Rubem Fonseca - Crimes of August

In the bathroom, Mattos threw the remains of the egg in the toilet. He washed his hands and returned to Salete in the kitchen.

“Do you have a pot?”

The inspector had a single pot, of aluminum.

“That’ll do,” said Salete, her heart beating anxiously.

Salete filled the pot with water, placed it on the stove, and turned the gas to maximum.

“I saw that woman leaving here. The blonde from the other day.”

Mattos remained silent.

“Did you screw her?”

“No.”

The water was slow to boil, increasing Salete’s nervousness. She arranged the tomatoes, the garlic, and the two onions on the counter beside the stove.

“What do you mean, no? She was here with you a long time.”

“Don’t hassle me, Salete,” said Mattos, leaving the kitchen.

Finally, small bubbles began rising to the surface of the water in the pot.

“Alberto, come here, please!” shouted Salete.

The inspector entered the kitchen and saw the pot boiling on the stove.

“Do me a favor, love. Peel those tomatoes. Look at my hand, I can’t do it.”

Several fingers on Salete’s left hand were covered with adhesive bandages.

“How do you peel tomatoes?”

Salete didn’t know how to peel tomatoes either, or any other plant. Nor did she know how to make spaghetti.

“Oh. . with the knife. . take off the skin. .”

The inspector had great difficulty doing what Salete had asked. He stained his shirt; the counter was littered with pieces of tomato.

“There, I’m done.”

“Now grab all that. . with your hands and throw it here,” said Salete, gripping the handle of the steaming pot.

The inspector filled his hands with shredded tomatoes. As he was about to toss them into the pot, everything happened fast. The pot slipped and boiling water poured over his hand.

“Oh my God,” screamed Salete. “Does it hurt bad?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said the inspector.

“My God, my God!”

“It’s nothing.”

“Does it hurt a lot? Tell the truth.”

“It hurt at first. Now it’s just burning.”

“Is it going to leave a wound? And a scab?”

“It’s enough to wrap it in gauze.”

“I have some gauze in my purse,” Salete said.

Salete took from her purse a roll of gauze, adhesive bandages, and a pair of scissors. She wrapped the inspector’s hand and secured the gauze with a piece of the bandage. While she did this, she held back to keep from crying.

“You burned me on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Me—?” She began to cry.

“I’m not going to fight with you. I just want to know why. A stupid act like that must have its reasons.”

“I adore you.” Sobs.

“Answer me.”

“I’d give my life for you.”

“Yet you burned me with boiling water. Why?”

“Kill me, I deserve to die,” said Salete.

“Stop talking nonsense. Tell me right now why you threw boiling water on my hand.”

Salete kneeled and hugged the inspector’s legs.

“Hit me, at least that.”

The inspector made Salete stand up.

“Tell me, goddammit.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“You’re forgiven. Now then. Why did you burn me?”

“I need a scab from an injury of yours.”

“A scab from an injury?”

Salete told the story of Mother Ingrácia.

“I like you, you don’t need any macumba for that. And how is it you can believe in such idiocy?”

“Everybody believes it. Teachers, lawyers, doctors, politicians, big industrialists, everybody goes to Mother Ingrácia’s macumba site. If you go there, I’ll arrange a way for you to be cured of your ulcer.” Pause. “Does your hand hurt a lot?”

Salete’s face was like that of a prisoner after a nightlong interrogation.

“If this injury creates a scab, I’ll give it to you. But you have to promise me you’ll never see that Mother Ingrácia or any other macumba practitioner.”

“I promise. I swear by everything sacred.”

Mattos’s stomach ached. He went to the refrigerator and got an egg.

“You need to eat something, going around on an empty stomach isn’t good for you. I’m going to make the spaghetti.”

“I’ve lost my appetite for spaghetti.”

She loved that man. She needed to show him that: “Then eat that egg.”

Salete watch the inspector suck the egg, after making a small hole in each end. She always found that repulsive. She watched bravely without averting her eyes as the inspector sucked a second egg. When Mattos finished, Salete hugged him and kissed him, sticking her tongue in his mouth, discerning the taste of the egg.

They went to the sofa bed and fucked until the inspector’s gauze was entirely torn away.

“This is going to make a good scab,” said Mattos, looking at the condition of the burn on his hand.

PRESIDENT VARGAS received the visit of his son, Deputy Lutero Vargas, on the second floor, in his office.

When Lutero entered, Vargas told his aide, Major Dornelles, that he didn’t want to be interrupted.

Lutero was surprised by his father’s exhausted and worried appearance.

“That shot that killed Major Vaz also hit me in the back,” said Vargas.

Lutero, who unlike his sister Alzira had never felt at ease in the presence of his father, remained silent. His recent talks had been less than pleasant. His father had been hard on him at the time of the episode, widely exploited by the press, of the robbery of eleven thousand dollars he had suffered in Venice, on a recent trip to Europe, criticizing him for making himself vulnerable to attacks by the family’s enemies.

Now, his father’s prostration mortified him. Accustomed to seeing his father as a man of great power and strength, he was surprised to see him so discouraged. He wasn’t the same man who, furious at Lacerda for having called his son debauched, shameless, degenerate, a scoundrel and a thief, had forced Lutero to file a lawsuit against the defamer. Where was the outrage, the indignation, the will to fight, now?

“You’re being accused of ordering the crime,” said Vargas. “I want to hear it from you that you’re innocent.”

“I swear I’m innocent,” said Lutero.

Vargas looked for a long time at the face of his son. Lutero had never lived up to the expectations Getúlio placed on him. Darcy, his mother, had inculcated in her son a horror of politics, helping him to dedicate himself to the profession of medicine, thus distancing himself even further from his father, who having no son to carry on the family tradition, had transferred to his son-in-law Hernani do Amaral Peixoto, a naval officer, his political sponsorship. Only upon Vargas’s return of to the presidency in 1950, not as dictator but elected in a democratic election, had Lutero decided to “go into politics.” But it would have been preferable, both for him and for the entire family, if he had continued practicing medicine. As a politician, Lutero had given no cause for pride to his father, who in reality was more interested in the political future of his son-in-law, then governor of the state of Rio de Janeiro.

Without knowing whether or not his father believed his oath, Lutero said goodbye to him ceremoniously and left the palace.

ILÍDIO, THE NUMBERS GAME BANKROLLER assaulted by Inspector Mattos, was a proud man. He had started his life as lawbreaker by working for Mr. Aniceto Moscoso, the great numbers game financier in Madureira. With extreme efficiency he provided security for Mr. Aniceto’s betting sites. He avoided the use of violence but, when necessary, hadn’t hesitated to kill the usurper of a site or anyone else who was creating serious problems for Mr. Aniceto’s business. His industriousness had led to several promotions within the rigid hierarchy of the numbers game command. Finally, with the help and protection of his patron, and the acquiescence of the other large-scale bankrollers, Ilídio came to control several gambling sites in the city. He became a small-scale bankroller. His businesses, like those of all the others, large or small, prospered endlessly. Ilídio’s ambition was to one day become a major bankroller, like Mr. Aniceto.