Dona Alzira had had enough. She’d exhausted all her ideas. The only time she had come close to learning anything was the day she’d decided to follow him. Yesterday evening, she had tailed the girl he worked with, whom she took to be his accomplice in whatever it was they were doing. There wasn’t much housework, and some things could be put off without Gabriel noticing. Besides, she was more worried about herself than anything else. She knew her son’s schedule. It wouldn’t be hard to carry out her plan.
The next day, at her son’s lunch hour, Dona Alzira stood across the street from his office, hidden in a newspaper kiosk, waiting for him to come out. It was her chance to find out if he would be with Olga. She thought that was the girl’s name. It was cold out, but luckily it wasn’t raining. She didn’t know how to act in a situation like this. She had never in her life been forced to do anything like it. She felt as if she were being followed herself, and couldn’t imagine what excuses she would make if her son caught her. Twisting the strap of her purse, she kept peering inside it, as if she were carrying something precious or dangerous.
At the exact moment she had predicted, Gabriel rushed out of the building. He didn’t appear to be accompanied by anybody, a fact she confirmed from how he distanced himself from everyone around him by the time he reached the corner. Two blocks farther, she was surprised to see him enter a bank rather than a restaurant. On reflection, it made sense: the next day was Friday; he was probably withdrawing money for the weekend. There was a line in front of the tellers and she stood on the sidewalk for almost half an hour, peering through the windows, taking care not to be seen. She thought it was strange that he didn’t get anything to eat after he left. He went back to his building without buying so much as a sandwich. He hadn’t taken lunch from home, and from what she knew of her son, he wasn’t the type to go all day without eating. Maybe the company provided some kind of food. She waited to see if he would emerge again in the afternoon, but he didn’t.
On her way home, she decided to return to the subway station later to see if she could follow Olga again. The day before, she had managed to identify her on her way out of the office, even though she only knew her from the pictures taken at Gabriel’s birthday party. She’d have enough time later in the afternoon to take care of things at home. She prepared his dinner and left it on the table along with the note she’d used the day before; she didn’t even bother to compose a new one. A half hour earlier than she’d planned, she was already waiting next to the escalator in the subway station. Since Olga didn’t know her, she didn’t have to worry about disguising herself; she could follow her closely. She only had to worry about the possibility that her son himself would take the subway. But from what she could figure out, he wasn’t coming home via the usual route.
The girl appeared alone. Unafraid of being recognized, Dona Alzira walked next to her as they approached the platform. She was worried about not managing to get in the same car, which would complicate her scheme. She got a seat for most of the way, one of the advantages of growing older, while the girl stood up, packed in with the thick crowds. When Olga managed to find a seat, it became a little tougher to watch her, since she was situated at an uncomfortable angle to Dona Alzira. Dona Alzira wasn’t quick enough to get up and follow when the girl got off at Praça Saens Peña, in Tijuca. She’d have to try another time. At least she’d learned which station it was.
The adventure repeated itself the following day, but in reverse. Instead of following Olga home, she decided to wait for her early in the morning, when she went to work. She left Flamengo, giving herself plenty of time, and took the subway to Tijuca, got off at Olga’s station, and started waiting. She couldn’t avoid a rush of pride when they rode to Copacabana in the same train, seated practically face-to-face. She had plenty of time to examine the girl. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was attractive. She was wearing heavy clothes because of the cold, but Dona Alzira could tell she had a nice figure. Her skirt was unconscionably short, but she was wearing thick woolen socks, which offered some protection against the eyes of the men on the train, who nonetheless kept looking. Her face was hard, as if hiding distressing ideas, and she seemed to have formed some kind of inner resolve. Dona Alzira was absolutely sure that whatever she was worried about had something to do with Gabriel. She didn’t know how intimate their relationship was, but she was sure that the girl was the reason for her son’s illness. In any case, Olga kept herself under control.
The next day was the beginning of the weekend, when Gabriel would disappear in midafternoon and return home only at night. She didn’t know if things would be as easy as they’d been last time, when all she had to do was follow him for two blocks, to the restaurant. But now she had a superior mission. She wasn’t tired, defeated, or lost. She felt that her every step was guided by the Lord. She feared nothing.
The small sporting-goods store carried a few hunting weapons, along with camping equipment. Nothing remarkable—a few BB guns and small-caliber shotguns. Gabriel examined the shop windows attentively, then moved inside to look at the display cases. He found nothing that looked like a weapon for personal defense. He was the only customer that Saturday morning. In fact, he’d been waiting in a corner bar until the owner opened the store. He saw him go inside with a kid who looked like a salesman. While the owner disappeared into a door at the back of the shop, the kid put on a gray apron and came over to Gabriel.
“Are you looking for anything in particular, sir?”
“Yes. Actually, I don’t think you have it, though; I don’t see any in the display cases.”
“What is it you need? We have other merchandise as well.”
“Well, I need a gun.”
“We have several. Is it for hunting?”
“Not exactly. I need something smaller. Not for hunting, for personal defense.”
“A revolver?”
“Yes, but I see that you don’t have any.”
“We do, but you need a special license for them. We can’t just sell them over the counter.”
“I understand. It doesn’t have to be new. It could be used.”
“But even used guns require permits.”
“I know, but someone told me that I could get something here. They told me to ask for Mr. Alcides.”
“That’s the owner. Who told you that?”
“A colleague. Nobody special.”
“Wait a minute, please.”
Gabriel had almost given up and left when the clerk returned with the man who had opened the store.
“Yes? You’re looking for a weapon?”
“Right. I was told that you—”
“Through here, please.”
They went through the door at the back of the store and entered a good-sized room that had only a display case and piles of differently sized boxes heaped on the floor. The man went behind the counter and looked pointedly at Gabriel.
“You want something for personal defense, sir?”
“That’s right. Have you got anything?”
“I have pistols and revolvers, new and used. Which do you prefer?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have any experience with guns.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t be buying one.”
“I need one.”
“Well, it’s up to you, but I think that a gun in inexperienced hands is worse than being unarmed.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Very well. For someone who’s never used a firearm, I would suggest a revolver, which is safer and easier to use. A pistol has a cartridge clip—you can’t see the bullets, you have to put the first bullet in yourself, and things like that. I think a revolver is better. If you’re really trying to defend yourself, I’d suggest a thirty-eight, which can take out a man even if you don’t hit a vital organ. With a used weapon, you can never be sure what can go wrong. A new one is better. I’ve got domestic and imported.”
The man unlocked and opened the cabinet behind him and took out different boxes, which he h
eaped upon the counter. He opened them one at a time, explaining the characteristics of each weapon, inviting Gabriel to touch them, to feel their weight. As long as it was only the gun, without any ammunition, Gabriel was surprised to feel a certain pleasure when he held the weapon, but when the man opened a box of bullets and demonstrated how to load them, it sank in that he was holding something he could use to kill someone.
He left the store with a .38 Taurus revolver and a box of bullets. When he arrived home, he got rid of the wrapping and the instruction booklet, taking care not to throw them away inside the apartment. The box of bullets was harder: in a drawer or his coat pockets, they would be more conspicuous than if left in the box. The box was small enough to fit behind his books, on the highest shelf.
Locked in his room, he sat waiting for lunch. He would start looking for the Argentine early, to avoid another near miss.
After lunch, he noted a slight change in his mother’s routine. It wouldn’t have been noticeable if her domestic schedule hadn’t ordinarily been so rigidly unalterable. He didn’t pay much attention to the change, as he felt that he himself had been transformed—which, he thought, might affect his mother’s mood and behavior. If there was one thing that did bother him, it was the idea that he had been seeing her, as if in extremely brief flashes, in different places and at different hours of the day. He knew it was impossible: she wasn’t ubiquitous, and she wasn’t even strong enough physically to run around the city as quickly as his visions would have him believe. Buying the gun had excited him so much that his perception of facts and things might well have changed. To carry out his plans, he needed to remain calm, unperturbed. A little nap might be just what he needed to regain his focus. He set his alarm for two hours later.
He didn’t manage to nod off even for a minute, but simply lying down was enough to change his mood. There was no reason to carry the gun during the weekend. The Argentine wasn’t his target. Besides, attempted murders usually took place on weekdays, when everything was open and there were more people on the streets. That was how he saw it. He hid the revolver in the same place he’d hidden the bullets, behind the books on a high shelf, and got ready for his tour of fast-food restaurants. On his way out, he noticed that his mother didn’t say a word. No questions, no observations: that, too, was worrisome.
That afternoon’s investigation proved fruitless, as did the evening’s. The same thing on Sunday. He’d lost the Argentine’s track. In fact, the last near miss hadn’t resulted from being on the right track. It had been pure coincidence. He’d have to count on another coincidence. The only newsworthy event of the weekend, quite an upsetting one, was that he couldn’t sleep. He’d hardly slept a wink the previous two nights, which made him even more agitated and tired, and made it harder to think straight.
On Monday morning, another surprise. Olga was waiting for him at the subway station.
“Olga! Did something happen?”
“Besides the fact that you’re hiding from me?”
“I’m not hiding from you. It’s just that I’m really busy.”
“Right. Do you want to talk on the way to work?”
“I don’t know what about. Nothing’s going on.”
“Bullshit, Gabriel! Nothing’s going on. You ask me to testify before a policeman I’ve never met in my life, I go, I say everything you want me to say, and then you turn away and avoid me like a rabid animal. What the hell? What do you think I am? Someone with no feelings? Fuck you.”
They went down the staircase into the station. Gabriel couldn’t decide whether to keep going or to go back up to the street. He didn’t like confrontations, especially with women. Olga was holding him by the sleeve of his coat and looking directly into his eyes, not six inches from his face. They headed toward the street with her hanging on to his sleeve.
“Let’s walk to the Largo do Machado station. We can talk on the way,” Olga said.
“Fine. I just want you to know that I have nothing against you.”
“So why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m not avoiding you. Well, I am, but it’s for your own good.”
“Damn, Gabriel. I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman, and I don’t need anyone avoiding me for my own good. I know what’s for my own good, damn it.”
“You’re jumpy.”
“Jumpy? I’m not now, but I might get that way if you don’t tell me why you used me and then started ignoring me. Was that it? Is that the way you are? Was I wrong about you all this time?”
“I didn’t use you. I was annoyed with your friend at the meeting. She was looking at the policeman the whole time. She didn’t even hear what we were saying.”
“Because there was nothing to hear, Gabriel. Do you still not get that? She was very nice. If he was attracted to Irene, then it’s about time you understood something very simple: men are attracted to women, especially women like Irene.”
“Fine. I’m no longer worried about the officer.”
“So what are you worried about? That Argentine guy? He’s a joker. He doesn’t deserve your attention.”
“I think he does. He might not just be a joker.”
“I don’t know what image you’ve conjured up for him. First it was the clairvoyant, who you decided was an all-powerful devil; then the officer, who appeared like a redeeming god. I’ve been wondering what your father must be like.”
“I don’t have a father. He died.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t expect you to guess.”
“Did he die a long time ago?”
“Yeah. I was ten.”
“What did he die of? He must have been young.”
“He had a collapse … heart attack … thirty-five.”
“Now I understand why you looked for Officer Espinosa. It makes sense.”
They walked side by side. Olga looked at him when she spoke, but he kept his eyes to the ground and blocked out her words. He was thinking about his mother. He remembered the time he’d run out of the fast-food place right where they were now walking. He’d never quite figured that one out. He preferred to think that it had been an optical illusion.
“I’ll wait for you, after work.”
“Why?”
“To continue our conversation. I don’t like the direction it’s taking. I’m too confused.”
“Nothing else is going on. I’m the one who’s confused. Everything will turn out fine.”
“Not the way it’s going now. It’s better to talk than to sit by yourself imagining things.”
“All right. We can walk together. I’ve been walking home lately.”
On Tuesday, Gabriel didn’t show up for work.
On Wednesday morning, just before lunch, Espinosa got a message saying that Olga Marins, a twenty-seven-year-old white woman, had fallen under a subway train at the Praça Saens Peña station, in Tijuca.
5
The image of Olga’s mutilated body flashed through his mind in black and white, even though Espinosa hadn’t been to the scene. The forensic specialists had had to work fast, so as not to disrupt the city’s transport system. The accident occurred at morning rush hour. Witnesses referred to the large number of passengers standing on the platform, and the pushing and shoving that greets an incoming train. The place she had fallen indicated that she was on a part of the platform where incoming trains are still moving fast. Nobody saw anything. Actually, a lot of people saw something, but she was already falling. There was disagreement on the subject of whether she cried out; some said they clearly heard her scream, while others maintained that she hadn’t screamed, that it was only the sharp sound of the train braking. Some people said that the screams came from the other people on the platform, not from the woman herself. For Espinosa, this was an important point: there was no reason for her to scream if she was killing herself. By the time he heard the news, the cadaver had been taken to the Forensic Institute. The investigation would be carried out by the Nineteenth Precinct, in Tijuca.
The television news was all over the subway suicide. The phone rang.
“Espinosa, it wasn’t a suicide! I’ve known Olga since college … fuck, we were good friends—”
“Calm down. Just because we’re hearing that from TV reporters doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“Well, it’s not true! I knew Olga better than anyone. She never would have killed herself.”
“So you think it was an accident?”
“What fucking accident? You knew Olga. Did she look like someone who would accidentally stumble beneath a subway train? She was pushed, damn it. That son of a bitch shoved my friend under a train.”
“Who shoved your friend under a train?”
“Gabriel. Who else?”
“That’s a heavy thing to accuse someone of.”
“I’m not in a courtroom, Espinosa!”
“Why do you think it was Gabriel?”
“All you have to do is look at the guy to tell he’s sick.”
“Sick in what way?”
“Just sick. A thirty-year-old guy who lives with his mother, what do you think he is? Normal?”
“That doesn’t mean he goes around pushing people under trains.”
“Not pushing people, pushing Olga. That’s what matters to me.”
“You don’t think we’d better talk about this face-to-face?”
“Fine.”
An hour later, Irene crossed the Bar Lagoa toward the back room, where there were fewer people and where Espinosa was waiting. He stood to greet her. Despite the suffering caused by her friend’s death and the simple way she was dressed, Espinosa thought she looked gorgeous. They shook hands. Unlike their meeting at the station, when she’d been completely at ease, even directing the conversation, Irene now seemed somewhat uncomfortable, almost wary.
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