At dawn a month later, Richard leaned over the crib to pick up the child and hand him to Anita. He was surprised Pablo had not cried from hunger in the night, as he usually did every three or four hours. He was sleeping so peacefully that Richard hesitated to disturb him. A wave of tenderness engulfed him to the core. The overwhelming sense of gratitude he often felt in the presence of Bibi made his eyes sting and brought a knot to his throat. Anita took the baby with her night gown open to put him on her breast. It was then she realized he was not breathing. A visceral scream like that of a tortured animal shook the house, the neighborhood, the whole world.
An autopsy was required to determine the cause of death. Richard tried to keep this from Anita, because the idea that their tiny Pablo would be systematically cut open would be too horrible for her to bear. The pathologist’s report attributed it to sudden infant death syndrome, or crib death. An entirely unpredictable misfortune. Anita fell into a deep, dark sorrow, an unfathomable cavern from which her husband was excluded. Richard found himself rejected by his wife and banished to the farthest corner of his home as an encumbrance by the rest of the Farinha family, who invaded his privacy to take care of Anita, look after Bibi, and make decisions without consulting him. The relatives took over his small family, thinking he was incapable of understanding the magnitude of the tragedy because he did not share their sensibilities. Deep down, Richard was relieved, because it was true that he was a stranger to this kind of mourning. He increased the number of hours he taught, left the house early, and found excuses to come back late. In need of distraction, he started drinking more.
THEY WERE ONLY A FEW MILES from the turnoff to the cabin when they heard a siren and a police car pulled out from where it had been concealed behind some bushes. Lucia saw the lights whirling between her and the Subaru behind. For a moment she seriously considered putting her foot down and risking her life on it, but a cry from Richard forced her to change her plan. She slowed and pulled off onto the shoulder of the road. “Now we really are done for,” groaned Richard, struggling upright. Lucia lowered the window and waited breathlessly while the patrol car came to a halt behind her. The Subaru slowed down as it went past, but she managed to signal to Evelyn to continue on without stopping. The policeman came up a moment later.
“Your license and registration,” he demanded.
“Have I done something wrong, officer?”
“Your documents, please.”
Lucia searched in the glove compartment and passed him the Lexus’s documents and her international driver’s license, which she was afraid might have expired as she could not remember when she had obtained it in Chile. The policeman studied them slowly and glanced at Richard, who had sat up and was straightening his clothes in the backseat.
“Step out of the car,” he ordered Lucia.
Lucia obeyed. Her legs began to give way beneath her. It flashed through her mind that this must be how African--Americans felt when they were stopped by the police, and that if Richard had been driving their treatment would have been very different. At that moment Richard opened the rear door and almost crawled out.
“Wait inside the vehicle, sir!” yelled the policeman, his right hand moving toward his gun holster.
Richard was on his knees retching. He vomited the rest of his oatmeal all over the man’s boots. The policeman jumped back in disgust.
“He’s sick, he has an ulcer, officer,” Lucia explained.
“What is your relationship to him?”
“I’m . . . I’m . . . ,” Lucia stammered.
“She’s my housekeeper. She works for me,” Richard managed to groan between two bouts of retching.
The stereotypes automatically fell into place for the policeman: a Latina employee driving her boss, probably to the hospital. The guy seemed genuinely ill. Curiously, the woman had a foreign license; this was not the first time he had seen an international permit. Chile? Where on earth was that? He waited for Richard to straighten up, then told him to get back into the car, but by now his voice had softened. He went around to the rear of the Lexus, called Lucia over, and pointed to the trunk.
“Yes, officer. It just happened. There was a pileup on the highway, you might know about it. I was hit by a car that didn’t manage to brake, but it was nothing, only a slight dent and the rear light casing. I painted the bulb with nail polish until I can find a replacement.”
“I’m going to have to issue you a ticket.”
“I need to take Mr. Bowmaster to see a doctor.”
“I’ll let you go this time, but you must replace the light within twenty-four hours, do you understand?”
“Yes, officer.”
“Do you require help with your sick passenger? I can escort you to the hospital.”
“Many thanks, officer, but that won’t be necessary.”
Lucia’s heart was beating wildly as she slid back behind the wheel. The police car moved off. I’m going to have a heart attack, she thought, but thirty seconds later she was wracked with nervous giggles. If she had been fined, her identity and the car’s details would have been registered in the police report, and then Richard’s worst fears would have come true in their full horror.
“That was a close one,” she said, wiping away tears of laughter, but Richard remained unamused.
The Subaru was waiting for them a half mile farther on. A short while later, Richard spotted the entrance to Horacio’s cabin, little more than an almost invisible track covered with several inches of snow that snaked between the pines. For about ten minutes they made their way slowly through the woods without seeing any signs of human life, praying their vehicles would not get stuck. Suddenly they saw the sloping roof of a cabin straight out of a fairy tale, with icicles hanging from it like Christmas decorations.
Still weak from vomiting, but in less pain, Richard undid the padlock on the gate. They parked the cars and got out. He had to push as hard as he could to open the front door, which was swollen from the dampness. As soon as they stepped inside a foul smell assaulted them. Richard explained the house had been shut up for more than two years, and that bats and other creatures must have taken it over.
“When are we going to get rid of the Lexus?” asked Lucia.
“Today, but give me half an hour to recover,” said Richard, flinging himself down on the battered living room sofa. He did not dare ask her to lie down with him or embrace him to warm him up.
“Yes, get some rest. But if we stay here for long we’re going to freeze to death,” she told him.
“We have to switch on the electricity generator and fill the heaters with fuel. There are cans of kerosene in the kitchen. The pipes are frozen so we’ll melt snow to cook with. We can’t use the hearth, someone might see the smoke.”