Crimes Of August Part 14

Alice looked closely at the inspector's face. He had always been hard to understand. At first Alice had thought that her boyfriend's awareness of his own poverty and an exaggerated pride were the cause of his problems. Later, agreeing with her mother's opinion, she came to believe that the young man suffered from some kind of psychological morbidity. But who didn't?

"Why?"

"As a Wagnerian would say, the pathos in the story is that Tristan's honor prevents their love from being consummated."

They fell silent.

"Is your husband a Negro?"

"A Negro? My husband?"

"Whoever killed Paulo Machado Gomes Aguiar was a Negro. If your husband isn't a Negro, he's not the murderer."

"I didn't say my husband killed Paulo."

"But you suspect he might have killed Gomes Aguiar."

"I don't know, I don't know. You're making me nervous!"

"Is there some Negro who comes to your house often?"

"Of course not!"

"There are millions of Negroes in this city. One of them might frequent your house." Pause. "You came here and told me your husband is Luciana Gomes Aguiar's lover. And then what?"

"Why are you talking to me like that?" The hardness in the inspector's voice and the stain from water infiltration that she had just noticed on the ceiling made her feel a sudden anxiety. Her hands were trembling.

"You make me nervous talking to me like that." Alice picked up her purse, took a mirror from it, and went into the bathroom.

Mattos opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of milk, and drank from the bottle. The music had ended, but now he preferred silence. He needed to take a look at his feces; he was always forgetting to do that. He picked up the book on civil law and threw it violently against the wall.

"What was that noise?" asked Alice, startled, coming out of the bathroom.

"Nothing. I threw a book against the wall."

"Oh . . ." Alice said. "I'm late, I have to go."

"Is that what you wanted? For me to suspect your husband?"

"I'm quite nervous."

"You do want me to suspect your husband."

Hurriedly, Alice opened the door and ran out.

When the inspector went after her, Alice had already descended the stairs and disappeared.

At the door to the building on Rua Marqus de Abrantes, holding a package with spaghetti, tomatoes, garlic, and onions, Salete paced back and forth, waiting for Alice to leave. Salete had gone there to visit the cop and arrived at the moment Alice got out of the taxi. She had thought about going in also but lacked the courage. Besides which, Alice's presence had spoiled her plans. Salete put on dark gla.s.ses and cried several times, standing in the street, as she imagined what Alice and the inspector were doing in bed. The displeasure engendered by wounded pride had the effect of dissipating the scruples she had felt at making plans for that visit to the inspector. Now she would go ahead to the end.

When Alice appeared at the building's door, Salete hid in the bakery on the ground floor, from which she saw the other woman get into a cab.

Salete went up in the elevator with her heart aching. She rang the inspector's doorbell several times in a row. Mattos opened the door.

"Are you in a hurry?"

The lump on Mattos's forehead, as she feared would happen, had almost disappeared completely and left no scab. He was holding an egg in his hand.

Salete went in and attempted to take the egg from the inspector's hand but only managed to break it.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Mattos, trying with his other hand to prevent the egg from sliding to the floor.

"You're not going to eat an egg. I'm going to make spaghetti for you. Spaghetti is good for your ulcer."

In the bathroom, Mattos threw the remains of the egg in the toilet. He washed his hands and returned to Salete in the kitchen.

"Do you have a pot?"

The inspector had a single pot, of aluminum.

"That'll do," said Salete, her heart beating anxiously.

Salete filled the pot with water, placed it on the stove, and turned the gas to maximum.

"I saw that woman leaving here. The blonde from the other day."

Mattos remained silent.

"Did you screw her?"

"No."

The water was slow to boil, increasing Salete's nervousness. She arranged the tomatoes, the garlic, and the two onions on the counter beside the stove.

"What do you mean, no? She was here with you a long time."

"Don't ha.s.sle me, Salete," said Mattos, leaving the kitchen.

Finally, small bubbles began rising to the surface of the water in the pot.

"Alberto, come here, please!" shouted Salete.

The inspector entered the kitchen and saw the pot boiling on the stove.

"Do me a favor, love. Peel those tomatoes. Look at my hand, I can't do it."

Several fingers on Salete's left hand were covered with adhesive bandages.

"How do you peel tomatoes?"

Salete didn't know how to peel tomatoes either, or any other plant. Nor did she know how to make spaghetti.

"Oh . . . with the knife . . . take off the skin . . ."

The inspector had great difficulty doing what Salete had asked. He stained his shirt; the counter was littered with pieces of tomato.

"There, I'm done."

"Now grab all that . . . with your hands and throw it here," said Salete, gripping the handle of the steaming pot.

The inspector filled his hands with shredded tomatoes. As he was about to toss them into the pot, everything happened fast. The pot slipped and boiling water poured over his hand.

"Oh my G.o.d," screamed Salete. "Does it hurt bad?"

"Don't worry about it," said the inspector.

"My G.o.d, my G.o.d!"

"It's nothing."

"Does it hurt a lot? Tell the truth."

"It hurt at first. Now it's just burning."

"Is it going to leave a wound? And a scab?"

"It's enough to wrap it in gauze."

"I have some gauze in my purse," Salete said.

Salete took from her purse a roll of gauze, adhesive bandages, and a pair of scissors. She wrapped the inspector's hand and secured the gauze with a piece of the bandage. While she did this, she held back to keep from crying.

"You burned me on purpose, didn't you?"

"Me-?" She began to cry.

"I'm not going to fight with you. I just want to know why. A stupid act like that must have its reasons."

"I adore you." Sobs.

"Answer me."

"I'd give my life for you."

"Yet you burned me with boiling water. Why?"

"Kill me, I deserve to die," said Salete.

"Stop talking nonsense. Tell me right now why you threw boiling water on my hand."

Salete kneeled and hugged the inspector's legs.

"Hit me, at least that."

The inspector made Salete stand up.

"Tell me, G.o.ddammit."

"Do you forgive me?"

"You're forgiven. Now then. Why did you burn me?"

"I need a scab from an injury of yours."

"A scab from an injury?"

Salete told the story of Mother Ingracia.

"I like you, you don't need any mac.u.mba for that. And how is it you can believe in such idiocy?"

"Everybody believes it. Teachers, lawyers, doctors, politicians, big industrialists, everybody goes to Mother Ingracia's mac.u.mba site. If you go there, I'll arrange a way for you to be cured of your ulcer." Pause. "Does your hand hurt a lot?"

Salete's face was like that of a prisoner after a nightlong interrogation.

"If this injury creates a scab, I'll give it to you. But you have to promise me you'll never see that Mother Ingracia or any other mac.u.mba pract.i.tioner."

"I promise. I swear by everything sacred."

Mattos's stomach ached. He went to the refrigerator and got an egg.

"You need to eat something, going around on an empty stomach isn't good for you. I'm going to make the spaghetti."

"I've lost my appet.i.te for spaghetti."

She loved that man. She needed to show him that: "Then eat that egg."

Salete watch the inspector suck the egg, after making a small hole in each end. She always found that repulsive. She watched bravely without averting her eyes as the inspector sucked a second egg. When Mattos finished, Salete hugged him and kissed him, sticking her tongue in his mouth, discerning the taste of the egg.

They went to the sofa bed and f.u.c.ked until the inspector's gauze was entirely torn away.

"This is going to make a good scab," said Mattos, looking at the condition of the burn on his hand.

PRESIDENT VARGAS received the visit of his son, Deputy Lutero Vargas, on the second floor, in his office.

When Lutero entered, Vargas told his aide, Major Dornelles, that he didn't want to be interrupted.

Lutero was surprised by his father's exhausted and worried appearance.

"That shot that killed Major Vaz also hit me in the back," said Vargas.