3. NOVENA
I’M CALLING YOU, MY DEAR, because I didn’t manage to talk to you about anything during the service. Then my mother started bugging me and I had to go with her to La Galleria to buy a gift to bring to a tea party tomorrow. I couldn’t say no. They did a good job on that mall, except for that big old colonial mansion they left right in the middle; they should have torn it down; such a crummy old dump surrounded by all those pretty, modern shops. It took forever; you know how my mother is when she goes shopping: she can never make up her mind. We got back about fifteen minutes ago. That’s why I didn’t call you sooner. The service was lovely, wasn’t it, my dear? So many people there, and I loved what the priest said about the dead: it fits Olga María to a tee. That thing about pure spirits dedicated to helping others. Beautiful. I like that priest: he only talks about spiritual things; not even a little bit communist like that Ramírez priest who sometimes says mass at that church. Everybody was there, even José Carlos, who’s a committed atheist. Only papa wasn’t there, there’s no way to get him to church. I’ve never seen anybody who hates priests as much as he does — he doesn’t care if they’re communists, like those Jesuits, or good ones, like that one Olga María got; as far as he’s concerned, they’re all the same. My mother always feels sad when she arranges to meet her friends at church, and she shows up alone, while they all come with their husbands. Did you see Kati, my dear? She’s gained weight. It must be because of her breakup with Yuca. I’ve heard they’re getting a divorce, but that’s yet to be seen. I’ve spoken to Yuca only once since he got back from rehab in Houston. He called me to ask about Olga María. She refused to take his calls, and that’s how she left it when she died: once she got an idea in her head, there was no way to make her change her mind. The poor guy returned with high hopes that Olga María would get back together with him. He kept at me to convince her that he’d turned over a new leaf — he was a new man, he said. I didn’t want him to despair, but I told him it was going to be rough, and he knew how Olga María could be. Then I didn’t talk to him again until her funeral, and we barely had a chance to say hi. He was devastated. I’m pretty sure his relationship with Kati has no future, but I don’t think they’ll divorce. Can you imagine the scandal!? And what Don Federico would say? Yuca has too much to lose. Kati is Don Federico’s favorite daughter. I think that’s what’s driving Yuca crazy, why he got so addicted to cocaine — it’s horrible to have to live with someone you can’t stand. I should know, I’ve experienced it in the flesh. Luckily I got rid of Alberto as soon as I could. But poor Yuca, in his political position, with his economic interests, and everything so tied up with Don Federico, he can’t just tell Kati to get lost, even though he’d probably like to. I think he already had that figured out and that’s why he was pursuing the relationship with Olga María, as a kind of life raft, and it would have been perfect, my dear: to have a mistress you love more than your wife. Though I’m sure Olga María never dreamed of getting involved in anything so serious; of that much I’m certain. But now all that’s in the past. But for Kati it must be horrible, too. If I were her, I’d open my heart to Don Federico, make him understand that the marriage simply isn’t working out, tell him once and for all that his relationship with Yuca — his economic and political support for Yuca — is one thing, and his daughter’s marriage is another thing altogether. But they say that Don Federico is very domineering, very stubborn, so probably Kati’s only option is to eat, to calm her nerves, that is. The same reason Yuca started using cocaine, Kati eats. That’s why she’s so fat. That’s all I can think of, the only thing that makes any sense. Don’t you agree, my dear? But Kati is no fool, either. Did you see that baggy dress she was wearing? Super-elegant, and it did wonders disguising how fat she’s gotten. Why lie? We’ve never gotten along. She’s too full of herself; all because she’s got so much more money than somebody else. I also think she knows that Yuca was lusting after my body. What bothers me most about her is that she never stops talking; I swear I’ve never known anybody who talks as much as Kati. She thinks everybody else needs to listen to all her nonsense. She just won’t stop: talk talk talk. I’ll admit it: everyone talks more than they should sometimes, it even happens to me once in a while, I get bitten by a talking bug, but I’m small-fry compared to her when it comes to nonstop talking. That’s why I avoid her, all that endless chattering really grates on my nerves. I don’t know how Yuca can stand her; all for Don Federico’s money. But what I wanted to tell you is that that Deputy Chief Handal interrogated me for a long time. I couldn’t refuse. So many things have happened in the last few days since they killed Olga María. Practically the whole country is following the case, especially since they caught the perpetrator. That’s why I agreed to the interrogation, because if they’ve already got the perpetrator, what I tell them won’t be a waste. It was this morning, Deputy Chief Handal and that bloodhound named Villalta, who’s always with him, they came to my house. Papa told me to be careful with these guys, that I should tape the interview myself. Papa said it wasn’t a legal interrogation, like part of a trial, it was just an interview. Papa said that if I wanted, he could send over his lawyer to be with me while they were questioning me. But that would make them feel too important and give the impression that despicable people like them are capable of intimidating someone like me. So I preferred to go it alone, with just my tape recorder, in my own living room. I made them wait for about half an hour, just so they wouldn’t think we were equals or anything. When I came in, I didn’t hold out my hand: people like that can misinterpret even a simple courtesy. I scowled at them and told them to hurry up with their questions, I told them they should thank me for allowing them to interrogate little Olga the afternoon of the murder, and it was thanks to me letting them question her that they got the description of the murderer, and if the girl hadn’t told them that he looked like RoboCop — that cop on television — they’d still be looking for clues. What I wanted to make clear to them was that the credit for capturing RoboCop should go to little Olga, not the police. Straight away I asked them about that RoboCop person’s confession, if they already had the name of the criminal mastermind, I wanted them to tell me more than what the newspapers were saying. But Deputy Chief Handal was super-relaxed, different than I’d seen him before; maybe he’s relieved because they’ve apprehended the murderer. He told me that RoboCop still hadn’t talked, hadn’t confessed to anything, but they were following various lines of investigation that would surely lead them to discover the motives and the mastermind — that’s what he said: “the motives and the mastermind.” What a clown, he acted like he was on television. I was surprised when first thing he asked me about José Carlos: his friendship with Marito, if he got along with Olga María, why he was getting ready to leave the country. I told him what everybody and his brother knows, though I wasn’t going to tell him about José Carlos screwing Olga María. Then he asked me something that left me dumbfounded: if I knew about the existence of some photographs José Carlos had taken of Olga María stark naked and in obscene positions. I sat there with my mouth hanging open. Olga María never told me about those photos. And that’s what I told this Deputy Chief Handal. It’s true: I don’t know anything about them. That’s why I asked him who’d told him a lie like that, José Carlos is an artist, I’ve seen the photos he took of Olga María, and they weren’t at all indecent. Then he asked me if I thought José Carlos would be capable of blackmailing the Trabanino family with those photos. Can you imagine how sordid that policeman’s mind is!? I got very upset; I told him that first of all those photos don’t exist, and second of all, José Carlos was incapable of anything so despicable — only a rude, shameless policeman like him would think up such a thing. He told me to calm down, he was just trying to disprove certain hypotheses, that was the reason for our interview. I made it very clear to him that I didn’t like his style of “investigating,” that I had never heard that such slandering of decent, honorable people was called an “investigation” or a “hypothesis.” He pretended not to know what I was talking about, instead he asked me if Olga María had been in love with José Carlos or if it was just a short fling. What I can’t figure out, my dear, is how that Deputy Chief Handal could have gotten so much information about that woman’s private life. It makes me furious — I would love to know who the big mouth is who goes around making up stories about Olga María. I suspect it’s one of two people: Cheli or Conchita. I already warned them they shouldn’t go around making things up and talking nonsense, especially to the police, but it looks like they didn’t get the message. Did you see them today at the Novena Mass? They looked like innocent little doves. But one of them is a traitor. I’m sure of it. I’ve gone to the boutique twice to warn them. They tell me not to worry, they wouldn’t ruin Doña Olguita’s reputation for anything in the world, that’s how they still call Olga María. But I know their kind: they can’t fool me with that goody-two-shoes act. When I find out who’s talking more than they should be, they’re going to find out what I’m made of! Shit-heads; I get furious just thinking about it. And then that Deputy Chief Handal takes out a photo of Olga María stretched out on a sofa, naked — though without showing her privates. And there’s no question José Carlos was the one who took that photo. I swear I couldn’t get over the shock. Olga María never told me anything about it. Unbelievable — I thought she trusted me more than that. But it turns out she played her cards close to her chest. Now I don’t understand anything. Deputy Chief Handal couldn’t contain his delight at seeing me with my mouth hanging open, dumbstruck. Until I asked him where he’d gotten that photo — he thought I’d already surrendered. But instead of answering my questions he started interrogating me: I shouldn’t lie to him, if I already knew about that photo I should just admit it, my cooperation was crucial to the investigation of the murder of my best friend. He emphasized the words “my best friend,” in a way I didn’t like at all. I managed to pull myself together, rally my strength — I told him he was a thief, he’d probably stolen that picture, he couldn’t have gotten it any other way. He informed me, nonchalantly, that he’d found it among Olga María’s belongings. He must have thought I was an imbecile. Can you imagine? How was I supposed to believe that Olga María would keep a photo like that in her house and