Lunch consisted of cooked vegetables, rice, and beans. When Clarice asked for meat, Teo would fish—with some difficulty at first. He’d fry up the fish with herbs, and a delicious, pungent smell would waft through the cottage. It took him back to his childhood. Patricia used to say he was a gifted cook. It was true: Clarice would eat heartily and often said she’d never tasted anything better.
“The only thing missing is a cold beer,” she’d joke, wolfing down her food.
Clarice missed alcohol. It was possible that she also missed her libertine lifestyle. But she’d stopped talking about cigarettes. She finally seemed to have forgotten them. Her inspiration to write had returned, and she was indignant about the lack of electricity in the cottage.
“How am I going to work on my laptop?”
“Take the opportunity and give yourself a break. You can write when we get back.”
She hadn’t looked terribly satisfied, but she didn’t appear to be in a hurry to leave either. She didn’t once ask how long they were going to be there. Teo noticed that she was making an effort to be nice, without being rude or seductive or mysterious—all the tactics she had used before.
She rarely insulted him. When she did so, it was over small things, subtly poking fun at his intelligence and rationality. Teo would merely smile. Smiles were the best defense to her attacks.
“You should lighten up,” she insisted.
“You shouldn’t be so sincere,” he’d reply.
The on-again, off-again seduction, the superficial conversations, the attacks of fury followed by apologies—Teo had grown used to it all. At some point, he’d wondered if he still loved her. Perhaps she was right, perhaps it had only been infatuation—a fleeting flame. What did he know about love?
He’d quickly discarded the absurd idea. What was happening between them was simpler and more beautiful: they had reached a new, more mature phase in their relationship. Their love was steady now. The surprises had ceased, which didn’t mean they no longer felt anything for each other. On the contrary, with every day that passed, he saw more and more of himself in Clarice: her thought process, previously chaotic and emotive, now revealed more method, more nuance. Her blind confidence as a scriptwriter had been replaced with a deeper self-awareness. It was a painful path but fairer and truly artistic. In the afternoon, they’d have long discussions about the meaning of art and its job of revealing the truth. Clarice believed that all it had to do was entertain.
They watched the sunset every day. Teo would take photographs but always felt a little frustrated, as the lens didn’t capture the essence of the moment. When they got back, he wanted to put together an album of their trip. In the future they’d be able to show their children how they’d met.
When night fell, they’d sit side by side on the deck chairs staring out to sea. Teo would leave the lantern nearby. In silence, they’d gaze at the starry sky. Those were lovely moments, with the wind ruffling the sand and nature chanting its spells. Two weeks passed in this fashion, eradicating all worry. Teo had forgotten Breno, Patricia, and Helena. He felt that nothing could get to him.
“I’m really happy, Clarice,” he confessed one day.
She was leaning back in the deck chair, her face turned up toward the sky, eyes closed. She was still, hands by her side, relaxed.
“Breno’s dead,” she said a few minutes later. She opened her eyes and turned to look at Teo.
“What?”
“I feel that Breno’s dead.”
With just a few words, Clarice had flooded him with terror and shame. He felt like clouting her. He went as far as to lift his arm but quickly brought it back down.
“Dead in my heart, I mean. Now I’m free to like you.”
Clarice got up, kissed him on the lips, and walked gracefully toward the cottage.
• • •
Teo was very quiet that Thursday. He wanted to find out what Clarice knew. At the same time, he was afraid to accept the hypothesis that she really did know something. He tried to remember the hours directly after Breno’s death, but tension had rendered the images unclear. Now he couldn’t say with absolute certainty that Clarice had been asleep when he dismembered Breno’s body and stuffed the pieces into plastic bags.
The thought that she might have been awake led to other more disturbing thoughts. Was he actually winning her over? Or was a profound hatred silently growing in her heart?
Clarice got out of the shower in a chatty mood. She had woken up wanting to talk about controversial subjects. She asked him what he thought about the death sentence and abortion. He didn’t reply, so she asked again, and he was forced to say something.
“I don’t think about them much.”
“But you have an opinion, don’t you?”
“I’m against the death sentence.”
She smiled. “So am I. What about abortion?”
“I don’t know. They’re complex issues.”
He didn’t feel comfortable talking about subjects he barely understood. It bothered him that the human sciences were discussed by laypersons who felt they had the right to have opinions on matters of which they had no knowledge whatsoever. At home, he’d overheard Patricia and Marli debating how a corrupt politician should be punished (“By hanging!” Marli had said) or what should be done with a mother who aborts an anencephalic baby (“It’s a creature of God,” Patricia had argued).
“Gay marriage?” Clarice asked, sitting in front of him and placing her hands on his knees.
Teo looked at her, fearing where the conversation was headed. He didn’t want to talk about Laura. Nor did he want to confess what he thought about homosexuality.
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” he said, trying to change the subject.
“First tell me. It says a lot about a person. Are you in favor of gay marriage?”
“Yes. But I feel uncomfortable when I see it.”
“You feel uncomfortable? Lots of men are turned on by two women kissing.”
“I’m not,” he said. Have you ever kissed another woman? he felt like asking.
“Hmm, that’s a bit suspicious,” she said teasingly.
Teo just smiled because he knew they’d end up fighting if he replied. He got up to go get his camera and put on some Bermuda shorts for the walk.
The day was beautiful and cool. During the entire walk, Clarice didn’t return to the subject, nor did she bring up any other. She kicked an empty bottle as she walked and whistled an endless tune.
When they reached a clearing, he asked her to undress. “I want to take photos,” he said, noting her surprise. “It’ll be the secret part of our album.”
Clarice didn’t offer any resistance. She pulled her orange top over her head and stepped out of her denim shorts and lacy panties. She took off her sneakers, stepping over some ants in a deliciously feminine way.
“Do you want me to pose?”
“Just act naturally.”
Clarice looked healthier now. In the first few days, her pale skin had become tanned. Her hair, previously straight, had acquired natural waves all the way down to her waist. Between smiles, she offered him her rosy cheeks in profile. Teo stopped taking photos and approached her. She was leaning against a broad tree trunk with her eyes closed.
He placed his hands on the tree, on either side of Clarice. “Kiss me,” he said.
She noticed his gloomy tone of voice and smiled. “You’re acting weird.”
“I didn’t like it when you brought up Breno yesterday.”
“Oh, Teo, it wasn’t anything important!”
“As long as you talk about him, it’s a sign that he’s important.”
“I’m not interested in him anymore—I already told you. He’s dead and buried.”
“Stop talking like that.”
Teo wanted to tell her everything. He felt vulnerable, under
attack in a game of words. If he explained his discomfort, how would she react?
“What’s going on? Let’s start a relationship without secrets.”
“I don’t have any secrets. I just don’t want you to talk about your ex.”
“Fine, I’ve stopped. But I want you to know that I hate jealous men. Breno himself—” She stopped short and apologized.
Teo didn’t feel like talking anymore.
“Truth is, I’m a well of emotion,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I know you’re insecure. I get it.”
She hugged him tight, whispering in his ear with her hoarse voice, “People float around in this deep well of mine. I don’t know how to explain it. Lately, you’ve emerged, come to the surface. Breno has sunk. Don’t worry about him. He’s already hit the bottom, and you’re still swimming.”
She gave him another peck on the lips.
“I’m enjoying liking you, Teo. Please don’t ruin it.”
19
It was Saturday, Christmas Eve. Teo was swimming in the sea when he saw the boat on the horizon accelerating toward the coast. Clarice was reading Lispector on the sand. She looked up when she heard the drone of the motor. Teo swam back to land and told her to get inside. He cuffed her to the bed, put away the key, and came back in time to find the old woman climbing out of the boat.
“Good morning!” he said.
The woman was wearing too much makeup: red lipstick, powder on her brown face, eyeliner around her eyes, which stared lengthily at the two deck chairs by the water’s edge.
“Is there someone with you?”
“No. What are you doing here?”
“I came to see if everything’s all right.” She continued to stare at the chairs.
“I put my legs up on the other chair,” he said, but immediately felt ridiculous. Even from afar, the woman could easily have seen Clarice dash inside.
“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, and I thought you might want to go into town to buy something. Or call someone.”
“I appreciate it.”
Teo wanted to buy a pound of filet mignon for Clarice, who’d been complaining about the lack of red meat, as well as some ingredients for Christmas dinner. He was going to make tagliarini with white sauce and Chilean olives, his specialty.
“I’m going to get dried off and change my clothes.”
The woman nodded, staring at Teo with vibrant little eyes. She had a boorish face, with large cheekbones, thick eyebrows, and a nose like a fleshy strawberry. Her back was slightly curved, projecting her forward in an intimidating manner.
“I’ll come with you,” she said with a smile.
“That isn’t necessary. I’d rather you waited for me in the boat.”
The old woman’s curiosity made Teo imagine her dead, in little pieces in a plastic bag.
“I won’t be long,” he said.
As he headed back to the cottage, he heard her shuffling along behind him and swung around. “Wait for me in the fucking boat, please!”
She took a step back, shocked, arms raised in a defensive gesture. “As you wish.”
She turned and walked away, looking frail. Teo noticed her legs were shaking, due either to fear or to age.
• • •
He got dressed, on edge. Peering through the window, he made sure the woman was keeping her distance. He asked Clarice to put on the harness gag.
“It’s not necessary. I won’t scream.”
“Please,” he insisted. “Do what I’m saying.”
“Trust is essential—”
“Put on the gag!”
He got his wallet and their cell phones. Had he forgotten anything? Under the sofa he found a medium-size knife and hid it in the waistband of his jeans.
Clarice kept talking, still handcuffed to the bed. “I could have screamed when the boat arrived. I saw the woman arrive. I could scream now. She’d definitely hear me.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“I don’t because I don’t want to. You think you can make me happy. I want to give you a chance.”
“I’m going to make you happy.”
“Then no gags. We’re in the middle of nowhere. And I have no reason to scream. Ever since that night—” She stopped midsentence, suddenly ashamed.
He was happy that Clarice had brought up that night. He was excited and tried not to let it show. “Okay then, no gag.”
She smiled. “Thank you, my love!”
Teo froze. It was the first time she had called him “my love.” He wanted to talk about that night, but the woman shouted for him to hurry.
As he stepped onto the sand, he felt as if he were floating. He savored Clarice’s words and would have savored them all the way into town if it hadn’t been for the nosy old woman’s lack of tact.
“There’s someone in the cottage with you, isn’t there?” she asked suddenly.
They had pulled away from the coast. The woman was driving the boat too fast, and Teo wondered what the hurry was.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She didn’t react and remained with her back to him, hands on the steering wheel. “I saw someone run inside when I arrived.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“You don’t need to explain anything, boy. But don’t lie to me.”
“Well, then, maybe you’re right.”
“I am,” she said, shooting him a vulgar stare over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything. You’ve paid me well enough not to ask any questions. I just mentioned it for the sake of it.”
They were only a few feet away from each other, and her stare bothered him tremendously. He fidgeted in his seat in the stern. She knew he was with someone on the beach, and it wouldn’t be long before she began to wonder who the person was and how he or she had got there. What’s more, curiosity would lead her to investigate why he had gone to the trouble of hiding it.
Teo clutched the knife in his shaky hand, without even realizing what he was about to do. He crept up cautiously. They were out at sea, and the coast was only a pinkish smudge, which made him feel safe and invincible. All he had to do was make a cut in the old woman’s jugular, then throw her into the sea. In under a minute, the problem would be removed. He’d have a hard time handling the boat, but it wouldn’t be impossible.
His weight made a board in the bottom of the boat creak. The noise startled him, but she didn’t seem to have heard it, as she didn’t turn around. He decided to make conversation, which would be an excuse for him to get closer. In the fraction of a second in which it occurred to him to talk to her, a series of possible questions ran through his head. The infinitude of questions was even greater than the immensity of the sea in front of him.
Nevertheless, unwittingly, Teo asked the key question. The question whose answer made him back away, drained of strength, and toss the knife into the water, before quickly returning to his place in the stern. If it had been anything else, he would have made his second kill. But something wanted things to happen as they did: he bought supplies in the town, decided not to call anyone, and went home a few hours later, still on a high from that moment in the boat.
Teo’s question was “So, Tinkerbell, what’s your real name?”
And the old woman’s reply, with a toothless smile, was “Gertrude.”
• • •
On the morning of Christmas Day, Teo woke up upset after a nightmare that, like all upsetting nightmares, had seemed all too real. Gertrude was in it. Not his Gertrude, who was very polite and incapable of disturbing his sleep, but the other one, the ghastly old woman. Clarice was in it too, cackling with laughter. He tried to recall the exact volume and timbre of her voice but realized he’d never seen Clarice laugh like that. He closed his eyes, reorganizing fragments into a logical order.
He�
��d been set up. It had all been a big ruse to trick him—and everyone had been in on it. The highway patrol officer had identified Breno from the photograph and alerted other units. They’d instructed the old woman—whose name wasn’t really Gertrude—to meet him on Ilha Grande and rent him the cottage on the deserted beach. Helena’s phone calls had been to make sure Clarice was still alive. What were they waiting for to arrest him? It all fit together so perfectly, which alarmed him greatly. The old woman showing up out of the blue would have been the perfect opportunity for the police to go to the island and reassure Clarice. He hadn’t taken a long time in town, but it had been long enough for someone to pay her a visit. It also explained why Clarice had been so tolerant of late.
Teo shook his head: so many crazy ideas! Clarice was finally growing fond of him, and he had to go and think such things! It was so grotesque that he laughed out loud—the same laughter as Clarice’s in the dream. He decided to go for a dip in the sea to shake off the idea. He had a long swim and spent a good deal of time underwater holding his breath, as the brief inability to breathe was soothing. He spent the afternoon thinking about setups.
• • •
The night was cold but cozy. Teo fixed his special dish—which Clarice praised for the smell alone—and opened a bottle of Italian wine. He put on a formal shirt and squirted on a bit too much cologne. Clarice was wearing a navy blue dress, which Teo thought a little old-fashioned on her, and her earrings were semicircles of pearls.
They didn’t talk much and polished off the bottle of wine at the dinner table. Clarice was drinking faster than Teo was and consumed more than three-quarters of the bottle. They decided to open another one outside, in the deck chairs on the beach. Clarice had suggested they climb the rocky outcrop, but the wind was too strong. She put on a little red jacket to stay warm.
“Do you believe in God?” she asked. The wine was already taking effect: her arms were draped over the sides of the chair, the wineglass was wobbling in her right hand, and her legs were outstretched, feet playing in the wet sand.
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