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After dinner, on the pretext of going out to stretch my legs, I left my father reading and walked up to Bea’s house. When I got there, I stopped on the corner to look up at the large windows of the apartment. I asked myself what I was doing. Spying, meddling, or making a fool of myself were some of the answers that went through my mind. Even so, as lacking in dignity as in appropriate clothes for such icy weather, I took shelter from the wind in a doorway on the other side of the street for about half an hour, watching the windows and seeing the silhouettes of Mr. Aguilar and his wife as they passed by. But not a trace of Bea.
It was almost midnight when I got back home, shivering with cold and carrying the world on my shoulders. She’ll call tomorrow, I told myself a thousand times while I tried to fall asleep. Bea didn’t call the next day. Or the next. She didn’t call that whole week, the longest and the last of my life.
IN SEVEN DAYS’ TIME, I WOULD BE DEAD.
·36·
ONLY SOMEONE WHO HAS BARELY A WEEK LEFT TO LIVE COULD waste his time the way I wasted mine during those days. All I did was watch over the telephone and gnaw at my soul, so much a prisoner of my own blindness that I wasn’t even capable of guessing what destiny was already taking for granted. On Monday at noon, I went over to the Literature Faculty in Plaza Universidad, hoping to see Bea. I knew she wouldn’t be amused if I turned up there and we were seen together, but facing her anger was preferable to continuing with my uncertainty.
I asked in the office for Professor Velázquez’s lecture room and decided to wait for the students to come out. I waited for about twenty minutes, until the doors opened and I saw the arrogant, well-groomed countenance of Professor Velázquez, as usual surrounded by his small group of female admirers. Five minutes later there was still no sign of Bea. I decided to walk up to the door of the lecture room and take a look. A trio of girls were huddled together like a Sunday-school group, chatting and exchanging either lecture notes or secrets. The one who seemed like the leader of the congregation noticed my presence and interrupted her monologue to fire me an inquisitive look.
“I’m sorry. I’m looking for Beatriz Aguilar. Do you know whether she comes to this class?”
The girls traded venomous glances.
“Are you her fiancé?” one of them asked. “The officer?”
I smiled blankly, and they took this to mean agreement. Only the third girl smiled back at me, shyly, averting
her eyes. The other two were more forward, almost defiant.
“I imagined you different,” said the one who seemed to be the head commando.
“Where’s the uniform?” asked the second in command, observing me with suspicion.
“I’m on leave. Do you know whether she’s already left?”
“Beatriz didn’t come to class today,” the chief informed me.
“Oh, didn’t she?”
“No,” confirmed the suspicious lieutenant. “If you’re her fiancé, you should know.”
“I’m her fiancé, not a Civil Guard.”
“Come on, let’s go, this guy’s a twit,” the chief said.
They both walked past me, eyeing me sideways with disdain. The third one lagged behind. She stopped for a moment before leaving and, making quite sure the others didn’t see her, whispered in my ear, “Beatriz didn’t come on Friday either.”
“Do you know why?”
“You’re not her fiancé, are you?”
“No. Only a friend.”
“I think she’s ill.”
“Ill?”
“That’s what one of the girls who phoned her said. Now I must go.”
Before I was able to thank her for her help, the girl went off to join the other two, who were waiting for her with withering looks at the far end of the cloister.
“DANIEL, SOMETHING MUST HAVE HAPPENED. A GREAT-AUNT HAS DIED, or a parrot has got the mumps, or she’s caught a cold from so much going around without enough clothes to cover her bum—goodness knows what. Contrary to what you firmly believe, the earth does not revolve around the desires of your crotch. Other factors influence the evolution of mankind.”
“You think I’m not aware of that? You don’t seem to know me, Fermín.”
“My dear, if God had wished to give me wider hips, I might even have given birth to you: that’s how well I know you. Pay attention to me. Throw off those thoughts and get some fresh air. Waiting is the rust of the soul.”
