Carlos Gamerro - The Islands

I pressed the doorbell till my finger went white. The blinds were down and the bell made a hollow sound as if the house was empty. But wouldn’t it sound like that if the occupants were dead? I rang the neighbour’s bell. The door opened a crack and a face peered out at me suspiciously.

‘The lady next door, isn’t she in?’ I whimpered.

‘Good evening, young man,’ she pulled me up short.

‘Good evening. Is she in or not? It’s urgent.’

‘That one?’ she said, pointing in disgust. ‘Haven’t seen her for days.’

It was the worst news I could have heard.

‘Is she out or in?’

‘Out, I suppose, with one of those … gentlemen.’

‘What gentlemen? What were they like?’

‘And who are you , may I ask?’

I said the first thing that came to mind:

‘The husband. I mean her ex …’

‘Ah.’ I thought I saw her smile malignantly, as if pleased. ‘It’s about time you showed up. The whole neighbourhood’s up in arms about your wife’s behaviour. Men all hours of the night; sometimes they only leave the following morning, and those poor girls at home all the time, listening, perhaps even seeing it all. It’s just as well they’re simple-minded and don’t understand if you ask me. They’re your daughters! You can’t leave them in that woman’s hands!’

She wouldn’t let me get a word in; that really drives me mad, and I had to control myself.

‘Was it two men who came?’

‘No, just one this time. Young fellow, looks like she’s developed a fancy for young fellows.’

‘Did she leave with the girls?’

‘ You work it out: you’re the father. They might be anywhere now. Anything might be happening to them. I sincerely hope you’ll be taking her to court over the custody …’

‘I need a phone.’

She started to close the door on me.

‘There’s a public telephone five blocks away.’

That was it. I pushed the door as far the chain would go and my right shoe made contact with her left shin through the gap. I closed the door behind me to shut out her screams and walked away.

I could warn the other witnesses from the public phone, but then I wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on the entrance to Gloria’s place. They’d have to wait. I’d have a couple more deaths on my conscience, but it wasn’t my conscience I was worried about now.

I put down my bag and sat with my back against the door on the marble steps, which soon froze my arse off. I lit a cigarette. The usual Saturday night excitement hadn’t ruffled Parque Chas’s calm surface of tarmac, tiles and terraces, and the streets were empty because of the cold, save for the dry leaves dragged along by a wind that raked the tarmac with the rattle of tin claws. Several cars went by — sometimes reappearing, spinning round and round like a top before finally plumping for one of the six streets and getting lost again — till eleven at night, when they disappeared. At one in the morning a group of four girls in miniskirts went by, clicking their heels to announce that they were off dancing and, down to two, came back at six-twenty, trying to scare each other by saying there were ‘fellas’ out there in the dark and giggling nervously. At seven the paper man went by but left nothing at the door. I’d promised myself that, if they hadn’t turned up by half past seven, I’d break in regardless, but at eight I still hadn’t made my mind up, and by then a few doors had been opened and blinds raised, so I couldn’t very well shin up the drainpipe. I was in despair, dead from fatigue and hunger, my bones drilled with the cold and one of my dreaded headaches trepanning its underground tunnels through my brain. I stood up and shook the ash off my body. I’d even run out of smokes. How many more hours could I stand it? If she’d left the city … Resigning myself, I followed one of the old women who passed with their empty bread bags, giving her a good head start so as not to have to dawdle behind her, till I spotted the bakery and, in four bounds, overtook her to get there first. I bought half a dozen medialunas and a bag of milk, and clutching the lot in the hand that wasn’t holding the bag, I ran out without waiting for the change.

There was a taxi parked outside the front door with its engine running and, tottering, with one leg still inside, Gloria was rummaging blindly in her handbag while arguing with the driver. Then she spotted me, turned to me, forgetting her trapped leg and would have fallen flat on her face if I hadn’t caught her. I hugged her, feeling as if all the dead in my life were falling back into my arms.

‘Gloria. Are you all right?’

‘Yes,’ a gust of alcohol answered me. ‘What are you doing here? Have you been waiting for me?’

‘All night.’

‘Does that mean you’re in love with me?’

‘So? Are you going to pay me or what?’ yelled the taxi driver with exaggerated hatred. Waiting obediently in the back seat, the two girls watched me, still half asleep. I got them out, paid the cabby, who pulled off without a goodbye, and supported Gloria until her high heels attained an unsteady balance on the grooved flagstones. She was wearing a short, white, tight-fitting dress embroidered with imitation pearls; a black, quilted PVC jacket; green resin earrings and a white shawl that hung down her side.

‘Where have you come from?’

‘Dancing.’

‘With the girls?’

‘They stayed at Mum’s. I went to get them in the … Where is it?’

‘It’s gone.’

‘He wanted to fuck me.’ She looked again in irritation at the void left by the taxi. ‘I’m runk,’ she told me. ‘Been out celebrating. Roy’s fault: took all the charlie … on’s own ’e did.’

‘Celebrating what?’

‘My’usband, ’e really is dead this time ’sn’t ’e? You ’aven’t come to tell me he’s risen … from the dead ’ave you?’

She made to sit on the ground, and I had to hold her up by the armpits. Two neighbours stopped to watch.

‘Help me get inside, Elipe.’

She was beginning to slip from my arms, along with my bag, the milk and the medialunas.

‘We have to leave. You can’t stay here. It’s dangerous.’

‘No. There’s no more danger. Don’t you understand? He’s dead. You killed him, didn’t you? Go on, tell me you killed him.’ She remembered something and looked around the street in fright. ‘The girls! They’re in the taxi!’

I pointed to them standing by the door and waiting for someone to open it for them.

‘’Ave to give them brea-kfast.’

I shook her.

‘We can’t stay here. Those two heavies will be back. They’re killing all the witnesses,’ I spelt it out as I shook her.

Gloria went pale and I thought she’d understood, but a second later she doubled up and heaved copiously on my shoes. There were four neighbours watching by now.

‘M’alright. I can walk …’ She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. ‘I was sure I’d never see you again.’

‘They’ll kill you if you stay here!’

‘Me?’ She smiled up at me, trickles of drool and vomit running from the corners of her mouth. ‘How? I’m already dead.’

I had to put her down to look for the key in her handbag. The twins waited for me to drag her inside and then followed. I made Gloria comfortable on the sofa — the same sofa — and, leaving my bag in the girls’ bedroom, I went to the kitchen to put the kettle on the hob. I looked for a milk pan and, tearing off the corner of the bag with my teeth, poured the contents into it; they hit the hot aluminium with a hiss. The girls had sat down at the kitchen table to watch.

‘Do you like medialunas?’

They nodded and I opened the packet on the PVC tablecloth. They each grabbed one and bit the ends off.