The sun shone in through the spaces between the roof tiles. And also through the sides, the cracks, and under the door.
It was Saturday, I was in bed, half asleep, half awake. The ceiling fan was humming, but even so I could hear the laughter. It seemed like a crackling fire. Through the window glass I could see the tops of heads. I was even pleased by the sight. A bunch of nosy half-pints. The children were guffawing. Whispering. Climb on the roof, one of them said. I knew what they wanted. I got up slowly and opened the window, howling threats. They ran away laughing, in a band. They’d be back, I knew, hoping I’d play the game again.
Outside, the day was hot. Serafina was washing the sidewalk with the hose. I’ll make you some fresh coffee, she said when she saw me.
At eight, Sulamita called. She was irritated at her father. The old man’s hopeless, she said. I found out he bought the neighbor’s VW and I had to cancel the deal, can you believe it?
I asked about the preparations, and she said everything was ready. Come pick me up, she said.
As I was coming out of the shower, Serafina knocked at the door and handed me a cup of coffee along with a brown envelope with no return address. It arrived yesterday, she said.
I noticed she had a bruise on her arm. What’s that? I asked.
She smiled awkwardly.
Was it Eliana?
No, she answered, not looking away. I bumped into the wardrobe.
Eliana mustn’t do that, do you understand?
Serafina went downstairs, taking the empty coffee cup.
I opened the envelope and found a kind of X-ray. On it was a red tag in the form of an arrow pointing to a tiny spot on the image. On the attached sheet was the following information: Ultrasound examination. Placenta with 9 mm fetus. The arrow indicates the blood-suffused heart.
Only that, nothing else. It was postmarked Rio de Janeiro. So was that where Rita had gone?
I stood there, looking at that black sheet, out of breath. The dot. Rio de Janeiro. I burned everything and went downstairs to speak with Serafina. I asked her to never give me anything in front of Sulamita. You promise?
Yes, she said.
It’s very important. Do you understand?
Yes, she repeated.
I got in the car and started thinking about what I had just seen. It was just a dot, but it already had a heart and blood.
The beggar was sleeping on a steaming tombstone, the sun hitting him in the face. No one else was around. Only dogs and trash.
We walked down the fetid passageways of the cemetery, Sulamita carrying the bouquet of wildflowers we had bought en route. If anything comes up, she said, we’re visiting the tomb of my paternal grandmother.
We were holding hands. I was sweating profusely and looking behind me at every moment. The sun was intense.
If they’re following us, I said, they’re going to catch us.
Nobody’s watching us, Sulamita replied.
I trust you, I said, looking back again.
Sulamita stopped in front of a ravaged sepulcher from which emanated a strong smell of urine.
Your behavior isn’t helping, she said. Try to control yourself. You’re just making me more nervous.
The day was clear, without a single cloud, and I felt I lacked the strength to go on walking under that sun.
Are you afraid? she asked.
It’s a horrible thing we’re doing, I answered.
We’re not going to kill anyone, she said. Think about your mother. About Dona Lu. You said yourself that she’s going to feel better once all this is over.
We were at the stage in the plan where we were starting to spend money. Sulamita’s money. That week, I had offered to sell the van. No way, she had said. We can’t do anything that draws attention – selling, buying, spending, fighting, separating, nothing. Not now and not later, when everything is over. You’re going to have to go on working at the Berabas’ for a good period of time. As if nothing had happened. Know when a criminal messes up?
We’re not murderers, I had said.
Of course not, she had replied, but we are committing a crime. And there’s one guideline for people who do what we’re doing: don’t change your routine, it’s when you change your routine that we, the police, find the thread.
I’m thinking about your money, I said. The money you’re going to spend. Think about it. If we’re going to back out, it has to be now, I said.
I don’t want to back out of anything, she replied. I have friends who drink before going to work. You might want to have something to drink too. It would calm you down. Now let’s go on, she said, pulling me by the hand. He’s waiting for us.
The man’s name was Gilmar. His suntanned body and his earth-stained clothes were a kind of blot on that luminous day. He was holding a hoe in one hand and his hat in the other.
We were in the middle of the cemetery, with horseflies buzzing around us. On the way, Sulamita had told me that the place had been taken over by vandals. The sepulchers and mausoleums serve as latrines for beggars, she had said. The government is authorized to open the resting places of those buried more than five years, but thieves and tramps open them and take what they want, she had stated.
Now she was talking to Gilmar, and I stayed at a distance, as if that way I wouldn’t be part of the macabre negotiation.
It’s been five months, Gilmar said.
That’s not a problem, Sulamita answered. As long as it’s a man.
It’s a man, he said. I buried him myself.
What’s the height?
Five-eleven, just like you asked for.
How do we do it? she asked.
I’ll dig him up today and you come by tonight. I’ll be waiting at the gate.
There’s no watchman? she asked.
Gilmar laughed.
While they talked about payment, I couldn’t think about anything but that dark spot. That red arrow. 9 mm. Placenta. What if I were in Rio with Rita? I closed my eyes and imagined the scene, the two of us holding hands as we walked along the beach. Hang gliders in the sky, a breeze cooling our bodies. Let’s go swimming, said Rita. And we plunged into the water.
Soaked in sweat, we left the cemetery. The sun was merciless.