And so it was. Hugo Peirano was smoking and hosing down his yellow Taunus. A ridiculous color for a car, thought Gaspar. He braked noisily by the curb, and without getting off his bike, he greeted his friend’s father. He let Hugo speak first, about the championship that was starting in July, about how the wind last night had blown the lid off the grill, how he had to take the car in to the mechanic.
When he finished, Gaspar said: “I found Diana.”
Hugo stiffened, the hose still in his hand. In that position only a little water came out, but it was enough to get his pants wet. He had realized from Gaspar’s expression that having found the dog was not necessarily good news.
“She’s in the parking lot of the Llaneza near the park.”
“Are you sure it’s her?”
“Yeah, I saw her when I went to get my bike.”
“Goddamn motherfucking shit,” murmured Hugo, and he looked down so Gaspar wouldn’t see that he’d understood, and that the dog’s death had affected him. Gaspar lowered his head too; he knew that most men didn’t like anyone to see them cry, especially not another man, and above all not a kid.
“Well then. What a shame, poor thing. Should we tell Vicky? Or should we pretend she’s still lost?”
Was he really asking, or was it a figure of speech? Just in case he was being serious, Gaspar answered sincerely: “Of course we can’t hide that Diana died. If she found out, she’d hate us.”
“You’re right. Come on then,” said Hugo, and Gaspar brought his bike into the Peiranos’ garage, closed the door, and followed Vicky’s dad down the hall. He could hear the rest of the family—the girls, their mother, and their grandmother—playing cards in the backyard, just like they did every Sunday before lunch.
“It’s in that house,” Adela said, pointing. “Right, Mom?”
“I don’t know which house it is. Nor do I think any hanged man is going to appear.”
Gaspar looked at Betty, hearing the anxiety in her voice. She was wearing a blue shawl around her neck and the effect was odd: it gave her a birdlike look that was only intensified by her nose. Sometimes Gaspar thought calling her Betty was a little unfair, because a woman so tall and graceful deserved her full name, Beatriz, and not a diminutive.
Adela went on with her story. The bulldozers had come to raze the houses and build the highway—this one that’s above us now. Some people didn’t want to give up their houses. This one guy, when they came to force him out, hung himself. They found him like that. They took him out and demolished the house. And now some nights you can see his shadow, swinging. I’ve seen it. Next time I see it, I’ll show you.
“Is it true they knocked the houses down like that?” Gaspar asked Betty.
“Yes. How could people defend themselves? You didn’t argue with the dictatorship.”
“Didn’t people protest? I read there were protests.”
“There must have been some resistance, sure, but there wasn’t much that could be done. The dictatorship decided to put a highway here and they forced people out. You couldn’t negotiate. They just sent them off to some shoddy apartments and that was that.”
Cars passed over the top of the café: there were businesses built all along the space beneath the highway. In recent years some tennis courts had opened and a few pools were under construction, even some schools and one or two plazas with cement ceilings. Gaspar liked to look at the walls of what had once been two-floor houses or apartment buildings: the wallpaper in the children’s rooms, with monkeys and tortoises; the showers and taps set in dark tiles; even a wall that still had the marks of the paintings that once hung there.
“I swear I see him. His legs are wide apart and his hands are really big.”
Betty sighed.
“I believe you, dear,” she said. Gaspar couldn’t decipher her expression: whether she really believed or was just saying she did so that Adela would forget her obsession and eat her ham and cheese sandwich on Vienna bread. Gaspar had ordered a grilled cheese. That day he’d gone to do his homework at the café because his father was restless and pacing around the house, and it was best to avoid him when it was impossible to guess what was bothering him or why.
Suddenly, Betty asked:
“Do you see things too, Gaspar? Like Adela does?”
She was looking for his complicity? That was weird. Parents, in general, preferred their kids not to talk about things like the hanged man’s shadow over the highway. Betty still seemed anxious, and she adjusted her shawl. She had very long hair that she always wore loose.
“No,” said Gaspar. “Those things don’t exist.”
“So, nothing, not ever.”
“Do you, Betty?”
Adela interrupted them.
“You know what would be awesome? To go to the refrigerator cemetery. That’s what they call it. It’s close to the school’s sports field.”
“I don’t know why they’re there,” said Gaspar.
“The factory threw them out when it shut down,” explained Betty. “It’s one of the many national factories that closed. They couldn’t sell them because production stopped. It’s a dangerous place because that model of refrigerator has a door that locks, and it’s easy to get trapped inside.”
“Exactly,” Adela went on. “I heard people leave their dogs inside the refrigerators when they don’t want them anymore.”
“That’s dumb,” said Gaspar, after taking a sip of his milky coffee. “Why would they stick them in there when they could just let them go?”
“Dogs come back, they even stay at the hospital when their owners die, or sleep on top of their graves.”
“Again with the dogs that come back! You’re obsessed. If you give them a really bad beating, they won’t come back, they’re not stupid. There’s no need to stick them in a fridge. You’re making that up.”
“No I’m not. And people also say that women leave their unwanted babies there. And murder victims. Disappeared people. Come on, take me there, Gaspar.”
Betty poured sugar into her tea and said nothing. She knows I’m not taking her there, thought Gaspar.
“No way. Most likely there’s none of that, but I’m sure people are living there, because it’s close to the slum. It’s too far away, and we don’t know who could be hiding out there.”
“What if we found something!”
“Adela, that’s enough,” said Betty. “You get obsessed and you don’t let up, Gaspar is right. Can’t you see he doesn’t want to take you? Plus, you shouldn’t talk about the disappeared like that, it’s disrespectful, I’ve told you before. No one knows where the victims are. But I’m quite sure they aren’t in some refrigerators by the Riachuelo. Enough.”
“Gaspar always says no at first and then he gives in. Don’t you, Gaspar?”
Adela smiled and cocked her head; one of her braids was coming undone—they never lasted long—and Betty started to redo it neatly.
“You didn’t answer me, Betty,” said Gaspar. “Have you ever seen anything?”