“Get up, you imbecile!”
She positioned herself behind it, braced her feet against the wall of the trailer, and pushed with both hands and the entire weight of her body.
“The forest is less than a hundred yards away. Get up, stupid, and run! This is your last chance!”
But the bear just looked at her with its glassy, hopeless eyes. She went to the animal, sat down beside it, and scratched its ears. The ferocious beast was long gone, replaced now by this furry sack of bones. The creature was as bloodless as a teddy bear. L burst into tears and sobbed, as heartbroken as a small child.
And she suddenly understood the lesson her uncle had meant to teach her.
38
Elías clutched the mirror cube and pushed the pieces around with convulsive jabs as he paced the hotel corridor. This case was alarming him more and more. It had started with the simple theft of an obscure painting, and now he was mixed up with one of the worst gangsters in the region. Worst of all, Elías’s uncle was employing the man and his criminal methods to benefit both himself and the Church.
Elías halted in front of the hotel room door, gave the cube another couple of desperate pokes, then stuck it into the pocket of his trench coat. He couldn’t put this off any longer. He knocked.
The door opened. The smile on the woman’s lips froze instantly, and she tried to slam it shut. Elías blocked it with his foot, gave a mighty push, and entered the room.
She went to the bed and stood there with her back to him. “Leave the money on the bedside table.”
Elías grabbed her arm and spun her around. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
She looked at him, inscrutable.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“I require payment in advance. Always. Please put the money on the bedside table, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Fine.” He took out his wallet and threw down a couple of bills. “Now can we talk?”
“I don’t care why you came. I charge for fucking.”
She grabbed him and kissed him on the mouth. Elías was confused. He’d never paid for sex. The very notion of using a prostitute offended him. He clamped his lips shut and did his best to resist. He had to fend off the web this spiderwoman was spinning. He grabbed her shoulders to push her away, but she held him with one arm while she groped his genitals and kissed him again. Elías felt his member stiffen at her touch. Temptation flared and blinded him. With a passionate kiss, he devoured her tongue, her lips. This sudden ravenous desire went beyond anything he’d ever known. It was a mistake, a terrible sin, but he was out of control. He was mad for her divine beauty.
She unzipped his fly and dropped to her knees, glanced up to make sure he was watching, and gave him a wicked smile before wrapping her mouth around his cock. Elías was instantly ready to explode. He pulled her up, tore off all her clothes except the garter belts and stockings, turned her around, and bent her over the bed. He ripped off his clothes and positioned himself against her. She reached back with a condom. He slipped it on, marveling at the perfection of her ass, the sweetness of her curves, the pale delicacy of her skin, which contrasted with the fiery red of her hair. She looked back just as he penetrated her. He wrapped his hands in her hair as he moved deep inside, ever more frantic, grunting in rhythm with the growing violence of his thrusts. He’d never felt anything like it; surely this was once-in-a-lifetime ecstasy. He plunged wildly into her again and again until, at last, he reached an explosive orgasm. Mad ecstasy flooded through him. As he slumped against her in exhaustion and shattered gratitude, he was overwhelmed with happiness, a little boy who’d gobbled down the chocolate cake he’d been craving for so long.
And then he remembered.
He was married.
Guilt and shame struck him like blows and made him feel dirty, diminished, and humiliated. He pulled out and fumbled for his clothes. As he dressed, he wondered how he’d allowed himself to fall into this harpy’s clutches. He’d never seen himself as weak; in fact, just the opposite. He’d always prided himself on his discipline. He’d thought himself aloof from earthly passion and had granted himself only an occasional trifling indulgence as a reminder of the goodness of this life.
But now he’d wallowed in sin.
How could he ever look his wife in the face again? How could he make love to her without reliving the excruciating pain of infidelity? Perhaps he should go straight to confession. Would that make him feel better? Would his uncle or the local parish priest grant him absolution? Would confession wipe away the memory and the guilt?
Then he remembered that his uncle was involved in affairs that made marital infidelity pale in comparison.
He tried to believe it would be okay. Confession would take care of it. Everything would be forgiven and forgotten if he didn’t stray again. He wondered if something similar had been his uncle’s downfall. Something could have clouded his judgment, corrupted his soul, and allowed him to surrender to passion and vice. Elías was suddenly terrified he might lose his own moral compass. He panicked as he pictured himself being swept toward the unknown. He’d never asked for this.
She slipped on her dress. It slid like a long caress down the length of that sculptured body.
“My name is L.”
“What?”
“My name’s L. L from Eleuteria.”
“L. What about Alicia Silva?”
She tossed her fake ID onto the bed. “There. You can have it.”
Elías examined it.
“This is impressive work. It couldn’t have been cheap.”
“It was, actually.” She raised an index finger and gave it a long, lascivious lick. “An exchange of favors.”
Elías squirmed in angry discomfort. “What do you want from me?”
“That’s my question for you. I don’t remember asking you to come here.”
“No, but you did sucker me into working for you.”
He stepped forward and took her arm, forcing her to look him in the eyes. He lost himself for a moment in those green eyes, large and almond shaped, confident yet wary. He couldn’t tell if the vulnerability he saw was real or if she was just taunting him.
“You stole the painting and planted a trail so I could find you. You used a phony address, probably some gullible client who trusted you with his keys. You made up that story about the kidnapping and delivering the painting as ransom. Every word was a lie. Your uncle, if he really was your uncle, has been dead for years. So, where’s the painting?”
“I have it.”
“Here?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
“All right, get dressed, and we’ll go to pick it up.” Elías released her. “But first, tell me why you wanted me involved in all this.”
“My uncle’s murder has never been solved. I want you to identify the murderer. I’ll congratulate you for your fine detective work.”
The sarcasm in her words didn’t escape Elías, but it seemed strangely out of place. This woman was complicated, unpredictable, and dangerous.
“I don’t investigate homicides. Why did you choose me?”
“First of all, because you’re good at what you do. And second, because I knew you’d learn some things of importance to you.”
“Nothing I wanted to know.”
“I said things of importance. Not pleasant things.”
“You mean Midas?”
“Someone closer to you.”
“My uncle.”
“Bull’s-eye. My uncle is dead and yours ordered his murder. Or at least sanctioned it. I’m absolutely sure of that, but I have no proof. Murders, robberies, gangsters—don’t you think a bishop should be devoting himself to more spiritual matters?”
“What are you insinuating?”
“Haven’t you ever wondered why your uncle is so eager to get my painting?”
“The church buys works of art.”
“Sure. But this work is part of a particular c
ollection, and he has a vested interest in it.”
“And that means what?”
“I think it’s one of the last pieces he needs to complete the collection.”
He recalled the locked room in the bishop’s cellar. “What kind of collection is it?”
“You don’t trust me. If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me. You haven’t had any qualms about manipulating me up to now.”
“If I’d straight up told you what the bishop was doing, would you have believed it? You’ll have to find out the rest for yourself too.”
“You’re toying with me again. Let’s go to your place. I want that painting.”
“I’ll give it to you after you get back.”
“Back from where?”
“From a village in Navarra. The one I come from. The town of my ancestors, my friends, and the paintings. It’s deserted now. A ghost town.”
“Then what am I supposed to find there?”
“Answers.”
“In a ghost town?”
“You’ll have to learn to smell the sound of the earth, to read the silence of the stones, to listen to the odor of the dead.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You know my real name now.” She showed him a piece of paper. “Here’s the name of the town in Navarra and my real telephone number.” She tucked it into his trouser pocket. “I’ll answer twenty-four/seven.”
Elías hesitated. For some reason, maybe a desire for revenge, L still wanted him to learn more about his uncle the bishop. But even though he was playing into her hands, there was no turning back now. He had to get to the bottom of all this. He had to find out just how corrupt his uncle had become. And if the answer lay in a village in Navarra, maybe it was worth the trip.
“All right. I’ll go.”
L—if that really was her name—moved closer and gave him a delicate kiss on the lips. He was suddenly reminded of someone, as if she were a more beautiful version of someone he knew. But who? He turned to go.
“You can’t leave yet.” She held him by the arm and kissed him again.
He felt an instant physical response. He knew that if he had the chance to screw her again, he would succumb immediately.
“Why?”
“We haven’t finished our discussion of Duchamp.”
39
“You’re late.”
Caridad’s tone was accusatory. She stood before the picture window in the living room, watching the shadowy figures in the street. Night was closing over the Roman amphitheater. The stone structure seemed even more ancient in the dusk.
“I’m sorry,” Elías said.
Caridad turned to face him. “I called you a dozen times.” Her voice drilled through him. “And you never picked up.”
“I didn’t hear it.”
“You don’t care.” There was danger in her voice. He’d never seen her this angry. Could she tell what he’d just done?
“Care about what?”
“Having children.”
“What makes you say that?” Her accusation confused him. He hadn’t yet processed his infidelity with L. He certainly didn’t have the energy to deal with the hypersensitive issue of parenthood.
“If you can’t see it, I won’t waste my breath. This is humiliating.”
He went to his wife. “Come on now, darling. I’m tired and stressed out. There’s too much work to do and after the incident the other day—”
“Right. An incident, not an accident. You provoked it, I know.”
“What?”
“Alfredo told me. He said that you’re up to your neck in some kind of shady business. Even though your uncle warned you.”
Elías knew his wife was close with the vicar, but he could hardly believe that Alfredo would try to turn her against him.
“Alfredo doesn’t have a clue! What, do you trust him more than me?”
“I certainly do. You haven’t exactly done much to deserve my trust recently.”
“Caridad, I love you, and I want—with all my heart and soul I want to have a family with you. But I’m going through a difficult time right now.”
“Three!” She raised three fingers. “We discussed this before we got married. Three. Three children. Not one, not two, and never childless. Three children; that’s what you promised.”
Elías remembered negotiating all that ahead of time. Being childless was the sin of the selfish or the Lord’s punishment of the unworthy. An only child was for cowards who shrank from the trials of parenthood. Two children told everyone you were lower middle class and lacked the resources for a larger family. Three was the perfect number. It was symbolic. Parents had a duty to have the number of offspring they were capable of raising. Only fanatics had more than three. Or the poor, because were incapable of family planning.
“I still want to have children, but can’t we at least enjoy ourselves? Does everything have to be planned, right down to when we make love?”
“You’re the one who’s always been the master planner. I don’t know what’s happened to you. Just look at yourself.” She pointed to his untucked shirt. “I don’t recognize you anymore.”
“You’re probably right.” Perceiving her change of attitude, Elías became aware of his own. He was a stranger in his own home. This woman he’d married was alien to him. “Maybe something in me has changed.”
“This makes no sense.” Caridad couldn’t look at him. “You’ve always been so meticulous, so orderly. I thought we had an understanding that now’s the time to have children.”
“We do.”
“God helps those who help themselves, Elías. No truer words were ever spoken. I do my part and pray to God every day, but you’re not rising to the occasion. At least not with me!”
Elías was taken aback by the uncharacteristic vulgarity. He’d always admired his wife’s equanimity, her manners, her ability to hide negative feelings. In a very different sense, she did rise to the occasion. But what struck him hardest was her accurate guess. He was flooded with remorse. The tryst with the redhead had been an accident, that was all. He could put it behind him. It was no reason to destroy his marriage. He stepped forward and gave Caridad a passionate kiss. She stood there, cold and unresponsive. He caressed her gently and nudged her down onto the sofa.
“Not here. We’ll get it dirty.”
Elías suppressed a snort as he felt the erection shrivel inside his trousers. He went with her to the bedroom. He shed his clothes somewhat reluctantly as she did the same. He kissed her again and tried to put L out of his mind. He was with his wife now, and he needed to take pleasure in that. He ran his palms across her small breasts, embraced her, and lowered her onto the bed. He tried to turn her over.
“No, it’s better if I lie on my back.”
He gave up and began to push into her. He was painfully aware she wasn’t enjoying herself, and neither was he.
“Go on, then,” Caridad said, but Elías heard, Get to work! Show me you’re a real man who can knock up his own damn wife.
He closed his eyes and transported himself to the hotel bedroom just a few hours earlier. He increased the tempo, thrusting between L’s legs. He heard a quiet moan and opened his eyes to see Caridad’s expectant gaze. This was too much. Ignoring her surprised protests, he rolled her over and plunged himself into her. As long as he didn’t have to look at Caridad, he could dream of L. She pressed her face to the bed, abject and submissive, waiting for him to finish.
Their relationship had been smooth up to now, despite all the hours she’d devoted to studying and the constant trips to the pricey test prep school in Murcia. The reality was that they hadn’t spent much time together; maybe that’s why they’d gotten along so well. Now that she finally had her teaching assignment, Caridad was applying that same determination and perseverance to getting pregnant. She recorded her menstrual cycles and consulted lists of foods and behaviors said to promote fertility. He’d become a mere instrument, much like the boo
ks she’d used to prepare for her exam.
His wife pressed her face to the pillow, involuntarily grunting from time to time, just enough to remind him that she was there. He knew she wasn’t usually interested in sex for its own sake; she regarded it as a means to an end. Perhaps she was trying to decide right now whether to throw some colored clothes in the wash or if it was time to visit her sister. Since she wasn’t present, he could hardly feel guilty about being elsewhere. His pumping accelerated as he pictured L’s body, her hair, that lascivious gaze in her eyes, the sheer joy of doing it with her. When he felt his balls contract, he pulled out and grabbed his cock as it spurted across his wife’s back.
“What are you doing!” Caridad shouted. She turned over and rushed to the bathroom.
Elías collapsed onto the bed, vaguely aware of his wife’s sobs beyond the white noise of the shower. He didn’t know why he’d done it. It was a sudden impulse, a moment of rebellion.
He didn’t particularly regret it.
She came back and began to get dressed. She said nothing.
“I’m going to be away for a few days,” he said.
“Where? Assuming I’m allowed to ask.”
He’d always admired his wife’s self-control, but now he found it unnerving.
“To Navarra. A short trip.”
“I’ll be right here. Waiting.”
Elías noticed she hadn’t said, Waiting for you.
He got up and went to the bathroom.
40
Elías drove through the beech forest. Snow was thick on the ground. He’d had to install chains on the tires as soon as he left the highway, for no one had bothered to plow out here. The trees danced and swayed in the frigid wind like skeletons trying to shake free of their heavy burden of snow. He came out of the forest and stopped. Before him was a bridge and, past that, a derelict village. A few houses stood along the riverbank, and one structure straddled the stream—probably a mill. One wall and part of the roof had collapsed. A couple of houses looked structurally sound, but the rest were as ramshackle as the mill. Some were even worse.
The Dark Circus Page 22