Zig Zag (26 page)

That
last sentence made Elisa suspect that Mrs. Ross was begging a
question, and she decided to indulge her.

"Where's
Maintenance?"

"You're
looking at it," the woman replied, obviously pleased.

"IMAGINE
wanting
to understand all that I saw," the sticker said. She'd bent over
to read it, and that was when she realized she wasn't alone.

The
reptilian eyes were staring at her fixedly.

She
realized that there was no need to get so ridiculously upset about
it, but she couldn't help jumping back to try to cover her breasts
and crotch with one hand each as she wondered where the hell she'd
left her towel. The indulgent part of her mind was able to understand
her reaction. She hadn't slept a wink during those few hours, due to
the stressful circumstances
(yesterday
I was in Madrid saying good-bye to Victor and my mother, and this
morning I'm naked on an island in the Indian Ocean, for God's sake).
Exhaustion
had taken a toll on her nerves.

Still,
despite everything, she felt enthusiastic. She'd gotten up far
earlier than necessary, as soon as she saw the light begin to filter
in through the glass rectangle on the far wall, and had been
astonished when she walked over to the window. It was one thing to
know
you
were on an island, and another thing entirely to
see
the
dark waves crashing violently on the horizon, so close you could
almost reach out and touch the water, just beyond the barbed-wire
fence, palm trees, and beach.

She
decided to take a shower, and pulled off her T-shirt and underwear
without thinking about the peepholes or any other type of
surveillance. The bathroom had just enough space so that she could
sit on the toilet without banging her knees against the wall, but she
didn't care. The water pouring down over her in that tiny,
curtainless metal cubicle felt delicious, and it was just the right
temperature. She found a towel and dried off. Emerging from the
bathroom with her towel, she glanced at the glass peephole: it was
dark. She didn't want to be on display, but she also wasn't going to
change her routine just because the peephole was there. She threw the
towel down somewhere
(fuck,
where was it?)
and
unzipped her suitcase to find some clothes.

That's
when she saw the sticker on the headboard. There were several, in
fact, and postcards, too. They seemed to have been placed there to
give a more homey air to the aluminum rectangle that was her room.
She leaned in to examine the most interesting-looking one and then,
suddenly, got that weird feeling and saw the eyes at the peephole.

It
was then.

As
she jumped back, her hands flew to cover herself like an affronted
damsel.

And
then, for the first time, she had a portent of the evil she was soon
to discover.

"WELCOME
to
New Nelson, though I imagine you've already heard that."

She
recognized him before he barged in. She'd know those greeny blue eyes
anywhere, be it in the middle of the Indian Ocean or the North Pole.
The same went for the voice.

Ric
Valente walked in and closed the door. He was wearing a matching
green T-shirt and Bermuda shorts that went well together but were
nothing like the kind of clothes he normally wore (as if he, too, had
been caught off guard by this island location, she thought). He held
two small carafes of something steamy. His bony face relaxed into a
smile.

"I
asked for a queen-size bed, but they didn't have any left. Still,
I'll be happy just to see you like that every morning. By the way, if
you're looking for your towel, it's right here on the floor." He
pointed to the other side of the bed but made no move to pick it up
for her. "Sorry to scare you, but as you know, privacy is
prohibited by decree. This is a sex commune; everyone screws
everyone. The temperature helps, of course. At night, they turn off
the AC." He left the carafes on the desk and took two paper cups
and four triangles of cut-up, cellophane-wrapped sandwich from his
roomy pockets.

Standing
by the window, still covering herself with her hands, Elisa felt
dispirited. Valente was a thorn in the side of her being there. He
was the same as ever, with the same interest in humiliating her as
ever, and seemed to be in his element, perhaps because he'd made her
blush so easily. But she'd known she'd have to see him sooner or
later (though she hadn't anticipated being naked when the time came),
and she had a lot of things to think about besides whether he'd seen
her without her clothes on.

Sighing,
she lowered her hands and walked as casually as possible to where her
towel lay. Valente watched, amused. Finally, he nodded, assessing.

"Not
bad, but I'm certainly not prepared to give you a ten, or even four
one-hundredths less. Seven, tops. Your body is ... how can I describe
it? Too overwhelming, too exuberant. Too glandular, too muscular. And
if I were you, I'd definitely do something about that bikini line."

"Nice
to see you, Valente," she replied indifferently, turning her
back to him once she had the towel wrapped around her. She kept
rummaging through her luggage. "I think there's a meeting at
nine thirty."

"It
would be my pleasure to accompany you to it, but I thought you might
not want to have breakfast with a bunch of strangers, so I opted to
come here and have it just with you. Do you want the ham and cheese,
or the chicken sandwich?"

He
was right about breakfast. She was starving, but she had no desire to
begin her day by having to greet a bunch of people she didn't know.

"When
did you get here?" she asked, choosing the chicken.

"Monday."
Valente held up the carafes. They were half full of coffee. "Do
you take sugar?"

"No."

"Me
neither. We're equally bitter."

Elisa
had pulled out a tank top and a pair of shorts that, luckily, she'd
stuck in her bag for what she thought would be her days off in
Switzerland.

"What
is all this about?" she asked. "Do you know?"

"I
told you, it's a sex camp. And we're the guinea pigs."

"I'm
being serious."

"So
am I. We have no privacy, and we're all staring at each other's asses
inside some metal cages on a tropical island in the Indian Ocean.
Sounds like sex to me. Aside from that, I don't know any more than
you. I thought Blanes was in Switzerland, and being brought here was
a complete surprise to me. Then I was even more surprised to find out
you were coming, too. Now I'm used to surprises. They're just part of
island life." He raised his carafe. "To our bet."

"The
bet's off," Elisa said. She sipped her coffee; it was excellent.
"We tied."

"Not
on your life. I won. Blanes told me yesterday that your idea about
the local time variables is ridiculous, but that you were too hot to
leave behind, and I didn't object. And now that I've seen it all, I
can say he wasn't mistaken."

She
began scarfing down her sandwich.

"Would
you just shut up and tell me what you know?"

"All
I know is that I know nothing. Or hardly anything." Valente
devoured his sandwich in two bites. "I know that I was right all
along and that whatever this is, it's a big deal. So big they want to
keep it all secret. That's why they wanted people like us, students,
unknowns who won't get in their way. Got it, sweetheart? As for the
rest of it, I'm guessing this nine thirty meeting will fill in the
blanks. But, as God said to King Solomon, what exactly do you want to
know?"

"What
do we do with our dirty clothes?"

"That
I can tell you. We wash them ourselves. There's a washing machine, a
dryer, and an ironing board in the kitchen. We also have to make our
own beds and clean our rooms, wash our dishes, and take turns
cooking. And I warn you, the girls have extra duties at night; they
have to please the men. Seriously, Blanes's experiment was all about
seeing if people could stand married life without losing their minds.
You're putting on a bra? Please! All the girls go braless here. We're
on an island, sweetheart."

Paying
no attention to him, Elisa went into the bathroom to change.

"Tell
me one thing," she said, zipping up her shorts. "Am I going
to have to put up with you the whole time I'm here?"

"This
island is eleven square kilometers including the lake, so don't
worry. There's enough room for us to stay out of each other's way."

She
walked back into the room. Ric was lying on the bed, sipping his
coffee and watching her.

"Well,
now that my dream of seeing you naked has come true, maybe it's time
to own up," he admitted. "Blanes wasn't the one who called
me on Sunday. It was Colin Craig, my friend from Oxford. I was his
choice. He'd already picked me, though I didn't know it. That's why
they were watching me. They were also keeping tabs on you as a
probable candidate for Blanes, though he hadn't picked you yet. But
after he read your project, he made up his mind." He smiled at
her look of surprise. "Yep. Looks like you're Blanes's girl."

"What?"

Amused,
Valente added, "You were right, sweetheart. The local time
variable was key, and we didn't have a clue."

THE
sun
and most of the sky were hidden behind huge clouds that resembled
bulging sacks of grain. But it wasn't cold, and the air was thick and
sticky. The landscape in this new world was fascinating: fine sand,
heavy palm trees, a jungle beyond the heliport, and a grayish sea
that surrounded everything.

As
they walked to the second barracks, Valente explained that New Nelson
was horseshoe shaped, open on the south side where the coral reefs
were, and enclosed a saltwater lake that was five square kilometers.
The island was an atoll. The science station was on the very north
tip, on the most solid ground, and between it and the lake lay the
jungle they now contemplated.

"We
could go for a hike one day," he added. "There's bamboo,
palm trees, even liana. And the butterflies are amazing."

Walking
across the sand, Elisa was overcome by a sort of giddiness she'd
never before experienced. And that, despite the barbed-wire fence and
the rest of the paraphernalia, which didn't exactly fit in with the
natural beauty of the setting: satellite dishes, antennae, makeshift
garrison, and helicopters. Right then, she didn't mind the two
soldiers who appeared to be on sentry duty, or even Valente's
irritating presence, small yet persistently bothersome, like a
pimple. She supposed her giddiness emanated from someplace very
private, maybe even subconscious. It was like the Garden of Eden. I'm
in paradise, she thought to herself.

That
feeling lasted exactly twenty seconds, the time she spent outside.

As
soon as she walked into the second barracks, which was bigger than
the other one and full of artificial light, metal walls and glass
windows showed a functional dining room. Her paradise evaporated. All
that was left was her professional pride, on recalling Valente's
words.
My
solution was right.