“Hello, Officer. I’m sorry I’m late; I didn’t remember exactly where the restaurant was.”
The voice had lost its adolescent tone, and the body seemed heavier. In a few days, Gabriel had become a man, a painful passage.
“Hello. Sit down. You look tired.”
“I am. These last few days have been tiring.”
“Before anything else, let’s order. I haven’t had lunch yet, and I guess you haven’t either. There’s not a lot to choose from, but the food is good.”
Gabriel ended up ordering the same thing Espinosa did. Ever since he’d arrived, he’d been looking at Espinosa as if he was trying to decipher something. He looked as if he was about to start talking, but Espinosa spoke first.
“Olga’s death must have really affected you.”
“Until now I didn’t understand what had happened. I thought it was an accident. Then I thought it was a suicide. Until you mentioned the possibility of murder. I don’t understand how anybody could have pushed Olga under a train.”
“I didn’t say it was a murder. I just said that that was a possibility.”
“Even that is hard to accept.”
“You said on the phone that you’ve been walking home from work. It’s a long way. Even for a young, healthy person like you, it must wear you out. Especially after a day at work. You also said that it’s the way you’ve found to think. Can I ask you if you’ve been thinking about Olga during those walks?”
“I have been, but not in the same way. Before, I thought of her alive, with her whole life ahead of her. Then I thought of her alive, but without her whole life ahead of her. I can only think about her alive, but I know that she’s dead. There’s no future, and nothing to do about it.”
“She was really important to you, wasn’t she?”
“She was. I don’t know how, but she was. I was attracted to her, but I was a little scared of her too. Not at work: she was a great colleague. But she scared me when we were alone.”
“And was that often?”
“No, not really.”
“Why not? She was a pretty, attractive girl. You weren’t a couple?”
“I don’t know. It might seem ridiculous—I’m not a teenager—but I’m not sure if we were a couple. At least in the sense of couples who are dating normally. I think we were on the verge of beginning something a few days before she died.”
“And you didn’t?”
“I don’t think so. It’s hard to explain. I don’t know what happened.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me. Wouldn’t it be better if you just tried to tell me what happened?”
“Nothing happened. I mean, a lot happened, but not in the way we wanted.”
The food and drinks had been put on the table, but they sat untouched. Neither man had made the slightest move toward them. The pause in Gabriel’s story led both men to direct their eyes toward their plates. Espinosa picked up his silverware, but Gabriel looked at the food without really seeing it.
“What was it that should have happened but didn’t?”
“On several occasions she said that we should meet outside the office, away from other people, to get to know each other better, more intimately. That’s what she said. Until Monday, when she suggested that we leave work together. I would have rather gone home by myself, I had to think about a lot of things, but when we got off work she was waiting for me. We walked for hours, I don’t know for how long, talking about our lives, our tastes, our plans, what we thought about religion, politics, art, music.”
Gabriel stopped talking and sat staring at the plate. Espinosa began to think that the story had reached its end.
“And was it a good conversation? Did you enjoy being alone with her?”
“I’ll admit, it was pleasant. It had been a long time since I’d talked about those things with someone. I felt better than when I walked home by myself. She asked me about my father. She was the first person to ask about him; everybody always asks about my mother.”
“And what about your father? What’s he like?”
“My father died.”
“Now? Recently?”
“No, a long time ago, when I was a kid—from a heart attack. My mother doesn’t like to talk about him; I think he had other women.”
Another interruption. Gabriel began playing with his silverware. He touched the food with the tip of his fork, without lifting it to his mouth. He seemed not to realize that it was a plate of food.
“That’s when she ruined everything.”
“Who ruined everything?”
“Olga.”
“What do you mean? What did she do?”
“We were walking in front of one of those little hotels that only have the word ‘hotel’ in lights on the front; she said, Why don’t we go in. I didn’t understand the question at first, I even thought maybe someone she knew was staying there, but the way she put her arm through mine and looked into my eyes made me realize what she had on her mind.”
“You didn’t want to?”
“I did and I didn’t. I didn’t know what to do. She said that I didn’t need to say anything. We went in, I registered at the desk, paid the fee for the night, and we went to the room. Bare bones. The double bed took up almost all the space. Olga said some things that I couldn’t make out; her voice was distant. She stood in front of me, took off her jacket, shoes, dress, until she was only wearing her panties and bra. Since I didn’t move, she came up close, kissed me, and helped me take off my clothes. Then she took off her bra and panties and embraced me. My legs were so tense that I couldn’t move.”
Gabriel kept playing with the food with his fork. He couldn’t look Espinosa in the eyes. Espinosa could hardly hear what he was saying.
“She didn’t notice that you were uncomfortable?”
“No, she did. I think she figured it was just shyness. When she saw that I wasn’t moving, she smiled, pushed me, and we fell onto the bed. She thought it was all in fun, until she realized that I was panicking. Then she moved away, made me lie down on the bed, and sat in front of me with her legs crossed Indian style. My body’s not pale or bloated—I exercise, I go to the beach—but next to her it looked like the body of a sick man. Olga was a force of nature. She had a strong body, pretty, with long legs, big, firm breasts, lots of pubic hair, and she showed it all to me without any shame. She sat there for a while in that position, looking at me without touching me. She was like a computer processing information. After a few minutes, or maybe seconds, she asked me, You don’t like me as a woman? Of course I do, you’re beautiful, much more than I imagined. So why are you avoiding me? I’m not avoiding you, I’m scared. Scared? Why? Are you gay? No, of course not. Then what’s going on? I always thought you wanted to have sex with me and didn’t say anything because you were shy. And it’s true. So? Here we are. But I’m still scared. That’s when she hugged me again. I felt the touch of her skin, her nipples against my chest, her hair falling onto my face, her legs wrapping around mine, her wet sex against my thigh, but mine was still soft, it seemed to be dead. Olga touched me, but I couldn’t even feel it. My legs hurt from tensing my muscles so much. I started to sweat, my vision blurred. I thought I was going to die. I shot out of bed, threw on my clothes and shoes as fast as I could, she’s asking what’s going on, I opened the door, ran down the stairs, and kept running for several blocks. I don’t know where I went or what I did. I got home early in the morning.”
Espinosa had stopped eating. The voices in the restaurant, which had faded into the background when Gabriel was talking, suddenly grew louder. It was as if everyone had been listening to Gabriel’s story in silence, and then they all resumed their conversations at the same time.
“Was it your first experience with a woman?”
Gabriel nodded. He seemed drained, in another world, but Espinosa knew that the moment had passed and wouldn’t return with the same emotional intensity.
“Did you see Olga after that meeting?”
&n
bsp; “No.”
“Why did you miss work the next day?”
“I couldn’t look at her. I thought I’d never go back to work. But the day after that was payday, and I needed to pay my bills. I went intending to get my money and quit. That’s when I found out about her death. I couldn’t manage any emotional response. I could only think that there wouldn’t be another chance for me, at least with her.”
“You say that after you left Olga in the hotel you walked around without knowing where you were going, that you only arrived home in the early morning, and that you don’t remember anything.”
“That’s right.”
“Did that ever happen before, that you’d walked without knowing where you’d been or what you’d done?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Have you had other blackouts in the past?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You didn’t want to kill Olga after what happened?”
“I wanted to kill myself, not her.”
“What did you do the next day?”
“The same thing I always do when I can: wander the streets.”
“Where did you walk?”
“Downtown, though Flamengo Park, through Laranjeiras.”
“Did you run into anybody you knew?”
“I wasn’t paying attention to people. I might have walked by somebody I knew, but I didn’t notice.”
“You didn’t want to follow Olga to the subway, to see how she was doing?”
“No, not at all. I wanted to be far away from her.”
Espinosa felt that if he went any further, it would become obvious that he was interrogating Gabriel. He didn’t like to force a catharsis into an investigation, except in cases when the conversation couldn’t be resumed later. He didn’t stop for moral reasons, but because he knew from experience that being too pushy could make future contact impossible. And he could imagine that there was going to be a lot of future contact ahead.
“You’re not going to eat?”
“No, thanks, I’ve got to get back to work.”
On the way back to the station, he got a message on his cell phone from a woman at the Forensic Institute. She was young and pretty; Espinosa had never quite understood what such an attractive young woman was doing spending her days with cadavers and body parts—not only doing it, but seeming to enjoy it. He called her.
“Espinosa, if you decided to throw yourself under a train, just for the hell of it, how would you do it?”
“You mean what would I wear or how would I do it?”
“I mean, would you go head first, back first, stomach first?”
“I think I see where you’re going.”
“That’s right. I can guarantee that our friend fell onto the tracks and was hit by the train while lying on her back. I think it’s unlikely that a person would throw herself under a train, from the top of a platform, onto her back. Even if only because someone who would do something like that would need to be sure that it was going to work, and it’s not just difficult to jump backward, it’s hard to tell if you’re going to land in the right place. It’s easier for a person to throw themselves off the top of a building while jumping backward; all you have to do is stand at the edge of a balcony or a window and lean back; there’s no way to miss. It’s more likely that the girl fell or was pushed. But I think I’m moving in on your turf.”
Espinosa agreed with Irene that Olga was unlikely to have had an accident like that.
He took the longest route home, going through the Galeria Menescal to pick up some Arab food for dinner, but also to give himself time to think about what the pathologist had said. While he was waiting for his spiced meatballs, he couldn’t help recalling that he and Gabriel both had the same habit of walking to think. He hoped the similarities ended there.
Approaching the square in front of his house, he noticed Alice and Petita at the door of the building.
“You’re not thinking about Neighbor,” she said when Espinosa leaned over to give her a kiss.
“The other neighbor is more important to me, and I haven’t seen her in days.”
“True. But I know how to talk, and he doesn’t. You’re not doing something important. He has to get used to your smell. The first smells are the ones that stay in their minds, and that’s how they know their owners. You have to let him smell you more often.”
“Who told you that?”
“My science teacher. She said that even people recognize each other first by smell.”
“Then we’re all smelling too little of each other. Tomorrow is Saturday. Let’s go give Neighbor a sniff and let him sniff us too.”
The three went up in the elevator together, Petita leading the way, stopping every few steps to make sure Alice and Espinosa were following her. Before they entered their respective apartments, they agreed to visit Neighbor in the morning.
Gabriel had started carrying a gun the day before. The only exception was his meeting with the sergeant. He didn’t want to leave himself unnecessarily exposed. He knew he was taking a risk by carrying a gun without a license, but he figured that exposing himself undefended to an assassin was even riskier. He was sure that his mother hadn’t found the gun or the box of bullets, hidden as they were behind the books on his top shelf; she would find them only in one of those annual cleanings when she took everything down and dusted each book, one at a time.
His mother had stopped asking about his comings and goings, restricting her activity to immediately useful domestic tasks; she even seemed to be taking on more of a life of her own, leaving the apartment more often and staying out longer. They didn’t discuss Olga’s death, since Gabriel wasn’t even sure he’d ever mentioned her to his mother.
In the middle of the afternoon, he got ready for his usual tour of the fast-food circuit. It was raining and the wind was heavy, but he decided that he wouldn’t risk missing the Argentine again. He put on the hooded nylon jacket he wore on rainy days. The garment made it easier to disguise the weapon, and to disguise himself.
Before he went out, he tried several times to reach the gun in the back of his pants. It didn’t work. Even with the jacket open, the movement of removing the weapon from behind was slow, awkward, and obvious. He’d be gunned down before he could complete the gesture. He decided it was better to carry the gun in the side pocket of his jacket, grasping it in his hand so that it wouldn’t shift around. After a few successful shots at an imaginary target, he unlocked the door to his room and left, shouting a “Bye” at his mom. There was no answer. Dona Alzira had left minutes earlier.
6
The rainy Saturday didn’t improve Gabriel’s state of mind. He spent the afternoon cruising the fast-food restaurants of Copacabana, checking every one that had a special room for birthday parties; no trace of the Argentine. He came home tired and wet, devoid of hope of success.
A change in his mother’s attitude had made things even worse. She was still waiting for him when he arrived home, making his meals and washing his clothes, but she had gone strangely silent. She had stopped asking questions with hidden meanings, and she no longer made self-pitying comments. When they were home, each stayed in their own room, doors closed. Before, even when she was asleep, she’d leave her bedroom door open, just as she’d done when he was little and he’d sometimes wake up, scared, in the middle of the night. But then—Gabriel couldn’t say exactly when—without warning or explanation, she’d started closing her door at night, just like her son did. Gabriel didn’t register the change at first. As he would soon discover, his mother didn’t have a problem; she had a cause, and she had focused all her energy on it. She only went through the motions of housework, without undue emotional expenditure. She had embarked on her mission with religious fervor, and it demanded all her attention and energy.
This evening, Gabriel went to sleep as soon as he’d finished eating the plate of food his mother had left in the oven. There was no light coming from beneath his mother’s door, and he couldn�
�t hear the television, which she usually watched with the volume at an unreasonable level (the very reason he’d started closing his door).
Sunday was just as unsuccessful. His mother spent the whole morning in church, while he spent the afternoon looking for the Argentine. They met only during lunch, which was eaten in near silence. The things they said merely served to camouflage the things they weren’t saying. That was convenient but had started to make Gabriel uncomfortable.
The previous day’s rain continued, not as intensely but just as persistently. The only difference between the street and the sky was the shade of gray. Espinosa and Welber had agreed to meet at the station a half hour before the meeting with the Argentine in the fast-food restaurant. There was no need for a third detective; nothing of what they’d heard about Stella or Hidalgo hinted at danger. At three twenty-five Espinosa left his apartment for the meeting, which he didn’t imagine would take up much of his Sunday afternoon; even if it did, it wouldn’t be a big loss, since he didn’t really care for Sundays. He met Welber at the door of the station and they went straight to the restaurant, which was on the same street, one block toward the beach. Both wore hooded raincoats. At exactly four o’clock, just as they’d agreed, the couple turned the corner. She was wearing a miniskirt that, if it didn’t impress the kids at the birthday party, would certainly keep the older boys entertained. Hidalgo, beneath a wide umbrella, walked as if expecting the rain to pause to let him pass. He was imposing. They were both carrying big nylon bags. Before they had a chance to open the door to the restaurant, Espinosa intercepted them.
“Mr. Hidalgo?”
Hidalgo stopped, glanced at Espinosa, then Welber, and then, with a leisurely expression, he looked to his partner, as if to inquire who these two characters were. Then he returned his gaze to Espinosa.
“Sir, and who might you be?” he asked with a light Spanish accent.
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