Daniel Galera - Blood-drenched Beard

About twenty minutes before the race starts, officials communicate that the water is full of jellyfish. The use of wetsuits is allowed at the last minute, and the swimmers race to get theirs. When the start gun goes off, the athletes run through the sand, leap over the first few waves, dive in, and discover that they will need to forge a path through an enormous soup of gelatinous globules the size of soccer balls. Those who didn’t bring wetsuits or didn’t have time to get them leave the water with stings. One woman gets a tentacle right in the face and is pulled out of the water screaming by the referees in kayaks.

Pedro is the first out of the water that morning. He is third. Douglas rides well but is no match for the better-trained cyclists and loses part of the team’s initial advantage during the twenty-kilometer ride. Sara almost can’t finish the race, but he runs the last half-mile by her side, and she crosses the finish line all red and out of breath. Even so, they place fourth in the relay, right in the middle of the seven teams signed up. An encouraging result. Afterward both amateur and professional athletes float along smiling, high on a mixture of tiredness, euphoria, and relaxation.

Sara and Douglas decide to throw a barbecue for their friends and acquaintances who also entered the race. At Sara’s request, he promises to pitch in with his much-advertised seasoned flank steak, matambre . The delicacy requires some preparation. Chilies, sweet marjoram, thyme, lime juice, rock salt, and at least an hour and a half on the barbecue, rolled up in tinfoil. Douglas climbs onto his bike and rides home on a mission to get the fire started and put the beer on ice. Sara insists on taking him by car to the supermarket to buy the meat and the seasonings, but he says he needs to go home first to shower and change his clothes. She says she’ll drive him there too. No matter how many times he repeats that it isn’t necessary, she pretends not to hear him. Are we a team or not?

When they walk into his apartment, Sara does what he felt was coming and did nothing to stop. He has barely shut the door when she takes off her running shoes and tracksuit bottoms and stands there in her blue shorts with her hands on her jacket, as if she is about to unzip it.

Whoa. Sara. Hang on.

Fuck me.

I can’t.

You can’t or you don’t want to?

I can’t.

Of course you can, she says, walking over to him. Look at me.

He looks.

You can, okay? She pushes him lightly, making him fall into a sitting position on the hard yellow sofa. She is about to mount him, but he holds her by the waist to stop her.

You’ll regret it.

No, I won’t.

But I will.

You definitely won’t.

People walk down the path outside the closed shutters. He presses a finger to his lips, asking her to be quiet.

Anyone you know?

I don’t know. But everyone sees everything here.

Don’t be paranoid.

She bends her head toward him and whispers.

It’ll just be once. I’ve never done this before.

He remains sitting, she remains standing. Her thighs, speckled like chocolate chip ice cream, try to move forward. She runs one of her hands down from her waist to her leg and raises it to place her foot on the sofa. Her smell floods the dark, moist apartment. He can feel the pulsing of their bodies. Tiny tremors.

Better not.

Well, what are you going to do with that bulge there?

He leans his forehead against the waistband of her shorts and sighs.

That’s it, she says.

His cell phone starts to ring.

Don’t answer it.

On the fourth ring he slowly pushes her away and picks up the phone. It is Gonçalo.

Hey, buddy. How’s life on the beach?

All good, Gonça. How are things there?

Same old circus as always. Sorry to keep you waiting, but I’ve been swamped and only managed to follow up on that matter in the last few days. I talked to some people in the civil police and the Santa Catarina state court. There’s no way you’ll find the inquest, if there ever was one. Forget it.

Fuck.

He goes to the window and unlocks the shutters.

However—

Gonçalo makes a dramatic pause. He opens the shutters a crack and sees the sunny beach.

— I consulted the old payrolls and found the name of the police chief who probably went to Garopaba to look into the crime. I did some research on the guy and discovered two things.

He glances over his shoulder. Sara is sitting cross-legged on the sofa, almost in a position of meditation, staring at the sandy-colored floor tiles with a vague expression. She looks like a robot that has been switched off.

What?

First, the guy’s still alive. Second, I know where he lives. In Pato Branco.

Is that here in Santa Catarina?

In Paraná. In the west of the state. Near the border of Santa Catarina. His name is Zenão Bonato. He’s a partner in a private security company called Commando. I hope that’s a reference to that Schwarzenegger movie. Give him my regards if it is.

But how do I find him?

I’ve got the company’s address and phone number here.

Hold on. Let me get a pen.

He rummages through the wicker basket on the counter for a pen and piece of paper to write on. He still has a hard-on, and Sara watches his movements with the same empty expression on her face.

Okay, what is it?

He writes down the former police chief’s name, address, and phone number on a pamphlet for an adventure tour operator specializing in whale watching.

Thanks, Gonça. I can handle it from here.

No problem. I’m here if you need me. Are you busy?

No, why?

Dunno. Are you okay?

I’m great.

Good to hear. Okay then. I’ve got an article to write here. I hope the info’s useful. Let me know how you get on.

Will do. See ya.

As soon as he hangs up, Sara comes to life again and glares at him with her slanting eyes. She looks like a patient who has been forgotten for hours in a doctor’s waiting room.

That was a friend of mine from Porto Alegre.

She doesn’t say anything.

Want a glass of water?

No.

She gets up and walks over to him. She puts her face very close, with her nose touching his cheek.

I’m going to have a shower now.

He moves her backwards and to one side with a deliberately mechanical gesture, as if repositioning a mannequin.

Be quick then, she says, and let’s go and buy this fucking flank steak, or rump or whatever it is.

Matambre .

He takes a step toward the bathroom but stops that very second, turns, and goes to close the shutters, extinguishing the beam of sunlight illuminating the room. When he turns around again, Sara is moving in and stops only when her body is flush against his. Fuck it. He has allowed himself to be cornered, and now he needs to act accordingly. Sara wraps her arms around his neck. He wedges his hands under her jacket and runs his palms up her warm belly, sticky with sweat. He works his fingers under her top and fondles her small breasts. Sara kisses him timidly. It is more a series of little pecks than a real kiss, not at all the eager kiss that he was expecting, given the circumstances. It’s her way of kissing. Half the fun of it is that things are never exactly as you imagine. She kneels and sucks his cock. He holds her by the ponytail. She stops for a moment and says, Just today, okay? I promise.

• • •

B efore catching the bus to Florianópolis, he stops by the veterinary clinic. Greice is in a good mood and greets him with a kiss on the cheek. He asks how Jander is, and she says he is great. What lovely weather we’ve been having. Come see your pup. The kennel is behind the clinic and has a dozen cement compartments with barred fronts. Some are open at the top, and this is where the animals that need more intensive care are kept. Beta is in one of these, lying on her side on a blanket. There are two small bowls containing water and dog food, and the rest of the floor is covered with newspaper. As soon as she sees or smells him, she starts trying to move. One of her front paws is bandaged. Parts of her fur have been shaved and are covered with plasters and crusty bits of healing flesh. She has lost a piece of one ear. Greice says her spine wasn’t fractured. It was swelling around the spinal cord. She opens the barred door and strokes Beta. Look at this. Greice carefully picks her up and sets her on her paws. Beta stands there but doesn’t move.