The Killer's Tears Read Free Page A

ever promised him any-thing. What he did understand was that Luis was trying to escape from something, a little as an ostrich would. He had found this no-man's-land, and it was here that he was hiding his shame. In Valparaiso, he'd left the impression that he was a fearless adventurer, and now he was condemned to keep the dream alive for his friends by disappearing.
    “What do you see in this stranger?” Angel asked with annoyance when Paolo came back from the shack at the end of the path.
    “Nothing. I'm just helping him build his roof.”
    “Let him cope by himself. Come and help me look after the goat instead.”
    Paolo followed Angel to the goats' enclosure. There were five of them, no longer young, that Paolo's father had boughtat a fair a long time before. They were still giving milk, but not much. One of them had been ill for a few weeks.
    “You know, I don't think it's sick,” Paolo grumbled as he sat astride the fence.
    Angel was already near the goat, which was bleating weakly, and forced it to lie down. He brandished a vial filled with a vitamin solution.
    “Of course it's sick! It's dragging itself. It's in pain and its eyes are lifeless!”
    Paolo let Angel take care of the goat. Vitamins wouldn't hurt it, but there was no miracle cure for old age. Looking at Angel, at this murderer, who was trying everything possi ble to save the life of an old goat, made Paolo feel he was caught in a whirlwind. How were such actions possible? How could anyone comprehend the universe without first understanding the ways of the people they lived with?
    “I'm going snake hunting,” he said suddenly.
    In spite of Angel's protests, he ran off, far from the house, far from the goats' enclosure, far from the mound where his parents' bodies were rotting, and far from Luis's rickety shack. He ran like a frightened rabbit. This immense space, relentlessly assaulted by the wind and pounded by the sun—this infinite space—was his, deeper and darker than an abyss. Since his younger years he had known that the cold waters of the Pacific lay beyond this flat and barren land where he lived. He could also just make out the distant shapes of volcanoes. The tales told by the travelers had sown seeds in his mind, where they had flowered into wordsunknown to him before. Words like
city, fair, ship, observa tory, Temuco, Valparaiso, train, horses, storms
…
    He stopped running. Around him, the rocks resembled an impassive and dead forest. He did not feel like chasing snakes. He sat on the ground and watched the clouds march from the sea like an army ready to invade and darken the land.

    After sunset, Angel started to get anxious. He had waited. Now he was worried about Paolo. And he was upset with himself for worrying. Only apprehensive mothers worried, not murderers. He searched for Paolo by going round the outside of the house, the storm lantern in hand. Then he went to the vegetable garden, came back toward the mound, which he passed with sorrow, and went down the path. At the end of the path, he made out the light that the stranger had attached to the ceiling of his shack. It was swaying in the night, irritating him. Angel's fists tightened: if he found Paolo at the stranger's house, he determined he would go back home to fetch his knife. And this time, “Papa” or not, he would kill him for having stolen the affection of the child.
    He reached the shack, very angry at Luis. A hinge broke as soon as he gave the first blow on the door. The stranger was startled when he saw Angel. He was alone.
    “What can I do for you?” he asked.
    “Paolo is not here?”
    “No.”
    Angel showed him the hinge. “You work like a pig. This doesn't even hold.”
    “I'll fix it.”
    Luis took a closer look at Angel's distressed face.
    “I can look for him with you, if you like. Together we'll be more efficient.”
    Angel shrugged. This man, with his educated way of speaking, and his stupid uncalled-for smiles, annoyed him. But he was right. To