Zig Zag (12 page)

"Nothing.
I just meant that... he was surprised you came in first, that's all."

"Because
I'm a girl?" she asked hotly. "Is that it?" Victor
seemed embarrassed.

"Maybe.
He's not used to ... coming in second." Elisa bit her lip to
keep from answering.
Me
either,
she
thought. "But don't worry," he added, trying to cheer her
up, or maybe to change the subject. "I'm sure Blanes will
appreciate you. He's too good not to see that
you're
good."

That
softened her a little, and she resolved not to hate Lop-era. When she
got to the door of her building, she thought that maybe she'd been
rude to him and turned back around to wave, but he'd already driven
off. She stood there a minute, lost in thought.

The
scene made her recall the night before, with Javier Maldonado. She
glanced up and down the street, almost as a reflex, but no one was
spying on her. She saw no graying men with big mustaches.
Albert
Einstein. Of course! Einstein is Valente's grandfather, and last
night he was spying on me. That must be it.

She
smiled and walked to the elevator, deciding that it had been a
coincidence. Coincidences were not only possible, they were
mathematically probable. Two men with similar features stare at her
in one night. Why not? You'd have to be paranoid to stress out about
that.

While
she was riding up to her floor, she thought about Victor Lopera's
weird warning.

Be
careful of Ric.

It
was absurd. Valente didn't even know she was alive. He hadn't looked
at her once.

06

THE
date
was set for Saturday afternoon; they were meeting at a cafe she'd
never heard of, near Atocha Street. "You'll like it,"
Maldonado had promised.

He
was right. It was a relaxed place with dark walls and felt like an
old theater, mainly because of a red velvet curtain hanging next to
the bar. She loved it.

Maldonado
sat waiting for her at one of the few occupied tables. Elisa couldn't
deny that she was thrilled to see him after the wretched week she'd
had.

"I
called you a bunch of times yesterday, but the line went dead every
time someone picked up."

"The
phone wasn't working. It's fixed now, though."

The
phone company said it was a "systems failure," but, said
Elisa, the one who really had a "systems failure" was her
mother, who had been climbing the walls, her restrained voice
slightly louder than usual as she threatened to sue them for damages
("I have very important clients who call me at home, in case you
didn't realize..."). They assured her they'd send out
technicians that very Saturday, and they'd kept their word. And only
then did Marta Morande" calm down.

Elisa
ordered a Diet Coke and watched, amused, as Maldonado pulled a stack
of papers from his backpack.

"More
questions?" she joked.

"Yeah.
Do you mind?" She told him she didn't as soon as she realized he
was serious. "I know it's a pain in the ass," he
apologized, "but this is what I do, what can I say? And I really
appreciate your helping me out, honestly ... Good journalism is the
product of accurate information, patiently compiled," he recited
in a dignified tone that surprised her.

"Of
course. I'm sorry..." I
screwed
up,
she
thought. But Maldonado's shy smile dissipated her fears.

"No,
I'm
sorry.
I'm just a little uptight because the year's almost over and I have
to hand in my report ASAP."

"Come
on, then," she said encouragingly. "Let's get a move on.
Ask away, leave no stone unturned."

Still,
their conversation was forced and unnatural at first. He asked
formulaic questions about her free time, and she replied hesitantly,
as if it were an oral exam. Elisa realized they were both sorry
they'd had to start the night with such a different tone than they
had at the party. But once Maldonado became interested in her active
lifestyle, things picked up. Elisa told him she did everything she
could, which was true: weight lifting, swimming, aerobics ... He
stared at her.

"Well,
that explains your physique."

"What's
up with my physique?"

"It's
a perfect
physique
for
physics."

"That
was terrible," she groaned.

"You
asked for it."

Then
they talked about her childhood. She told him she'd been a lonely
child and that she'd lived inside her head, even when she was a
little girl, even when she was playing. She'd had no choice, since
her parents hadn't wanted any more kids and never paid much attention
to her, preferring to spend their time working on their own problems.
Her father ("He was a Javier, too") had become a physicist
during times when things were "even worse" than they are
now. Elisa remembered him as a friendly guy with a dark, bushy beard,
but that was about it. He'd spent part of his life in England and the
United States researching weak interaction, the force emitted by some
atoms when they disintegrate, which was (at least in physics) all the
rage in the seventies.

"He
spent a long time studying something known as 'CP symmetry violation'
caused by kaon ... Come on, don't give me that look," Elisa
laughed.

"Who
me?" Maldonado asked. "I'm just taking notes."

"That's
kaon, with a 'k,'" she corrected, pointing to Maldonado's notes.

She
was getting more and more into this. Unfortunately, she had to talk
about her mother, too. Marta Morande, a mature, attractive, magnetic
woman, owner and operator of Piccarda.
Uncover
your beauty... at Piccarda.

She
found it hard to talk about her mother and feel even slightly amused.

"She
comes from a family that's always had money, always traveled. I swear
I wonder what my father ever saw in her. The thing is, I'm sure that
if my mother had been a different kind of person, my father wouldn't
have left me alone so much. She was always saying that she had to
'enjoy' life, that she couldn't lock herself up and throw away the
key just because she'd married a 'brainiac.' That's what she used to
call him. Sometimes even in front of me. 'The braniac's coming back
tonight,' she'd say." Maldonado had stopped scribbling. He was
listening intently. "I think my father decided it was too much
of a hassle to go through with a divorce. And, besides, his family
was very Catholic. So he just pretended not to notice, and let my
mother get on with her life." Elisa looked down at the table,
smiling. "I have to confess, I decided to study physics to annoy
my mother, who wanted me to go into business and help her run her
famous beauty salon. And boy did I annoy her! That really got her.
She stopped speaking to me and moved to her summerhouse in Valencia
while my father was out of town. So I was left in Madrid, alone
except for my paternal grandparents. When my dad heard, he came
straight back and told me he'd never leave me. I didn't believe him,
though. A week later he went to Valencia to try to get my mom to sign
an agreement. On his way back, a drunk driver crashed into him
head-on, and that was the end of that."

She
was cold and rubbed her arms. She wasn't actually uneasy talking
about it and thought it had probably done her good. After all, who
had she ever been able to talk to before this?

"Now
I'm back living with my mom," she added. "But we've carved
out our own spaces at home, and we both try not to cross the line
into each other's territory."

Maldonado
was doodling. Elisa realized that their initial tension could easily
creep back in and decided to take another tack.

"But
still, the time I spent on my own in Madrid did me a lot of good. It
gave me the chance to really get to know my grandfather, who was the
greatest guy in the world. He was a teacher and he loved history.
He'd tell me all about ancient civilizations, and show me books..."

Maldonado
seemed more interested in this topic and started taking notes again.

"Do
you like history?" he asked.

"Thanks
to my grandfather, I love it. Though I don't actually know that much
about it."

"What's
your favorite historical period?"

"I
don't know," Elisa thought about it. "The ancient
civilizations fascinate me: the Egyptians, the Greeks and Romans. My
grandfather was really into Imperial Rome. You start thinking about
those people, they left so many things behind and then they
disappeared forever, and..."

"And
what?"

"I
don't know. I like it."

"You
like the past?"

"Who
doesn't? It's like something we've lost forever, you know?"

"By
the way," Maldonado said, as he'd just remembered. "We
haven't discussed your ideas about religion. Do you believe in God,
Elisa?"

"No.
Like I said, my father's family was very Catholic, but my grandfather
was smart enough not to burden me with all that. He just instilled me
with his values. I never believed in God, not even as a little girl.
And now ... this will probably sound weird, but I think of myself as
more of a Christian than a believer. I believe in helping others, in
sacrifice, liberation, in just about everything Christ advocated, but
not in God."

"Why
would that seem weird to me?"

"Doesn't
it?"

"You
don't think Jesus Christ was the son of God?"

"No
way. I don't even think there is a God. What I think is that Christ
was a really great guy, and really brave, and he knew how to teach
people values..."

"Like
your grandpa."

"Yeah.
But he wasn't as lucky as my grandfather. He was killed for his
ideas. And that's something I do believe in: dying for your ideals."

Maldonado
took notes. Suddenly, it occurred to her that those questions were so
specific that he must be asking them for personal reasons rather than
for his report. She was about to say something when suddenly he put
his pen away.

"That's
it for me. Do you want to take a walk?" Maldonado asked.

They
strolled up to the Puerta del Sol, the very center of Madrid. It was
the first Saturday in July; the evening air was warm, and the plaza
was crowded with people pouring out of the closing big department
stores. After walking in silence, Elisa pretending to be more
concerned with avoiding the crowds and gazing at the statue of King
Charles III than with talking. Maldonado finally said something.