Perfect Days

by Raphael Montes

  “Now it’s my turn to ask a question. What’s the combination for this?”

  Teo was petrified. He thought about Breno and his dratted glasses.

  “Please, let’s do this the easy way,” she said.

  “Clarice, I—”

  “I was nice enough to put your arms down. Tell me the combination.”

  It was disconcerting not knowing what to say. She insisted in a way that he didn’t have the strength to argue against.

  “I’ve tried everything imaginable and can’t crack it.” She shook the satchel near her ear, trying to divine what was in it.

  “Some things are just too painful, Clarice.”

  She put the satchel on the bed and leaned over him. She placed her hands on his wrists, squeezing them firmly. Her breath smelled good, even if there were traces of cigarette on it.

  “I want you to tell me. And I want you to do it now. Or I’ll put your arms up again.”

  Teo closed his eyes and saw himself as if in a dream. He was patiently building a house of broad red cards. There were trees around it, and the sun was shining brightly. Then he blew the house of cards down with a single puff.

  “The combination is zero-seven-zero-six,” he said, eyes wide open. “Please don’t do anything.”

  23

  Clarice smiled as she turned the digits, opened the satchel, and fished out Breno’s glasses. Teo would never forget the image: her eyes darted about in confusion, and her mouth dropped open. Her long, slender fingers felt the glasses as if they could turn them into something else.

  Suddenly she looked frantic, or wounded. The color drained from her face, her vocal cords stiffened, and an inconvenient vein bulged on her forehead. She closed her fists, almost crushing the glasses, and punched the air. The profound look of betrayal that replaced her air of superiority made Teo feel very clever.

  “Explain,” she begged.

  The silence was absolute, and he let those minutes of peace stretch out. He didn’t feel like explaining anything. And now, with his arms down by his side, he didn’t feel any obligation to be nice.

  “What are these glasses doing here, Teo?”

  “Breno is dead,” he said, and it sounded so banal, it was as if he’d borrowed the line from a novel.

  Clarice blinked, as if avoiding something, and started to cry.

  Teo couldn’t understand how she was still able to think about Breno after everything they had been through. Her reaction damaged something special in their relationship. He wished he could say something that would put an end to her suffering, but he knew there were moments in life when it was necessary.

  Besides which, he was sure she already knew. Clarice was just crying because she felt she should look upset. It was as if they were in a theater: stage, lights on, the audience waiting for a dramatic performance.

  “We killed Breno,” he said.

  She didn’t look as surprised as he thought she would. “Did we?”

  “Yes. Don’t you remember?”

  “You’re lying!”

  “We did it together, Clarice. He was going to kill us.”

  Teo was finding it all very amusing, especially her reaction.

  Clarice dropped the glasses and fell to the ground, where she curled up like a baby. She buried her face in her hands and let out a piercing scream. “I don’t remember . . . I don’t . . .”

  She pressed her temples frighteningly. She was very red and looked as if she were going to fall apart before his eyes. Teo wished he were free of the cuffs so he could hug her, but he knew she would stop him if he tried to reach the key on the bedside table.

  “It’s most unfortunate, I know. But no one knows.”

  “Liar! Psychopath!” Clarice shouted insults without any logic. She sucked in her lips, shook her body, and sobbed pathetically like an irritating child.

  “Stop crying,” he said very calmly. One of them had to keep it together.

  “I love Breno!” she cried.

  Teo laughed. “He tried to rape you.”

  The lie made him feel a tad perverse, but it wasn’t entirely untrue. After all, Breno had gone to Teresópolis uninvited and hadn’t been in his right mind. He probably would have hurt Clarice if he hadn’t been stopped.

  “You helped me bury his body,” said Teo finally with a thespian smirk on his face. The lights would fade, and the audience would give them a standing ovation. He tried to clap, but the chains on the handcuffs were too short: his fingers managed to touch, but it wasn’t enough.

  Clarice made an effort to stand—her little arms looked like twigs—and staggered toward him. Now Teo could hug her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. He reached out his hands. He wanted to feel her skin, which must have been very hot with all that excitement.

  He didn’t expect to be slapped hard across the face. It made him dizzy. The noise rang out again like a creaking floorboard. It was selfish of her to flog him as if she could transfer her part of the blame to him. Teo was so horrified by her attitude that he offered no resistance.

  He let her beat him in silence, even though it hurt a lot. His skin tore, the scabs on his face split open again, and he had to close his left eye when a drop of blood ran into it. All that fuss over a piece of shit who played the violin and had interfered in his life in a most inopportune way.

  Clarice wasn’t really upset over Breno’s death; she was probably even relieved. She needed to let out feelings that couldn’t be explained, like when an aunt you don’t like much dies, and the news makes you feel strangely emotional. She needed to take it out on someone, and she was taking it out on him.

  Clarice got the revolver from the chest of drawers. She held it clumsily, with shaking hands. The barrel was pointed straight at Teo. She cocked the hammer, readying it. She didn’t remember that it wasn’t loaded.

  The Clarice in front of him wasn’t the same woman he’d met at the barbecue. Nor was it the Clarice with whom he’d spent such happy times in Teresópolis and had shared that unforgettable night at the motel. Nor was it the Clarice who’d sought revenge by burning photos and blowing smoke in his face. It was someone else, disturbingly agitated, with wet, stony eyes. A soulless Clarice.

  Then she pointed the revolver at her own head, leaning against the wall to remain standing. She was shaking a lot. The weapon seemed to weigh heavily in her hand, as if she were drained of all strength. Clarice gave Teo a diabolical look, and he returned an expression of incomprehension and regret. She pulled the trigger without hesitation.

  The dry click frustrated her. She threw the revolver to the ground, stomping on it irrationally and yelling “I love you, Breno” as if the wretch’s spirit could hear her hysterical bellowing. Her ribs shook, and her body looked about to explode. He was very sorry that she was going crazy.

  She bumped into the kitchen table and flung open the cottage door. Teo heard her sobbing accompanying her crooked footsteps through the sand. Where was she going? The relief that ran through his body was greater than his curiosity, and he wanted to prolong the moment. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow, trying not to think about anything. He barely existed as far as Clarice was concerned, which was terribly sad. Attempting suicide had been particularly offensive. He would never forget it.

  The bedroom felt lighter and happier without her there. When he opened his eyes, he felt better. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something moving outside. Through the window he saw Clarice in the water swimming toward the horizon, as if to get away from him. Her little arms thrashed at the water with useless strokes. Then an enormous wave swallowed her. She didn’t return to the surface.

  24

  Teo writhed on the mattress in horror. In his mind’s eye, he replayed the sight of Clarice’s body disappearing into the sea over and over, the water exploding in white spray and swallowing the love of his life. The
love of my life. He tried to reach the key on the bedside table, but he wasn’t close enough. He turned his body around on the bed, shimmying as near as he could to the side, straining to reach the key. His fingers touched the table but not the key, which had slid across the top. He tried even harder, allowing the cuffs to pinch his forearms, and finally managed to reach it.

  He unlocked the handcuffs and raced outside. Pulling off his clothes, he waded into the sea, the salt water stinging his wounds. He swung his head from side to side, looking for the place where Clarice had disappeared. He felt impotent and a little stupid because it all looked the same and he had no reference points. It was high tide. When he thought he was near the right place, he realized he could no longer touch the sand with his toes. He stood on a rock covered in slime and slipped when a sea urchin pricked the tip of his big toe. He climbed back onto the rock and shouted for Clarice.

  He thought he’d seen a human shadow in the greenish-blue water, but when he swam out there, he didn’t find anything. How much time had passed? Definitely more than three minutes, maybe as much as five. His greatest fear was that Clarice had been dragged down to the bottom. He didn’t consider the possibility that she might have drowned. The world wouldn’t let someone so special go without the slightest ceremony. It would be unfair, criminal.

  The sea was turning a bright red—the sun was yawning on the horizon, and the sky had merged with the scarlet seascape. Teo kept treading water, with greater difficulty now, as the current seemed determined to suck him down. He dove underwater with his eyes open. The splendor of nature took his breath away. He had to swim back to land. The cold wind made his bones creak. It was a strange feeling: his brain remained logical while his body succumbed to involuntary reactions.

  He felt ill. All he could think of was tragedy. Then he saw Clarice’s body. It was near the rocky coast, snagged in an unlikely position between two rocks. Her face was covered with her hair but appeared to be above water. Her arms were beside her, bobbing up and down grotesquely on the waves. Apart from that, she wasn’t moving.

  Without hesitation, Teo headed into the water, feeling jabbing pains in his chest and right arm. He kicked his legs and lifted his arms high into the air with each stroke, as he wanted to make sure Clarice remembered her rescue as something heroic. When he got to the rocks, it was hard to find a place to hold on. His vision was clouded by the cold or by tiredness. He had to hold onto Clarice’s arms and clamber over her body. Her dress was torn, and when he climbed over her, he saw blood.

  The bottom half of her body was covered in abrasions, mostly around her lower back. Clarice was conscious, but disoriented. She was gasping and appeared to have taken in a lot of water. Her heart was beating quickly.

  “Stay calm, I’m here,” he said.

  He tore off her dress—she had nothing on underneath—and tried to turn her over. The waves were strong, throwing them against the rocks. Blood was gushing from a deep cut that had turned her left buttock into a jagged piece of flesh. She shook and spluttered incomprehensibly. He thought he heard her call out for Breno but tried not to take it personally.

  He needed to deconstruct the image of Clarice—his Clarice—and all his remorse regarding her. He had the skills to save her and was proud of the certainty. In a quick movement, he lifted her hips and tied the dress around her buttocks. The procedure helped stanch the blood, and he was able to remove her. He held her by the armpits as he swam, but she felt heavier than ever. It required inhuman strength. He had to find another position. He put her on his shoulders and swam, although the weight on his neck and back was enormous and he went under frequently, swallowing salt water and losing his senses for a fraction of a second.

  Clarice was sliding off him and he was no longer in control of the situation. He could barely manage to stay afloat himself. At that instant, as his feet felt in vain for the sand and he realized that he was still too far out, it struck him as interesting that they should die there, awash in the seductive arms of the Atlantic Ocean. The seductive arms of the Atlantic Ocean—he was certain a writer had already used the line in a novel. He loosened his grip on her arms a little, ready to let her go first, but then his feet touched sand, and he felt very much alive, confident and sure of himself again.

  He held Clarice up above the water and, digging his toes into the sand, carried her through the backwash and surf. She was growing pale and still coughing. Her long hair clung to Teo’s chest, which made him feel like Prince Charming saving the life of his beloved. By the time he had carried her into the cottage, he was already deeply moved and had given up trying to keep a professional distance from the situation.

  The setting sun cast a pretty pattern on the white walls. He laid Clarice on the bed in which she had slept, as the one in the other room was disgusting. He arranged the pillows around her body. After a quick examination, he was relieved. Her injuries weren’t as serious as they had seemed out in the water. She hadn’t sustained any wounds to her upper body or head. Nevertheless she looked small and hurt, like a bleeding mermaid. She had deep lacerations in her back and the calf of one leg, but the most critical were in her buttocks: the abrasions on one snaked up to a place where the flesh was exposed, protruding slightly outward.

  Teo leaned over her face. For an instant, he wished she wasn’t breathing so he could touch her lips with the excuse of performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. They were very close to each other, and he gazed into her half-open eyes. They say you can see a person’s soul in their eyes. In Clarice’s, he saw serenity and affection, a declaration of true love that filled his heart. He covered his face with his hands, crying. For the first time, he wasn’t trying, nor did he hope to gain anything with the display of emotion: the tears just came out.

  He knew it was a revelation that few were lucky enough to have: love in a raw state, the essence of life. Everything was reordered and took on meaning. He had acted on an impulse, trying to control Clarice, but now he realized how insignificant his domination was. Like puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together, they had had to reach that extreme in order to understand that they loved each other. He hugged her tightly, certain that she too was moved. It was the most important moment in her life, he was sure. He held her and cried on her shoulder.

  Clarice continued to cough and wheeze, but he clearly heard her say, “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Clarice. You’re my princess.”

  He kissed her at length—a series of pecks and then a long final kiss that put an end to her coughing.

  “I’m going to have to sedate you. It won’t hurt. I know what I’m doing, and you’re going to be fine.”

  He pulled on surgical gloves and got some gauze from the toiletry bag. He gave Clarice a serious look, trying to inspire trust in her, and injected her with the Thyolax. Her eyes quivered before they closed. Teo got a cooking knife and held it over the lantern, with the blade in the flame. Clarice would have been terrified if she’d seen it, which is why he preferred to reassure her, in case she could still hear him.

  “Don’t worry.”

  He untied the dress that was holding the main wound closed. The bleeding intensified, and he had to press gauze directly onto the small torn vein. He cleaned Clarice, taking care not to accidentally hurt her. Her hips were slight, which Teo liked. The cut in her left buttock was so deep that it had gone through the subcutaneous tissue and bared the fibers of her gluteus maximus, responsible for her perfect curves. The muscle was torn, and the skin, dilacerated. He hoped no bones were broken. He sutured the muscle and then the skin. As he closed the wounds in her feet and thighs with simple stitches, he felt an abstract anger at Clarice’s irresponsibility begin to grow in him.

  When she had gained the upper hand, she had switched off from reality. It was something Teo had been thinking about for weeks. The use of handcuffs sounded offensive even to him now. Throwing herself into the sea without a second thought had revealed the exte
nt of her madness, and it was all so absurd that he could no longer ignore it.

  The decision didn’t require any reflection: he had thought for long enough to know that it was the right thing to do. He was confident and only slightly annoyed now. Rolling Clarice onto her side, he gave her a little kiss on the forehead. Unhurriedly, he folded her over, pushing her legs and shoulders forward until her spine was as curved as possible. He ran his fingers down her white back, covered in scratches, where her spinal column could be seen under her skin.

  He picked up the knife with the hot blade and buried it in Clarice’s back, between vertebrae L1 and L2. There was resistance, so he changed position to increase the pressure. The incision opened even further, gaping like a wide, smiling mouth. The blade sunk into the intervertebral disk, leaving a smell of burned flesh. There was a marked contrast between the blood coming out of Clarice’s back and her unshakable sleep. Teo was vigilant. He didn’t want to put her life at risk. He let go of the handle, exhausted by the effort. The knife in her flesh shuddered, and her body appeared to relax. He knelt next to the bed, looking for another optimal position, and finished slicing through Clarice’s spine.

  25

  The night was relatively peaceful. Shortly before five o’clock, Clarice woke briefly with labored breathing and a high fever. Teo managed the situation with fever reducers, antibiotics, and Thyolax. The maneuver had been a success, he knew it, but he was so eager for Clarice to wake up that he wasn’t able to sleep himself. He changed the bloodied bedclothes and cleaned up the filth in the other bedroom. He returned Breno’s glasses to the satchel and had a quick shower to get rid of the horrible smell that was clinging to him. On the kitchen counter, he found the clay pot with the ashes of the photos and threw the whole lot away.

  He ended up falling asleep in the armchair and dreamed he was chatting with Sobotta, the author of Atlas of Human Anatomy, about what he’d done to Clarice. They were in a mountainous place, Sobotta was observing him with flinty eyes, and Teo was nervous, but when he woke up, he thought it was all very funny. It was seven o’clock in the morning, and Clarice was still asleep. He checked her vital signs. Her fever had come down.