“Christopher Lee.”
“The other one.”
“Vincent Price. Luis, he didn’t look at all like Vincent Price, he was a totally different physical type. Plus, Vincent Price was American.”
“I’m talking about the vibe he had. Kind of degenerate. He saved my brother’s life, and he even went on treating him after he lost his fingers. The way he died was really strange. A guy like that, driving without a chauffeur? And then everything burned because they didn’t get there in time to put out the fire, I don’t know.”
“I’m surprised your folks didn’t fight to keep him. Juan, I mean.”
“Mom tried. My dad didn’t want that problem, he said Juan would be better off with the filthy rich. Dad wasn’t exactly a great guy. When I found out they’d bought Juan, I had a fight with my old man and I never spoke to him again. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”
“They paid him off, then.”
“Those sons of bitches bought my brother. And on top of that, my dad supported me with that money when I was in college. I owe them, too. You have no idea how mad it makes me. That’s why I don’t want their money. I know Gaspar would share, that’s not it. He’s got a big heart, like his mother, who was a brave, extraordinary woman. It was a shock when I met her because I didn’t think anything good could come from that family. Gaspar’s mom was first-rate, and I don’t think she knew how my brother came into her family.”
“Does Gaspar know she got you out of the country?”
“I don’t know how to talk to him about that. I’m afraid it’ll upset him.”
“Why would it? It’s his mother, he has a right to know. Well, that’s between you and him. Another thing: when they finally give me the full list of his inheritance, it’s gonna knock you on your ass. I did an informal investigation. You have no idea. Plus, they don’t have any debt, apparently. Gaspar is rich.”
“Just my luck.”
“It’s not like it’s going to be bad for you.”
Luis growled in the darkness.
“My brother made it very clear he didn’t want Gaspar to have any contact with his grandparents. They still haven’t asked to see him?”
“Even if they did, you’re his father, they have no legal claim.”
“But they have all the ammunition.”
“They’ll never let go of that.”
That summer they didn’t go on vacation, but Luis’s ex-wife came to visit from Brazil with her two daughters, one older than Gaspar and one younger. The girls ignored Gaspar, or maybe they were just shy and spoke more Portuguese than Spanish. Luis had raised them as his own, he missed them and wanted to see them, and his ex had agreed to a visit. Luis spent a week taking the girls on all kinds of outings, and Gaspar was grateful he didn’t insist he go with them.
By then he was used to the parade of people in the house, and he almost never felt overwhelmed. He was interested in the conversations. The men’s way of speaking. Especially Negro and his soccer expressions. This guy made an argument but it hit the post. Hell is when your clean sheet gets ruined with two minutes to go. And his judgments of teams: the rival’s rigid defense versus our solid example of the beautiful game. And his accusations: you’ll be playing billiards soon, buddy. It reminded him a little of Hugo Peirano; he missed Vicky and Pablo more and more. He hadn’t made any new friends, or not friends like them, at least. One of those nights, Negro was playing the guitar and he dedicated a song to Luis’s ex, Mónica, a song that said beautiful and terrible things, like how traitors would pay （Y pagarán su culpa los traidores）， and he sang with a trembling voice and everyone cried and shouted a name and then “present, now and forever.” He thought that was beautiful. It was beautiful that his uncle hugged the girls and his ex-wife and that Julieta was moved: they seemed like perfect people, Gaspar thought. The moment always came when they put on music and started dancing, and Negro would shout a sapucay. And it turned into a party, glasses would break, men would sweat, women would lose shoes and earrings and their makeup would run—the ones who wore makeup, not many—and they’d hug, proclaim their love for each other, just like that, I love you, fucking Negro, and Gaspar felt he couldn’t ascend to that level with them. He’d said as much to Isabel. It’s like we’re all going up a flight of stairs together and at a certain point I say “this is as far as I go.” And on that step, higher up, they’re all happy and I watch them from below. Had he always been like that? It wasn’t shyness or reserve or adolescence, as other people thought. He wasn’t going to get over it. He could dance when he was alone, he could get emotional in his room with a book, but when the party started he disconnected, the others turned into a movie that he could watch but not participate in. So he acted like he was invisible, which wasn’t hard when everyone was drunk. And he withdrew into his room, where he felt the purest kind of relief.
Once, as he was retreating, he’d bumped into Negro.
“You feeling bad, champ?” he asked.
Gaspar said no. Then he heard Negro say to his uncle “he’s a sad kid.” And he waited for his uncle’s agreement, his yes, his disappointment. But Luis surprised him. No, he told Negro. He’s not sad. It’s his temperament. And even if he was sad, so what? He is the way he is. Getting plastered and shouting to high heaven isn’t for everyone. We make noise to fill the hole we have inside.
That night, Gaspar flopped on his bed with his headphones on and thought how he needed to go back to his house, the one where he’d lived with his father. He wanted to go through everything that was left. Had someone taken their things away? His uncle had told him it was all untouched. Why didn’t Stephen call? Gaspar preferred him out of his life, but was curious about what had happened to him. And Tali. Was Tali uninterested in him, too?
That night, for the first time since he’d come to Villa Elisa, he had thought without fear—or at least keeping his fear in check—about Adela and the house. He pictured her. Pictured the street. Remembered the walk in the darkness. He closed his eyes and saw her again in the doorway where she had disappeared, waving. The shadows behind her. The darkness behind her. The memory of Adela had made him start to tremble. But not so much. And without nausea.
Tomorrow, he decided, when his uncle woke up, he was going to ask for Vicky’s number. He didn’t want to do it now, in the middle of the night, when it might scare her family. And he wanted his uncle to be there, in case things went bad.
But they weren’t going to go bad, he was sure of it.
Not much was left in his house, simply because there hadn’t been much in it to begin with. His uncle had cleaned the rooms so that when Gaspar had his reencounter with the books, objects, clothes, he wouldn’t find neglect as well. Going inside made him nervous, but not afraid. Crossing through the doorway of his father’s room had been the hardest part, but once he was inside, the smell of dust obscured his memories.
What he did avoid was going down Calle Villarreal and seeing the house where Adela had disappeared. He was not ready for that, and he thought he never would be.