“A husband is supposed to keep his wife company.”
“I’m here right now, am I not? After I smoked that one cigarette, I came back inside even though I didn’t play a single game of dominoes and had to listen to Lulú complain about her backache for a full forty minutes. You were too busy talking to Sarita Novo to notice.”
“I’m sure you didn’t hear a thing Lulú said, busy as you were eyeing my niece.”
“That again!” he exclaimed.
“Are you going to tell me she’s ugly?”
“No, she’s not. She’s pretty in the way small-town girls can be,” he said, and he knew this comment would irritate Perla greatly, for sheherself was a small-town girl. If they quarreled, if she was angry at him, then she’d be more likely to drown her sorrows with a bit of drink. At least, he prayed she would.
“I suppose you spent a lot of time with society ladies and starlets in the capital?”
“Yes, Perla. Sometimes I did. I went to nightclubs, I danced, and my dates didn’t stop me from playing dominoes or blackjack or whatever the hell I wanted.”
“I bet you wish you were back there sometimes.”
“Yeah, sometimes I do,” he said, and walked toward the door.
“Don’t you dare leave! I’m talking to you.”
“Good night, Perla.”
He closed the door behind him. There was the loud crash of a glass against a wall. He cursed and hurried away. He slipped into his room, heart beating fast, trying to figure out what he’d do in the morning.
If she didn’t drink the liquor, he’d have to spirit the bottle away. Then again, just because she’d smashed one glass, it didn’t mean she couldn’t grab another and down the sherry. He’d seen her rather inebriated on previous occasions, always in the privacy and comfort of her room, but as stinking drunk as though it were Carnaval.
The plan had been for Inés to find the body, but that had been when they’d both assumed everything would go smoothly. Now he figured he’d better poke his head in the room first, then summon Inés.
With this decided, he ought to have gone to sleep, but once again it was a maddeningly warm night. He had commandeered a rickety fan to provide a measure of coolness, but the damn thing whined as it spun its blades. The trickle of air that hit his face was not enough to allow him any comfort.
Near midnight, restless, soaked in sweat, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and went downstairs to smoke on the front patio under the lemon trees. He was surprised to find Professor Nepomuceno sitting outside in a chair.
“Good evening,” he said.
“Good evening. Can’t sleep?”
“The heat is getting to me. And you?”
“Gazing at the stars,” the professor said, and he looked up. “On cloudless nights you can stare at them and feel you might drown in their light. They are rare, fogless nights in Puerco Ahogado, and more precious than diamonds for that reason.”
“How poetic, Professor. You smoke?” he asked, and offered him a cigarette.
“I did, when I was younger, but I can’t afford it these days and I’ve lost my taste for it. I don’t suppose you have a hip flask with you?”
Ulises shook his head and lit his cigarette. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“You know much about stars?”
“Yes. I know the names of constellations and stars. I used to teach them to my pupils. I taught them to Inés.”
“Somehow I can’t picture Inés sitting quietly at her desk listening to her lessons,” he said, smiling.
Nepomuceno folded his hands neatly upon his lap and returned the smile. “That was when I was no longer a teacher at a proper school, after I retired and came to the guesthouse. I’d let her borrow my books and talk to her about Ovid and Amado Nervo.”
“Do you miss the teaching?”
