“You’re not going to leave us very reassured knowing my son has daily communication with the beyond,” said Rigoberto with a shrug, “and that Fonchito is a bit like the little shepherdess of Lourdes. She was a shepherdess, wasn’t she?”
“You’re going to laugh, the two of you are going to laugh,” said Father O’Donovan, toying with his fork and not touching the corvina. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about the boy for a moment. Of all the people I’ve known in my life, and there are many, I believe that Fonchito is closest to what we believers call a pure being. And not only because of how beautiful he is.”
“Now the priest is showing, Pepín.” Rigoberto was indignant. “Are you suggesting my son might be an angel?”
“An angel without wings in any case,” Lucrecia said with a laugh, openly happy now, her eyes burning with mischief.
“I’ll say it and repeat it even though it makes you both laugh,” declared Father O’Donovan, laughing as well. “Yes, Ears, yes, Lucrecia, I mean it literally. And even though it amuses you. A little angel, why not?”
XI
When they reached the house in Castilla where Mabel lived, on the other side of the river, Sergeant Lituma and Captain Silva were dripping with sweat. The sun beat down mercilessly from a cloudless sky where turkey buzzards were circling, and there wasn’t the slightest breeze to alleviate the heat. During the trip from the station, Lituma had been asking himself questions. In what condition would they find the cute brunette? Had those bastards mistreated Felícito Yanaqué’s mistress? Had they beaten her? Raped her? Very possibly. Given how good-looking she was, why wouldn’t they take advantage of having her at their mercy day and night.
Felícito himself opened the door of Mabel’s house. He was euphoric, relieved, happy. The grim face that Lituma had always seen had changed, his recent tragicomic expression had disappeared. Now he grinned from ear to ear and his eyes gleamed with happiness. He looked rejuvenated. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and his vest was unbuttoned. He was so skinny, his chest and back almost touched, and he was really a runt, he almost looked like a midget to Lituma. As soon as he saw the two policemen he did something unheard-of for a man so little given to emotional displays: He opened his arms and embraced Captain Silva.
“It happened just as you said, Captain,” he said effusively, patting him on the back. “They let her go, they let her go. You were right, Chief. I don’t have the words to thank you. I’m alive again, thanks to you. And to you too, Sergeant. Many thanks, many thanks to you both.”
His eyes were wet with emotion. Mabel was showering, she’d be with them right away. He had them sit in the living room, beneath the image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, facing the small table that held a papier-mâché llama and a Peruvian flag. The electric fan twanged rhythmically and the current of air made the plastic flowers sway. The trucker, effusive and happy, nodded to all of the officers’ questions: Yes, yes, she was fine, it had been terrifying, of course, but luckily they hadn’t hit or abused her, thank God. All that time they’d kept her blindfolded, with her hands tied, what heartless, cruel people. Mabel would give them all the details herself as soon as she came out. And from time to time, Felícito would lift his hands to heaven: “If anything had happened to her, I would never have forgiven myself. Poor thing! All this via crucis on my account. I’ve never been very devout, but I promised God that from now on I’d go to Mass every Sunday without fail.”
“He’s head over heels in love with her,” thought Lituma. You could be sure he’d have a great fuck. This reminded him of his own solitude, how long it had been since he’d had a woman. He envied Don Felícito and was furious with himself.
Mabel came out to greet them in a flowered robe, sandals, and a towel wrapped like a turban around her head. Like this, without makeup, wan, her eyes still frightened, she seemed less attractive to Lituma than on the day she came to the station to make her statement. But he liked her turned-up nose and the way her nostrils quivered, her slim ankles, the curve of her instep. Her skin was lighter on her legs than on her hands and arms.
“I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything,” she said, indicating that they should sit down. And still she tried to make a joke: “As you can imagine, I haven’t been shopping for a few days and there’s not even a Coke in the fridge.”
“We’re very sorry for what happened to you, señora.” A very formal Captain Silva made a slight bow. “Señor Yanaqué was saying they didn’t mistreat you. Is that true?”
Mabel made a strange face, half smile and half pout.
“Well, up to a point. Luckily they didn’t beat me or rape me. But I wouldn’t say they didn’t mistreat me. I’ve never been so terrified in my life, señor. I’d never slept so many nights on the floor with no mattress and no pillow. And blindfolded and with my hands tied up like an Ekeko doll. I think my bones will ache for the rest of my life. Isn’t that mistreatment? All right, I’m alive at least, that’s true.”
Her voice trembled and at moments a profound fear could be seen in the depths of her black eyes, which she made an effort to control.
“Damn motherfuckers,” Lituma thought. He felt sorry and angry about what Mabel had endured. “Shit, they’ll pay for this.”
“You have no idea how much we regret bothering you now when you must want to rest.” Captain Silva apologized, toying with his kepi. “But I hope you understand. We can’t lose any time, señora. Would you mind if we asked you a few questions? It’s essential before the guilty parties get away.”
“Of course, sure, I understand,” Mabel agreed, putting on a good face but unable to completely hide her annoyance. “Ask your questions, señor.”
Lituma was impressed with how affectionate Felícito Yanaqué was with his little woman. Gently he passed his hand along her face, as if she were his pampered lapdog, moved stray locks of hair from her forehead and tucked them under the towel, brushed away the blowflies that came near her. He looked at her tenderly; he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He held one of her hands in both of his.
“Did you ever see their faces?” the captain asked. “Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”
“I don’t think so.” Mabel shook her head but didn’t seem very sure of what she was saying. “I only saw one of them, and that was hardly at all. The one standing beside the tree, the poinciana with the red flowers, when I came home that night. I hardly noticed him. He was standing sideways, and it was dark. Just when he turned to say something to me and I was about to get a look at him, they threw a blanket over my head. I was choking. And I didn’t see anything else until this morning, when—”
She stopped, her face agitated, and Lituma realized she was making a great effort not to burst into tears. She tried to go on talking but made no sound. Felícito implored them with his eyes to have compassion for Mabel.
“Easy, easy does it,” Captain Silva consoled her. “You’re very brave, señora. You’ve had a terrible experience and they haven’t broken you. I’ll just ask you for one last little effort, please. Of course we’d prefer not to talk about this, we’d prefer to help you bury those bad memories. But the thugs who kidnapped you have to be put behind bars, have to be punished for what they did to you. You’re the only one who can help us get to them.”