“He had never done it before.”
“How do you know?”
“She was the first and the last. I know. My heart tells me so.”
Gulietta sat down beside her and caressed her hair once again.
“Anyway, it doesn't matter now. That Ricardo boyâdid you know him from before?”
“We saw him in Buenos Aires at the house of that poet, Doña Blanca Colorado.”
“What year?”
“I was thirteen.”
Doña Clara thought for a moment and said: “I remember his mother. But he looks so irresponsible.”
“I like him,” said Gulietta. “He just graduated from high school like me.”
“He has a mischievous face.”
“Ricardo isn't my problem right now. Alderete is.”
“I'll bet he thinks I'm a snake for making you marry that demon.”
“He didn't say anything.”
“Everyone thinks I'm a witch.”
“A lot of mothers marry off their daughters for money. It's normal.”
“But not to their husband's murderer . . .”
“The important thing is to get divorced as soon as possible. He won't know what hit him.”
“He's no idiot. First, he has to put some of his property in your name.”
“I'm under his skin. He's obsessed with me.”
“You can see that from a mile away.”
“I'm scared.”
“I was a virgin when I married your father.”
“Don't make such awful comparisons.”
“Your father was a gentleman. I know.”
“How was your honeymoon?”
“Romantic and peaceful.”
“Where did you go?” Gulietta asked.
“To the Yura hot springs in Peru.”
“Working-class people are smarter. They live together before they get married. They call it the
sirwiñacu
.”
“Just like the Swedes. And then people say Bolivia is backwards. Anyway, if it doesn't happen tonight with Alderete, he'll ask for it on the ship,” Doña Clara said.
“I'll be an undelivered postcard,” the daughter responded.
“You can pretend that you're making love to somebody else.”
“Somebody like Clark Gable.”
Doña Clara shook her head. She was getting nervous; she couldn't keep her hands still for a single moment. She recalled the bitterness that had led her to sacrifice her daughter, the kind of bitterness that can make you lose your sense of good and bad.
“It's my fault,” she said.
“It was your idea and I accepted it.”
“Well, at least you recognize that. What I want is for you not to suffer. And the problem is, how will that be possible? It's an almost unsolvable dilemma. Don't lose your cool around him. Don't forget that he has something to lose too. If you leave him, he'll panic. His biggest fear is looking like a fool. For him, getting laughed at is worse than a hundred lashes. If you handle the matter intelligently, your father will thank us from heaven.”
“You hate him as much as I do.”
“Like Iago and Othello.”
“I didn't know that you read Shakespeare.”
“I've never read him, but your father used to tell me that there was no greater hatred than that of Iago for Othello.”
“Shakespeare himself would have been inspired by this moving tragedy. And if he wrote this story, it would probably end with a crime.”
“Good God! That's taking it too far.”
“He caused my father to take his own life, which makes him the instigator of a suicide. Iago was the one who conspired, but Othello was the weapon.”
Doña Clarita frowned. She didn't have any more arguments for convincing Gulietta to go along with the plan. It was at once like a stupid joke and a tragedy. Her thirst for revenge had gone too far. She would've sacrificed herself if she could have, but Alderete wanted a young girl, not an old woman. She hadn't thought for a minute that her daughter would suffer so much.
“I don't know how to fix this,” said Doña Clara.
“If he gives me any trouble, I'll scratch his face.”
“Alderete has an inferiority complex. He would never dare to hit you.”
“You talk as if we're living a hundred years ago.”
“That's just the way it is.”
Gulietta smiled. Her mother was set in her waysâshe had been raised on notions of class that undergirded a decadent society, one that refused to accept that the country was changing.
“Where is that Alderete?” asked Doña Clara.
“Sleeping, I suppose.”
T
he afternoon was fading as the train came to a halt
. The station had a corrugated-metal roof and was surrounded by flowers. It sat alone on the outskirts of a tiny mud and straw village. Next to the station stood a weeping willow with a couple of cats playing around it. In the distance there was a plaza rimmed by eucalyptus trees.
The sun, partially hidden behind the mountains, shone down on a small adobe church. The church's towers dominated the village. A man on a bicycle was circling the plaza. There was also a single store, in the doorway of which stood a woman staring out at the train. The Bolivian Railway inspector stepped down onto the station platform.
Gulietta was in the dining car drinking tea with lemon and smoking when Ricardo arrived. Her gaze abruptly ceased its wandering across the horizon.
“I'll have a coffee,” Ricardo told the waiter, then turned to Gulietta “Are you waiting for him?”
“For my prison guard? No way.”
“He might hit me.”
“He sleeps like a bear.”
“How long will you be staying in Arica?”
“One day. At night, we'll board one of the
Santa
ships to New Orleans. I think it's the
Santa Rita.
It's a freighter with luxury cabins.”
“It'll be easier for you to put up with him. The comforts will helpâ the pool, the good food.”
“Don't be ridiculous. I don't even want to think about it. I might jump overboard.”
“Why don't you just throw
him
overboard?”
“He's too heavy. I'd need help.”
“There are always drunken sailors. The Yankees got their love of rum and violence from the Brits.”
“Ricardo . . .”
“Yes?”
“Will the Franciscan stay in your cabin?”
“I don't know.”
“I . . . Could I go there in a few minutes?”
Ricardo fell silent. His eyes did the talking, then he said out loud, “Don't worry; I've got a good reason for him to take a walk.”
Ricardo called the waiter, paid, and headed for his cabin. The Franciscan was reading a newspaper. When he saw Ricardo come in, he produced a Bible from underneath his blanket.
“Father,” said Ricardo, “I'd like to be alone in the room for a while.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And you would like me to go out for a walk on the Altiplano.”
“You could go out for a cup of tea.”
“Young man, I think you're showing me a lack of respect.”
Ricardo moved up to within two hand lengths of his nose. The little priest stood up. He was eight inches shorter, but more than sixty pounds heavier.
“I saw you with Carla Marlene . . .”
Instead of standing taller, the Franciscan shrunk. He recoiled like a servant preparing to haul a cartful of mail.
“What are you saying?”
“Do I need to explain?”
“You mean you spiedâ”
“I saw everything.”
“So you weren't asleep?”
“I get the impression you are not a priest.”
Father Moreno smiled. “Have you seen me before?”
“No.”
“I'm a leader of mine workers.”
“And why are you disguised?”
Father Moreno invited him to sit down. From a knapsack, he removed a clipping from the newspaper
Ãltima Hora
. Ricardo slowly read the article explaining the lead role of a fellow named Ignacio Torres in hunger strikes, protest marches, and other rebellious acts in the Catavi and Siglo XX mines. Ricardo recognized Father Moreno in the photo in the center of the article; he had long hair and wore a
lluchu
hat. He had a beard, and a mustache like that of a Mexican rancher.
“Are you on the run?”
“You don't need to be too smart to reach that conclusion. The mine bosses' political police have my number. If they catch me they'll take me straight to jail. I have to make it to Chile. I'll live in self-exile until things change. You don't know much about politics, do you?”
“I don't, unfortunately. I don't like politics.”
“Whether or not you like it isn't the point. It's part of your life. In Bolivia, anyone who stays out of politics is despicable.”
“If you say so.”
“Well . . . things can't go on like this. Or do you think we're in the best of worlds?”
“I don't know.”
“Later, when there's time, I'll tell you about the Bolivian left. But first you have to promise me that, to you, I am still Father Moreno. Otherwise, I'll consider you an informant. Not a word, please.”
“You don't need to get all worked up, Father. I'll still think of you as a poor friar, a follower of Saint Francis.”
“That's more like it. You and I will make a good team. I'll go to the dining car and have a cup of tea. Could you loan me ten pesos?”
Father Moreno stopped for a moment in the corridor and took in the natural environment outside. The sun now hid discreetly behind the mountains, caressing them, bidding farewell to the wild landscape.
As the sun receded further, it gave way to shadows announcing the hostile Altiplano night, accompanied by an anguished silence.
R
icardo paced nervously
from one side of the cabin to the other. He turned on the light. The heat wasn't on yet and the temperature in the cabin was still pleasant. Fifteen minutes passed and Gulietta still hadn't shown up. Ricardo went from nervous hopefulness to disappointment.
He wondered about the true motive behind Gulietta's proposal. It wasn't to bother him with more about her husband; she could have done that in the dining car. The way she carried on had thrown Ricardo off. He realized perfectly well that he was going to be used. He was a kind of counterweight to Gulietta's emotional imbalance, providing potential relief for her sorrow. He didn't know her very well, but from their few conversations on the train, he concluded that she was going through tough times. Marrying a guy she hated, who'd had a lot to do with her father's death, had clearly been a mistake that was affecting her deeply. But what was done was done. Getting used wasn't a big deal. However, he had never found himself in this kind of situation with a girl who was his social equal. All things considered, he liked Gulietta and was willing to indulge her whims without worrying about the consequences.
Finally she arrived. She entered the cabin and took a deep breath.
“Nobody saw you?”
“The steward gave me a funny look. This must happen all the time on trains.”
The locomotive accelerated its pace. The cars appeared to be dancing between the sides of the rails. The train swerved and Gulietta ended up in Ricardo's arms. She didn't move. Ricardo held her and kissed her on the lips. When he placed his hands on her breasts, she let out a sigh of pleasure.
“My husband and I, we haven't even come close.”
“Is he impotent?”
“Not really.”
“Then you didn't want to.”
“Let's just say that a mysterious force kept the marriage from being consummated.”
“And tonight? On trains it's impossible to resist temptation. Alderete won't forgive you.”
“You talk as if I were the slave of an Ottoman chief.”
“What can you do to resist him?”
“I don't know.”
She lay down to rest on the bed and Ricardo curled up at her side.
“You're trembling,” he said.
“Do you think I do this every day?”
She unbuttoned her blouse and removed her bra; her breasts were quivering. She closed her eyes and took Ricardo's hand between hers. He caressed her hesitant adolescent body like a starfish maneuvering around submerged rocks.
“I'm really scared the priest will show up,” said Gulietta.
At that moment, Ricardo was overcome by an uncontrollable passion, but it intimidated her and she stopped him cold. “Are you a virgin too?” she asked.