You know what I’m going to do with this piece of crap? Do you?
I was at the window, out of control, a knife in one hand and the soccer ball in the other. The boys in the street looked at me, scared. Overcome with fury, I stabbed the ball in several places and tossed the wilted leather hull back onto the asphalt.
Jeez, said one of the Indian kids, it was a professional soccer ball. Alceu bought it for us.
It was after eight at night, and the kids had just broken my window. Generally, I was patient with the little Guatós, but that night my nerves were rubbed raw. After my outburst, the noise stopped, but I could still hear some mews of unhappiness as I attempted to find out what had happened with Sulamita. I had phoned the morgue more than twenty times, and she still hadn’t returned from that meeting. What the fuck kind of meeting was it? What was going on? Why had she turned off her cell?
I paced the room, in circles, with the feeling that something bad was about to happen. The kids called me to talk at the window. Jeez, they said. They said, Forgive us. Jeez, they said, darn. I ended up giving them the money to buy another ball. But play a long way from here, I said.
Shortly afterward, Sulamita called. Come to the precinct, she said. There’s no describing the fear I felt en route. It was more like a breakdown, a collapse; I sweated, trembled, my heart raced. I thought, maybe I’m having a coronary. On the radio, the reporter said: São Paulo is still flooded. I imagined the poor in water up to their waists. Furniture floating in the streets. Refrigerators, television sets. The reporter said: Three Muslims flogged in Malaysia for adultery. I imagined the welts on their skin. The reporter said: Court upholds impeachment of the governor. So far, so good, I thought. I’m not in São Paulo. I’m not a Muslim. Or the governor.
When I parked, Joel was standing at the door of the station.
Come to give yourself up? he asked.
It occurred to me at that moment that Sulamita had betrayed me. And then Joel guffawed. You lucky guy, he said.
I don’t know how long I stayed in the van, but Joel, smoking on the sidewalk, never took his eyes off me for a second. When Sulamita got in the car, I took off abruptly, and as soon as I turned the corner started shouting Fuck, how could you do that to me? Where’d you disappear to? What the fuck is happening? I roared, slamming my fist against the dashboard.
They’ve closed the case, she said, taking from her purse a wad of bills she had just gotten from the chief.
Livid, I parked the car in Central Square to hear the rest of the story. I found out early this afternoon that the investigation had been called off, said Sulamita. I had already phoned my friend in Brasilia. Good thing I didn’t bring up the subject.
Sulamita added that it had been Dudu who called her to the meeting at the station. Caleiro was there, she said, they asked questions about you, about the two of us, blah blah blah. They talked and talked without saying anything. Then I asked when we would have the material from the family for the tests in Brasilia. The two of them got even more flustered. They said we needed to respect the family’s suffering and blah blah blah, and I finally understood why they’d called me there. Beraba himself doesn’t want the test done to identify the body. To spare his wife.
They’re not going to do the test?
The rich have their own laws. Case closed. And I, as a member of the team, have to keep my mouth shut. What they wanted to know was my price. We opened a negotiation. Telling it like that, it may seem like we were businessmen talking about sales. But the thing is quite sophisticated. Those guys know how to bribe. They’re very efficient and do it in such a way that you’re unaware you’re being corrupted. Actually, you even believe you’re doing them a favor. Helping. The word money was never mentioned. We talked about compensation and collaboration. Facilitation. And mutual benefit. That’s how things are done in this country.
What about Joel? I asked.
As soon as I got to the station he took me aside and asked who my partners were. Just like that, out of nowhere. With the expression of someone who’s joking but speaking seriously, you know? I told him my partner was the owner of a junkyard and a cocaine trafficker. You should’ve seen his face. He wilted immediately. He understood my message perfectly.
Is that it? I asked.
C’est fini, she replied.
We remained silent for a moment, holding hands. Give me a kiss, she said, and take me home.
First, I opened the window. I needed air.