ordinary people, without grand passions or terrific adventures, small lives that pass through the world without leaving a single trace on the earth’s face but who carry on their backs the fantastic burden of living from day to day. When he thought of his literary preferences, and read Salinger, Hemingway’s stories, a few nineteenth-century novels, and books by Sartre and Camus, he still thought yes, it was possible, it might be possible. Was it an exhibitionist urge? he wondered, when he didn’t know whether he should regret an impulse to sincerity that had made him confess to the dramatist his eternally deferred artistic instincts, so inappropriate in someone professionally dedicated to repression and not creation, to sordid truths, not sublime fantasies. .. Smiles and sniggers, the only response he got from the Marquess, who’d carried on sniffing the non-existent scent from a bougainvillea, now riled him like a poor joke. Nevertheless, the stories that man kept teasing him with went beyond the limits of any prejudice, and he could no longer see him simply as that shitty queer he’d gone to meet barely twenty-four hours earlier. I’ll be fucked, he told himself, as he heard the door opening to allow the awaited figure of Sergeant Manuel Palacios to become a tangible reality.
“Why did you take so long, man?”
Sergeant Palacios flopped down in his chair and the Count was afraid it would come apart. Who the hell ever accepted him in the force? It must have been the same lunatic who recruited me.
“Let me get my breath. The lift’s broken down again.”
The Count glanced back at his landscape with sea, and bid farewell, until they next met.
“Well, what happened?”
“Nothing, Conde, I had to wait for Alexis’s boss. And I think I was right to because the waters are muddying.”
Sergeant Palacios took a deep breath before he spoke.
“Alexis was no longer with Salvador K. His boss at the Centre, one Alejandro Fleites, who also looks like one great queer, says Alexis and Salvador had cooled off recently and that he twice saw Alexis with a mulatto who works at the Film Institute, a guy called Rigofredo Lopez. You can imagine the kind of hulk… And he says someone told him, you know what they’re like, that Rigofredo and Salvador K. had a row in Alexis’s office. Fleites’s conclusion: jealousy. Then I went to the Film Institute and discovered Rigofredo’s been in Venezuela for the last ten days… What do you make of this can of worms?”
The Count sat back in his chair and only then asked:
“So what did he tell you about Alexis?”
“Little that’s new… That he was a hard worker, that he got on with painters very well, that he was very cultured and that he couldn’t imagine him dressed in red in the Havana Woods. Also that he was very shy and screwed up…”
“What about the Bible?”
“The Bible? Hell, yes, the Bible…” He paused for a long time as if his thoughts were elsewhere and then said, “Here it is,” and searched in the briefcase he’d put on the floor.
“Give it me, give it me,” demanded the Count, looking for the Gospels on the contents page.
St Matthew started on page 971 and, according to Father Mendoza, the Transfiguration episode was in chapter 17. He skimmed the tops of the pages till he reached chapter 16 and then 19, in a fatal leap which caught him by surprise like a cry for help. He then looked among the pages and discovered what was missing: the sheet with pages 989 and 990, where chapters 17 and 18 of Matthew ought to be.
“I knew it, for fuck’s sake, Alexis was thinking about the Transfiguration… Look at this, the page where it happens isn’t there. Let me see if it’s missing in the others.”
The Count slowly embarked on his quest for the verses in Mark and Luke, discovering that both had all their pages, and he found the story of the Transfiguration in Mark, chapter 9: “And his raiment became shining, exceeding white as snow; so as no fuller on earth can white them.” And also in Luke 9: “And as he prayed, the fashion of his countenance was altered, and his raiment was white and glistering.”
“Where was the Bible, Manolo?”
“In Alexis’s desk. In the unlocked bottom drawer.”
“And people knew it was there?”
“Well, his boss says he didn’t know… You didn’t tell me.. .”
“Not to worry. The problem is someone tore out the missing page. And look at this: he did it very carefully, you don’t notice the tear, do you? It was probably Alexis himself… Can you imagine what this means?”
“That there was something written there.”
“Something that annoyed or endangered someone, and that someone tore the page out. Or, if not, it meant something special for this boy and that’s why he decided to take it out himself. And if that was the case, it clarifies a lot for us, Manolo: the bastard was mad and transfigured himself in order to enter his own Calvary. I’ll bet my buttocks on it.”
“Hey, I’d bet something else if I were you. I think certain influences aren’t good for you… But remember Salvador knew the Bible was there.”
“You think it was him?”
“I don’t know, but I’d bring him in and tighten his ‘K’ into a ‘Q’ .”
“I’m not so sure, Manolo… If it was him, why would he mention the Bible? No, I don’t think Salvador is so stupid as to appear guilty of something so serious and be that guilty person into the bargain. What do you reckon?… Now I’ve got to talk to the Boss. Wait here.”
“I’m always waiting for you, Count.”
The lieutenant ignored the irony and went out into the passage. He climbed two flights of stairs, to the top floor. Walked along another corridor and entered the anteroom to Major Rangel’s office. Behind Maruchi’s desk – she always had a flower in a small vase that was no longer there, perhaps she took it with her – there was the lieutenant who’d surprised him the day before. The Count saluted her and asked to see the Major.
“He told me to make sure nobody bothered him,” the lieutenant warned.
“Tell him it’s urgent,” the Count retorted. “Do me a favour…”
She hummed sonorously – how this guy likes to hassle, she must have been thinking – but she pressed the intercom button and told the Major that Lieutenant Conde was there and said it was urgent. “Tell him to come in,” said the Boss’s voice on the intercom.
The Count opened the door and saw him, cigar in his mouth. It was the same kind of smoke as the previous day’s wretched Holguin specimen.
“What’s up, Mario?” asked the Boss, and his voice was slow and opaque.
“I’ve brought you this, that’s why it was urgent.” And he took out of his pocket the long, resplendent Montecristo with which Faustino Arayan had regaled him.
“Where did you get this from, my boy?”
“I promised you one, didn’t I?”
“Fuck, this is a fine piece of work,” he said, and almost without looking threw his Holguin weed out of the window and started to smell the Montecristo. “It’s a little on the dry side, isn’t it?”
“You can sort that…”
“And what else do you want? I know you too well…”
The Count sat down and lit one of his cigarettes.
“They’ve called Manolo in. What’s his problem?”
The Major didn’t reply. He sniffed his new cigar again and carefully put it away in a drawer.
“For after lunch…”
“Are you going to tell me?” persisted the Count.
“They want him because of you,” replied the Boss as he stood up.
“Because of me?”
“Yes, it’s logical enough. You’re officially suspended and that’s why you are of interest to Internal Investigations – ”
“I’ll fuck the – ”
“Hey,” Rangel bellowed, switching his tired voice to a gruff, authoritarian tone that culminated in the fingertip he flourished at the lieutenant. “You don’t need to worry… If you do, say, comment or think anything about this and I find out, I’ll get your balls sliced off, get that? This is red-hot and I don’t want any more problems. They’re going to question Manolo about you, and what will he say? Nothing… That you had a set-to with Fabricio because you
