Rage (13 page)

He didn't learn until the afternoon of the 24th
December. Meanwhile he had brought a few happy
actions to a successful conclusion that would be
useful in the future (since to enjoy them now meant
absenting himself from what appeared truly important
to him): he'd robbed Esteban of the headphones to
his Walkman, and he'd even managed to steal one of
the bottles of champagne reserved for parties from
the kitchen. It was a long time since he'd drunk
alcohol, and he couldn't remember ever having
tasted champagne. That afternoon, on the 24th, the Blinders and their guests had gone out en masse to
buy Christmas presents, leaving Maria to take it easy,
at least for a few hours, a rare opportunity to be near
Rosa. He watched her ironing, changing the sheets,
cooking, nibbling at bits of food, bending her fingers
backwards - since the Blinders' relations had come
to stay, she no longer masturbated - and finally dial a
telephone number.

"He raped me."

"Rosa."

"He raped me."

"Alvaro."

"Yes."

"Yes, he raped me. What do you mean, how did he
rape me? He raped me!"

"I knew that..."

"Nothing, I defended myself, but I don't know how,
he grabbed me and..."

"No, thank God. At least not that. He just gagged my
mouth... He's big and strong and he was drunk. There
wasn't exactly much I could do..."

"You. Only you."

"Come on, what kind of an accusation can I make,
with the money they have. Also..."

"No, I won't do that."

"It's like..."

"No!"

"Oh he's been after me for quite a while and you
know, I..."

"Are you crazy? How can I possibly tell them something
like this? If I tell them, they'll throw me out!"

"So then where would I go?"

"Listen, Claudia, I tell you the guy came in and raped
me and the only bit that matters to you is legal action?
What happened to me doesn't count?"

"And so what?"

Maria's hands were shaking. That bastard Alvaro had
raped Rosa! He longed to cry, but he was so furious he
suppressed his rage. Rage likewise forestalled him from
listening to the rest of the conversation. Rosa hung
up and as she did so, the phone began ringing. Rosa
answered.

"Hello?" she said. Her voice still held a tremor from
the previous conversation.

The person on the other end clearly observed this.

"Nothing, nothing," replied Rosa.

"No, honestly, it's nothing."

"No, everything's fine."

"Well, just hanging out here..."

"Yes, I also wondered about that..."

"When?"

"I don't know, all these relatives have arrived and it
looks like I'll be running around like crazy..."

"Like a loose canon, yes."

"And as for you, how are you?"

"God, but it's true what I'm telling you. I won't say
definitely no, but... Another day, perhaps..."

It was "the guy". Maria had suspected as much, but
now, with that "another day, perhaps", he had proof.
Rosa had held him on standby as a result of his latest
phone call, but at the same time wasn't going to give
him a definitive no, meaning that the caller wasn't just
anyone, but "the guy". She liked him, life was giving her
a "second chance" and, just in case - since Maria was
still the first one, even if he was appearing out of it - he
was still being allowed a little space.

"The only thing missing now," thought Maria, "is that
she tells him she got raped and we'll have the whole
bloody love story." He said this to himself suddenly,
without aforethought, lucidly, without feeling himself
feeling it, without resentment and without laughing out
loud. And then he heard her say:

"One little problem..."

"Here, it's private."

Maria saw what was coming and feared the worst.
Was Rosa really so desperate to tell everyone else that
she'd been raped? He felt disgusted by rapists; he had
no other views on them, or feelings towards them;
they just revolted him. But he didn't understand that
the victim, and Rosa more than all the rest, was unable
to overcome her indignation, and, in her anxiety for
protection, felt obliged to bring it out into the open,
instead of keeping quiet and conserving energies better
deployed in revenge. To him, this was the essential
difference between a man and a woman. The woman
relates what she intends to do, and prays for someone
else to do it.

Maria thought Rosa was very intelligent, but didn't
think she had too much competence in dealing with this
matter: he wanted to be the one to get to Alvaro. This
was why her way of unburdening herself to everyone
else bothered him, because in the telling she fabricated
a rival and, at the same time, left him at a disadvantage:
it left Maria with far fewer options for his kind of rough
justice. The guy was out on the street and could be
intercepted either head on, or by feigning a casual
accident, and then beaten to death. Only not by him.
He was obliged to wait. On the other hand, he loathed
to overhear Rosa discuss sex with anyone else.

Who was the guy? What could he do to check him out?
It was a good moment to call her (he was on his own). He
went upstairs to look for the portable phone and dialled
the number of the house. Busy. This was surprising because Rosa had hung up. He called again. Engaged. Had
the guy called? Or had Rosa called him? Perhaps she was
just taking an anodyne call from someone...

While he was waiting for Rosa to finish speaking, he
occupied himself by going through the possessions of Loli and Ricardo. There was nothing there to catch his
attention: passports and clothes and more clothes...
In the bedside table drawer he found a penknife: he
kept it. In a folder marked "American Airlines" he
discovered a wad of notes. He counted them: they
totalled $4,500.

He weighed the folder in his hand, as if it were a brick.
He would have had to slave for years to earn money like
this; what was curious was how little the labour of so
many years weighed. What would he do, keep it? How
would the Blinders react, would they think a thief had
entered in their absence or would they fall to blaming
one another? He couldn't take the risk: it was more
than likely they'd blame Rosa. They'd chuck her out.
And what about him? Could he go on living in the villa
without Rosa? Or would he have no alternative but to
leave? No, he was incapable of remaining a single day
longer in the house without Rosa. And at the same time,
he would have to remain there, otherwise when they
threw her out and he followed, he'd end up in jail as
soon as they caught him, so that way he wouldn't see
her again either. Prison had to be a far worse place than
the villa, of this there could be no doubt.

The dollars enraged him. He had never as much as
held a dollar in his hand, and now that he was holding
four thousand five hundred, they were useless to him.
He resumed dialling the phone number. It remained
engaged. He went to take a look at what was going on.

He went downstairs, annoyed with Rosa, treading on
the flat of his foot, as if sending a message to once and
for all kindly hang up the phone. But Rosa wasn't in
the kitchen. Maria was scared: he had been certain of
finding her there - and had allowed himself to be led
by his assumption that the engaged tone necessarily signalled that the line was in use... He had been so
certain that when he didn't find her there, he suddenly
became concerned that she might just make him jump
by turning up behind his back.

His eyes took in the kitchen at a glance, as if they were
a camera lens, so he beat a rapid retreat, mentally going
over the details of what he had seen and now imprinted
on his mind as he saw them: bottles of champagne,
piles of table napkins on the sideboard, a lit stove (Rosa
might return at any moment) and the telephone halfhanging off its hook.

"Pheew!" he exhaled.

For an instant (mid-air as he left by silent leaps and
bounds) he contemplated the possibility of returning
to replace the handset correctly. The burning stove
meant that Rosa couldn't be too far from the kitchen,
even though, thinking it through carefully, a stove is
one of those artefacts that afford the cook time (the
other side of the coin to, say, a liquidizer). Impossible
to guess where Rosa might be at this juncture... Yet just
in case, he hesitated. Whatever happened, he decided
to stay put: he wanted to know just as soon as possible
what Rosa's reaction would be to finding the telephone
off the hook. He had to speak to her today, come what
may.

He went into one of the ground-floor toilets. He was
naked and sat down at once on the lavatory seat. He
stayed there, with the bored expression of someone
waiting for someone else in order to complete a piece
of business, but after a few minutes, he stretched out
one leg, shunted the door with his foot, half-closing it,
and began to strain at his labours.

He remembered that when he was a kid, he'd always
been a leader. And he realized that never, right up until now, had he understood why. He had been a quiet
child and mysterious along with it. That was all. He had
no other virtues. At that time he'd not had a quarter
of the agility he now possessed. But his friends and
acquaintances respected and feared him.

It's always a problem to talk when you really have
something to say. But having it all without saying a thing
is magical, and you need to be a magician to enjoy the
role. Maria was the opposite: he found himself out of
sorts and uncomfortable. He knew that without a doubt
he was going to be discovered and ejected, rubbished.
He was a false leader. He had been a false acolyte. Would
he also be?... Be careful: someone had just come in.

Maria emerged from the toilet and, for a fraction of
a second, he found himself face to face with Senora
Blinder. She didn't actually see him, but when he backed
off and hid inside a bedroom, he was left with an overall
image of exactly what Senora Blinder was wearing, right
down to the gems in her necklace.

He hid behind the door. Senora Blinder entered,
switched on the light, lifted the cover on the ottoman
at the foot of the bed, removed something from inside,
and left the room again. A few seconds later she
reappeared. This time she seated herself on the bed,
rested the palms of her hands on her thighs, and looked
left and right without any apparent reason: she didn't
crane her neck, she wasn't looking for anything... Then
she got up, went to the window, examined the curtains,
shook them as if to air them, then went over and sat at
a desk, where she remained without moving for several
minutes. Maria thought that people who are watched
without knowing it appear mad.

Until Senor Blinder came in and everything became
normal again.

Senor Blinder walked to and fro, clearly longing to
launch an insult (but restraining himself like a gentleman), while Senora Blinder slowly turned her face to
look at him.