Blood-drenched Beard

It is raining heavily on Monday morning, and the members of the running group text him to say they aren’t coming. He goes back to bed and sleeps a little longer. He wakes up with the dog lying next to him and gently shoos her away. She climbs back onto the bed again. His dad never used to allow her on beds and sofas, and it is curious that she has started now. He lets her stay there for a while, stroking her back. He falls asleep again and doesn’t wake up until almost noon. He walks to the supermarket in the rain and buys a pound of liver, which he fries up and eats with some leftover pasta and tomato sauce. He gives a slice to Beta, who takes a few seconds to believe she has been given something other than dry dog food. He gets dressed for the gym. Before he leaves, the dog barks three times for no reason and looks as if she is waiting for a reply. Do you want out? Want to stay? he asks. She decides she wants out when he starts to close the door and comes running behind his bicycle. The old dog’s energy never fails to surprise him. She lags behind somewhat but always catches up and flops to the ground to rest whenever she gets the chance. Sometimes she disappears for minutes or hours but is always nearby when he returns home.

The cold has already frightened some of his students away from the pool. The Rastafarian and the rheumatologist didn’t last the first month. Others are still going strong. Tiago has visibly lost weight, learned to do flip turns, and can already maintain regular times in his sets of fifty and one hundred meters. The twins are starting to loosen up, and today they show him a dance they have rehearsed. They gyrate, twist their wrists, and flick their hair around by the edge of the pool as Tina Turner’s “Proud Mary” plays on one of their cell phones. As soon as they enter the water, they become serious again and swim with their characteristic stoicism. Every time he sees them, he has to ask which of them is Rayanne and which is Tayanne. They try to trick him, but he figures it out as soon as they start swimming, because they kick their legs differently. Tayanne bends her knees too much and can’t point her toes, which is why she tends to be left behind by her sister. Late in the afternoon he manages to convince Ivana to learn to swim butterfly, which a doctor forbade her to do many years ago because of her swayback. If they take it slowly, he doesn’t think she’ll have any problems.

He eats a piece of orange cake while talking to Mila, the Chilean from the snack bar, and goes to pick up Pablito from school as always. The clouds have lifted somewhat, and he can see the moon on the wane. He stands there waiting for the boy to run up to him at the gate, but he doesn’t. After a few minutes a teacher notices and walks over. Dália has already picked him up. He calls her.

I clocked off early in Imbituba and went to get him. I didn’t have any choice. I still haven’t worked out what to do.

But, Dália, I can keep picking him up.

Yeah, right. Listen here. You can’t go around playing with my son’s expectations. Or my feelings. Don’t you get these things? What are you doing there? You haven’t called me or said anything. I don’t understand you. You—

It’s no problem, Dália. We can be friends, can’t we?

She sighs into the receiver.

I can pick him up.

She thinks for a few seconds.

Okay. Just until I find another solution.

SIX

The police station is a low, square building surrounded by wire fences; there is an unoccupied gray and white police car out front. It is almost night, and an amber light is shining through the louver windows. He enters expecting to find a sordid, messy little room, but the inside is clean and organized. There are no papers in sight, and the cupboards and filing cabinets look empty and untouched, like display pieces in an office furniture shop. Posters of campaigns to fight crack and violence against women share space on the walls with road and geographical maps of the region. At one of the three desks, a policeman in a khaki uniform is half-slouched in his chair, staring at a computer screen and fiddling with the mouse. He turns to greet him. The policeman is a tall man, wiry and muscular, with powerful bones that seem to beg an even bigger body. His jaw and ears are enormous and make the other parts of his head look small in comparison. He sits in the chair in front of the policeman and explains why he is there, hesitating a little before each sentence.

I moved here not long ago. I’m living in a little apartment over in the corner of the village, next to Baú Rock, which I rented from Cecina and… To be honest, I’m not here about a problem of any sort. I’m actually curious about something that happened a long time ago. My granddad lived here in Garopaba in the late sixties. And he was killed here. I think he was buried in the town, but I’m not sure. His nickname was Gaudério.

Gaudério.

Yep.

And he was killed here.

Apparently so.

When exactly?