Books Burn Badly - Manuel Rivas [214]
‘He’s finished. How many meetings was that?’
When they looked at each other, Ren’s face seemed to hide a complex thought after he’d blown so many smoke rings into the air. But what he said, with clearly universal connotations, was, ‘Unbelievable!’
Mancorvo nudged him. ‘Just as well the judge wasn’t here!’ Ren ignored him. He was reaching the same conclusion as Santos. The boy had laid a trap. A tale moored to reality. He was pulling their legs.
It was Santos who took the initiative. ‘Tell us the truth, Gabriel. Everything you’ve written is a lie, isn’t it?’
‘Everything,’ Gabriel replied with certainty.
‘What’s Durtol, Gabriel?’
‘A sanatorium.’
‘Have you been there? Why do you write from Durtol? What happens in Durtol, Gabriel?’
‘Let’s leave it,’ suggested Santos.
‘Katechon!’ Ren exclaimed bitterly. He looked at Gabriel’s unintelligible notebook. ‘You know how to scrawl, don’t you?’
A Load of Suspicion
‘Judith?’
They could have enquired after anyone. But they go and ask about someone who doesn’t exist. There are loads of names in these parts. Some people have three or four names. But, outside the Bible, I couldn’t think of a single Judith. And even if I had, I wouldn’t have told them.
‘Police,’ said the spindly one with a lack of enthusiasm. If you’re police, I thought, you could at least act the part. Show a golden badge the way they do in American movies. No style! The spindly one looked like he had an invisible toothpick in his mouth. His hair was slicked back with brilliantine, he was a bit of a dandy. Maybe that was why he couldn’t be bothered. The road had just been tarmacked, the tarmac was still fresh. The day was heavy, threatening rain. The dogs were barking. Soon as the car arrived, creeping along at that funereal pace, all the dogs started barking. They can’t have liked that. So many dogs barking. Who can tell them to be quiet? The other was stocky, thickset, in an ashen suit and hat. He stood a little further back, leaning on the bonnet. What was he looking at? He kept staring at the load of washing.
‘Judith. You ever heard of someone called Judith?’
I was going to tell them about the book in the Bible, but I could see them coming, they’d snatch at a loose thread and pull. A washerwoman talking about the Bible. What else do you know about the Judith in the Bible?
‘No, never heard of her.’
The one who kept looking at my load could at least have told me to set it down on the bonnet. There they were, with their arms crossed, and me with that weight on top of my head.
‘Do those clothes belong to the judge’s wife?’ asked the stocky one in the ash-coloured hat.
There he had me. There you could tell old gorilla features knew what he was up to. A voice inside me said I should tell them where to get off, why didn’t they ask them, the judge and the painter? But Harmony stopped me. Harmony said, ‘Let things go downriver and keep the load of washing well out of it.’
‘The clothes belong to the judge’s wife and to the judge. And to the boy too. To the whole house.’
‘All right then. Set them down here, on the bonnet.’
I didn’t like that. I’d been waiting for him to tell me to set them down there, because the tarmac on the road burnt like the fires of hell, but now he said it, I didn’t want to.
‘Set them down here.’
He felt the mass of clothes. Put his hand through the knot and rummaged inside. Pulled out the mags, which made the other stop chewing his invisible toothpick and quickly examine them, after threatening me, ‘One move and you’re dead!’
‘They’re old fashion magazines,’ I said.
I was going to tell them I read them sitting on the toilet. It was a very peaceful moment in the day for me. But Harmony said, ‘None of that. You stick to yea and nay.’
They kept flicking through the magazines.
‘Orange vinyl suit! You’re not thinking of wearing that, are you?’ asked the big guy mockingly.
Harmony’s voice,