“You’d think you were afraid of us, Quique,” Chabela said mockingly.
“I’m delighted to be in such good company,” Quique laughed, moving to the sofa where Marisa and Chabela were sitting. He sat between them. Beyond the railing was a silvery sea, sparkling with the last lights of dusk. A silent sailboat was in the distance. “Really, it’s beautiful. What marvelous peace.”
They ordered cold beer, two corvina ceviches, Julieta asked for a stew of meat, potatoes, and hot peppers with rice, and Ceferino a spicy chicken chili, also with rice.
“What shall we drink to, Shorty?” asked Ceferino, his glass raised, smiling, vaguely intrigued by this unexpected invitation from his editor. “The new Exposed and its successes?”
“To Rolando Garro, its founder,” said Julieta Leguizamón, clinking glasses with the photographer. “Tell me frankly, Ceferino. What did you think of him? Did you respect and admire him, or at heart did you hate him, as so many others did?”
“Now that we’re getting high, I’m going to ask you a question, Quique,” Marisa said suddenly, facing her husband in the half-light of the spacious terrace. “Answer me honestly, please. Do you like Chabela?”
“What kind of question is that, Marisa?” Chabela gave a forced laugh. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Tell me if you like her and if you’d like to kiss her,” Marisa insisted, not taking her eyes off her husband and pretending to be put out. “Answer me honestly, don’t be a coward.”
Before responding, Ceferino tasted the ceviche, chewed, and swallowed the mouthful, showing signs of satisfaction. There weren’t many people yet in the Seven Deadly Fins. The morning was damp and gray, a little melancholy.
“Who wouldn’t like to kiss so beautiful a woman,” Quique stammered. He had turned as red as a beet. Was Marisa already drunk, asking nonsensical questions like these?
“Thanks, Quique,” said Chabela. “This conversation is getting dangerous. We ought to tape up your dear wife’s mouth.”
“Of course she’s beautiful, and besides, she has the most delicious mouth in the world, Quique,” said Marisa. And stretching both arms above her husband, she took her friend by the cheeks and pulled her to her. “Watch and die of envy, hubby dear.”
Chabela tried, but without much conviction, to move her face away, and finally allowed Marisa to kiss her cheek and begin to bring her mouth close to her lips.
“I didn’t hate him, though at times he treated me very badly, especially when he had his fits of temper,” Ceferino Argüello said at last. “But Señor Garro gave me my first opportunity to be what I wanted to be: a professional photographer, a graphic reporter. Of course I admired him as a journalist. He knew his trade and had great courage. Why are you asking me this, Shorty?”
“Let me go, you madwoman, what are you doing,” Chabela said at last, blushing and confused, moving her face away from Marisa. “What will Quique say about these games?”
“He won’t say anything, isn’t that right, Quique?” Marisa caressed her husband’s face with her hand, while he looked at her openmouthed. “Remember, he’s an expert in orgies. I assure you he’s dying of envy. Go on, hubby, enjoy yourself, kiss her. I give you permission.”
Instead of answering him, Julieta Leguizamón, who hadn’t tasted her ceviche yet, asked him another question:
“Did his death make you sad, Ceferino? Were you sickened by the terrible, brutal way they killed him?”
Quique didn’t know what to do or say. Was his wife speaking seriously? Was she really saying what he had just heard? A half smile was frozen on his face, and he felt like an idiot.
“What a coward you are, Quique,” Marisa said finally. “I know you’re dying to kiss her, you’ve told me so, so often when we’re alone, and now that you have the chance, you don’t have the courage. You set the example, darling. Kiss him.”
“Are you really giving me permission?” Chabela said with a laugh, now more in control of herself. “Well, sure, of course I have the courage.”
She stood up, walked past Marisa, dropped onto Quique’s knees, and held up her mouth to him; he gave a fast, sideways glance at his wife, and finally kissed her. Bewildered, his eyes closed, he felt Chabela’s mouth trying to part his lips, and he parted them. Their tongues became confused in a vehement encounter. As if at a distance, he seemed to hear Marisa laughing.
Ceferino held up his fork with his second mouthful of ceviche, which he had prepared carefully, adding pieces of corvina, onion, lettuce, and hot pepper. Very serious now, he nodded.
“Of course it left me horrified, Shorty. Of course it did. May I ask what all this is about? Damn, you’re very mysterious this morning. Why don’t you tell me once and for all the reason for this meal. Say it openly, Shorty.”
“We’re very uncomfortable here and there’s no reason to be,” Quique heard his wife say. Chabela’s face moved away from his and he saw that she was aroused, her eyes very bright and her full-lipped mouth wet with his saliva. But Marisa had taken her by the hand, both women had stood, and he watched them move away toward the bedroom. “Come, come, darling, let’s get more comfortable.”
Quique didn’t follow them. It had grown dark, and the faint light on the terrace came from the street. He was stupefied. Was all of this really happening? Wasn’t it a hallucination? Had Marisa and Chabela kissed each other on the mouth? Had his wife said what she’d said? Had Luciano’s wife sat on his knees and had the two of them kissed with so much passion? He began to feel an excitement that made him tremble from head to toe, but he didn’t have the courage to get up and see what was going on in that bedroom.
Julieta agreed: “You’re right, Ceferino.” She had to lower her voice, because the waiter had just sat a couple at the next table, where she could be overheard. They were very young, rather stylishly dressed, and held hands as they studied the menu, exchanging romantic glances.
But finally, leaning on the sofa with both hands, Quique rose to his feet. He was shocked and happy. He had dreamed about this but never imagined it would be possible, that it could pass from dream to reality. Walking on tiptoe, as if he were going to surprise them, he walked slowly down the dark hallway. In the bedroom a faint light, probably the bedside lamp, had just been turned on.
“Well, yes, I’ll tell you the truth and nothing but the truth, Ceferino,” Shorty declared. “It was an unlucky hour when you agreed to take photographs of that orgy in Chosica to earn a few pesos. That’s where it all began. If it hadn’t been for those damned photos, Rolando would be alive, this conversation wouldn’t be taking place, and I probably never would have invited you to lunch or said what I’m going to say to you.”
From the door to the bedroom, Quique watched them: they were naked, lying on the bed, their legs intertwined, embracing and kissing each other. “One dark and the other blond,” he thought. “One more beautiful than the other.” In the circular half-light of the lamp their bodies gleamed as if oiled. Neither woman turned to look at him; they seemed given over to their pleasure, having forgotten he was there observing them, that he, too, existed. His hands, as if independent of his will, had begun to unbutton his shirt, lower his trousers, remove his shoes and socks.
“Well, well, Shorty, this gets more and more intriguing.” The photographer spoke as he ate, quickly, as if someone were going to snatch away his ceviche. “Go on, go on, excuse the interruption.”
When he was naked he moved forward, still on tiptoe, and sat on a corner of the large bed, very close to them, not touching them.
“You both look very beautiful like this, it’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,” his mouth murmured in a mechanical way, without his being aware that he was speaking. “Thank you for making me feel at this moment like the happiest man on earth.”
His penis was stiff, and in the midst of the happiness he felt, he was terrified by the idea that he wouldn’t be able to sustain it and would ejaculate too soon.
“That foreigner who hired you to take the photo
graphs must have been a gangster.” Shorty’s motionless eyes looked with disgust at how Ceferino ate: chewing with his mouth open, making noise, dropping fragments of food on the tablecloth. “If he disappeared suddenly, it must have been because he had to escape suddenly or because his pals or his enemies killed him. He had you take those pictures because he planned to blackmail the millionaire for lots of money, of course.”
Quique saw that Marisa had moved her head away from Chabela and was looking at him. But she spoke not to him but to her friend, in a low, thick voice that he could hear very well: “Let me suck you, darling. I want to swallow your juices.” He saw that the women’s bodies separated, that Marisa had crouched down and, squatting, had buried her head between Chabela’s legs and she, on her back, an arm covering her eyes, began to sigh and pant. Very slowly, taking infinite precautions, he also lay down on the bed, and with the minimal, sinuous movements of a reptile, began to approach the couple.
“I always knew that, Shorty,” Ceferino interrupted. “I never believed Señor Kosut had me take those photos so that he could jerk off with them.”
“When I advised you to consult with Rolando about what to do with the photographs, thinking he’d use them for a good article in the magazine, I made a terrible mistake, Ceferino,” said Shorty, filled with remorse. “Without meaning to, I myself set in motion the events that ended with the murder of our boss.”
Quique moved the arm that Chabela held over her eyes, and now, her timidity and shame conquered, he kissed her furiously while his hands caressed her breasts and then stroked Marisa’s hair, and his entire body struggled to get on top of them both, rub against their skins, trembling from head to foot, blind with desire, happier than he had ever been in his life.
Ceferino, having finished the ceviche, wiped his mouth with the paper napkin. The pair of young lovers had already ordered lunch, and now he was kissing her hand, finger by finger, looking at her, enthralled.
“Why, Julieta?” Ceferino asked. “What do you mean? Why like that?”
“Rolando was working for the Doctor and went to ask him what to do with your photographs,” Shorty explained.
“For the Doctor?” Ceferino put on a surprised face. “I heard that from time to time and always doubted it, I never wanted to believe it. Did he really work for him?”
“The way we work for him now: you and I and the entire staff of Exposed, Ceferino,” said Julieta, slightly angry. “You know that very well, don’t play the asshole. And you also know that if it weren’t for the Doctor, you and I wouldn’t earn the good salaries we do now, and the magazine wouldn’t even be published. The best thing would be for you not to distract me with stupidities and for us to get down to what really matters, Ceferino.”
He felt he was ejaculating and remained with his eyes closed, thinking it was a shame he couldn’t have held on a little longer and penetrated Chabela, whom he was holding around the waist, caressing one of her breasts. He felt his wife slithering up his back, reaching his face, biting his ear, and saying: “There you go, Quique, you’ve had what you dreamed about so often, you saw Chabela and me making love.” Keeping his eyes closed he turned, found his wife’s mouth, and kissed her, murmuring: “Thank you, my love. I love you, I love you.” And he heard Chabela, beneath him, laughing: “What a nice love scene. Shall I go and leave you two lovebirds alone?” “No, no,” murmured Quique. “It’s just that I couldn’t hold back and I’ve finished. But don’t go, Chabelita, wait a little while, I have to make love to you.” And he heard Marisa laughing: “Didn’t I tell you, sweetheart? He seems all man, he gets excited, and when the good part’s about to begin, then wham, it’s wilted away.” “Don’t worry,” responded Chabela, “I’ll make sure this little bird sings again.”
Shorty had to pause because the waiter came to take away Ceferino’s plate. He asked whether the lady hadn’t liked the ceviche, and she said yes, but she wasn’t hungry. He could just take it away. And she continued:
“But the Doctor categorically prohibited the boss from publishing the photos of the millionaire in the magazine or trying to blackmail him for money. Don’t ask me why, I’m sure your little head is capable of guessing the answer. The Doctor didn’t want to antagonize one of the masters of Peru, someone who, if he decided to, could do him a lot of damage. Or maybe because, who knows, maybe he was getting money from him another way. Rolando was crazy enough to disobey the Doctor. And he went to blackmail Cárdenas to get him to put money into Exposed. He dreamed the magazine would improve, grow, become the best in Peru. And also, perhaps, he wanted to be independent of the Doctor. He had his dignity, he wouldn’t want to keep being the drainpipe for the Fujimori regime, the toilet for all the government’s shit.”
“Is that what we are, Shorty?” asked Ceferino. His voice had changed and the euphoria he’d felt earlier because of the lunch disappeared. He hadn’t even tasted the chicken chili that had just been brought to the table. “The shit the government uses to soil its enemies?”
“That and worse, Ceferino, which you also know very well,” Shorty agreed. “The vomit, the diarrhea of the government, its dung heap. We serve it by stuffing the mouths of its critics with filth, especially the enemies of the Doctor. To turn them into ‘human garbage,’ as he says.”
“Better end the story soon before it makes me even more depressed, Julieta,” Ceferino interrupted; he was pale and frightened. “So, then, Rolando Garro…”
“He had him killed,” murmured Shorty. The photographer saw a terrible gleam in her round, unmoving eyes. “Because he feared the millionaire. Because of arrogance, because nobody disobeys him without paying for it in spades. Or because he was afraid that Rolando, in one of his temper tantrums, would announce to the public that Exposed, instead of being independent, is nothing but a tool of the government to shut the traps of its critics or to blackmail those it wants to rob and swindle. Got it now, Ceferino?”
Quique thought he wouldn’t get aroused again but, after a moment in this position—with Marisa squatting over his face, offering him a reddish sex that he licked conscientiously, and Chabela kneeling between his legs with his penis in her mouth—he suddenly felt his sex beginning to harden again and that delicious tickle in his testicles, a sure sign of excitation. With both hands squeezing Chabela’s waist, he lifted her and sat her on top of him. At last he could penetrate her. For a few moments before he ejaculated again, the idea passed through his head that he was so happy at this moment that the entire horrible experience of the last few weeks, few months, was justified by the pleasure he was experiencing thanks to Marisa and Luciano’s wife. The blackmail, the fear of scandal, his time in prison, the humiliating interrogations, the money spent on judges and lawyers, it was all forgotten as he felt that his body was a flame that burned from head to toe, that made his body and soul burn at the same time in a joyful fire.
“I’ve got it, except I still don’t know the most important part,” said Ceferino Argüello, swallowing. “I know my voice is trembling and that I’m dying of fear again, Shorty. Because I don’t have the balls that you use in life. I’m a coward, and proud of it. I don’t want to be a hero or a martyr, I want to live till the end, with my wife and my three children, and not be killed before my time. Why the hell are you telling me these things? Don’t you see that you’re messing me up? Now that I finally was feeling safe, you put me up against the wall again. What do you want from me, Shorty?”
“Eat your chicken chili and drink your beer first, Ceferino.” Shorty had sweetened her voice and even her eyes had thawed, they looked at him now with a mixture of affection and compassion. “What you’ve heard is nothing compared with what I’m going to ask you.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m shitting with fear, Julieta,” said Ceferino’s tremulous voice. “And though it may surprise you, I’ve lost my appetite and don’t feel like finishing this beer, either.”
“Fine. We’re even. Let’s talk, then, Ceferino. I mean to say, listen to me very carefully. Don’t in
terrupt until I finish. Then you can ask me all the questions and make all the comments you want. Or stop and break that bottle of beer on my head. Or denounce me to the police. But first, let me talk, and pay close attention. Try to understand clearly, very clearly, what I have to say. Got it?”
“Got it,” Ceferino Argüello stammered in agreement.
“It’s obvious you owe me a roll in the hay, darling,” Marisa said with a laugh, not moving. “Well, well, Quique, who would have ever thought you’d fuck my best friend right in front of me.”
“With your consent,” said Quique. “Now I love you more than I did before, thanks to you I’ve had some marvelous moments, Marisa.”
“And didn’t I add my grain of sand, you ungrateful wretch,” laughed Chabela, not moving either.
“Of course you did, Chabelita,” Quique said quickly. “I’ll be eternally grateful to you, too, of course. Both of you have made the dream of my life come true. I dreamed about this for years and years. But I never thought it could become a reality.”
“Let’s sleep a little and recoup our energy,” said Marisa. “And be ready tomorrow to enjoy Miami the way we should.”
“The bed is all smeared with this gentleman’s pleasure,” said Chabela. “Shall I change the sheets?”
“Don’t bother, Chabela,” said Quique. “I, for one, don’t care if they’re wet. They’ll dry by themselves. To tell the truth, I like the smell.”
“Didn’t I tell you my husband is just a bit of a pervert, Chabela?” Marisa laughed.
“How was your trip, how was Miami?” asked Luciano, who had come to the airport himself to pick them up. “Did you have a good time? Lots of shopping? Did you eat the ropa vieja at the Versailles?”
“And I brought you your tie with palm trees and loud colors, brother,” said Quique.
Julieta Leguizamón began to talk, in a very low voice at first, worried about the couple at the next table, but becoming louder when she realized they were more interested in caressing each other and no doubt saying silly, pretty things in each other’s ear than in listening to what was being said at the neighboring table. She spoke for a long time, without hesitations, her large, cold eyes seemingly frozen on Ceferino’s face, and she saw him redden or become livid, opening his eyes in surprise or half closing them, overwhelmed by panic or looking at her in total disbelief, frightened and astonished at what she was telling him. At times he opened his mouth, as if he was going to interrupt, but then he closed it immediately, perhaps recalling that he had promised not to say anything until she stopped. How long did Shorty talk? A long time, because as she spoke a good number of people came to enjoy the Peruvian dishes and seafood at the Seven Deadly Fins and then left, and the restaurant began to empty out. A surprised waiter came to take away Shorty’s and Ceferino’s untouched plates—after inquiring if the lady and gentleman hadn’t liked something—and he asked whether they wanted dessert and coffee and they shook their heads no.