Chapter 20
News of Cándido’s death spread like wildfire throughout Puerco Ahogado on Monday. A couple of farmers who were heading up the mountain that morning saw the wreck and rushed back into town to inform the authorities.
Sarita Novo promptly urged Perla to accompany her to Lulú’s house; they must offer her comfort and help prepare some sort of service for the departed, for there was no doubt, based on the sight of the car, that Cándido had perished inside.
“That car was cursed,” Sarita said. “Recently that bull smashed it, and then this happened. Maybe it was a sign from God, warning him to be careful at the wheel. And to make things worse, Beto says he doesn’t think they can pull the car up until it stops raining, tomorrow or the day after that.
Even then it might be impossible. Lulú is hysterical, saying mountain lions are going to eat Cándido’s corpse.
But with this rain the tow truck would sink into the mud.
We need to calm her down and start thinking what food we’ll serve for the wake. ”
“Yes, of course,” Perla agreed. “And the drinks; someone needs to consider the drinks.”
Off they went to Lulú’s house; there was no choice, Ulises must accompany his wife.
They found Lulú in the living room, bawling her eyes out, surrounded by a circle of women, who at times patted her hand or said a soothing word.
The sight disturbed him, and Ulises discreetly moved to the dining room, where most of the men had assembled and were smoking, hiding from the grief of Lulú.
Beto and Bartolo and Dr. Carrel were there, along with many of the other members of the good families in town, all of them engaging in the ritual commiseration the occasion demanded. Ulises nodded blankly until the conversation turned to the accident.
“I can’t imagine what he would have been doing there at that time of night,” Dr. Carrel said.
“After a weekend of heavy drinking we often make silly mistakes,” Father Anselmo replied. “Who knows if he simply wanted to feel the night air in his face?”
The priest looked like he was nursing an awful hangover, and perhaps that was his remedy.
“What about the car?” Ulises asked, and he lit a cigarette. “Sarita was telling us it might not be towed until a couple of days have passed.”
“That’s true,” Beto said. “We might not tow it at all. Lifting a person is one thing, but a whole car is another. The important part is having a body to put in a coffin.”
“I still think we ought to bring the car up,” Bartolo said. “It would be proper procedure, especially if there’s an inquest.”
“An inquest?” Ulises replied, surprised by the young policeman’s choice of words.
Bartolo nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. We need to determine the cause of death.”
“It’s obviously an accident,” Ulises said. “I hope you’re not implying anything more sinister.”
“I wouldn’t want to imply anything, sir.”
Beto clapped the other police officer on the shoulder and laughed. “He reads detective stories, our Bartolo, he wants to handle a serious case.”
Ulises had the most awful sensation, like someone had spilled freezing water down his back.
He had been counting on the inefficiency of the local police force, but now this boy was keen on showing off his detective skills.
He pictured him looking at tire marks, analyzing the blows to Cándido’s head and face.
Dear God, the blows! If he paid attention, he’d notice something suspicious.
What had Cándido looked like when they shoved him in the car?
His head was not split in two, but Ulises had hit him ferociously.
The memory of the murder made his fingers shake and he dropped his cigarette.
He felt like retching, like he had after they killed Cándido.
By the end of the evening Ulises had an awful headache.
He went to bed, but did not sleep—his mind was filled with the most bizarre and chaotic images, the car, Cándido, but also pictures from the war far away, his own father in his coffin—and as soon as he thought it was safe to sneak out of his bed, he hurried into Inés’s room.
She was awake. He lay down next to her and she gave him a shove.
“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to seduce you,” he told her.
“Then what are you doing, sneaking in here?”
“I need a minute to rest.”
“As if you can’t sleep in your room. Get out.”
“I said rest, not sleep. It’s been a damn long day, and I need three minutes with a friend, if you can pretend you’re one for that long.”
She didn’t say anything, though she shifted her position; Ulises felt her eyes on him while he stared at the ceiling.
“You’re feeling guilty?”
“And worried. You’re not? They’re saying they might pull up the car, launch a whole inquest. What if they find our footprints in the mud?”
“With this rain?” She scoffed. “All footprints must be washed away, same for the tire marks.” She began to run a hand through his hair, rumpling it. “I thought you were a professional when I met you. I thought you wouldn’t feel guilty like that.”
“It’s different stealing a lady’s money than killing a man.”
“Why? Don’t you think you hurt them when you took their savings? Maybe they wished they were dead after being cheated like that.”
“Sure. I’m a bastard. It doesn’t make murder any easier.”
“Maybe if he’d been a good man I’d feel bad about it.
But he was a rotten fellow. He started pinching my ass when I was fifteen and my aunt wasn’t looking.
Then again, in a place like this most of them think they can pinch and prod and a young woman will not complain, especially when she’s a nobody. ”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it.
Her hand went from his hair to his chest and lingered there, fingers splayed. “You ever wondered if you’d go to hell for what you do?”
“I don’t believe in hell. Do you?”
She shook her head and curled up next to him. He breathed in deeply, let his mind go blank for a couple of minutes as he listened to the sound of the rain that fell upon the windowpanes. Her fingers wandered up his throat, settling on his lips.
The springs of the bed were old and rusty and would play a symphony if they dared to make love on it. So they didn’t, contenting themselves with the lightest of touches. He caressed the curve of her hip bone; in turn her fingers crept under his shirt, unbuttoned it, and bared his abdomen.
They kissed, but curiously there was nothing lewd about the touching of their lips. He felt merely that he was holding something rare and precious between his hands.
Steadily the rain fell, all through the night, and the next two days there was also intermittent rain. But by Thursday the deluge ceased, the sky was of a startling and pure blue, and both the car and the body were pulled up.
The car was crumpled like an accordion, they said. It would be a closed casket funeral.
They buried Cándido that same Thursday, with haste, and the next day was the first night of the novenario.
Lulú spent most of the evening weeping instead of praying, while the Zorrilla sisters tried to comfort her with talk of heaven and the mercy of God.
Perla and Sarita Novo passed out tamales.
Father Anselmo complained that they were dry and the atole was too thin.
Ulises stood in the living room, contemplating a portrait of Cándido, which had been decorated with a huge black bow atop it, and smoked cigarettes.
He saw Inés and Bartolo talking, noticed how he stood close to her and how she leaned in closer, smiling.
It was a dazzling smile, warm and full of possibilities.
The sight of them together soured the atole in his mouth. Why should she pay so much attention to that boy?
He followed them when they walked out of the room and watched from a window as they spoke in the courtyard. More smiling, more of that coy look, that leaning in. Eventually, Bartolo excused himself and went back inside, leaving Inés alone. Ulises quickly walked toward her.
She stood in front of a wall that had been painted a rich yellow ocher, which had peeled off in several patches, showing traces of older blue and green paint.
She was looking up at a niche that held a statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe.
When she heard his footsteps upon the tiled floor, she turned around and seemed surprised to see him.
“Expecting your friend?” he asked.
“Bartolo went to get us a couple of drinks. What do you want?”
“You seemed fairly cozy.”
“He doesn’t think Cándido’s death was an accident.”
“Don’t tell me he suspects foul play.”
She ran both hands through her hair, pulling it back, her eyes darting nervously above Ulises’s shoulder. “We better talk somewhere else. He might return and see us together.”
She pulled him by the arm; they went down a narrow path that ran parallel to the house and connected the courtyard they’d been standing in with a rectangular patio. Here there were stone sinks for the washing and clotheslines for the drying of laundry.
“Does he suspect foul play?” he asked again, his voice low.
“He’s not sure what he thinks, just that it doesn’t add up. If Cándido had taken a curve too quickly, if the vehicle had skidded, the car wouldn’t have plunged into the ravine the way it did. And there was no reason for him to be there at night.”
“Why is he telling you all this?”
She looked over her shoulder quickly, then back at him. “I asked him about the inquest. I suppose he’s trying to impress me with his detective work.”
“That nosy goddamn son of a bitch.”
His hands were shaking; he jammed them in his pockets to somewhat conceal his nerves. Still, she raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Are you frightened?”
“Yes, and you’re frightened too. Don’t try to pretend you’re not, you keep looking over your shoulder.”