Good Offices

“Why not request dispensation?” she asked. And, eyeing the half-empty bottle, added: “You drink like a laborer. Have you forgotten where we are? Are you that drunk? Is this how you take advantage of Father Almida’s trust? I don’t mind you taking advantage of the Lilias. I just hope never to see you here again. I wouldn’t share a table with you. Tell the Lilias I won’t be eating, that I’ve gone where only God can find me. I’ll be waiting there until I die.”

“Or until God finds you,” Matamoros said, looking at neither of them.

Sabina left as she had arrived, elusive, blazing with rage. Not even glancing at Tancredo, she disappeared into the garden.

“No doubt she’s running off to the place where only God can find her,” Father Matamoros said. He stood up with the glass in his hand, and, as he drank, leaned out into the night.

“I’d better go,” he said.

“Never, Father.” The three Lilias had returned.

They took him delicately by the arm. It looked as though they were going to carry him.

“You’re coming to the kitchen,” they said, “as God meant you to.”

And they took him away. Resigned, he let himself be taken.

“Tancredito, bring the bottle,” he managed to plead, without turning his head. “Do me that one favor.”

III

“Those cats are playing tricks on us; there are six of them, all from the same family; they used to keep to themselves, but lately they’ve started bothering us, sneaky, mischievous, obstinate, villainous creatures; there’s one, especially, who pees where he shouldn’t, shreds the pillows, he’s the very devil.”

The three Lilias were talking about cats while showing Mata-moros around the kitchen: apart from the wedge-shaped pantry and the two refrigerators, there were four insufficient electric cookers, which had to be backed up by a stout, ancient coal stove in one corner: its wrought-iron doors concealed a cavernous oven; its vortex radiated a flickering red atmosphere that was violent rather than warm, a dangerous, menacing fire. Next to this stove the long, rustic table was set under a little window that looked onto the courtyard. In the reddish glow, on the sideboard where pots and pans were hung, in tucked-away nooks, the cats lay curled, grave and furry, watchful, while the Lilias and Matamoros stared at them.

“You can’t tell which is the papa and which is the son, but one of them has turned treacherous, and we’ve found him out. It’s that one.”

The Lilias were pointing at the same undaunted cat, identical to the rest.

“Are you sure?”

“You can see it in his eyes,” they said. The three of them advanced judgementally on the cat. “But this cat’s not going to bother us today, are you?” they asked it, wagging threatening fingers, making all sorts of gestures, apparently affectionate, in fact deadly warnings. Then they seemed to forget the cat. Now they were pointing to the table, on which sat a jug of freesias. “Look, Father, for you, a bit of foolishness.”

Like strategists directing a battle over unfolded maps, the three Lilias described the dishes, the sweet and the sour, each subtlety and surprise; it was their methodical way of making sense of them: “Follow that with the little bits of orange, Father, to cleanse the palate; munch a slice of apple between cheeses; do try the fish patties, the croissants, the heart-shaped pastries, or that salad with beef and ham in it; look what lovely sausages, the sauce is done to a turn, to a turn, and what’s that little rabbit doing there? Waiting for you, Father, and for you, Tancredito; come closer because a meal starts with the eyes; whatever takes your fancy is right here, you just have to reach out a hand and put it in your mouth; let us thank God.”

They sat down. “Thank you,” the three Lilias said. “Thank you,” Tancredo and the priest replied. As if those words had a magical effect, one of the six cats disappeared from its nook, but the Lilias did not take their eyes off it. “We can see you,” they said, “we’re watching you.” The cat, moving in the direction of the table, halted in the Lilias’ glare, seemed to change its mind and set off for a better destination: the darkness. Because the light in the kitchen did not reach everywhere. One side of every face consisted of shadows, possibilities. The cat vanished into the blackness, and that worried the Lilias. “We see you,” they said, “we’re watching you.”

But they did not see it, and that tormented them.