About the Author 39 страница

“If the doctor had said she might die, I would have had her get an abortion, ” Ambrosio says. “It’s easy there, a whole raft of old women who know all the herbs for it. But no, she felt fine and that’s why we didn’t worry about anything. ”

One Saturday, during the first month of her pregnancy, Amalia had gone with Doñ a Lupe to spend the day in Yarinacocha. All morning they’d sat under a canopy looking at the lagoon where people were swimming, the round eye of the sun was burning in a crystal-clear sky. At noon they had untied their bundles and eaten under a tree, and then they’d heard two women having soft drinks saying awful things about Hilario Morales: he was this, he was that, he’d cheated, he’d robbed, if there was any justice left he’d have been dead or in prison. It’s probably nothing but gossip, Doñ a Lupe had said, but that night Amalia had told Ambrosio.

“I’ve heard worse things about him, and not just here, in Tingo Marí a too, ” Ambrosio had told her. “What I can’t understand is why he doesn’t pull one of his tricks so our business will start showing some profit. ”

“Because he’s most likely pulling the tricks on you, dope, ” Amalia had said.

“She put the doubt in me, ” Ambrosio says. “The poor thing had the nose of a hound, son. ”

From then on, every night when he got back from Pucallpa, even before he brushed off the red dust of the road, he’d asked Amalia anxiously: how many big ones, how many small ones? He had copied down everything that had been sold in a notebook and he had come back every day with stories of new tricks he’d heard concerning Don Hilario in Tingo Marí a and Pucallpa.

“If you mistrust him that much, I’ve got an idea, ” Pantaleó n had told him. “Tell him to give you back your money and we’ll go into something together. ”

Ever since that Saturday in Yarinacocha she’d kept a scrupulous watch on the customers at Limbo Coffins. This pregnancy hadn’t been at all like the earlier one, not even like the first one, Doñ a Lupe: no nausea, no vomiting, not even thirsty, almost. She hadn’t lost her strength, she could do the housework as well as ever. One morning she’d gone to the hospital with Ambrosio and had to stand in a long line. They’d killed time with a game where they tried to guess the number of buzzards they saw sunning themselves on nearby roofs, and when their turn came, Amalia was half asleep. The doctor had given her a very quick examination and said get dressed, you’re fine, come back in a couple of months. Amalia had got dressed and only when she was about to leave had she remembered:

“At the Maternity Hospital in Lima they told me that I could die if I had another baby, doctor. ”

“Then you should have paid attention and taken precautions, ” the doctor had grumbled; but then, when he saw she was frightened, he forced a smile. “Don’t be scared, take good care of yourself and nothing will happen to you. ”

A short time later another six months had passed and Ambrosio, before going to Don Hilario’s office, had called her over with a devilish look: come here, I’ve got a secret. What is it? He was going to tell him that he didn’t want to be his partner anymore or his driver either, Amalia, that he could stick The Jungle Flash and Limbo Coffins where it best suited him. Amalia had looked at him with surprise and he: it was a surprise he was saving for you, Amalia. He and Pantaleó n had been making plans all that time and they’d come up with a great one. They’d fill their pockets at Don Hilario’s expense, Amalia, that was the funniest part of it. There was a small used truck for sale and Pantaleó n had taken it apart and cleaned it up right down to its soul: it worked. They were letting it go for eighty thousand and would take a thirty thousand down payment and the rest on time. Pantaleó n would ask for his severance pay and he would move heaven and earth to get his fifteen thousand back and they’d buy it on halves and drive it on halves and charge less and take customers away from the Morales and the Pucallpa companies.

“All dreams, ” Ambrosio says. “I was trying to end up where I should have started when I got to Pucallpa. ”

THEY CAME STRAIGHT BACK to Lima from Huacachina in the car of another newlywed couple. Señ ora Lucí a received them with sighs at the door of the boardinghouse and, after embracing Ana, dried her eyes with her apron. She’d put flowers in the room, washed the curtains and changed the sheets, and bought a bottle of port wine to toast their happiness. When Ana began to unpack the suitcases, she called Santiago aside and gave him an envelope with a mysterious smile: his little sister had dropped it off yesterday. Teté ’s Miraflores handwriting, Zavalita, you devil, we found out about your getting married! her Gothic syntax, and reading about it in the paper! Everybody was furious with you (don’t you believe it, Superbrain) and dying to meet my sister-in-law. They should run right over to the house, they were going to look for you morning and night because they were dying to meet her. You were such a nut, Superbrain, and a thousand kisses from Teté.

“Don’t turn so pale. ” Ana laughed. “What difference does it make if they did find out, were we going to keep it a secret marriage? ”

“It’s not that, ” Santiago said. “It’s just, well, you’re right, I’m acting stupid. ”

“Of course you are. ” Ana laughed again. “Call them and get it over with or, if you want, let’s go face them. You’d think they were ogres, love. ”

“Yes, we’d better get it over with, ” Santiago said. “I’ll tell them we’ll come by tonight. ”

With an earthworm tickle in his body, he went down to phone and no sooner had he said hello? than he heard Teté ’s triumphant shout: Superbrain was on the phone, papa! There was her gushing voice, but how could you have done this, you crazy nut! her euphoria, did you really get married? who to, you madman? her impatience, when and how and where, her giggle, but why didn’t you even tell them you had a sweetheart, her questions, had you kidnapped my sister-in-law, had they eloped, was she underage? Tell me, come on, tell me all about it.

“First give me a chance to speak, ” Santiago said. “I can’t answer everything at once. ”

“Her name is Ana? ” Teté burst out again. “What’s she like, where’s she from, what’s her last name, do I know her, how old is she? ”

“Look, maybe you’d better ask her all that, ” Santiago said. “Will you all be home tonight? ”

“Why tonight, idiot? ” Teté shouted. “Come over right now. Can’t you see that we’re dying with curiosity? ”

“We’ll come by around seven o’clock, ” Santiago said. “For dinner, O. K. So long, Teté. ”

She had fixed herself up for that visit more than for the wedding, Zavalita. She’d gone to a hairdresser, asked Doñ a Lucí a to help her iron a blouse, had tried on all her dresses and shoes and looked and looked again in the mirror and took an hour to put her makeup on and do her nails. He thinks: poor skinny little thing. She’d been so sure of herself all afternoon, while she got things ready and decided on what to wear, all smiles, asking questions about Don Fermí n and Señ ora Zoila and Sparky and Teté, but at dusk, when she walked in front of Santiago, how does this look, love, do you prefer this other one, love? she was already too loquacious, her ease was too artificial, and there were those little sparks of anguish in her eyes. In the taxi on the way to Miraflores, she’d been silent and serious, uneasiness stamped on her mouth.

“They’re going to look me over the way they would a man from Mars, aren’t they? ” she said suddenly.

“A woman from Mars, more likely, ” Santiago said. “What do you care? ”

But she did care, Zavalita. When he rang the bell he felt her clutch his arm, saw her protect her coiffure with her free hand. It was absurd, what were they doing here, why did they have to go through that examination: you’d felt furious, Zavalita. There was Teté, dressed for a party, at the door, leaping up and down. She kissed Santiago, embraced and kissed Ana, said things, squealed, and there were Teté ’s little eyes, and a moment later Sparky’s little eyes and the eyes of his parents, looking her over, running up and down her, an autopsy. In the midst of the laughter, Teté ’s squeals and embraces, there was that pair of eyes. Teté took each one by the arm, crossed the garden with them, talking incessantly, pulling them along in her whirlwind of exclamations and questions and congratulations and still casting the inevitable quick glances out of the corner of her eye at Ana, who was stumbling. The whole family was gathered in the living room. The Tribunal, Zavalita. There it was: including Popeye, including Cary, Sparky’s fiancé e, all of them dressed for a party. Five pairs of rifles, he thinks, all aiming and firing at Ana at the same time. He thinks: mama’s face. You didn’t know mama very well, Zavalita, you thought she had better control of herself, more ease, more restraint. But she didn’t hide her annoyance or her stupefaction or her disappointment: only her rage, at first and halfway. She was the last to come over to them, like a penitent dragging chains, flushed. She kissed Santiago, murmuring something you couldn’t catch—her lips were trembling, he thinks, her eyes were wide—and then and with effort, she turned to Ana, who was opening her arms. But she didn’t embrace her, she didn’t smile at her; she leaned over and barely touched cheeks with Ana and drew away immediately: hello Ana. Her face grew harder still, she turned to Santiago and Santiago looked at Ana: she’d suddenly turned red and now Don Fermí n was trying to smooth things over. He’d rushed over to Ana, so this was his daughter-in-law, had embraced her again, this is the secret that Skinny kept hidden from us. Sparky embraced Ana wearing the smile of a hippopotamus and gave Santiago a clap on the back, exclaiming curtly you really kept it secret. He too showed the same embarrassed and funereal expression at times that Don Fermí n had when he was careless with his face for a second and forgot to smile. Only Popeye seemed happy and relaxed. Petite, blond, with her little bird voice and her crepe dress, Cary, before they sat down, had begun to ask questions with an innocent, flaky little laugh. But Teté had behaved well, Zavalita, she’d done the impossible to fill the gaps with shreds of conversation, to sweeten the bitter drink that mama, on purpose or unwittingly, served Ana during those two hours. She had spoken to her a single time, and when Don Fermí n, anxiously merry, opened a bottle of champagne and hors d’oeuvres were served, she forgot to pass Ana the plate of cheese chunks with toothpicks. And she remained stiff and neutral—her lips still trembling, her eyes wide and staring—while Ana, badgered by Cary and Teté, explained, making mistakes and contradicting herself, how and when they had been married. In private, no attendants, no wedding party, you crazy nuts, Teté said, and Cary how simple, how nice, and she looked at Sparky. From time to time, as if remembering that he was supposed to, Don Fermí n would emerge from his silence with a little start, lean forward in his chair and say something affectionate to Ana. How uncomfortable he looked, Zavalita, how difficult that naturalness, that familiarity was for him. More hors d’oeuvres had been brought, Don Fermí n poured a second round of champagne, and for the few seconds they were drinking there was a fleeting relaxation of tensions. From the corner of his eye Santiago saw Ana’s efforts to swallow the things Teté was passing her, and she was responding as best she could to the jokes—which were getting more and more timid, more false—that Popeye was telling her. It seemed as if the atmosphere was going to burst into flames, he thinks, that a blaze would spring up in the middle of the group. Imperturbably, tenaciously, healthily, Cary kept putting her foot in it at every moment. She would open her mouth, what school did you go to, Ana? and the atmosphere would thicken, Marí a Parado de Bellido was a public school, wasn’t it? and add tics and tremors, oh, she’d studied nursing! to his mother’s face, not as a volunteer gray lady but as a professional? So you knew how to give shots, Ana, so you’d worked at La Maison de Santé, at the Workers’ Hospital in Ica. There your mother, Zavalita, blinking, biting her lips, wiggling in her chair as if she were sitting on an ant hill. There your father, his eyes on the tip of his shoe, listening, raising his head and struggling to smile at you and Ana. Huddled in her chair, a piece of toast with anchovies dancing in her fingers, Ana was looking at Cary like a frightened student at her examiner. A moment later she got up, went over to Teté and whispered in her ear in the midst of an electrified silence. Of course, Teté said, come with me. They left, disappeared up the stairs, and Santiago looked at Señ ora Zoila. She wasn’t saying anything yet, Zavalita. Her brow was wrinkled, her lips were trembling, she was looking at you. You thought it won’t matter to her that Popeye and Cary are here, he thinks, it’s stronger than she is, she won’t be able to stand it.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? ” Her voice was hard and deep, her eyes were turning red, she was wringing her hands as she spoke. “Getting married in secret like that? Passing the shame on to your parents, your brother and sister? ”

Don Fermí n still had his head down, absorbed in his shoes, and Popeye’s smile had frozen and he looked like an idiot. Cary was looking from one person to another, discovering that something was happening, asking with her eyes what’s going on, and Sparky had folded his arms and was looking at Santiago severely.

“This isn’t the time, mama, ” Santiago said. “If I’d known it was going to upset you like this I wouldn’t have come. ”

“I would have preferred a thousand times that you hadn’t come, ” Señ ora Zoila said, raising her voice. “Do you hear me? Do you hear me? A thousand times not to see you rather than see you married like this, you lunatic. ”

“Be quiet, Zoila. ” Don Fermí n had taken her arm, Popeye and Sparky were looking apprehensively toward the stairs, Cary had opened her mouth. “Please, girl. ”

“Can’t you see who he’s married? ” Señ ora Zoila sobbed. “Don’t you realize, can’t you see? How can I accept it, how can I see my son married to someone who could be his servant? ”

“Zoila, don’t be an idiot. ” He was pale too, Zavalita, he was terrified too. “You’re saying stupid things, dear. The girl might hear you. She’s Santiago’s wife, Zoila. ”

Papa’s hoarse and stumbling voice, Zavalita, his efforts and those of Sparky to calm mama down as she shouted and sobbed. Popeye’s face was freckled and crimson, Cary had huddled in her chair as if there were a polar wind blowing.

“You’ll never see her again, but be quiet now, mama, ” Santiago said finally. “I won’t let you insult her. She hasn’t done anything to you and …”

“She hasn’t done anything to me, anything to me? ” Señ ora Zoila roared, trying to break away from Don Fermí n and Sparky. “She wheedled you, she turned your head, and that little social climber hasn’t done anything to me? ”

A Mexican movie, he thinks, one of the kind you like. He thinks: mariachis and charros were the only things missing, love. Sparky and Don Fermí n had finally led Señ ora Zoila, almost dragging her, into the study and Santiago was standing up. You were looking at the stairs, Zavalita, you were locating the bathroom, calculating the distance: yes, she’d heard. There was that indignation you hadn’t felt for years, that holy wrath from the days of Cahuide and the revolution, Zavalita. His mother’s moans could be heard inside, his father’s desolate and recriminatory voice. Sparky had come back to the living room a moment later, flushed, incredibly furious.

“You’ve given mama an attack. ” He furious, he thinks, Sparky furious, poor Sparky furious. “A person can’t live in peace around here because of your crazy tricks, it would seem that you haven’t got anything better to do than make the folks fly into a rage. ”

“Please, Sparky, ” Cary peeped, getting up. “Sparky, please, please. ”

“It’s all right, love, ” Sparky said. “Just that this nut always does things the wrong way. Papa in such delicate health and this one here …”

“I can take certain things from mama, but not from you, ” Santiago said. “Not from you, Sparky, I’m warning you. ”

“You’re warning me? ” Sparky said, but Cary and Popeye had got hold of him now and were pulling him back: what are you laughing at, son? Ambrosio asks. You weren’t laughing, Zavalita, you were looking at the stairs and over your shoulder you heard Popeye’s strangled voice: don’t get all worked up, man, it’s all over, man. Was she crying and was that why she didn’t come down, should you go up to get her or wait? They finally appeared at the top of the stairs and Teté was looking as if there were ghosts or demons in the living room, but you carried yourself splendidly, sweet, he thinks, better than Marí a Fé lix in such-and-such, better than Libertad Lamarque in the other one. She came downstairs slowly, holding the banister, looking only at Santiago, and when she got to him she said in a steady voice:

“It’s getting late, isn’t it? We have to leave now, don’t we, love? ”

“Yes, ” Santiago said. “We can get a taxi over by the square. ”

“We’ll take you, ” Popeye said, almost shouting. “We’ll take them, won’t we, Teté? ”

“Of course, ” Teté babbled. “We’ll take a little drive. ”

Ana said good-bye, walked past Sparky and Cary without shaking hands, and went rapidly into the garden, followed by Santiago, who hadn’t said good-bye. Popeye got ahead of them by leaps and bounds to open the gate to the street and let Ana through; then he ran as if someone were chasing him and brought up his car and jumped out to open the door for Ana: poor Freckle Face. At first they didn’t say anything. Santiago started to smoke, Popeye started to smoke, Ana, very stiff in her seat, was looking out the window.

“You know, Ana, give me a call, ” Teté said with a voice that was still wounded, when they said good-bye at the door of the boardinghouse. “So I can help you find an apartment, anything. ”

“Yes, of course, ” Ana said. “So you can help me find an apartment. Yes, of course. ”

“The four of us ought to go out together sometime, Skinny, ” Popeye said, smiling with his whole mouth and blinking furiously. “To eat, to the movies. Whenever you say, brother. ”

“Yes, of course, ” Santiago said. “I’ll call you one of these days, Freckle Face. ”

In the room, Ana began to weep so hard that Doñ a Lucí a came to ask what was the matter. Santiago was calming her down, caressing her, explaining to her, and Ana had finally dried her eyes. Then she began to protest and to insult them: she was never going to see them again, she detested them, she hated them. Santiago agreed with her: yes sweet, of course love. She didn’t know why she hadn’t come downstairs and slapped that old woman, that stupid old woman: yes sweet. Even though she was your mother, even though she was an older woman, so she would learn what it meant to call her a social climber, so she would see: of course love.

“All right, ” Ambrosio said. “I’ve washed, I’m clean now. ”

“All right, ” Queta said. “What happened? Wasn’t I at that little party? ”

“No, ” Ambrosio said. “It was meant to be a little party and it wasn’t. Something happened and a lot of guests didn’t show up. Only three or four and him among them. The mistress was furious, they’ve snubbed me, she said. ”

“The madwoman thinks Cayo Shithead gives those little parties so she can have a good time, ” Queta said. “He gives them to keep his buddies happy. ”

She was stretched out on the bed, lying on her back like him, both dressed now, both smoking. They were putting the ashes in an empty matchbox that he held on his chest; the cone of light fell on their feet, their faces were in the shadows. No music or talking could be heard; only the distant creak of a lock or the rumble of a vehicle on the street from time to time.

“I’d already realized that those little parties had some reason behind them, ” Ambrosio said. “Do you think that’s the only reason he keeps the mistress? To entertain his friends with her? ”

“Not just for that. ” Queta laughed with a spaced and ironic chuckle, looking at the smoke that she was letting out. “Because the madwoman is pretty too and she tolerates his vices. What was it that happened? ”

“You tolerate them too, ” he said respectfully, not turning to look at her.

“I tolerate them? ” Queta asked slowly; she waited a few seconds while she crushed the butt of her cigarette and laughed again with the same slow, mocking laugh. “Yours too, right? It’s been expensive for you to come and spend a couple of hours here, hasn’t it? ”

“It cost me more at the whorehouse, ” Ambrosio said; and he added, as if in secret, “You don’t charge me for the room. ”

“Well, it costs him a lot more than you, don’t you see? ” Queta said. “I’m not the same as her. The madwoman doesn’t do it for money, or because she’s looking after her interests. Or because she loves him, naturally. She does it because she’s naï ve. I’m like the second lady of Peru, Quetita. Ambassadors, ministers come here. Poor madwoman. She doesn’t seem to realize that they go to San Miguel as if they were going to a whorehouse. She thinks they’re her friends, that they come because of her. ”

“Don Cayo does realize it, ” Ambrosio murmured. “They don’t consider me their equal, those sons of bitches, he says. He used to say that to me lots of times when I worked for him. And that they fawn on him because they have to. ”

“He’s the one who fawns on them, ” Queta said and, without pausing, “What was it, how did it happen? That night, that party. ”

“I’d seen him there a few times, ” Ambrosio said, and there was a slight change in his voice: a kind of fleeting retractile movement. “I knew that he used the familiar form with the mistress, for example. Ever since I started working for Don Cayo his face was familiar to me. I’d seen him twenty times maybe. But I don’t think he’d ever seen me. Until that party, that time. ”

“Why did they have you come in? ” Quetita seemed distracted. “Had they had you join other parties? ”

“Just once, just that time, ” Ambrosio said. “Ludovico was sick and Don Cayo had sent him home to sleep. I was in the car, knowing that I’d be on my behind all night long, and then the mistress came out and told me to come help. ”

“The madwoman? ” Queta asked, laughing. “Help? ”

“Really help, they’d fired the maid or she’d left or something, ” Ambrosio said. “To help pass the plates around, open bottles, get more ice. I’d never done anything like that, you can imagine. ” He stopped speaking and laughed. “I helped, but I wasn’t very good. I broke two glasses. ”

“Who was there? ” Queta asked. “China, Lucy, Carmincha? How come none of them realized? ”

“I don’t know their names, ” Ambrosio said. “No, there weren’t any women. Only three or four men. And him, I’d been watching him when I came in with the plates of things and the ice. He was having his drinks but he wasn’t falling off his horse like the others. He didn’t get drunk. Or he didn’t look it. ”

“He’s elegant, his gray hair suits him, ” Queta said. “He must have been a good-looking boy when he was young. But there’s something annoying about him. He thinks he’s an emperor. ”

“No, ” Ambrosio insisted firmly. “He didn’t do anything crazy, he didn’t carry on. He had his drinks and that’s all. I was watching him. No, he wasn’t at all stuck-up. I know him, I know. ”

“But what caught your attention? ” Queta asked. “What was strange about the way he looked at you? ”

“Nothing strange, ” Ambrosio murmured, as if apologizing. His voice had grown faint and was intimate and thick. He explained slowly: “He must have looked at me a hundred times before, but all of a sudden you could see that he was looking at me. Not like at a wall anymore. You see? ”

“The madwoman must have been falling all over herself, she didn’t notice, ” Queta said distractedly. “She was very surprised when she found out you were going to go to work for him. Was she falling all over herself? ”

“I would go into the living room and right away I could see that he’d started looking at me, ” Ambrosio whispered. “His eyes were half laughing, half shining. As if he was telling me something, you know? ”

“And you still didn’t realize? ” Queta said. “I’ll bet you Cayo Shithead did. ”

“I realized that way of looking at me was strange, ” Ambrosio murmured. “On the sly. He’d lift his glass so Don Cayo would think he was going to sip his drink and I realized that wasn’t why. He’d put his eyes on me and wouldn’t take them off until I was out of the room. ”

Queta started laughing and he stopped immediately. He waited, not moving, for her to stop laughing. Now they were both smoking again, lying on their backs, and he’d put his hand on her knee. He wasn’t stroking it, he was letting it rest there, peacefully. It wasn’t hot, but sweat had broken out on the portion of naked skin where their arms touched. A voice was heard going down the hall. Then a car with a whining motor. Queta looked at the clock on the night table. It was two o’clock.

“One of those times I asked him if he wanted more ice” Ambrosio murmured. “The other guests had gone, the party was almost over, he was the only one left. He didn’t answer me. He closed and opened his eyes in a funny way that’s hard to explain. Half as a challenge, half making fun, you know? ”

“And you still hadn’t caught on? ” Queta insisted. “You’re dumb. ”

“I am, ” Ambrosio said. “I thought he was acting drunk, I thought he probably is and wants to have some fun at my expense. I’d had my few drinks in the kitchen and thought I’m probably drunk myself and only think that’s what it is. But the next time I came in I said no, what’s eating him. It must have been two or three o’clock, how should I know. I came in to empty an ashtray, I think. That’s when he spoke to me. ”

“Sit down for a bit, ” Don Fermí n said. “Have a drink with us. ”

“It wasn’t an invitation, it was more like an order, ” Ambrosio murmured. “He didn’t know my name. In spite of the fact that he’d heard Don Cayo say it a hundred times, he didn’t know it. He told me later on. ”

Queta started to laugh, he fell silent and waited. A halo of light was reaching the chair and lighting up his jumbled clothes. The smoke was flattening out over them, spreading, breaking up into stealthy rhythmical swirls. Two cars passed in rapid succession as if racing.

“What about her? ” Queta asked, now just barely laughing. “What about Hortensia? ”

Ambrosio’s eyes rolled around in a sea of confusion: Don Cayo didn’t seem either displeased or surprised. He looked at him for an instant seriously and then nodded yes to him, do what he says, sit down. The ashtray was dancing stupidly in Ambrosio’s uplifted hand.

“She’d fallen asleep, ” Ambrosio said. “Stretched out in the easy chair. She must have had a lot to drink. I didn’t feel right there, sitting on the edge of the chair. Strange, ashamed, my stomach upset. ”

He rubbed his hands and finally, with a ceremonious solemnity, said here’s how without looking at anyone and drank. Queta had turned to look at his face: his eyes were closed, his lips tight together, and he was perspiring.

“At that pace you’re going to get sick on us. ” Don Fermí n started to laugh. “Go ahead, have another drink. ”

“Playing with you like a cat with a mouse, ” Queta murmured with disgust. “You like that, I’ve come to see it. Being the mouse. Letting them step on you, treat you badly. If I hadn’t treated you badly, you wouldn’t have got the money together to come up here and tell me your troubles. Your troubles? The first few times I thought so, now I don’t. You enjoy everything that happens to you. ”

“Sitting there like an equal, having a drink, ” he said with the same opaque, rarefied, distant tone of voice. “Don Cayo didn’t seem to mind or he was pretending he didn’t. And he wouldn’t let me leave, you know? ”

“Where are you going there, stay, ” Don Fermí n joked, ordered for the tenth time. “Stay there, where are you off to? ”

“He was different from all the other times I’d seen him, ” Ambrosio said. “Those times he hadn’t seen me. By his way of looking and talking too. He was talking without stopping, about anything under the sun, and all of a sudden he said a dirty word. He, who seemed to have such good manners and with that look of a …”