Closing his eyes, he thought that in a few hours he, Lucrecia, and Fonchito would be crossing the skies, leaving behind the thick clouds of Lima, beginning their postponed trip to Europe. At last! They’d arrive in the middle of autumn. He imagined golden trees and cobblestone streets decorated with leaves loosened by the cold. He couldn’t believe it. Four weeks, one in Madrid, another in Paris, another in London, and the last divided between Florence and Rome. He’d planned the thirty-one days so that their pleasure would not be spoiled by fatigue, avoiding as much as possible those unpleasant surprises that can ruin a trip. Reserved flights, tickets to concerts, operas, and museum exhibitions already purchased, hotels and pensions paid for in advance. It would be the first time Fonchito had set foot on the continent of Rimbaud, the Europe aux anciens parapets. It would be especially satisfying to show his son the Prado, the Louvre, the National Gallery, the Uffizi, St. Peter’s, the Sistine Chapel on this trip. Surrounded by so many beautiful things, would he forget this recent dark period and the spectral appearances of Edilberto Torres, the incubus or succubus (what was the difference?) who had so embittered Lucrecia’s life and his? He hoped so. This month would be a purifying bath: The family would put behind them the worst period of their lives. All three would return to Lima rejuvenated, reborn.
He recalled his last conversation with Fonchito in his study, two days earlier, and his sudden impertinence.
“If you like Europe so much, if you dream about it day and night, why have you spent your whole life in Peru, Papa?”
The question disconcerted him, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. He felt guilty about something but didn’t know what.
“Well, I think if I’d gone there to live, I would never have enjoyed the beautiful things on the old continent as much.” He tried to elude the danger. “I would have grown so accustomed to them that eventually I wouldn’t even notice them, which is what happens to millions of Europeans. In short, it never occurred to me to move there, I always thought I had to live here. Accept my fate, if you like.”
“All the books you read are by European writers,” his son insisted. “And I think most of the CDs, drawings, and etchings are by Europeans too. By Italians, Englishmen, Frenchmen, Spaniards, Germans, and a couple of North Americans. Is there anything Peruvian that you like, Papa?”
Don Rigoberto was going to protest, to say there were many things, but he chose to assume a doubtful expression and make an exaggeratedly skeptical gesture.
“Three things, Fonchito,” he said, pretending to speak with the pomposity of a learned pedant. “The paintings of Fernando de Szyszlo. César Moro’s poetry in French. And prawns from Majes, of course.”
“There’s no way to talk to you seriously about anything, Papa,” his son protested. “I think you’ve taken my question as a joke because you don’t dare tell me the truth.”
“The little snot-nose is sharper than a tack and loves to give his father a hard time,” he thought. “Was I the same way when I was a kid?” He couldn’t remember.
He was going over papers, taking a last look in his carry-on bag to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. A short while later dawn broke, and he heard activity in the kitchen. Preparing breakfast already? When he went back to the bedroom, he saw the three suitcases in the hall, packed and tagged by Lucrecia. He went to the bathroom, shaved and showered, and when he returned to his bedroom, Lucrecia had gotten up and was waking Fonchito. Justiniana announced that breakfast was waiting for them in the dining room.
“I can’t believe the day is here,” he said to Lucrecia while he enjoyed his orange juice, café con leche, and toast with butter and marmalade. “During the past few months I’d begun to think we’d be trapped for years and years in the legal tangle the hyenas got me into, and would never set foot in Europe again.”
“If I tell you what I’m most curious about on this trip, you’re going to laugh,” replied Lucrecia, who took only a cup of plain tea for breakfast. “Do you know what it is? Armida’s invitation. What will that dinner be like? Whom did she invite? I still can’t believe that Ismael’s old servant is going to give us a banquet in her house in Rome. I’m dying of curiosity, Rigoberto. About how she lives, how she entertains, who her friends are. Has she learned Italian? She has an elegant house, I imagine.”
“Well, yes, certainly,” said Rigoberto, somewhat disappointed. “She has enough money to live like a queen, of course. I hope she also has the taste and sensitivity to use that kind of fortune in the best way. After all, why shouldn’t she? She’s shown herself to be smarter than all of us put together. She got what she wanted and now there she is, living in Italy with Ismael’s entire inheritance in her pocket. And the twins defeated up and down the line. I’m happy for her, really.”
“Don’t speak badly of Armida, don’t make jokes about her,” said Lucrecia, putting a hand to her mouth. “She isn’t and never was what people believe.”
“Yes, yes, I know the conversation you had with her in Piura left you convinced,” Rigoberto said with a smile. “What if she told you a fairy tale, Lucrecia?”
“She told me the truth,” Lucrecia declared categorically. “I have complete confidence that she told me what happened, without adding or taking away anything. I have an infallible instinct for these things.”
“I don’t believe you. Was it really like that?”
“Really.” Armida lowered her eyes, a little intimidated. “He never looked at me or paid me a compliment. Not even one of those nice things employers sometimes say to their maids just to make conversation. I swear by everything holy, Señora Lucrecia.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to use the familiar tú with me, Armida?” Lucrecia reproached her. “It’s hard for me to believe what you’re saying is true. You really never noticed before that Ismael liked you, not even a little?”
“I swear by everything holy,” said Armida, kissing her fingers in the shape of a cross. “Never, not ever, and may God punish me forever if I’m lying. Never. Never. That’s why I was so shocked I almost fainted. ‘But what are you saying! Have you gone crazy, Don Ismael? Am I losing my mind? What’s going on here?’”
“Neither one of us is crazy, Armida,” Señor Carrera said, smiling, speaking to her with a kindness she’d never heard from him, but he didn’t go near her. “Of course you’ve heard what I said perfectly well. I’ll ask you again. Do you want to marry me? I’m very serious. I’m too old now to court you, to make you fall in love the old-fashioned way. I offer you my affection and respect. I’m sure love will come too, later. Mine for you and yours for me.”
“He told me he felt lonely, that he thought I was a good person, that I knew his habits, what he liked, what he disliked, and besides, he was sure I’d know how to take care of him. He made my head spin, Señora Lucrecia. I couldn’t believe he was saying what I was hearing. But that’s what happened, just like I’m telling it to you. Suddenly and without beating around the bush, just like that. That and only that is the truth. I swear.”
“You amaze me, Armida.” Lucrecia scrutinized her, a look of astonishment on her face. “But yes, after all why not. He simply told you the truth. He felt alone, he needed company, and you knew him better than anybody else. And did you accept right then and there?”
“You don’t need to answer me now, Armida,” he added, not taking a step toward her, not making the slightest move to touch her, take her hand, her arm. “Think about it. My proposal is very serious. We’ll get married and go to Europe for our honeymoon. I’ll try to make you happy. Think about it, please.”
“I had a fiancé, Señora Lucrecia. Panchito. A good person. He worked for the City of Lince, in the registry office. I had to break it off with him. The truth is, I didn’t have to think about it too long. It seemed like the story of Cinderella. Up to the last moment I wondered if Señor Carrera had been serious. But yes, yes, he was very serious, and now you see everything that’s happened since.”