Good Offices

They were talking in whispers, taking frequent drinks, their heads bowed, resting on one hand, their other hands holding the glasses of brandy, while the Lilias remained out of sight. “I’m tired of all this, Father, not because I don’t want to do it, but because I can’t do it, my head’s bursting,” something like that. Tancredo shook his head. Was he drunk too? Most likely, because finally he talked about Sabina, his entire life with Sabina, and not just his life, he even revealed where she was at that time of night. “What time is it, Father?” “The time of the heart, my son.” Matamoros drank, attentive now. “Where is that furious girl,” he asked, “where’s she waiting for you?” “You’re not going to believe me, Father.” “Where, my son?” “At the altar, Father, or, more precisely, beneath the altar; it’s her way of telling me she wants me to go away with her; she says if I don’t go she’ll stay there until Almida comes and finds her.”

“Is she capable of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me about her.”

“It’s Sabina’s eyes, her tongue wetting her lips when she speaks to me. She convinces me of her schemes, her plotting. It’s painful not to give in to what emanates from Sabina’s body, her face, all of her, so hopeful of our escape.”

Far off but palpable, like vibrations, they heard the voices of the three Lilias, their footsteps in the courtyard. What were they doing out there lost to the world, in the darkness of the immense courtyard, where the Father’s Volkswagen would soon be arriving? Tancredo had to hurry; he resumed his confession.