. That guy is nuts. And aggressive. Son of a bitch.”
“Calm down, sweetie. As far as I know, nobody goes to jail for being a son of a bitch. There wouldn’t be enough people left to arrest them. Look at the situation again. One. A small group from the office is celebrating a birthday. Two. A guy nobody knows comes up and offers to tell the birthday boy’s fortune. Three. Besides the standard predictions, he foresees that the guy is going to kill somebody before his next birthday. Four. The birthday boy gets desperate and calls the cops. Five. This whole thing is insane.”
“I know it’s insane, Irene. The officer must think so too. And that’s what everyone should think, but it’s not how Gabriel sees it. He is desperate. I have no idea why, but he thinks the guy was telling the truth. I get the impression that Gabriel considers the murder already done. Now he’s just waiting for the day to arrive.”
“Then, my dear, your guy really is bananas.”
“But that’s just the point. He isn’t. He’s a hard worker, he does his job well, he speaks articulately, he’s smart….”
“I didn’t say he’s always going to be crazy, or that he’s always been crazy. I just mean that for the time being he is going through a period of being crazy. My question is: why did that Argentine’s prediction drive him nuts? If some guy in a bar told me something like that, I’d tell him to go fuck himself. Or I’d say he was right and tell him I’d kill him. I think that’s what any reasonably normal person would do. Why is he so different?”
“Gabriel’s the dreamy type. At least that’s the impression I get. But he always had a grip on reality.”
“Everybody does, honey. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t believe in eternal love and knights in shining armor. You’ll see. He was wanting someone to die. And then this sorcerer shows up and tells him exactly what he was already thinking … and bam! The guy gets worse.”
“Maybe. I think he’
d be susceptible in that case.”
“The question is then, did the Argentine guy know that? He might have set it up to fool around with Gabriel.”
“How would he know? Gabriel had never seen him before.”
“Not Gabriel, but one of the people there at the party could have passed the information to the Argentine, who decided to take advantage of the situation.”
“Take advantage how? Nothing else happened.”
“That’s the point. If I’m right, he’ll show up again, this time as a savior, offering an antidote, a magic spell that will protect Gabriel from evil omens.”
“It’s not for nothing that I consider you my smartest friend.”
“We need brains, but we also need cunning. We need to see that policeman again.”
“Fuck, Irene, you said all of that just to—”
“Calm down, girlfriend. Have another beer and think it over. Why not combine business with pleasure? After all, it’s not work, or at least it’s not our job … but it is the officer’s job. Take care not to end up like your friend. Relax. Don’t take things so seriously. Nobody’s going to kill anybody.”
“I’m not all that optimistic.”
“Listen. I sometimes have to go to São Paulo on the weekends for business, and I’m going this week. Why don’t you come along?”
“I’ve never been back to São Paulo.”
“Perfect. For old time’s sake. I promise that you’ll come back refreshed and ready to take on Gabriel.”
The beachfront streets in the Zona Sul were being battered by a strong southwesterly wind. It had stirred up the sea and filled the sky with ragged clouds. The physical changes were remarkable, but there was another transformation in the spirit of the city’s inhabitants, especially palpable in the beachside neighborhoods. The southwester was a harbinger of change. The locals recognized the signal. They weren’t sure what it meant specifically—it could be a sign that rain was on the way, or of a strong undertow on the beaches, or it could mean that fishermen should stay home; but it could also mean that waiters were going to be in odd moods, or that Maria was going to fight with João. Just to be on the safe side, experienced people stayed alert. Knowing that the ship was shaky, such people avoided even familiar waters.
In these conditions Dona Alzira left home on Saturday, following closely behind Gabriel. The wind made it seem cold, and luckily her son headed inland, to the part of the neighborhood protected by the skyscrapers along Flamengo Beach. She’d taken along some extra money for a cab, in case Gabriel took the bus; on foot, she wouldn’t be fast enough to pop into the same bus without him noticing. And it would be tough to explain what she was doing there, since she’d been home when he left. Even in a cab, it wouldn’t be easy to follow him. She’d have to be lucky to find a driver patient enough to follow a bus closely enough for her to check, at every stop, whether Gabriel had disembarked.
Since the end of lunch, she’d had her plan all laid out. There would have been a problem if her son had left immediately. But to her surprise, and almost to her disappointment, he had gone back to his room and slept for a couple of hours. When he woke, he visited the bathroom, then returned to his room and closed the door again. She knew from experience, however, that he wouldn’t go back to sleep; no doubt he’d put his earphones on and was listening to music. After another hour and a half, he went back to the bathroom and took a shower. She had just about decided to write the day off when she saw, from the clothes he was wearing, that he was preparing to leave. It didn’t take her much time to close the window, turn off the lights, get her coat and purse, and lock up.
By the time she reached the sidewalk, Gabriel had already walked half a block, and it was only thanks to her evening ritual that she managed to pick him out in the crowd. She tried not to lose sight of him. But as soon as he turned the corner, she did. She couldn’t walk any faster; she wouldn’t be able to run, if it came to that. She caught up with him again at the corner. Gabriel was walking unhurriedly, almost as if merely killing time, but it was fast for her. He’d taken a left on the Rua do Catete after reaching the end of Buarque de Macedo, where they lived. He could be walking toward the Largo do Machado subway station, she thought; she couldn’t have been more surprised when, after walking two blocks, she saw him enter a McDonald’s. She thought that perhaps she’d mixed him up with somebody else, but when she got to the door she was even more shocked to spot him in the part of the restaurant reserved for children’s parties. He was standing in the middle of a group of kids who were shouting and running around, trying to talk to somebody. She was baffled. Was this the big Saturday and Sunday afternoon mystery? She stood in the window for a couple of minutes, waiting to see if her son was meeting someone, but then he hurried out toward the street, barely giving her time to move away. She saw him look both ways down the sidewalk for someone who seemed to have just left, someone who might have passed right in front of her nose. She hid between two cars, watching her son looking both ways so anxiously that, if his gaze had passed over her, it probably wouldn’t even have registered. She got the impression that his search was over, at least for that day, and decided to go home before he did.
Gabriel was full of hatred. He’d forgotten that there could sometimes be two parties in the same afternoon, and that the first could be much earlier than he’d figured. Stupid. And on that same exact day the guy had been there, practically in the next room. If that wasn’t enough, there was another development: what was his mother doing hiding between two cars? What was she spying on? The only possible answer was: him. How long had she been spying on him? It was better not to let her know he’d caught her. He’d let her play her ridiculous game of hide-and-seek and see where it all was going. For now, he wanted to know if she’d been the one to come up with the idea of spying on him, and why, or if someone else had suggested it. In which case: who and why?
These thoughts didn’t occur to him in an orderly fashion; they were tangled with intense emotions. They weren’t even so much thoughts, exactly, as they were groups of confused ideas that lacked a clear connection. The absence created by the Argentine had now been filled by the picture of his mother hiding between the cars. One thing was certain: he didn’t have just one problem, he had two. And he had to solve both of them.
He couldn’t say how long he’d been standing on the sidewalk, as cluelessly as a kid whose ice cream had fallen on the ground. It had grown dark. He didn’t want to go back home, at least not immediately; he wasn’t sure what he would do when he encountered his mother’s saintly gaze inquiring whether he was ready for dinner. His thighs ached from standing in the same position for so long. His head hurt too—not too much, but enough to give him an extra little reason to feel sorry for himself. He tried to take a step, but his feet seemed glued to the sidewalk. He tried to lift them up slowly, moving them to the front and to the sides. This time it worked. After a few moments he managed to lift his feet and take a few steps. Now it wasn’t just his legs and head that hurt, but his entire body. He went back to the McDonald’s and took a seat at an empty table close to the door. He got up only after a while, when an employee asked him if he felt all right.
On the street, Saturday night was getting under way.
4
For the third day in a row, once his work day was over, Gabriel started walking from Copacabana back to Flamengo, where he lived. It was far—six or seven kilometers by even the most direct route. That wasn’t the route he took. His trajectory was the physical, even the graphic expression of his thoughts: not only did they occur to him in zigzags, they also sometimes compelled him to retrace his steps. As on previous days, he headed toward Flamengo not because he wanted to go home, but simply because he wanted to have a direction, even if he knew he would later reverse it.
On the first day, his mother had become desperate when he arrived home two hours late. On the second day, the clock she clung to like a crucifix read eleven-ten when he came walking down the street—not his usual side of the stre
et—and entered with the announcement that from now on he wouldn’t be returning from work at a fixed time. She didn’t need to worry about his dinner—she could leave the plate there and he would stick it in the microwave. Dona Alzira warmed up the food and said firmly that she would continue to do so as long as it took for them to overcome the current crisis. Her gestures were determined as she declared herself ready to combat evil, since she was sure of one thing: she and her son had no allies in this struggle. Even Father Crisóstomo had declined to take their side.
These days, he headed toward home only because he knew that once he was physically exhausted he would want to be somewhere he could eat and sleep. He walked as if he were simply taking a stroll. The difference was that he took no pleasure in what he was doing. It wasn’t pleasure he was after, though; it was less pain. It was already dark when he started winding his way down sidewalks packed with people getting off work. Most were heading home; some, especially the men, were going to stay a little longer in Copacabana to take advantage of the bars—not the ones on the beachfront, though; it was too cold there. Gabriel didn’t want to have anything to do with bars or hanging out with friends after work. One’s fellow man was not one’s brother, as the Christians would have it. Man was the enemy. He felt like a lone wolf, walking with his eyes to the ground, his body hunched over, his shoulders rounded. He was threatened from every side, but he himself was also a threat. At some undetermined place and time in the near future, he would kill someone. So it had been said.
Once again it occurred to him that he needed a gun. Not to kill someone, but to protect himself from whoever was trying to kill him. That was the only way he could be sure whether the prediction was correct. He wasn’t a murderer, even though he’d often felt like killing people. But it had never been more than a thought; he’d never seriously considered it. With his hands in his jacket pockets, he walked close to the curb, which forced him to weave through newspaper kiosks, around trash bags, past bicycles and tricycles locked to the lampposts. He also had to avoid the people standing at the corner waiting to cross the street, but this was better than walking in the middle of the sidewalk, where he never knew if the person coming at him would go to the right or to the left.
Southwesterly Wind Page 6