Semmant (28 page)

I did this out of pure goodwill. Don’t let them think I’m up in arms at the whole world. With the lost, those who are not to blame, I’m even ready to share my premonitions. And the inspector is one of the lost. She has merely convinced herself that she’s doing a righteous thing…

And here it was as though a current ran through me. A righteous thing, even if just a single one – it was on the surface, and there was no need for convincing! An indignant shriek met my ear, but I was no longer listening. Skanda Purana’s bell resounded in my head, encompassing all sounds. Putting everything in place – yes, I had jumped from the train, but here, under the rails, the story had not ended, the finale had not played.

I hung up the phone and started to get ready. One more exploit, the last one, awaited me.

Chapter 30

R
egardless of how long you soar through abstractions, there’s no hiding from reality; it never goes away. It will hunt you down, call you to act – and not relent, no matter how you squirm. Only, perhaps, someone may take your place – if, for example, you’re already dead. I was not dead, and no one was going to accomplish my task for me.

The more ardently you try to distance yourself, the more they demand of you later. I had achieved an incredible remoteness; therefore, they now expected a most serious action. I had no right to compromise – in fact, compromise had already been excluded from the equation. It was rejected by Semmant’s electronic brain.

I prepared carefully, without hurrying. No matter what, I had plenty of time. I knew precisely what had to be done – what was left to do, so that the plot could reach a resolution. Adele was dead and Semmant with her; the chain of events had closed in on itself. My initial plan had been fulfilled, approaching perfection at its highest point. And at the very same place it encountered the omnipotence of villainy.

The only thing remaining was to reward the omnipotence as well as the perfection, according to their deeds. It remained to punish villainy, its embodiment: the villainess herself. To punish abstract evil – in the manifestation that it had assumed this time. To halt entropy – even if only on the most local scope. And also to affirm the impropriety of simplifications. Lidia Alvares Alvares should share the fate of Adele and Semmant.

Don’t try to persuade me their deaths were artificial, unreal. It had long been clear who among us was real and who wasn’t. That’s why Lidia actually had to die – she and her poisonous soul. Maybe this would finally help her, cleanse her of insincerity, of false posturing. Perhaps it would make her genuine – as much as Adele the courtesan was genuine for Semmant and me.

Of course, I understood this would all look absurd from the outside. Exceptionally absurd, even criminal. I didn’t care; I was carrying out the inevitable. That’s how everything worked out – no arguing with inevitability. As far as what would happen to me afterward, what difference did it make? I sensed it was too late to think of the consequences, and I was not afraid – of anyone or anything. Once you know the extremes, you get over being afraid. Deprivation of freedom is the most fearful thing there can be. And don’t think I’m just talking about prison. Extreme loss of freedom is more than prison!

Never in my life had I hit a woman, but Lidia – she was no longer a woman to me. Abstract evil has no gender; it is not a product of nature. I had to make retribution, and not just for Adele and Semmant. It was also for the demon let loose in the world; hate must not be left with a positive account balance. Besides that, it was for the perversion of an idea, for the blindness of all the old maids at the D.A.’s office, for every act of violence against those from whom the softest ray emanates. For the fact that this light is taken to be their weakness. And no government can prevent that.

Let them all be blind, but I see – I see and rush to help. Semmant is dead, but I will pick up his spear. And I will not avenge; I will execute!

I dressed in black, which was fitting for an assassin. The rain had stopped, and the sun was peeking out, but I threw on a jacket despite the heat. Rifling through my kitchen cabinets, I selected a knife. I wrapped it in a rag, tucked it in my belt. I took stock of myself – yes, I was ready. Ready to thrash, seize by the throat, deliver the decisive blow.

Then I realized I had missed something. I sat down at the table and seized a sheet of paper. I began to write – legibly, neatly, so that every word would be understood.

Retaliation required giving notice, not allowing it to remain unexplained. I wrote a long letter where it was all laid out – about the villainy, the lack of freedom, and even the future of Europe. I wrote about the bull and his balls. About the boundless torpor of this country. About the police inspector and the skinny old maid – that they were guiltless and should not be blamed. About Adele, that she existed somewhere. About Semmant… No, once I thought about it, I made no reference to Semmant. I had no desire to mention his name for nothing.

Then I went outside and grabbed a taxi. I hunched my head into my shoulders, became invisible. I couldn’t give myself away too early, before the right moment, until the time came.

Concealed in the back seat, I watched the passersby. As usual, they seemed ridiculous; but now I felt this a thousand times more acutely. I was amazed, astonished. Their self-assurance knew no bounds. They all thought that, by their own will, they controlled themselves and their lives. They all supposed they had the right to judge – existence, the whole world. And yet, not one of them knew Semmant. They knew neither him nor Adele. Or any of the story of their love and death.

The taxi driver studied me in the mirror, stealthily. In his gaze I saw pitying curiosity. Perhaps I was wincing, looking crazy. On top of that, the whole time I was fighting the urge to laugh. I had to keep holding back my laughter, finding it difficult to restrain myself and not burst out giggling.

He cocked his head in contempt, this typical Spaniard – slightly protruding eyes, curly hair, pot belly. Most likely, he had a wife; he feared her, this fat, henpecked
hombre
with the brains of an earthworm. My story was immensely wider than his foreshortened perspective. Naturally, he was not worthy of it. But I still allowed him to participate briefly – at the next traffic light I pulled back the hem of my jacket and showed him the knife. This worked; he was scared to death. He peered at me again, but this time his look was different. No trace was left of his former arrogance.

Soon we arrived; there was not much on the meter. I gave him a twenty and didn’t wait for change. This was my modest way of encouraging him. My gift to a little man who had suddenly learned the world was not as he imagined it to be. That the world was different – it was inscrutable, scary… The taxi driver hit the gas and sped away with screeching tires. But I was already through with him.

I headed for the main door – with a springy step. As if I were on a path in the wild woods. Ready to fend off an attack by a savage cat, the enraged creature Lidia had become. Ready to draw the knife and plunge it into her neck first.

Someone exited the entryway right on time. I changed my appearance for an instant, averting my eyes and smoothing my wolf’s fur, making myself ordinary, just not dressed for the weather. I proffered a saccharine smile, uttered “
Gracias,
” and caught the open door. The trick worked; Simon the magician would have been pleased with me. If he still remembered me, I mean.

In the entranceway I looked around – feeling a little hunted, sensing every whisper. All was quiet; no one was prowling on padded feet ready to pounce. The vestibule was cool, hollow, empty. Only potted cactuses stood along each wall. Somehow I had never noticed them before. They looked like the phallic statues that had been venerated in ancient Greece. Women planted them in the earth and watered them, calling out to the gods of fertility. Here, however, that would not have helped. Everything was sterile in Lidia’s residence. It exuded an air of superfluous, nonessential, meaningless life. An urge for destruction I should bring to naught.

“Celebrate the festival of your god, celebrate while ye may,” I quoted to myself in a mischievous sneer. No, she would never be the “nursemaid to a prince.” Not to one like Felipe, or to any other. She was only capable of destroying and tearing down!

Ever so slowly I ascended the stairs. Utterly quiet, I stepped across the marble on the soft soles of my sneakers. Here was the second floor, with a plaque on the only door, “Andrés Enrique Aguilar, Dentist.” A charming guide in the jungles of pain. An expert in torture with iron hooks. The building is expensive and soundly made, I thought. The walls are insulated thoroughly – no one can hear the screams!

I continued to the third floor. “Carlos Villa Moreno, Attorney.” Now this was a truly ominous figure. A friend to some dungeon interrogator who shines a lamp in your face. A usurer raking in your meager, hard-earned gold with greedy fingers. At the threshold to his door lay a nice rug. He was clearly a man with far-reaching connections.

I grimaced, feeling my anger at this mob, but I knew – my rage was powerless. All of them – the dentist, the lawyer, the accountant Cristóbal García behind the door at the right – lived in their own realities. They had their own wives, mistresses, secretaries, clients. Their own specters, their own concepts of love. You can’t blame others for their universe not coinciding with yours. My world, for many, looked quite monstrous as well.

Here was the fourth floor, the one I needed. I stood for a moment, listening; then I put my ear to the keyhole and was thrilled. Voices could be distinctly heard within. That meant my target was close. I wouldn’t have to put this off or drag it out!

I drew the knife from my belt and unwrapped the cloth. I weighed it, stretched out my arm, crouched slightly, parried. Hid it behind my back, grinned as though nothing was up. Thrust my hand forward and made a few stabbing motions. Then a few slashing motions…

The air whistled as I sliced it, the blade glinting. This was a good kitchen knife. The steel was indemnified against any doubts about its quality – by a whole army of lawyers with nice rugs at their doors. If something didn’t work out, the knife would not be to blame. I could only fault myself – and my indecision, the remorse that might suddenly arise. But no, I did not have remorse. Lidia had become an abstraction, as if she weren’t even made of flesh. Dark energy was her essence. Destroying an abstraction – that was easy, not frightening.

I rang the bell and hid behind the wall. High heels clacked across the apartment. Someone, probably Lidia herself, walked up to the other side of the door and stopped. I imagined her looking through the peephole and shrugging her shoulders.

Then the heels clattered again as Lidia moved away from the door. I rang once more, snickering, barely audibly. Again she would not open but yelled in exasperation, “Who is it?”

I detected notes of indecision in her voice. Notes of premonition, the recognition of danger. This was what I wanted. She had to think, to feel. She had to
recognize
it!

Lidia hesitated for a couple of minutes and left. I waited a minute or two, then rang a third time. Steps resounded – confident, authoritative. This was someone with a firm, manly gait.

A horseman with a spear, I thought irritably. Here he is, rushing to the aid of his lady. Even Lidia has a knight pledged to her. Is this not an indication of how perverse the world order is?

He didn’t ask any questions but immediately started snapping back the locks. I prepared myself, relaxed, and then flexed my muscles again. As soon as the last bolt clicked, I jumped from behind the wall. I pressed down quickly on the handle and shoved the door forward…

Inside, everything instantly went awry. Intending to knock the “knight” off his feet, I had expected resistance from his body, but the door burst open easily, without catching on anything. Obviously, he was a tough cookie and had prudently stepped out of the way. My inertia thrust me forward. I flailed my arms to maintain equilibrium and dropped the knife.

For some reason, many people appeared in the corridor. The cleaver of Swiss steel caused alarm. Shouts, a woman’s scream rang out. And the guy who had opened the door, clean-shaven in a red shirt, rushed me from behind without a second thought. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and immediately understood: this was a dangerous foe. He was younger and stronger than me, but I managed to jab him under the ribs with my elbow. He doubled over, and I rushed right through the crowd toward the living room. I didn’t bother picking up the knife – I didn’t even see where it had fallen. I figured I didn’t really need it; I was fully capable of strangling Lidia with my bare hands.

But first I had to find her. I burst into the room, nearly knocking someone over. People were there too: many people – some
mulatos
, a short Asian girl with mouth agape. I scanned around like a police robot. The neurons in my brain were firing in a mad dance. Their net tingled, throwing off sparks. Yet Lidia was nowhere to be found.

Someone was already calling the police, sobbing hysterically into the phone. From several directions, silhouettes loomed in front of me with hands outstretched. These were hunters – hunting me.

I rushed through them, feinting like a rugby player. One fell, and I nearly faked out another, but suddenly, in some strange way, they all knocked me to the floor. Then the guy who had answered the door appeared. I noticed his red shirt before he kicked me in the gut. All the same, I fought; I twisted and squirmed. Once I even broke free, but I was thrown to the floor again and held down tightly. In the actions of my opponents there appeared a semblance of order. Someone suggested binding me with towels. This decided the matter – tied up, I quickly understood it was foolish to resist. So I calmed down, and went silent. Only then did Lidia enter the room.

They showed her the knife that had been collected from the hallway. “Ay ay ay,” she shook her head as if in jest, but I heard fear. Then she started talking nonstop, spraying spit with her words. She insulted me, showering me with the most abusive words. The rest was silent, but she could not quiet down – she just kept smoldering and yelling. Her lips and cheeks quivered. She really wanted to demonstrate to me that I had lost. But I saw a trace of terror in her eyes. I knew it would remain there forever.

For some reason I was sure everything had happened exactly as it needed to. I had not failed in my mission; I had done all I could. Most likely a design from above presupposed this fiasco. That’s why I was lying on the floor in peace and tranquility. “I did all I could” – that’s a wonderful feeling!

Soon the police arrived – right on time: there was nothing left for me to do there. They tried to rough me up, but to spite them I behaved like a lamb, meek and mild. They cuffed me, read me my rights. I was allowed to give them one phone number to call. “Just one,” the officer repeated, furrowing his brow menacingly. He seemed to think he resembled some kind of movie action hero.