The Girl in the Photograph (38 page)

“Lena, I was horribly rude, forgive me. Will you forgive me? I lost my head, this
trip, her dying, the best and the worst all at the same time. I feel like I’d taken
a beating.”

“I had an intuition that something like this was going to happen. And what’s more—”
she murmurs touching the dress. She’s livid. “My brother Remo sent me this kaftan
from Morocco. I swear I thought, Annie can wear this, I’ll never use it because it
isn’t right for me, imagine. It’ll be Annie who wears it. For always, I intuited.
I actually trembled when I shut the closet door, it was as if I were closing her coffin.”

There, the illuminations are starting. I turn my eyes away from Lorena.

“Rotten chic, eh, Annie? Morocco.”

“It matches her shoes, poor thing. It’s a shame I don’t have any silver earrings.”

Did she say
earrings?
Earrings. She’s going to pretend that Ana is alive. Better yet, we should dress her
in a
chache-mort
of the same genre as the
cache-misère
Mama gave me, it’s more important to hide death than to dress it up. But young people
don’t need to close their coffin lids.

“I don’t have any cigarettes,” I say, dumping out the contents of the purse that waits
for me, open.

Quickly I spread out the thousands of little items and search. What are these envelopes?
Aspirin. There’s everything in Ana’s purse, from wads of dirty cotton to a spool of
black thread with a needle stuck in it. There’s even a man’s watch. And a small silver
cup with a name engraved on it:
Maximiliano
. That’s the lover. Isn’t it strange he doesn’t know yet? At this very minute he must
be waiting for her in some bar, some nightclub. Or at the apartment where they usually
met. I look at the watch: It stopped at midnight. Or at noon, there’s no more time,
no more death, he’s just wondering why she’s late, but then she’s often late. I open
the zipper of the little plastic makeup kit stuffed with lipsticks, various colored
pencils, powder puffs, brushes. A little bottle of green eyeliner pops up like the
pit of a peach. Nothing, nothing else. The handbag has returned to its state of innocence,
futile, merely futile. Her student card is out-of-date, from the time she did her
entrance exam. A little photo of her with long hair, denser eyebrows. The signature
in a defiant hand:
Ana Clara Conceição
. Between the student card and its plastic cover, a photograph of a laughing boy,
blond and radiant in a black sweater. Max, the Max of the silver cup, etc. I tear
up the picture into little pieces and advise Lorena:

“Before the police come, get that little address book, that black one, remember? And
rip up pictures of any gentlemen you find. I thought I wanted to see that SOB behind
bars but now I don’t know.”

“I won’t leave any clues, dear. I spent my childhood reading detective novels, I know
what I’m doing,” she says as she fastens the silver buttons of the dress. “What are
you looking for, Lião?”

“Nothing,” I say grabbing a cigarette. I stare at the comb which more than once I
saw Lorena washing in her ammoniasmelling solutions. I cover it with a handkerchief
when she approaches:

“There’s a watch here, and this cup, put them away.”

“I’ll give the cup to Mother Alix, poor thing. The watch you keep, didn’t you lose
yours? Keep it, dear. It’ll be very useful on the trip,” she decides adjusting it
on my arm. “It’s a goodquality watch, the police would have gotten it, can you imagine?
But isn’t it really strange? Ana Clara doesn’t have a single relative,
nobody in this world, nobody! I was thinking about this a while ago, there’s not a
single person to notify, not even a friend, she mentioned some names but they were
all very vague. Only the nuns. And us. I’m not even going to tell Max, it’s more prudent
for him not to show up, poor thing. What about the fiancé?”

“The fiancè,” I repeat and don’t have the strength to look at Lorena. I prefer to
look at Ana Clara in her evening gown, is it a party? I cover the watch with my hand.
Out of all this I am gaining a watch.

“Incredible. That she has nobody in the world.”

“There are things more incredible still,” I say and look closer as I see her open
the plastic case that was in the purse.

“What are you going to do?”

But it isn’t necessary to ask; her gestures are clear. Orderly. She takes out the
pinkish base cream and begins to put makeup on Ana Clara’s face. She uses only her
first and middle fingers for the operation, or to be exact, only the tips of them,
spreading the makeup in circular movements as she squeezes it out of the tube. Her
hands move quickly, models of efficiency.

“Many a time I helped Annie when her hand shook too hard. And lately she was so unsteady,
she’d turn up here completely out of kilter, sometimes she couldn’t even put the brush
back into the eyeliner bottle! Oh Lord. What madness.”

She says
what madness
so superficially, the words don’t correspond to the order that reigns in this room.
In this death. The importance of appearances, Mama underlined. Nausea rises in a gush
to my mouth. I go into the bathroom. If I ran my fingers down my throat … but Lorena
already warned me, no noise. Music yes, the record is there turning around and around,
a little more and the needle will wear through the plastic, but cries and vomiting,
no. Why? Who knows, she’s the one who’s taking charge of the evening, she has her
reasons. Ideas. She’s been doctor and priest; now she’s the perfect undertaker inspired
after the American pattern. Tirelessly, unflinchingly, she prepares the customer as
if she had spent her whole life doing nothing else. Her nickname in the Department
is Fainting Magnolia.

“I’d like to get drunk, see. And I can’t.”

“Come here, Lião, come see how pretty she looks!”

I wash out my mouth and go to see how pretty she looks. Kneeling at the head of the
bed, Lorena is brushing green eyeshadow over Ana Clara’s eyelids. From time to time
she moves back a touch to see the effect. She looks satisfied, the brush in her left
hand and the eyeshadow box in her right, she’s left-handed. Luminous under the pink
makeup, the face now seems more distant to me. Disinterested. Is it only my impression
or did the half-moons of her eyes diminish? They’re slightly cloudy, as if the mist
of the night had invaded them. I don’t remember ever having seen her so well dressed
or so well made-up as she is right now. On the armchair are the silver chains.

“What about the necklaces?” I ask.

“The dress already has embroidery, it’ll look better without them,” she breathes,
getting the hairbrush. “It’s dry.”

Her hair. Special attention to her hair. I go to get the bottle of perfume, I insist
on bringing the perfume myself.

“This kind, Lena?” I ask and can’t contain myself any longer. I take a deep breath
before I speak: “You’re exaggerating, see. You know you’re exaggerating, don’t you?
We’re here like two complete lunatics, pay attention, Lena, they’re going to put her
on a stretcher or something and from here she’ll go straight to the autopsy, do you
know what an autopsy is? The doctor comes and cuts everything up and then sews it
together again. End of story. All this stuff you’re doing will be undone on the marble
slab. It’s meaningless, Lena, meaningless!”

“No, it isn’t. Let go of me, dear, we’re late.”

“But she isn’t going to any party!”

She takes the silver-buckled shoes from the floor and delicately slips them onto the
dead girl’s feet. The nylon stocking formed a wrinkle at the ankle. Smoothing it,
she smiles through her tears:

“That’s where you’re wrong. No, dear, I’m not crazy, not at all. It’s that idea of
mine. While I was praying, remember? I asked God to give me an inspiration and He
did. The car keys are in your pocket, aren’t they? I saw them. Excellent. Wait a minute,
let me put on my sandals.”

In two large leaps, Lia went to the window. She threw it open and inhaled through
her mouth, smoothing her hair down with her hands. She fumbled for her cap in her
pocket, slowly pulling it down over her ears, and regarded the big house. Not a single
star. Not a single cat. The fog was so dense that when she
stretched out her hand she almost expected to encounter resistance. She shut the window.
Lorena had already put on her sandals and was folding up the red bathrobe. Lia touched
her shoulder.

“Lena, pretty soon it will be morning, I have to get out before morning comes, right?
But I don’t want to leave you alone, tell me quick what this idea of yours is and
I’ll help you, but hurry, hurry because your watch says it’s after three!”

“Yes, let’s go immediately,” she says entering the bathroom, the red robe tight against
her chest.

She must be remembering her brother with his red shirt, oh, what a night! What a night!
thought Lia closing her eyes. She heard Lorena open and close the dirty-clothes hamper.

“Just think, I had almost forgotten the
Agnus Dei
on her blouse, it was pinned on the inside, poor thing. Mother Alix gave it to her,
let me pin it on, it will go with her. Please, dear, get the purse. Is the card inside?
The student card?”

“Everything’s here. She’s so thin, I think I could carry her alone but it’s confusing,
better for you to get one arm and I’ll take the other. Shall we go?” she said and
stopped. Why had Lorena asked her if the car keys were in her pocket? She patted it.

“Let’s go, Lena, this purse is in the way, you can take it later.”

“But the purse has to go with her, dear.”

“To bed?”

“But she’s not going to bed,” said Lorena. She faced her friend: “Ana Clara is not
going to bed.”

“No?”

“Of course not. She’s not going to be found in her room, she didn’t die here in her
room, she died somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“In a little park. Why do you think I went through all these preparations? She’ll
be found in a little park, I’ve passed by it thousands of times, there’s a bench under
a tree, it’s the prettiest park that ever existed She sat down on the park bench after
the party, she went to a party and on the way back, sat down there. Or was left there,
it doesn’t matter. They’ll find her, call the police, advise Mother Alix, the whole
business. Now do you understand why the purse has to go with the student card in it?
God made Mama send the car,” murmured Lorena pinning the
medallion on the underside of the collar of the dress. “Look how everything is fitting
into place: the car, the fog. I’ve never seen a more providential fog, the night was
absolutely clear, remember?”

Lia sat down on the floor, closing her perplexed mouth. She shook her head back and
forth repeatedly and sniffed, hands over her face. Then, laughing:

“Lorena, you’re joking, aren’t you? Do you mean we’re going to take Ana Clara out
in the street, or better, leave her sitting in a charming little park and come back?
Is that your marvelous idea, Lena? Is it? Is that why you asked me about the keys?
About Mama’s car? Huh?”

“Please, Lião, don’t start getting sarcastic, think a little, Ana Clara
cannot
die of overdose in Our Lady of Fatima Roominghouse. She cannot. Do you know what
that might mean for the nuns? For Mother Alix? She loved Mother Alix so much, she
wouldn’t want to involve her in a scandal like that! I’m doing everything as Annie
would want it done, God inspired me, I prayed for inspiration and He sent it, after
I got this idea I felt a certain peace. I can alter things, dear. Even if death has
no remedy, at least I can remedy the circumstances.”

“What you mean is the
appearances
.”

“Lião dear, I understand perfectly that it’s a big risk for you, I’m not asking you
to help me, of course. But I’m going to do exactly what I planned, there’s no point
in discussing it further,” she said and glanced at her watch again. “I have half an
hour to go and come back, can you imagine? Just help me down the stairs and then I’ll
do the rest by myself. Give me the key. I’ll leave it on your windowsill when I get
back.”

With decisive steps Lia went over to the dead girl. She secured the strap of the handbag
over her wrist and rubbed her eyes and nose hard.

“I’ve got a goddamn allergy, when I get nervous this itching starts.”

“I have a decongestant pill, do you want one?”

“No, what I want is to carry this girl. Let’s go. Have we forgotten anything?”

Lorena ran to turn off the record player.

“The light stays on, let them think I spent the night studying with a classmate, they
must have heard us moving about. Especially Sister Bula.”

That’s why the saxophone’s been wailing all night long? She thinks of everything,
thought Lia wiping her nose on her sleeve. She grinned, taking Ana Clara in her arms.

“Never mind,” she said as Lorena went to her aid. “On the steps you help me.”

Light, yes. I knew she’d be light, I knew it. I open the window so that its light
brightens the stairway a little. We divide the weight; Lião goes in front holding
her by the legs and I come behind, supporting the trunk of her body. It curves sweetly
back like a hammock. I smell her perfume. Good to have given her that bath. Good that
this fog gathered.

“Don’t let her shoes fall,” I say as Ana Clara’s foot brushes against the grillwork.

I had calculated this too, that the stairway would be the most difficult part, it’s
very narrow and we can’t even breathe loudly, Annie is light when transported over
a level surface. But down these long cramped steps … I knew too that Lião would be
clumsy, she’s strong but she panics, almost falls, if I’m not careful we’ll all three
roll down to the bottom. She’s puffing, and to compensate I breathe as silently as
possible, oh Lord, help us now, help us because it’s terribly hard. No, Ana, don’t
slide, dear, why are you resisting all of a sudden? Help us, don’t throw yourself
around that way, the park is beautiful, you’re going to like sitting there on the
bench, the tree has birds, isn’t that nice? Later Mother Alix will talk to Max, who
knows but what your death will help him. The miracle that didn’t happen with you,
right? Help me oh Lord, help me.