The Killer's Tears Read Free Page B

look for the child, two people would be better than one. Once Paolo was found, he swore to himself that he would get his knife and rid himself of Luis once and for all.
    A strong wind was sweeping the ground, raising dust that stung the skin, eyes, and throat. Clouds were unraveling against the starry sky, letting a large pinkish moon appear at times.
    Equipped with lanterns, the two men set out into the wild darkness. Their hearts were pounding madly, their eyes darted like those of wary deer, and their throats became hoarse from shouting.
    “Paolo-o-o-o! Paolo-o-o-o!”
    After searching for fifteen minutes, Luis stopped and pulled on Angel's sleeve.
    “Let's split up. I'll go west; you keep going east.”
    Angel put his hand firmly on Luis. What kind of trick was this? He thought he knew what was in the eyes of thestranger:
he
wanted to find Paolo and brag about it, making himself even more likable to the child.
    “You keep going east!” Angel shouted. “
I'm
going west.”
    “As you wish …”
    Luis went off, pushed by the winds, protecting the light with his free hand. Angel tried hard to understand. He wished he were shrewder and better educated so as to be sure that this man was not going to trick him. He felt as if his small brain were locking thoughts inside, smothering and compressing them, and that his skull would never be large enough to let intelligence bloom. This thought cramped his face with pain.
    “Paolo-o-o-o!” he heard Luis shout.
    Angel shook himself and turned west, his face whipped by the wind. Intelligent or not, he was determined to find the child. Then he would kill the stranger, and everything would be calm again. He started to walk, mad with rage, his lamp held as high as a lighthouse in the middle of the sea.
    “Paolo-o-o-o!”
    He hit a rock and his leg started to bleed under his pants. The pain took his breath away. The wind was howling in his ears. The dust blinded him and dried his tears.
    He resumed his walk, carefully sidestepping the rocks, which seemed to have grown like trees. And suddenly, as he extended his hand to avoid hurting himself again, another hand gripped his own.
    “Angel, is that you?” Paolo said in a quavering voice.
    “Yes, I'm here.”
    “You found me?”
    “Yes.”
    Paolo's small hand was icy. He had probably fallen asleep, only to have the nighttime take him by surprise.
    Angel gripped the lantern ring with his teeth and, with out effort, lifted the child in his arms. He opened his vest, wrapped Paolo in it close to his warm body, then headed back to the house. The pain was gone. He felt only huge relief and pride to have found the child alive. This feeling radiated so strongly inside him that he decided to delay the murder of the stranger and enjoy this extraordinary moment. A moment when he was walking, a body nestled against his, with the certainty that he was accomplishing something important in the world.

CHAPTER FOUR
    THE OLD GOAT died in spite of the vitamins and tender care.
    Angel never showed how upset he was and forced himself to carve up the animal. He would have liked to bury it close to the mound where Paolo's parents were resting, but meat was too scarce to allow for sentimentality. He cooked the best pieces and made a rather good pâté that he gave to Paolo, who, in turn, offered some to Luis. That was the way it was now, and Angel had to accept sharing the pâté, the goat's milk, and the love of the child. In return, Luis always made sure to fill the water tank and to grow a few potatoes, as well as tend to a plant from whose large leaves he madea grayish tobacco that now and again he brought to Angel in a small silver-clasped box. The two men would smoke together on the doorstep of the house as they watched the last rays of the sun die on the horizon. Peace, at least a kind of peace, had grown between them. Angel's knife remained in the drawer, next to the corkscrew and the nutcracker.

    With the first autumnal wind, the roof of the