The Killer's Tears (9 page)

“What do you need an authorization for?” Luis was saying tensely. “I'm in a hurry.”

“That's the rule for large amounts,” the teller answered. “It's the law.”

“Very well! Call the bank manager!” Luis said excitedly. Then he felt Paolo between his legs and gave him a nasty look. “Go play somewhere else!”

“The fountain is not a toy,” Paolo answered.

“Then go outside with Angel!”

Paolo hung his head down. He did not like the way Luis was speaking, or the way he acted, or looked, or … It was Delia's fault. Luis was different since he had met her. With a heavy heart, Paolo went to the exit. This time, he would not be getting a sweet. He felt sad. And when he pushed the door open, tears came to his eyes.

“Where is Luis?” Angel asked.

His throat tight, Paolo did not answer.

“What's the matter?” Angel knelt in front of the child. “You're crying? Is it because of Luis?”

Paolo nodded.

“Is it because Luis no longer wants to buy the sheep?” Angel wiped the tears running down the child's cheeks. “Don't worry, I promised that you would have your lamb. One way or the other, we'll get one, I swear.”

Suddenly, Angel saw a change come across Paolo's face. The child's sadness was replaced by a look of astonishment. Paolo's eyes were fixed on a spot above Angel's shoulder. Angel tried to turn around, but Paolo grabbed his face roughly between his hands.

“Don't move,” he whispered.

Angel felt his heart stop. Again!

“What do you see?” he asked between clenched teeth.

“Men,” Paolo answered.

“What are they doing?”

“They are behind you, near the market entrance.”

“What are they doing?” he repeated.

“They're sticking up posters.”

Paolo's hands were squeezing Angel's face like a vise, while his anxious eyes followed the movements of the bill stickers.

“What is on the posters?” Angel asked, though deep down, he already knew.

“It's your portrait, Angel. Your picture in charcoal.”

THE MAN AND the child exchanged glances. They did not need to say a word to understand each other. Once the bill stickers had gone inside the market, Angel got up slowly and, hand in hand, he and Paolo walked in the direction of the boxes.

Under his hood, Angel was dripping with perspiration. The feeling of danger was suffocating him. In the past, when he knew he was hunted, he had just left town. He acted as a trapped animal would, without thinking. It was, after all, a kind of game. The cops, the thieves … who would run faster? And even if he had been arrested and sent to jail, what would have been the difference? To live alone,
whether free or locked in a prison cell, would be to endure the same suffering. But this time, it was no longer a game.

Angel could feel Paolo's small hand in his, and he knew that he could not bear to have Paolo taken away. As a free man he could continue to live with the child. But in a prison cell …

He dismissed these thoughts. He had to stay focused and alert, and to stop thinking about the terrible things that broke his heart and weakened his legs.

As the morning went on, the flow of farmers and buyers grew in the adjacent streets. Trucks with muddy wheels parked near the market, unloading their cargo of bleating and bellowing cattle, while men in ponchos shouted and blew on piercing whistles. In the midst of this human and animal commotion, Angel and Paolo welcomed the protection that the crowd offered them, so they let themselves be pushed from right to left and left to right, following the flux.

When they arrived near the boxes, Angel noticed a man in uniform. He quickly turned back and dragged Paolo along to the shelter of a house porch.

“Go and look,” he said. “Be careful.”

Paolo made his way toward the boxes. Posters of Angel were glued on wooden posts. Three policemen were keeping watch over the donkey and horse. The child recognized the farmer from the Pampas, whose horse they had stolen; he was kicking his heels in front of the boxes. The Belgian alpinist was not there. Maybe he was still shouting at the
top of his lungs out on the desolate plain, or maybe his embassy had sent him back to his mountainless country. …

As fluid as a snake, Paolo left and returned to the porch where Angel was waiting. They no longer had any means of transportation, or money, or place to hide in town. Paolo observed Angel's face, his tense features, the cold glimmer in his eyes.

“As long as they're looking for me at the market, we have a chance,” Angel said.

Paolo took his hand. “I'll do what you want,” he said. “But don't leave me.”

Angel gave Paolo's hand a gentle squeeze and swore that he would never abandon him. Paolo was the only person in the world to whom he could make promises, the only one to whom he could say words as improbable as
always
and
never
. He pulled Paolo onto the crowded street and headed toward the harbor.

On this festive day, the whole town was in a frenzy. Cars blocked the main roads, horses and pedestrians crowded the sidewalks, and, near the harbor, the cries of the seagulls competed with the honking cars.

Several trawlers had just docked. It was time to unload the cases. Paolo and Angel did not stay there long. They crossed the congested piers, keeping as low a profile as possible, until they finally reached the marina. There, at the very end, Angel saw what he was looking for.

“Do you see that large red ship?” he asked Paolo.

“Yes.”

“We're in luck.”

“Are we going aboard?”

“No, they check the passenger list.”

Without trying to understand, Paolo continued to trot alongside Angel, who was taking long strides as he headed toward the ship. The child could see the red cuirass of the boat against the white cliff behind it.
B-o-t-e
. Luis had forgotten to tell him how to spell this word correctly and he thought he might never find out. Why was it that people did not finish what they started? Only Angel, it seemed to him, was able to finish the task he set his mind on: killing someone was a way to finish things. And right now he could feel the power of the murderer, his determination and obstinance. Paolo trusted him: if Angel had promised not to abandon him
ever
, he would keep his word. And maybe he would even manage to buy the lamb, though with the posters of Angel plastered over every fence in the cattle market, it was unlikely.

Close to the red ship were travelers, piles of bags, stacks of heavy trunks, as well as employees of the shipping line, who were checking tickets.

“Wait for me here,” Angel said. “Don't move.”

Paolo stayed near the trunks. He couldn't see what Angel was up to, and his heart beat madly.

Angel rushed toward the line of passengers. Just as he had thought, Delia and Luis were there. From the moment he had seen them at the bank, Angel had grasped their plan.

Their backs were turned to him. They looked like newlyweds going off on their honeymoon. Angel's hand went under his vest. The knife was in the same spot in his pocket. He placed the blade directly between Luis's shoulder blades, stinging him.

“Not a word,” Angel whispered in Luis's ear. “Come with me. And Delia too, or else I'll kill you.”

Quick, discreet, that was Angel's way. He was used to the reaction of his victims. Their bodies went limp and they broke into a sweat; then he could do whatever he wanted with them.

Delia and Luis left the passenger line. Angel pushed them toward the big metallic trunks, where Paolo was waiting quietly. There Angel pushed a little more on the knife handle until Luis's face contorted in pain. With his other hand, the murderer held the back of Delia's neck, his fingers clenched in her thick hair.

“Why don't you tell Paolo?” Angel said. “He'll be very surprised to learn what you were about to do.”

Paolo looked at Luis and did not need words to understand.

“Are you going around the world with Delia?” he asked, just for confirmation.

Breathless and shaking, Luis could do nothing but nod.

“But … the weird vegetables?” Paolo said. “And the water that makes you sick? And the heat that gives you headaches?”

“There comes a time when you have to confront your fears,” Luis answered, his eyes filled with sorrow.

He could not explain to this young and naive child that he had at last gathered the strength to pull away from his own childhood, and that he could never become a man unless he went away now. That was the way it was: cruel and necessary.

Paolo turned to Delia. He wanted to know how she had managed to convince Luis to go. But he didn't ask her, guessing that there must be secrets only adults knew.

Angel pushed on the knife handle again, and the blade went through Luis's shirt. Luis winced.

“You forgot to give Paolo money to buy the sheep,” Angel went on. “That's not nice.”

“The sheep and the lamb,” Paolo specified.

Delia had started to cry. Angel shook her.

“You draw nice portraits,” he blurted out. “But I prefer your landscapes.”

“Don't kill us!” Delia begged.

“If Luis gives me half of his money, I'll let you board the ship.”

Angel had said all he had to say. No negotiation was possible. Luis collapsed a little more. In addition to fear, he could feel shame knotting his stomach. Paolo's eyes, honest and full of hope, hurt him much more than the knife between his shoulder blades. Angel gave him time to recover and open his bag. Inside was a huge pile of bills. Luis's whole inheritance. He took half of it out and gave it to Paolo without uttering a word.

“Thank you,” Paolo said.

At that very moment, the horn of the big red ship blew. Boarding time was coming to an end.

“Hurry!” Angel said as he put his knife back in his pocket. “You wouldn't want to miss your trip around the world!”

Luis picked up his belongings. Delia took his arm. And together they ran to the gangway. Paolo saw them climb over it, then disappear into the belly of the boat. In his small hand, the bills were shaking like the leaves of a willow.

IT'S NOT EASY to be alive
, Paolo was thinking as he walked alongside Angel.
It's complicated, twisted and kinked, just like the dead trees of the Pampas
.

He touched the yellow sweet in his pocket with the tips of his fingers. He believed that the talisman had brought him luck, since he and Angel were leaving Punta Arenas free and rich. But, at the same time, he doubted its power. Happiness wasn't fleeing town in the dark of a cold night, or balancing on the edge of a crumbling cliff where one could tumble at any moment. If it existed, happiness more likely resembled the plush carpeting at the bank, the comfort
of heat, and the lamb with its dense fleece. It was a father, a mother who knew how to hug her child, friends who didn't leave to travel around the world, women who were content to paint fishing villages and who didn't give sketches to the police. …

But, for now, Paolo had to be satisfied with what he had: the stolen banknotes and Angel. Angel with his knife.

“I'm hungry,” Paolo said.

“So am I.”

“My legs hurt.”

“Do you want me to carry you?”

“You won't be able to for long. I'm heavy.”

“To me, you're light.”

Angel stopped, lifted Paolo over his head, and sat him on his shoulders. It was a clear night. A huge moon was following them, providing light. At the bottom of the cliff, the waves were crashing without respite. A long while ago they had passed the spot where Paolo had wanted to jump.

“I wonder if the alpinist is dead,” Paolo said.

Angel smiled a smile that Paolo did not see but that he heard. Very little time had elapsed since their encounter with the Belgian man, and yet they had the impression of talking about a very distant moment, a moment as old as the Flood.

“Luis and Delia—” Paolo started to say.

“Leave those two where they belong. We'll never see them again, and that's for the best.”

Angel was focusing on the stones and potholes along the path. On his shoulders, the child was slowly swaying; they looked like a two-headed animal.

“Have you already been in love?” Paolo asked suddenly.

“I believe so. … I don't know.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not at the beginning, but after, it does.”

“Can it hurt other people?”

Angel sighed deeply. He did not mind walking all night long with the load on his shoulders, but he had to think hard about the child's serious questions before he could give any answers.

“Are you asking because Luis hurt you?” he inquired.

“A little.”

“He betrayed us,” Angel declared.

“And you, will you betray me too?”

“Never, Paolo. Never.”

Paolo kept to himself the many other questions that were troubling him. He guessed that he would have to live a long time before finding the answers.

They went on silently. After a while, Angel noticed that Paolo was drifting to sleep and was about to topple. There was no shelter: only the path, the stones, the cliff, and the heath. It was hard to believe that with all their money, they could not afford a little rest and some heat!

Angel brought the child down and took him in his arms. Paolo's head nestled against the crook of Angel's shoulder. His body went limp and he fell asleep.

All night Angel walked, his eyes protruding and muscles stiffening from the effort. At dawn, he reached the ruins of a sheep pen. He went in, put Paolo down on a heap of straw, and sighed in relief.

When they woke up, the sun was already high in the sky. The wind had subsided, the weather was mild. Without uttering a word, the man and the child started to walk again, leaving the shore and the cliffs behind to go deeper inland, each of them preoccupied by somber thoughts.

After two hours, they caught sight of the first trees of a forest in the northeast and, far behind it, of the jagged mountaintops hanging in the sky above the clouds. A feeling of death, rather than life, emanated from this forest, whose trees were bent and ruffled by the violent winds.

Angel walked in front, telling Paolo when to lift his feet high to avoid tripping on the roots and branches that had fallen to the ground. At the same time, Angel listened for noises and kept an eye out for a rodent, a mole, any small animal that could be hunted as game. But life was not taking hold in the sparse, dry undergrowth.