Epilogue
In Vitória, in a three-story building located in Rua da Encruzilhada, there was an inconspicuous clinic, frequented only by a discreet group of longevous patients.
Guls of the entire country came to find the only two humans who could look after their health.
Ariadne had missed her home; it was not as luxurious as the hotel, or as refined as Cabaré, but the peace she found there was not easy to replace.
She yawned, curled up in bed. Quaint lay behind her, one arm wrapped around her small frame to cup her breast, his heavy jaw resting comfortably in the curve of her neck.
“Good morning,” murmured Ariadne, removing the charger from her limbs and turning around to see him. Quaint rolled over to lie on his back, head against the bedpost, and looked lazily at the hour on his phone. “Any news?”
“Nothing interesting. My mother called, but I managed to avoid speaking since you were still asleep and I would find it extremely distasteful to remove my arm and risk waking you up.” Quaint offered a grin.
“Genebra asked if we want to spend a weekend in Rio. She wants to thank you. Augusto also messaged me, letting us know that I have not been banned from Cabaré—sad news—and you have been formally invited to attend again, if you wish. It seems you have made an impression.”
“They can keep the impression to themselves.” Ariadne crawled over him to find her bra, but he grabbed her legs so she could sit on his lap.
“Just a little longer, Doctor.”
Ariadne smiled, her cynicism vanishing with the request. “You’re getting spoiled.”
“What can I do? You make me weak.”
The trip to Rio had been silent, all of them squeezed inside Erik’s yellow Jeep.
I can take off my legs, Ariadne had suggested lightly, which seemed to horrify everyone but Erik.
Ariadne, Quaint had said, and she smiled, ignoring the blood and the hurt.
I really can. He insisted on returning with them, at least for the first week.
Neither of them are to be trusted, he had said, and she thought of arguing that it would not be in Rafaela’s best interests to hurt her; besides, she wasn’t afraid of a centennial, academic old man.
But she said nothing. After the first week passed, Vitória Airport closed for a day due to poor weather, and she suggested that he stay for another week.
It would help me a lot, Ariadne had commented. Rafaela is a handful.
Each day, they would either ignore the subject or find another equally poor excuse.
The tickets are expensive today, she said over his shoulder as he scrolled through the airline’s website, and he nodded in agreement.
Quaint also brought up that the cat had taken a liking to sleeping by his side in bed, and the fact that she had more patients now that the guls of Cabaré knew who she was; yes, it would be safe to have you around, she conceded.
“When are you planning to come back?” The question came without warning, even to herself. “I was thinking we should start investigating what’s happening to your tattoos.”
Quaint seemed surprised. “I almost forgot about it.”
“But you would have to stay a little longer…”
“About that—” He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, tongue against his front teeth under the lip.
“Yes?”
“Investigating sounds wonderful.”
Ariadne kissed him and hopped off the bed.
She hooked her bra and tried to find the rest of her clothes amid the mess they’d left on the chair the night before.
She ended up wearing his mustard shirt, rolling the sleeves up to her elbows, the length of it reaching the middle of her thighs.
Quaint stayed in bed, watching her with a smile on his face.
“Mr. Boniface will arrive soon,” said Ariadne, pulling away the sheets that covered him to force him to get up. “He still can’t understand that I need to have lunch every day.”
“A very serious issue. That and his growing hypochondria.” Quaint snickered, putting on his undershirt. “I can watch you eat after you’re finished.”
“I’d like to, if the others don’t bother us to death.”
Ariadne left the main bedroom and stared at Erik’s office at the end of the corridor.
He had been inside of it most of the time since they arrived, appearing only sometimes to eat with her.
During the day, he locked himself in the office and Ariadne could hear furniture being moved around, books relocated from their shelves, and objects packed into boxes.
Quaint mostly ignored the other two, with the exception of the times he and Erik went to the rooftop to smoke, or when Rafaela had real pregnancy needs, not just whims and complaints.
Erik also avoided interrupting them; maybe he was ashamed of what he’d done and wanted to respect their time. Or maybe it was the same as always, and he was too caught up in his world of ideas, incapable of letting anyone else in.
Ariadne knocked on the door.
After a few seconds, Erik stuck out his head, sandy hair disheveled, shirt crumpled, but at least he was shaving again. She did her best to hide her smile when she saw the disaster behind him. Erik seemed to read her thoughts and looked down at his mismatched socks, laughing as well.
“I really am a bumbling fool,” Erik said, opening the door and hurrying to find her a chair amid the piles of books. “Please don’t mind my chaos. I was trying to find out if there was anything useful in my old things.”
“It’s all yours.” Ariadne peeked around at the rest of the office. There were two closed suitcases in the corner, and the desk was a mess. “Is that another prosthesis?”
“Ah! The arm! Yes, yes, wait a second…” Erik went to the other side of the desk, his lanky legs avoiding the objects on the floor. He grabbed a limp left arm and took it to Ariadne. “It was about time that I made you new ones. And now that your arm is damaged…”
Ariadne stretched her arm toward him, and Erik held her by the hand, her fingertips between his index and middle fingers, his thumb pulling slowly to reveal the limb underneath.
He rolled down the skin above her elbow, looking with awe at the limb he had built for her.
The joints and articulations, the delicate structure engineered to imitate human shape, the lightweight material, the dots indicating each sensor.
Erik compared the two prostheses, stretching Ariadne’s arm to calculate each of their lengths, measuring them like doll parts.
“I think you’re a little taller.”
“Not much. Not compared to you.”
“You can’t compare yourself to me, of all people!
” Erik let out a hearty laugh, pulling out a little stool to sit by her side.
He’d always had horrible posture, and had changed nothing, bending forward so they were eye to eye.
“The average height in Russia is different from the one in Brazil, and if we consider sexual dimorphism, genetic background, and…”
“No, you three are giants. At least Ms. Terebê is shorter than me.” Ariadne glanced again at the suitcases, and her shoulders felt heavy, as if all the strength she had mustered in the past months was gone. “Are you leaving?”
Erik set the prosthesis on his lap, playing with its fingers. “Well … I…”
“Yes or no? I’m not trying to stop you.”
“I think it’s the best thing I can do.” Erik attempted a smile, but failed when he saw the glacial expression on Ariadne’s face. “I have caused enough harm. And now that I know that you’re well, despite everything, and that you’re not alone…”
“You’re not bothering me.”
“But I’m too ashamed to look at you, Ariadne.
And Quaint, too.” Erik ran his fingers through his hair.
Now she could see that he had aged in the last few years, not as much as he should have, but enough to create more lines in his thin face, and for the silvery strands to cover most of his head.
Still, he was the same Erik who had held her so tenderly in her worst moments, the same Erik who had abandoned her.
“I mess up time and time again. I’m unable to maintain any relationship. ”
“You are, that much is true. But you also have to admit that you hate feeling stuck.” Ariadne intertwined her fingers with the prosthesis he was holding, the new one perfect and brilliant compared to her old hand.
“After you were done with me, you had to find a new project to work on. You only stopped when they found you.”
“It’s the only thing I know how to do. Studying, inventing. I was never good with people. If I were, I would never have left you behind. I would have never walked out the door without saying goodbye.”
“You could have taken me with you,” Ariadne said softly. “I would have gone.”
Erik looked at her. It was not pity, what she found in the grayish-blue of his eyes, but something she could not yet discern.
“I know you would, and that’s why I didn’t.
You need stability, and I don’t deserve such touching devotion.
” Erik took her hand again to dress her with the skin, first slipping her fingers, tucking them under the fake nails, then straightening the skin of her arm.
“But I guess the stars have aligned. Quaint is the people person, not me. The one who knows how to say the right thing, who can understand what others mean even when they don’t say it. ”
“Don’t blame Quaint because you prioritize your curiosity above us.” Ariadne flicked his nose with a finger. “Anyway. Whatever you choose to do with your life is your problem, not mine.”
Erik squeezed her hand again like he wanted to hold her for longer, his bony fingers covering hers, the pink tinge of his skin visible against her yellowness, the sun freckles and veins giving away his age.
“Quaint is a good man,” Erik finally said. “I’m sure he’ll take proper care of you.”
“I know he’s a good man,” replied Ariadne. “You think I would let him stay if I didn’t trust him?”
Erik chuckled. “Oh, that much is true. You were always suspicious. A mean little cat.”
Ariadne stood up, dusting the mustard shirt. “I think the new arm is too light, by the way.”
“You think?” Erik weighed the limb again, his voice growing more energetic. “I can fix it.”
“Only after lunch. Mr. Boni will arrive in no time,” she said, pulling Erik by the collar of his shirt to lead him into the corridor. “It’s your turn to cook. Rafaela and Quaint are constantly forcing me to try fancy silly takeout to see what the dishes look like, and I’m tired of it.”
Erik laughed as he followed her down the stairs. Quaint was already there, sitting on the armchair with the white cat sleeping on his lap. Rafaela lay on the sofa, her legs over two pillows, while her cell phone buzzed on the coffee table.
“It’s just Dami?o,” she said, sucking on a blood bag. “I told him I won’t come back, but he’s a slow learner.”
“You’re just torturing him now.”
Dami?o had been calling nonstop since he woke up alone in their house, and Rafaela took joy in alternating between ignoring and insulting him.
I thought you’d be grieving this relationship, Ariadne had told her a few days before, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
I am, I am an absolute wreck! Rafaela had argued back while Ariadne did her pedicure at her request, not sounding like an absolute wreck at all.
I have cried myself to exhaustion, but whenever he cries back, I feel so much better …
“Well, if he’s not doing anything dangerous, I don’t care.”
… The Federal Police continue to investigate the connection between the militia known popularly as death squads …
read the chyron on the television screen, as the anchorwoman spoke: “The funeral will be held tomorrow with a closed casket. After going missing for twelve days, the president’s death was confirmed on Monday, while… ”
Ariadne didn’t know what would happen next. If Quaint would stay, if Rafaela would keep her promise, if Erik would disappear within a week or remain at the clinic forever. It didn’t matter; she was happy—she craved, desired happiness—maybe for the very first time.
The intercom rang, and the cat lifted her head. Ariadne walked past them, checked the camera, and pressed the button that unlocked the entrance.