e, that Marito, throwing me a curve ball like that. At first I had no idea what to say. All I could do was play the fool, ask him what he was talking about, what was he insinuating. And maybe because it was the second time I’d had to play the fool, I got angry. My head felt like it was about to explode: I told him he couldn’t possibly believe all that nonsense those mean-spirited people were gossiping about, Olga María and Yuca had never been anything more than friends, great friends since the American School, I knew that for a fact, Olga María confided in me things she never confided in anybody, and as far as I’m concerned it’s utter nonsense for him to entertain any suspicions at all about his wife, about someone who’d always been faithful to him. I almost called him an idiot. I was getting quite worked up, I was shouting, because I wasn’t going to let that good-for-nothing doubt her and join the conspiracy against Yuca. I ripped into him: I said those little bitches, Cheli and Conchita, they must have had a hand in telling Deputy Chief Handal the rumors that he’s made it his business to spread around. All because Olga María had been receiving phone calls from Yuca the last few weeks of her life. Those hussies think that if somebody gets a phone call from a friend she’s necessarily sleeping with him. Just because that’s what they’re like, them and their sluttish mentality. I’ll bet one of them is going out with one of the detectives who works under Deputy Chief Handal and that’s where all the rumors are coming from. But I made it very clear to Marito that if recently Yuca had been communicating with Olga María, it was because he was having personal problems and he was reaching out to old friends, lifelong friends, that’s why he’d called me, too. I wasn’t about to go telling him all of Yuca’s problems, those things are private, the poor man has enough with all the dirty politics he’s messed up in. Marito asked me to calm down, the girls weren’t asleep yet and they might be listening. But I was already in a rage — he provoked me. I told him I thought it was shameful for him to start questioning his wife’s faithfulness, there wasn’t a bit of difference between his insinuations and what other evil tongues were saying about him hiring somebody to kill her. Until I said that I couldn’t calm down! Yes, my dear, I just realized it — I’ll lower my voice. Let’s kneel again. Did you see that look my mother just shot me when she turned around? I’ll pretend I didn’t notice. Look at those saints. Perfectly awful. Whose idea was it to dress them up like that? Such poor taste. Not at all like those statues you see in the churches in Europe — look at the face on that one. Poor thing. Who knows who he’s supposed to be. I’ve never learned anything about the saints. Papa says most of them are phonies or criminals. Mama’s hair stands on end when papa starts ranting and raving against the pope and the Vatican. All that’s for the lower classes, for people who are either stupid or ignorant, papa says. Speaking of which: neither Cheli nor Conchita came to church. They’ve already forgotten about Olga María. What I said earlier is true: Cheli is going out with one of Handal’s detectives. I know it firsthand, my dear. The one with the square jaw, like a filing cabinet, Villalta I think his name is, he’s really got the mug of a criminal, he’s the one who came to interrogate the girls right after Olga María was killed. You know which one Cheli is? She’s the chubby one with big cheeks, kind of red in the face, very vivacious. It’s not her fault she’s stupid, but it is her fault people are saying bad things about Olga María. I’ll bet you anything she gives Villalta all his info. I saw them together, that’s what I’m telling you, I didn’t hear it from anyone. It was pure coincidence. I was walking down Paseo Escalón, about two blocks below Villas Españolas, right near her boutique, when what do you know? I see that disgusting Cheli walking with that detective. I didn’t want to tell Marito about it; they’d just say I was gossiping and the woman has a right to have a boyfriend. But can you believe the prize she’s found for herself? I told Doña Olga, of course. Just so she’d know. The night before last, with Marito, after he was rude to me and I had to put him in his place, I told him about Cheli and the detective. But we weren’t at his house anymore. Marito was very upset when I told him that some people were saying that he might have arranged Olga María’s murder. I swear he went totally blank for about five seconds; not because he hadn’t thought of it or because nobody had mentioned it to him, but because I threw it in his face right when he started making those filthy insinuations about her. All he managed to say was that we shouldn’t talk about it, the girls or dear Julita might show up any moment, we should change the subject. Then I suggested we go out, because I had several related issues I wanted to discuss with him, and it didn’t seem right to do it in the house. We went to the bar at the Hotel Fiesta, it’s the closest one. We each took our own car, obviously. The last thing I need is for people to start gossiping about how I’m going out with Marito now that Olga María is dead. All I wanted was to speak frankly, and to hear from him who he suspects or blames for her death. You might not believe this, but it’s been a month since her murder, and we still hadn’t had a heart-to-heart. For a thousand and one reasons. Or maybe we were afraid. Sometimes you just don’t want to know, with so much garbage swirling around. But what made me fighting mad was hearing Marito repeat the same lies against Yuca. Well, he didn’t come right out and say it, but just the fact that he insinuated it was enough. He’s the husband, my dear — anything he says or even hints at becomes the truth. That’s why I wanted to keep talking to him, to try to clear things up. The bar was empty; nobody ever stays at the hotel itself, at least not during the week. I don’t like that hotel. There’s a lien on it, because of the owner’s debts. But it’s the nearest bar. That’s why I suggested we go there. Looks like he’s a regular, the staff seemed to know him, especially one waitress, quite attractive, good body, but dark-skinned, your average Salvadoran — not ugly, even kind of cute. So, this is what we’ve come to, I said to Marito, because it was obvious he liked that waitress, maybe he’s even gone out with her, otherwise she wouldn’t be so friendly. That’s what I told him. But he pretended not to understand. Men have no staying power, my dear. His wife just died and here he is running after a waitress. Marito ordered his usuaclass="underline" vodka with lemonade. I didn’t feel like deciding, so I ordered the same. Stand up, my dear. Sometimes I feel like an idiot repeating all this drivel. Now, we can finally sit down. Let’s see what this despicable priest comes up with next; not that I’m even listening to him. Right from the start, I got straight to the point with Marito: I asked him what he knew about the murder investigation, I told him not to beat around the bush, to tell me once and for all what had happened. He looked so sad, it was actually touching: I realized he didn’t know anything, either, he just has hypotheses like we do, the whole month he’d been flailing around, at the mercy of everyone’s wagging tongues, without anything solid to hold onto. Poor thing. Maybe that’s why he’s clutching at the possibility that Yuca had something to do with the murder. I told him that later. What he told me is that nothing’s been proven: the murderer, that RoboCop guy, hasn’t confessed to anything, he’s kept mum, he doesn’t even admit he was the one who pulled the trigger, even though the girls have positively identified him. Times are different now, you can’t apply the same kind of pressure you could before, because those human rights communists will jump down your throat. Marito says that this Deputy Chief Handal is pursuing a very discreet line of investigation. Seems RoboCop belongs to a well-organized gang of criminals for hire. Marito thinks that if RoboCop was a soldier and belongs to a gang there must be at least one high-ranking military officer behind him. I don’t understand why a high-ranking military officer would have wanted Olga María murdered; I don’t see the point, unless he wants to become a politico at Yuca’s expense. But Marito doesn’t have many expectations: he says that if RoboCop doesn’t spill the beans, which will most likely be the case, we’ll never know who hired him. He also doesn’t think Deputy Chief Handal is digging deep enough; there are so many murders and most of them remain unsolved. Marito says that the police are satisfied that they’ve arrested the perpetrator, that in itself is a huge success, that’s why they made such a big to-do about it in the news, but he says they don’t care about finding the mastermind. I don’t doubt it. This is the only prayer I know in fulclass="underline" Our Father. The rest, I just know parts of them. You, too, right, my dear? Well, you studied with nuns, you learned them when you were little, I didn’t learn any of it. What? Am I going to take communion? Are you kidding? If that priest gave it to me, I wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to spit it back in his face. Damn him! We have to kneel again; what’s going to happen to my stockings? As I was saying, I couldn’t get much out of Marito: he doesn’t know anything we don’t already know. Unless he’s a really good liar and was pulling the wool over my eyes the whole time. You never know with men. You should have seen him flirting with that waitress, like I wasn’t even there. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women, the poor thing. I don’t know how Olga María could have married him. That woman’s got guts, you know, because Marito might be a really nice guy but to have to put up with him every day, God help me. It’s not that he’s ugly, I just don’t see anything attractive about him: he’s your ordinary dark-skinned guy. His personality is the only thing worthwhile: he’s calm, kind, generous. That’s why Olga María agreed to marry him — they were meant for each other. I can’t imagine them screaming at each other, much less fighting. But as much of a goodie-two-shoes as Marito is, he kept on flirting with that waitress until I told him to get a grip, he was going way overboard, not showing me any respect, like I was a rag doll or something. So he cooled down. That’s when I insisted he tell me everything he knows, not keep any secrets, I was Olga María’s best friend, and he had no reason to hide anything from me. I stared right at him and had a very serious expression on my face, just so he’d understand that I wasn’t joking, the best thing would be to stop keeping secrets from me. He told me that Diana, her younger sister, had hired a private detective, while she was still in Miami, someone named Pepe Pindonga, just like it sounds even though it sounds like a joke, his name is Pepe Pindonga, some kind of weirdo who’s already questioned Marito and already started snooping around. Diana’s the only one who would have thought of doing such a thing: hiring a private detective, like this is the States or something. She’s nuts. Can you imagine, my dear? A private detective in San Salvador? All he’ll do is take her money and run. But, anyway, that’s her business not mine. Marito warned me not to be surprised if this Pepe Pindonga tries to get in touch with me. It seems he’s ordinary-looking, a bit vulgar, and he asks questions with no consideration, like he belongs to the same social class or something. I don’t want to have anything to do with him. I told Marito that’s all I need: some charlatan who calls himself a private detective coming and treating me disrespectfully, as if I haven’t already had enough with that Deputy Chief Handal and his gang. I told him I wasn’t willing to be questioned by a private detective, I have absolutely no interest in talking to somebody who will probably use whatever information we give him to blackmail us, only someone as demented as Diana could think there’s such a thing as a private detective in this city. Marito says the guy is intelligent, clever, but he agrees that Diana is throwing her money away, because if we’re dealing with an organized gang of former military officers, this detective will resign from the case in a second. Which doesn’t mean he won’t charge Diana, even if he hasn’t accomplished anything. That’s what I think, anyway. We drank three vodkas each. Marito wanted to keep drinking, but I told him it was late, I felt pretty sloshed, and the truth is, I wasn’t enjoying myself, and least of all when I had to constantly remind Marito not to flirt with that waitress. Look at that, Señor Saint up here is going to sweeten our ears with his homily, he’s going to offer us his spiritual and moral teachings. What a swine. I refuse to listen to him. Hypocrite. After what he’s done to Yuca he has the nerve to stand behind the pulpit and speak in the name of God. Have you ever seen such barefaced hypocrisy? Anyway, the thing is, my dear, the only thing I got clear is that Marito’s as confused as we are. Maybe the only ones who know anything are the police, but if some ex-officer is involved we’ll never find out anything. Oh, and I forgot: there’s some journalist who’s also investigating the Olga María case, a reporter from that newspaper, Ocho Columnas. Can you believe it? That rag that only reports scandals — the very same newspaper that’s been waging its campaign against Yuca, that’s been harassing him for weeks. And you know who the famous reporter is? That pathetic creature named Rita Mena, the same one who accused Yuca of assaulting her, as if she wasn’t asking for it with her stupid questions. Haven’t you read the newspapers, about the journalist union’s accusations against Yuca? They say that Yuca and his bodyguards intimidated the reporter, assaulted her — she claimed they grabbed her camera away so they could destroy the roll of pictures she’d taken of Yuca. That’s the same reporter who’s investigating the murder. It infuriates me. I suspect it’s precisely Yuca’s enemies who are behind that newspaper, the same ones who launched that press campaign to oust him from the party leadership, the same ones who made that huge fuss about the stolen car this shameless priest sold him, the ones who sent that reporter to Yuca just to provoke him. I don’t even want to think what she’ll write about Olga María’s death. I can already imagine it. Yuca’s enemies want that stupid woman to implicate him in the murder. I’m sure of it. Marito was the one who told me that reporter has been harassing him for the last few days. I don’t know how she found out about my existence, because she told Marito she wants to interview me. I’m just waiting for her to call me, my dear, so I can tell her to go straight to Hell. She’ll get what’s coming to her, for snooping around, for being stupid. Did that priest finally finish with his nonsense? I don’t believe you’re going to take communion. Me? Are you kidding?