Southwesterly Wind by Luiz Alfredo Garcia-Roza

Author:Luiz Alfredo Garcia-Roza [Garcia-Roza, Luiz Alfredo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4668-5032-3
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co.
Published: 1999-11-05T16:00:00+00:00

6

The rainy Saturday didn’t improve Gabriel’s state of mind. He spent the afternoon cruising the fast-food restaurants of Copacabana, checking every one that had a special room for birthday parties; no trace of the Argentine. He came home tired and wet, devoid of hope of success.

A change in his mother’s attitude had made things even worse. She was still waiting for him when he arrived home, making his meals and washing his clothes, but she had gone strangely silent. She had stopped asking questions with hidden meanings, and she no longer made self-pitying comments. When they were home, each stayed in their own room, doors closed. Before, even when she was asleep, she’d leave her bedroom door open, just as she’d done when he was little and he’d sometimes wake up, scared, in the middle of the night. But then—Gabriel couldn’t say exactly when—without warning or explanation, she’d started closing her door at night, just like her son did. Gabriel didn’t register the change at first. As he would soon discover, his mother didn’t have a problem; she had a cause, and she had focused all her energy on it. She only went through the motions of housework, without undue emotional expenditure. She had embarked on her mission with religious fervor, and it demanded all her attention and energy.

This evening, Gabriel went to sleep as soon as he’d finished eating the plate of food his mother had left in the oven. There was no light coming from beneath his mother’s door, and he couldn’t hear the television, which she usually watched with the volume at an unreasonable level (the very reason he’d started closing his door).

Sunday was just as unsuccessful. His mother spent the whole morning in church, while he spent the afternoon looking for the Argentine. They met only during lunch, which was eaten in near silence. The things they said merely served to camouflage the things they weren’t saying. That was convenient but had started to make Gabriel uncomfortable.

The previous day’s rain continued, not as intensely but just as persistently. The only difference between the street and the sky was the shade of gray. Espinosa and Welber had agreed to meet at the station a half hour before the meeting with the Argentine in the fast-food restaurant. There was no need for a third detective; nothing of what they’d heard about Stella or Hidalgo hinted at danger. At three twenty-five Espinosa left his apartment for the meeting, which he didn’t imagine would take up much of his Sunday afternoon; even if it did, it wouldn’t be a big loss, since he didn’t really care for Sundays. He met Welber at the door of the station and they went straight to the restaurant, which was on the same street, one block toward the beach. Both wore hooded raincoats. At exactly four o’clock, just as they’d agreed, the couple turned the corner. She was wearing a miniskirt that, if it didn’t impress the kids at the birthday party, would certainly keep the older boys entertained.

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