The Two Deaths of Senora Puccini Read Free Page A

the book review.”
    â€œBut years ago, when you were a regular reporter?”
    â€œYes, of course, but that was different.” I wished Dalakis would sit down. I’ve never liked people standing directly over me. “So what do you think of the doctor’s house?”
    Dalakis looked around as if noticing it for the first time. His movements are slow, as is his speech. When we were adolescents someone was always shouting, “Hurry up, Carl!”
    â€œIt seems large for one person,” said Dalakis.
    â€œPerhaps he entertains a lot.”
    â€œBut how wonderful to have all these flowers. Do you think he grows them himself?”
    In the library too were vases of red flowers. I had hardly noticed them even though their smell filled the room.
    â€œI have no idea,” I answered.
    â€œDo you think he reads all these books?”
    â€œProbably. He was always a great reader.”
    â€œI don’t see where he finds the time.” Dalakis glanced at the books as if he found their presence burdensome.
    We were silent a moment. Sometimes it seems that we talk not to communicate but just so the other person won’t think any worse of us, so we at least stay the same in his eyes, that what we are really doing is waiting for his attention to be lifted from us.
    â€œSo how have you been since I last saw you?” I asked. “Did your daughter get married?”
    â€œI’m afraid so. It’s been a great trial. Not the marriage, of course, but their move. Now she lives five hundred miles away and I haven’t known what to do with myself. I guess that partly explains my being here tonight. I would have crossed the entire city, I’m that bored.”
    Dalakis’s wife deserted him about seventeen years ago and he has had sole responsibility for the raising of their daughter, who lived with him into her late twenties.
    â€œHaven’t you been to visit her?” I asked.
    â€œYes, twice. She’s pregnant, as a matter of fact. But I can’t just sit around their apartment and watch television. They think I should retire early and move up there, but I don’t know. I would feel a burden to them.”
    â€œYou should get married again. Find a young wife to entertain you.”
    Dalakis laughed and sat down on the sofa. The leather made a squeaking noise. “I haven’t noticed you getting married, and you’ve been a widower for twenty years.”
    â€œYes, but there are women I see.”
    â€œTo tell the truth, I still miss my wife.”
    â€œGood grief, Carl, you’re supposed to get over that.”
    â€œBelieve me, I’ve had all sorts of advice, but it doesn’t seem to work.”
    â€œDo you know anything about her?” I asked.
    â€œNot much. She’s living in another city. I went there years ago. I knew she was living with a man and I was going to confront him. I don’t know what I intended to say, just ‘Hey you’ or something like that. I saw her on the street wheeling a baby carriage.”
    â€œWas it her child?”
    Dalakis sat with his arms crossed and his hands tucked under the lapels of his brown suitcoat as he stared at the fireplace. “I assume so. That hardly mattered. What struck me was how happy she looked. You remember she had that bright blond hair? Her whole face shone. She didn’t see me and I did nothing to attract her attention. I watched for a while, then went away. I haven’t seen her since, although I believe my daughter has written her. Perhaps they’ll get to be friends.”
    Dalakis has always been a sentimental fellow and I was afraid he might shed a tear or two. It is hard to reconcile his strong feelings with his unprepossessing appearance. His ears, for instance, resemble large pieces of grapefruit rind fastened to the side of his head. Only the handsome or beautiful can afford feelings which are inherently foolish. But he is a good man, a good man,