Chapter 4
I took a long shower, rehearsing lies as I lathered up.
Even under the cold water, I was sweating.
I toweled off in the mirror to confirm I looked at least a little human.
I needed something specific enough to tell Arthur without losing sight of the reason I’d scheduled the chat: to find out what Ruth knew that was so important it’d gotten her murdered.
The café was only a couple blocks away. I got there a few minutes early and recognized Arthur as I was passing a newsstand.
Sitting at a small table on the sidewalk, facing the street, the sad man followed passersby with his eyes, obviously expecting one of them to be me.
I took a deep breath, crossed myself, and approached his table.
“Dante?” he asked, standing up to shake my hand.
I noticed a strong Southern Brazilian accent from the way he said the second syllable of my name.
Arthur’s angular face broke into a smile.
He was even thinner than when I’d seen him at the bar, and his understated good looks had been replaced by a haggard appearance, a scruffy beard covering his cheeks and highlighting his jaw.
He looked at me like he’d never seen me before.
“I got your flyer a couple of weeks ago,” I said, searching for some way to identify myself. “At Inhangá.”
“Oh, you live around here?”
“I share an apartment with some friends. And you?”
“Ruth and I … moved here a few months ago. We used to live in Tijuca, but she really likes this area.”
It bothered me, hearing him conjugate his verbs in the present tense when I knew she was dead. The waiter came over and we ordered coffee.
“What can you tell me?” he asked, nervous as a teenager at his first job interview.
“I think I saw your fiancée on Saturday the twenty-fifth,” I lied.
He stared at me, digesting the news, then lowered his head onto the table, wrapped his thin arms around himself, and sobbed.
He didn’t ask any more questions, showed no doubt or hesitation.
It was like my words had set him free. I listened to his muffled sobs, and if we’d been close, I would have patted him on the head.
I sat there, watching him fall apart in front of me, fueled by false hopes.
The waiter brought our drinks and, seeing him in that state, was unsure whether to serve us or keep his distance out of respect.
I motioned for him to come over and he left our coffees on the table.
A few minutes later, Arthur had composed himself, wiping his cheeks and blowing his nose with a napkin, studying me with puffy red eyes.
“I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve been handing out flyers for so long, and nobody’s called.
The police said that after a week it’s unlikely the person will be found.
I’ve been assuming the worst, of course.
I called every morgue, every hospital … Nothing.
It’s like she never even existed. And now you’re telling me this … Where did you see her?”
“It was right here,” I said, not thinking straight. “This café.”
Arthur had been heaping sugar in his coffee but put the spoon down to take a look around. That café took on a new dimension for him: It was the last place his fiancée had been seen alive. He started crying again, and I wanted to just run away.
“How was she?” he asked, between sniffles.
“I come here a lot. I order a coffee and read, catch up on emails … I saw a woman on the sidewalk. She caught my attention because she was in a hurry. I knew I’d seen her somewhere before, but I only made the connection with the picture on the flyer later.
It seemed like too much of a coincidence, so I didn’t call right away. ”
“But then you did call…”
“Yes.”
“So it was her,” he concluded, and I realized that Arthur was so fragile, he’d take whatever nonsense I came up with as the absolute truth. “Over these days, I kept thinking the worst. Did she run away, did she leave me? Was she kidnapped, or did she get into an accident and forget her way home?”
“I know how hard it is. I just lost a friend, too.”
“He disappeared?”
“He was murdered.”
We were bonded by our grief.
“My condolences … but I don’t think that’s what happened to Ruth. It would have been in the papers by now. And besides, you saw her here.”
He was clinging to that information with all his might. Each word further revealed his loneliness, his desperation for someone to talk to. I used the opportunity to try to steer the conversation.
“How did you two meet?”
“Ruth was twenty-two, she was about to graduate from college, when she found out she had a degenerative eye disease. Her vision deteriorated quickly, and she went completely blind. Then her dad heard about a new drug they were developing at a lab down in Rio Grande do Sul. It was still in clinical trials, the treatment was risky, they still didn’t know the side effects.
He was against it, but Ruth insisted on signing up for the trial.
She traveled from Rio, underwent the procedure, and had to go to the lab every day for tests.
I was an intern there and it was love at first sight.
Ha, well, sight for me, I guess. Maybe that sounds silly, but it’s true.
Ruth is strong, brave, curious, funny. She made fun of her own situation, even though we could tell it was hard for her. ”
I was so engrossed in the story that I momentarily forgot the whole reason I was there. The flyer didn’t say anything about Ruth being blind.
“Several months later, she was cured,” said Arthur, like a mind reader.
“I was the first person Ruth saw when she regained her sight. I was leaning over her, shining a light in her eye, and she just looked at me and smiled, crying tears of joy. We started dating soon after. I left everything behind—my family, my job—and moved to Rio to be with her. I got a job at a pharmaceutical company here, where I still work, while she finished up her degree.”
“What did she do?”
“She works as a journalist.”
It was too late to try to fix the blunder. I continued. “Where?”
“She’s not a staff writer. Ruth doesn’t like being stuck in one place. She does freelance work, special features.”
“And was she involved in any story in particular?”
“I don’t know, I always respected her privacy. What does this have to do with anything?”
“Maybe Ruth had to go undercover to do investigative work.”
“She would have told me…” said Arthur, not sounding very confident. “Actually, I hadn’t considered that. Do you really think so?”
“It’s just a thought.”
“It’s been so hard. Last night, while I was alone in our apartment, I even thought about taking some pentobarbital.
It’s a quick death, painless,” he said, as casually as if he were talking about something he’d seen on TV.
“It’s hard to go on when you’ve lost the most important thing in your life and you’ve got everything you need to kill yourself right at your fingertips. ”
“Don’t do anything stupid, man.”
“No,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to keep looking for Ruth.”
“Try looking into what she was researching, her personal belongings, her computer. Maybe you’ll find a clue.”
“I don’t know, I don’t like invading her privacy like that … but maybe given the circumstances…”
I nodded, realizing our conversation was coming to an end. I’d planted the seed; I was sure Ruth had been writing some article that had led her to Vladimir. I needed to find a way to stay in touch with Arthur so I could be kept in the loop.
“Thank you so much, for everything,” said Arthur, about to say goodbye.
I gathered up my courage and took his hands.
“If you want, we can keep in touch. I’m betting you don’t know a lot of people in Rio and you could use some company, a friendly shoulder to cry on so you don’t dwell on stupid ideas.”
“That would be great, Dante, thank you. You really are a good guy. I’ll call you.”
I gave a weak smile, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.