“Why?” he whispered to himself. “What does this mean?”
He picked up the flower. It was fresh and fragrant, as if recently cut; its pale presence disconcerted him and roused a mixture of apprehension and a different, unfamiliar sensation. His eyes filled with tears; in wild exasperation he jerked open the drawer of the night table and threw the flower inside. He hated this narrow bed, so like a military bunk, and he knew his night without Café would be unending and as dark as pitch. The dog’s furry presence, watery eyes, and even the gentle snoring had granted him comfort; perhaps he should have gone to fetch the creature, although he admitted to himself with a touch of jealousy that the little animal was becoming more and more attached to Antía. He knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep, so why try? He turned on the television and lowered the volume. He took his seat at the desk and searched for the only place that offered him rest. He went back to the palace.
OF ALL HE REFUSED
Laughter interrupted his reflections. He looked out at the river and saw a dream come true—the three girls from the other day again rode their curious craft downstream. Their legs were tanned and their arms were strong, and their hair was carelessly tied back into ponytails dangling under their straw hats. They shrieked and laughed. The music of those voices rang like the notes of wind chimes moved by the breeze. The spectacle of those lovely river nymphs filled him with inexplicable rejoicing.
SUMMONING THE DEAD
At about 4:30 a.m. Manuel grabbed the bedspread, pulled it back, and collapsed onto the bed. He closed his eyes.
He opened them in sudden alarm. He’d fallen asleep. He looked down at the foot of the bed. It was dimly lit from the hall through the transom window. The brothers always left the corridor lights on so the littlest boys wouldn’t be afraid of the dark. álvaro looked down at his feet, still secure in the heavy standard-issue school shoes he put on again each night once he was sure his roommate was asleep. For the last week he’d remained fully dressed all night long. On watch. But tonight he’d drifted off; worse, he’d lost all track of time. Watches weren’t allowed at the seminary, because the brothers said that boys who were always checking the time didn’t concentrate on their studies. A large grandfather clock stood on the ground floor. Its chimes were audible throughout the school and seemed even louder in the middle of the night. He remembered hearing it strike three. Now this damned sleep had overcome him, and he had no idea what time it was or how long he’d slept. He got out of bed, alert to any change in the serene face of the motionless boy sleeping with his mouth open in the bed next to his.
He opened the door, slipped out into the hall, and made his way through the dark. He mentally counted the doors between his room and his brother’s room. He put his hand on the doorknob. Carefully, as if it might explode, he turned it until he heard a click. He pushed the door, put his head through the gap, and surveyed the interior. He heard the snuffling breath of his brother’s roommate, who’d thrown off the covers and was sleeping soundly in the bed nearer to the door. The other bed was empty. The gleaming white expanse of abandoned sheets showed its inhabitant had vanished.
He ran through the darkness toward the monks’ cells. He didn’t stop to listen or call out; he threw himself against the door, twisted the handle and shoved, knowing it would open because none of the doors in the seminary had locks. He didn’t see his brother. But he heard him crying out in pain, crushed and buried by the shapeless mass. The boy was moaning from very far away, as if from the depths of a well or from a grave.
The beast kept at it, completely unaware of a new presence in the room. álvaro didn’t hesitate. He instantly released his hold on the knob and whipped the leather belt of his school uniform free from its loops. He grabbed it in both hands, jumped onto the man’s sweaty back, and slapped the length of leather around the man’s neck. The surprise attack staggered the monk, who let go of his victim and grappled at his neck in an effort to free himself. With all his strength álvaro yanked the belt tight, and in just a few seconds he sensed the monster’s flailing efforts losing their force. The man’s legs gave out, and he fell to his knees. The neck gave way as the belt bit deeply into his throat. álvaro wasn’t aware of the moment when the man’s trachea cracked. The man stopped moving, but the boy kept the band tight, pulling with a fierce tension that cramped his hands and turned his knuckles white.
When he let go at last, panting and trembling from immense effort, he looked down at the beast sprawled at his feet like some enormous safari kill. He knew the man was dead; he knew he’d killed him. That didn’t matter to him, he realized, and he felt no guilt. But he knew he would have to pay, for something inside him had broken, something he’d never be able to recover. He accepted that responsibility.
The child was sobbing, face to the wall, wailing louder and louder, hiccuping. He was going to wake up everyone in the school.
Manuel sat up suddenly in bed. His heart beat wildly. For a few moments he thought he still heard the boy’s heartbroken wails; confused, he looked around for the child until reality settled in and brought him back to his room at the inn. The boy’s sobbing became the buzzing of his cell phone. Nogueira was calling him.
“Manuel, Ophelia just called. She gets off at six, and we agreed to meet at seven o’clock at her house. Do you remember how to get there, or do you want me to swing by to pick you up?”
Grateful for the intrusion, he brushed away the vestiges of sleep still blurring his vision. He rubbed his eyes hard and tried to collect his thoughts. “Did she tell you anything?”
“Nothing specific. She has news but didn’t want to say anything on the phone.”
“I’ll be there at seven.”
As he was about to step out of the room, his eyes went to the bolt on the door that led to the adjacent room. He looked around in an absentminded reflex to check whether his room was presentable. His bed was unmade, books and the photo of him with álvaro were on the night table, and the handwritten pages documenting his visit to the palace were spread across the desk. Relieved to have remembered the squeaky floorboard, he carefully approached the door and listened. He heard nothing, but he did see flickers of light through the cracks and under the door indicating that the television was on. With the same care he’d used the night before, he unbolted his side and turned the knob until he heard a click.
They were both asleep. Their heads were together and their faces were relaxed, their appearance altering only with the bright flickering cartoon images that bathed their faces in a succession of different colors. He felt a pang of commiseration—not just for them or for himself, but an empathy with all the lonely, the abandoned, and the unhappy ones afraid to turn off the light when night settles over their souls. He remained standing there for some time, quietly watching the face of the sleeping boy: mouth half-open, eyelids flickering, his dark-complected little hand spread out like a starfish across the white sheet. He closed the door with the same care as before. This time he didn’t bolt it.
The medical examiner’s car was in front of her house, and Nogueira’s BMW was parked on the street. Manuel pulled up behind it, walked to the front gate, and leaned over to release the latch as he’d seen the policeman do. The open door to the garage revealed part of a woodpile and the rear of álvaro’s car, partly covered by a tarp.
The house was full of the aroma of warm bread and freshly brewed coffee. His stomach growled to remind him he’d eaten nothing since the day before. The examiner had set the kitchen table with breakfast mugs, and when he went inside he found her with the coffeepot in hand.