Roberto Bolaño - The Savage Detectives

When I turned around I saw Lima and Belano talking, leaning on the Camaro. I heard Belano say that we'd fucked up, that we'd found Cesárea only to bring her death. Then I didn't hear anything until someone touched my shoulder and told me to get in the car. The Impala and the Camaro drove off the road and into the desert. A little before dark they stopped again and we got out. The sky was full of stars and you couldn't see a thing. I heard Belano and Lima talking. I heard the moans of the policeman, who was dying. Then I didn't hear anything. I know I closed my eyes. Later Belano called me and between the two of us we put Alberto's and the policeman's bodies in the trunk of the Camaro and Cesárea's body in the backseat. Moving Cesárea's body took us forever. Then we got in the Impala and smoked and slept or thought until morning came at last.

Then Belano and Lima told us that it would be better if we separated. They were leaving us Quim's Impala. They would take the Camaro and the bodies. Belano laughed for the first time: a fair deal, he said. Now will you go back to Mexico City? he asked Lupe. I don't know, said Lupe. Everything went wrong, I'm sorry, said Belano. I think he was saying it to me, not Lupe. But now we'll try to fix it, said Lima. He laughed too. I asked them what they planned to do with Cesárea. Belano shrugged his shoulders. They had no choice but to bury her with Alberto and the policeman, he said. Unless we wanted to spend some time in jail. No, no, said Lupe. You know we don't, I said. We hugged and Lupe and I got in the Impala. I watched Lima try to get in on the driver's side of the Camaro, but Belano stopped him. I watched them talk for a while. Then I watched Lima get in on the passenger side and Belano take the wheel. For the longest time nothing happened. Two cars sitting in the middle of the desert. Can you make it back to the road, García Madero? said Belano. Of course, I said. Then I watched the Camaro start, hesitantly, and for a while the two cars bumped together through the desert. Then we separated. I headed off in search of the road and Belano turned west.

I don't know whether today is February 2nd or 3rd. It might be the 4th, or even the 5th or 6th. But it's all the same to me. This is our threnody.

Lupe told me that we're the last visceral realists left in Mexico. I was lying on the floor, smoking, and I looked at her. Give me a break, I said.

Sometimes I start to think and I imagine Belano and Lima digging a pit in the desert for hours. Then, when it gets dark, I imagine them leaving and losing themselves in Hermosillo, where they abandon the Camaro on some random street. That's as far as my imagination takes me. I know they were planning to travel back to Mexico City by bus. I know they expected to meet us there. But neither Lupe nor I feels like going back. See you in Mexico City, they said. See you in Mexico City, I said before the cars parted ways in the desert. They gave us half the money they had left. Then, when we were alone, I gave half to Lupe. Just in case. Last night we came back to Villaviciosa and slept in Cesárea Tinajero's house. I looked for her notebooks. They were in plain sight, in the same room I'd slept in the first time we were here. The house doesn't have electricity. Today we had breakfast at one of the bars. People looked at us and didn't say anything. According to Lupe, we could stay here as long as we wanted.

Last night I dreamed that Belano and Lima abandoned Alberto's Camaro on a beach in Bahía Kino and then headed out to sea and swam to Baja California. I asked them why they wanted to go to Baja and they answered: to escape, and then they vanished from sight behind a big wave. When I told her the dream, Lupe said it was silly, that I shouldn't worry, that Lima and Belano were probably fine. In the afternoon we went to eat at another bar. The same people were there. No one has said anything to us about living in Cesárea's house. No one seems bothered by our presence in town.

Sometimes I think about the fight as if it were a dream. I see Cesárea Tinajero's back again like a stern emerging from a centuries-old shipwreck. All over again, I see her throwing herself on the policeman and Ulises Lima. I see her taking a bullet in the chest. Finally I see her shooting the policeman or deflecting the last shot. I see her die and I feel the weight of her body. Then I think. I think that Cesárea may have had nothing to do with the policeman's death. Next I think about Belano and Lima, one digging a grave for three people, the other watching the work with his right arm bandaged, and then I imagine that it was Lima who wounded the policeman, that the policeman was distracted when Cesárea attacked him and Ulises saw his chance and grabbed the gun and aimed it at the policeman's gut. Sometimes, for a change, I try to think about Alberto's death, but I can't. I hope they buried them with their guns. Or buried the guns in another hole in the desert. Whatever they did, I hope they got rid of the guns! I remember that when I lifted Alberto's body into the trunk I checked his pockets. I was looking for the knife that he used to measure his penis. I didn't find it. Sometimes, for a change, I think about Quim and his Impala, which I guess he'll probably never see again. Sometimes it makes me laugh. Other times it doesn't.

The food is cheap here. But there isn't any work.

I've read Cesárea's notebooks. When I found them I thought sooner or later I would mail them to Mexico City, to Lima or Belano. Now I know I won't. There's no sense in doing it. Every cop in Sonora must be after my friends.

Back in the Impala, back to the desert. I've been happy in this town. Before we left, Lupe said that we could come back to Villaviciosa whenever we wanted. Why? I said. Because the people accept us. They're killers, just like us. We aren't killers, I say. The people here aren't either, it's just a manner of speaking, says Lupe. Someday the police will catch Belano and Lima, but they'll never find us. Oh, Lupe, how I love you, but how wrong you are.

Cucurpe, Tuape, Meresichic, Opodepe.

Carbó, El Oasis, Félix Gómez, El Cuatro, Trincheras, La Ciénaga.

Bamuri, Pitiquito, Caborca, San Juan, Las Maravillas, Las Calenturas.

What's outside the window?

A star.

What's outside the window?

A sheet.

What's outside the window?