When you commit a crime like this the problem isn’t the others. Much less the reality. The evidence. The problem is you yourself. The slip-up you make when you’re asked a question. The imperfect actions. Your inappropriate reaction in a given situation. Not to mention the urge to confess that arises time and again. That’s common, said Sulamita. Guilt is the feeling that usually leads to fatal consequences at such moments. People simply don’t take into account the extra weight they begin to carry. They want to be free of it so they can sleep. Actually, confession has more to do with relief than with repentance. It functions like a salve. A discharge. Afterward, people repent having confessed, but then it’s too late.
Our conversations in bed were always about such matters. How we should act in this or that situation. Self-control is the watchword, Sulamita said. Permanent self-control.
I had relapses, but in general I did all right. It didn’t matter what Dalva asked or what happened at the house. I remained firm until we decided the moment had come.
On a Monday, around nine in the evening, we went to the neighborhood square, taking Junior’s cell phone.
The first call was tense. They wanted to know why their son’s phone was still working: Didn’t you say you found my son in the water? They were quite nervous, and I took advantage of that. I said they had ample proof, that the mere fact of me talking to them from that number was one more piece of evidence, and that we wanted $200,000 to hand over the cadaver.
I don’t have that amount, stated José Beraba. And I don’t even know for sure that you’re telling the truth.
In less than two hours I called back twice. I threatened, said that if they called the police they would never learn how to find their son.
Later, as we had ice cream in the square, I summarized the conversations for Sulamita.
The rich are goddamn tough, she said. Even at times like this they want to bargain.
The night was stuffy, and on the way home we decided to buy a bottle of vodka. Sulamita also bought chocolates, peanuts, and potato chips.
We stayed at home the rest of the night, watching a science fiction film muted. At times, groggy from the vodka, I managed to doze off. And would wake up immediately, with a start, a sharp sound in my ear, like the crack of a whip.
When the cracking stopped, I fell into a heavy sleep and dreamed of Rita. I had a load of explanations to give; I was ready to ask forgiveness, but Rita only wanted to show me that damn sonogram. See this spot here? she asked. I couldn’t see anything. It’s our child, she said. And suddenly we were fucking like two dogs, in the cemetery where Sulamita and I had bought the cadaver. You can come inside me, she said.
I awoke with my orgasm, feeling terrible. Sulamita wasn’t in the bed.
When I went into the bathroom, I found her in the shower. I haven’t slept a wink, she said. I saw she’d been crying.
I took off my clothes, got into the shower, and we started kissing. She licked my neck, went on kissing me, and I thought I wouldn’t have the strength for fucking at that moment.
When I came it was slow, weak, like an echo.
The next morning, when we left for work, I heard Eliana bellowing. I was irritated at the widow and knew exactly what was going on in that hole.
I asked Sulamita to wait for me in the car.
When I entered Eliana’s kitchen I found Serafina sitting by the Formica table, with one of the grandchildren protecting her from their mother’s fury.
I took Eliana outside to talk.
I didn’t let her say a word. You see Sulamita over there? I asked, pointing to the van. She’s got her eye on you. She wants me to warn you: if you lay a hand on Serafina again, she’s coming here to arrest you, understand? You know what the penalty is for mistreating Indians? I’m giving you notice, it’s a crime without bail. Worse than trafficking drugs or rare birds, you hear me?
She stared at me, not knowing what to say.
Sulamita waved at us from the car.
When I drove away, Sulamita asked if there was some problem.
Not at all, I said.
We’re going to the bank, Beraba said as soon as he got in the car.
The day’s beginning well, I thought while I waited in the car. Some moments later he returned, accompanied by the manager, who was carrying a black valise like the ones you see in the movies, to transport the money.
At four o’clock Dona Lu asked me to go with her to the church. She seemed more willing than her husband, and said she was receiving grace and wished to give thanks. I saw she wanted to talk, but I only managed to say yes and no, unable to come up with anything resembling conversation. On the way back, she kept her eyes closed, holding a rosary. I saw that she never stopped praying.
My stomach still wasn’t in good shape, and as the day progressed I became more and more nauseated. I was careful, however, to maintain my composure.
That night, I did what Sulamita and I had agreed on.
At seven o’clock I phoned and spoke with José Beraba. I agreed to reduce the ransom to the figure he proposed: $160,000.
In the men’s room at the airport, I said, under the sink, you’ll find the instructions. Go alone. And I hung up.
Afterward, I went to meet Sulamita at the precinct.
She had bought a strawberry pie and gone to visit old friends.
We’re engaged, she said when I arrived.
We received congratulations. The entire squad was there, and we didn’t notice anything unusual.
Later, Sulamita invited Joel to have dinner with us. Dudu, the chief’s sycophant, with his aged Weimaraner’s face, also came along.
It was a gathering full of stories I had already heard, which they loved telling again, like the day Sulamita had slapped a young guy who was giving a statement, a rapist who was mocking us, she said. The bastard was talking and laughing, Sulamita continued, as if it was funny raping poor little girls.
Just as he was about to confess, Joel added, this crazy woman here gets up from the computer and slaps him. The chief felt like killing her, said Joel, guffawing.
On the way home, Sulamita told me that the Berabas were living up to their part of the bargain. The police don’t know anything, she said. You saw it with your own eyes.
All clear, over.