“He thinks Cándido killed himself. Should he speak to you about it, you’d better say you agree with his assessment, although I doubt he’ll breathe a word to anyone. He doesn’t want to bring shame to Perla or Lulú.”
“You’re magnificently manipulative.”
This made her proud, as if he’d bestowed upon her a badge of honor, even if there was a sting to his words and for a moment she felt as if she were unrecognizable and monstrous.
“I wish this was the end of it,” he said.
“What do you mean? It is the end of it, he’ll leave the matter alone.”
“It’s not the end if we’re still in the same position we were before. Two broke idiots without a smidgen of morals, waiting for a score that doesn’t come,” he said, and handed her his glass. She took a sip.
—
The conclusion of the novenario was like the end of a long-drawn-out hangover, the kind of event that makes a person rub their eyes and blink at the rising sun. The townspeople had been lulled into a trance by the food and drink, and now shuffled their feet and began to drift back toward normality.
It was generally agreed by the inhabitants of Puerco Ahogado that the novenario had taken place with the necessary pomp and circumstance, even if, as Father Anselmo had remarked, the atole was too watery, the tamales a bit dry, and the canapés somewhat meager. Then again, in these days of sky-high prices one could not demand a feast, and even those people who had disliked Cándido paid their respects, eager to sip a glass of free booze and nibble at pastries.
Quickly thereafter the town returned to its usual rhythm. The baker chided Marisol because she read stories about movie stars when she should be paying attention to the clientele, Dr. Carrel criticized the pharmacist and the pharmacist called Dr. Carrel a quack, the owner of the café still suspected the waiters stole from the till.
Inside the house, some things changed. Inés didn’t chuckle now when she changed her aunt’s linens and they smelled faintly of Ulises’s cologne and sweat, the ghostly imprint of a man left upon the sheets to haunt her as she bundled them and carried them down the stairs.
Neither did he smile with bawdy zest when he saw her making Perla’s bed, both of them sharing a dirty joke in silence. In the aftermath of the novenario, he looked somber, as if he were a man weighed down by onerous debts.
The stain of the crime did not linger upon their hands, they saw no phantoms demanding retribution. It was not guilt that plagued them, but a sinister, never-yielding dissatisfaction. She saw it in his eyes and he in turn must have read the same emotion in her own.
Rather than despairing or reveling in the commission of a hideous deed, they both felt oppressed, not by the memory of the murder but by the banality of their days: nothing had truly been altered. The world around them was the same, and so were they.
One morning soon after, Fito walked into the house balancing three boxes in his arms.
“What have you got there?” Ulises asked him.
“Papers from Miss Lulú for Mrs. Perla.”
“Let me help you,” he said, and they walked together to the office. Inés, who had been sweeping the floor, quietly followed them, poking her head inside.
“Finally. Lulú took her time,” Perla said. She was sitting behind her desk and pointed to a chair. “Leave those there.”
“Yes, Mrs. Perla,” Fito said obediently.
Fito quickly departed, but after Ulises put down the box he was carrying he turned to his wife. “What sort of papers are these?” he asked.
“Cándido’s notes and information about my business interests. Now that he’s dead, I’ll have to find a new lawyer and someone to assist me with the collection of money,” Perla said.
“I can help you.”
“You’re not a lawyer.”
“I can help with some other matters that Cándido handled. There’s no reason for you to be shuttling back and forth to the city when you need to deposit money, for example.”
“Don’t worry about that,” she said, looking down at the papers on her desk and scribbling something.
“I’d like to help.”
Her eyes were still on her papers as she spoke. “You can help by driving my car. I’ve decided to fire Fito. He’s useless and is eating us out of a house. I’ve never seen a boy gobble so many tortillas in one day.”
“You want me to be your driver?”
“We’ll need a houseboy. Especially now that I finally have a new tenant coming in. Nepomuceno’s room has been empty for far too long. With luck the other rooms will soon be occupied too.” Perla finally lifted her head and stared at Inés. “Do you need something, or are you going to lurk by the door all morning long?”
