“We never said what you say he said we said,” was Escobita’s confusing reply, and his words turned into a tongue twister. “My papa must have dreamed that on account of the strong medications they gave him to get him out of the coma. If you’re really telling us the truth and haven’t invented that whole story to fuck us over even more than we’re fucked already.”
He looked as if he were going to say something else but thought better of it. Miki said nothing and continued to bite his nails tenaciously. His expression had soured and he seemed dejected. His face had turned even redder.
“We probably said it and he heard us,” Miki corrected his brother abruptly. “We said it often, that’s true, uncle. We didn’t love him because he never loved us. To the best of my memory, I never heard him say an affectionate word. He never played with us or took us to the movies or the circus the way our friends’ fathers did. I don’t think he ever sat down to talk to us. He barely spoke to us. He didn’t love anybody except his company and his work. Do you know something? I’m not sorry at all that he found out we hated him. Because it was absolutely true.”
“Shut up, Miki, anger is making you say damn fool things,” Escobita protested. “I don’t know why you told us that, uncle.”
“For a very simple reason, nephew. So that once and for all you’ll get rid of the ridiculous idea that your papa married Armida because he was doddering and had senile dementia, or because he was given potions or was the victim of black magic. He married because he found out that the two of you wanted him to die as soon as possible so you could have his fortune and squander it. That’s the absolute, sad truth.”
“We’d better leave, Miki,” said Escobita, getting up from his chair. “Now do you see why I didn’t want to pay this visit? I told you that instead of helping us he’d end up insulting us, like last time. We’d better go before I get angry again and punch this dirty slanderer in the face.”
“I don’t know about you two, but I loved the movie,” said Señora Lucrecia. “It was a little silly, but I had a good time.”
“More than an adventure movie, it’s a fantasy,” Fonchito agreed. “I thought the best things were the monsters, the skulls. And don’t say you didn’t like it, Papa. I watched you and you were totally absorbed by the screen.”
“Well, it’s true I wasn’t bored at all,” Don Rigoberto admitted. “Let’s take a taxi back to the hotel. It’s getting dark and the big moment’s approaching.”
They returned to Hotel Los Portales, and Don Rigoberto took a long shower. Now that it was almost time for their meeting with Armida, it seemed to him that everything he was experiencing was, in effect, as Lucrecia had said, a fantasy as amusing and silly as the movie they’d just seen, with no bearing on lived reality. But suddenly a shudder chilled his spine. Perhaps at this very moment, a gang of killers, international criminals, aware of the huge fortune left by Ismael Carrera, were torturing Armida, pulling out her nails, cutting off a finger or an ear, gouging out an eye, to force her to give them the millions they demanded. Or perhaps they’d gone too far and she was already dead and buried. Lucrecia showered too, dressed, and they went down to the bar to have a drink. Fonchito stayed in his room watching television. He said he didn’t want to eat; he’d order up a sandwich and go to bed.
The bar was fairly crowded, but no one seemed to pay them any attention. They sat at the most isolated table and ordered two whiskeys with soda and ice.
“I still can’t believe we’re going to see Armida,” said Doña Lucrecia. “Can it be true?”
“It’s a strange feeling,” replied Don Rigoberto. “As if we were living a fantasy, a dream that may turn into a nightmare.”
“Josefita, what a common name, and what about her appearance,” she remarked. “To tell you the truth, my nerves are on edge. Suppose all of this is a trick by some crooks to get money out of you, Rigoberto?”
“They’ll be very disappointed,” he said with a laugh. “Because my wallet’s empty. But this Josefita hardly looked like a gangster, don’t you agree? And by the same token, on the phone Señor Yanaqué seemed the most inoffensive creature in the world.”
They finished their whiskeys, ordered two more, and finally walked into the restaurant. But neither of them felt like eating, so instead of sitting at a table, they went into the lounge near the entrance. They were there for close to an hour, consumed by impatience, never taking their eyes off the people entering and leaving the hotel.
At last Josefita arrived, with her bulging eyes, big earrings, and ample hips. She was dressed as she had been that morning. Her expression was very serious and her gestures conspiratorial. She came up to them only after checking behind her with darting eyes, and didn’t even open her mouth to say good evening, indicating with a gesture that they should go with her. They followed her to the Plaza de Armas. Don Rigoberto, who almost never drank, was slightly dizzy after the two whiskeys, and the light breeze on the street made him a little dizzier. Josefita had them walk around the square, pass close to the cathedral, and then turn onto Calle Arequipa. The stores were already closed, the display windows lit and gated, and there weren’t many pedestrians on the sidewalks. When they reached the second block, Josefita pointed at the entrance to an old house, its windows covered by curtains, and, still not saying a word, waved goodbye. They watched her walk away quickly, swinging her hips, not looking back. Don Rigoberto and Doña Lucrecia approached the large studded door, but before they could knock it opened, and a quiet, very respectful man’s voice murmured, “Come in, come in please.”
They went in. In a dimly lit vestibule, its one light moving in the breeze from the street, they were received by a small, sickly-looking man wearing a fitted jacket and vest. He bowed deeply as he extended a childlike hand.
“I’m happy to meet you, welcome to this house. Felícito Yanaqué, at your service. Come in, come in.”
He closed the street door and led them through the shadowy vestibule into a living room, also dimly lit, with a television and a small bookcase that held CDs. Don Rigoberto saw a feminine silhouette emerging from one of the armchairs and recognized Armida. Before he could greet her, Doña Lucrecia stepped forward and he saw his wife enfold Ismael Carrera’s widow in a close embrace. Both women began to cry, like two close friends meeting again after many years of being apart. When it was his turn to greet her, Armida offered Don Rigoberto her cheek for him to kiss. He did, murmuring, “How glad I am to see you safe and sound, Armida.” She thanked them for coming, God would reward them, and Ismael also thanked them from wherever he was.
“What an adventure, Armida,” said Rigoberto. “I suppose you know you’re the most searched-for woman in Peru. The most famous too. You’re on television morning, noon, and night, and everybody thinks you’ve been kidnapped.”
“I don’t have the words to thank you for taking the trouble to come to Piura.” She wiped away her tears. “I need you to help me. I couldn’t stay in Lima any longer. Appointments with lawyers and notaries and meetings with Ismael’s sons were driving me crazy. I needed a little calm to think. I don’t know what I would have done without Gertrudis and Felícito. This is my sister, and Felícito is my brother-in-law.”