16
“Hey,” says a guy who came up behind me without me noticing. I must have dozed off. There are two of them, actually. They’re wearing street clothes and they’re armed, which is strange on a beach, even if the beach is in Uruguay.
The Cannibal of Ipanema
by Alexandre Fraga dos Santos
Ipanema
The cannibal had been inactive since the end of the seventies. He had sold the old family home in Santa Clara, inhabited by memories and the spirits that haunted his mind. The voice of his grandmother, always calling him a cowardly little lieutenant, a weakling, unmanly... By getting rid of the mansion he had blotted out all those ghosts. With the money from the sale he had bought a two-story house with a terrace on Rua Canning, along with a Siberian husky. He named the dog Dollar. He wanted the animal to be strong, like the American currency.
Retired from the army with the rank of colonel, Leopoldo passed for a peaceful citizen of Ipanema, dividing his time between walking the dog as far as the Arpoador rocks and painting, along with sporadic visits to the establishment near his building, the Centaurus, the neighborhood’s traditional bordello.
Although he considered himself more a reserve officer than a professional artist, from time to time he made a little money from the sale of his canvases in exhibitions around the city. He would spend the extra income at the Centaurus, but not in a more orthodox manner. He would always make his incursions in late afternoon and take a leisurely sauna, followed by a cold shower. He would shave, powder his armpits, and slip into the white robe provided by the bordello. He would take the elevator to the third floor, to the nightclub going full blast, with the perfume of lust in the air. He would sit down next to the bar and have the waiter bring his favorite scotch. And then the pilgrimage of the whores would begin, as it did that Friday...
“Can I sit here, baby?”
“Do I look like a baby?”
The whore sat down and put her forefinger on Leopoldo’s lips. “You look like a naughty baby.”
“You can’t imagine how naughty...”
“Maybe what I need is some fooling around.” She ran her fingers through the colonel’s hair. “I can’t see a gray-haired man without wanting to put out.”
“I can imagine.”
“You don’t have to imagine. Just look.”
The whore took Leopoldo’s hand and stuck it under her bikini bottom. The colonel allowed his finger to probe her vulva for a few moments, evaluating the wetness.
“Now take it out. If you don’t, the madam gets on my case. You see how I get?”
“Yes, you’re very damp.”
“Wet, drenched.”
“Yes. Can you tell me your name?”
“Roberta. Can I have some of your whiskey?”
“Yes.”
“Can I get your key, so we can get a little friendly?”
“Yes.”
“Anything you’d like.”
The hooker left Leopoldo by himself at the table. The colonel took advantage of her absence to observe his surroundings. There were better-looking whores than Roberta in the place, but the young woman had been efficient in her approach. Besides, the club was infested with gringos who, judging by the tattoos of anchors and women on their arms, and the whiteness of their skin, were from some Scandinavian ship.
Roberta came back twenty minutes later, panting. She must have blown one of those Vikings en route. She tried to kiss the colonel, but he refused. As if by reflex, she downed a shot of whiskey in a single gulp. Then she apologized: “The house is packed, that’s why I took so long.”
She took Leopoldo by the hand and led him to the suite, where Roberta got naked. She told the colonel to take off his robe.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I want to stay this way. Dressed.”
“Hey, I wanna get off.”
“And I want to talk.”
“Are you gay?”
“I’m a colonel in the Brazilian army. I expect a modicum of respect.”
“Okay then. What does the colonel want to talk about?”
Leopoldo wanted to know everything about Roberta’s life: how she got started in prostitution; whether she had children; her relationship with her parents; if she dreamed of having a family.
The whore let out a sob: “I don’t have anybody... I feel so lonely...”
Leopoldo paid the girl extra. In dollars... With the colonel, everything was in dollars. She thanked him and asked if she could kiss him.
“On the cheek, please.”
Roberta kissed the colonel on his right cheek and concluded the encounter.
As Roberta was leaving the nightclub, a Passat pulled up alongside her and the driver lowered the window.
“Shall we finish what we started?”
Roberta glanced around to make sure the security guys from the club weren’t watching them. She couldn’t have outside dates; if she were found out, she’d be sent packing. There was no one, and she was horny and needy. Besides which, she would make some dough. Making dough was good.
“Let’s go.” She jumped in the car. “Which motel, colonel?”
The colonel drove a short distance and clicked the remote control for his garage. The Siberian husky had its nose against the gate. Roberta took a deep breath; whenever the door to a man’s house opened, she nurtured the hope of a serious relationship, of building something for herself. And this could be her lucky night.
“I love a man in uniform.”
They got out of the car. Dollar jumped onto Roberta and sniffed her from head to toe. The hooker became a bit tense.
“Does he bite?”
“Not him.”
“Cute,” said the whore, patting the dog.
Leopoldo opened the door and let Dollar in as well.
“Is he gonna participate?” asked Roberta.
“No. Just watch.”
“Do you enjoy that?”
“You talk too much.”
“You’re rude.”
“Go wash up.”
“How much are you gonna pay?”
“Two hundred dollars.”
Chic, this colonel... Always in dollars.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“End of the hall. Last door on the left.”
The working girl went down the corridor, observing the row of paintings illuminated by bluish light. The man must really be a pervert, and Roberta found the thought encouraging: there were two buffalo cornering a blond woman with a thick dark tuft around her vagina; a horse corralling a black woman with a vast blond tuft around her pussy, while another horse reared on its hind legs, offering his rigid member to the woman; the mad colonel had even painted bats attacking a nun. There were also rifles and antique weapons hanging on the walls, along with family photos.
Roberta laughed to herself. The game was going to be a good one.
Leopoldo waited anxiously. As did Dollar. Together they were a devilish pair. But there was never anything left for Dollar. He was only a voyeur. The colonel was aware of the insanity of his habits, but this was better than eating neighbors for lunch or dinner. The cannibal was retired, thanks to Our Lady, his devotional saint.