Free Needle in a Haystack by Ernesto Mallo Page B

kitchen, Eva and Lascano relax in each other’s company, concentrating on the task in hand and drawing close enough to smell one another. As the food takes shape, they can’t help brushing into each other from time to time, and can’t help liking it when it happens amid the aroma of frying onion and garlic. The kitchen heats up like a furnace and their body temperatures rise accordingly, warming to the domestic harmony. There are patches of sky where life can be forgotten, the bleakness suspended, while, inside, a juicy pepper, red as blood, yields under Lascano’s knife, ready to incite the mixture simmering away in the frying pan. The pot of hot water bubbles and impatiently demands spaghetti. The onions sting Eva’s eyes and surprise her with a feeling of remorse, but her need for a sense of home and a little good cheer is greater, and so for the moment she files away her pain, her fear, her constant state of being on guard. She grabs the bottle of wine Lascano has used to spice up the sauce, pours two glasses and they toast in the proper fashion, looking each other in the eye. Her body burns. Lascano feels a shiver, like that of the male spider entering the black widow’s web.

11
    Amancio has the distinct feeling his life is tumbling down around him. Even so, he’s sometimes overcome by a crazy kind of certainty that everything is about to change for the better. This sudden optimism never arises from him doing something concrete to improve his financial circumstances - it’s all he can do to keep himself afloat - rather he imagines that a miracle is about to occur. He daydreams that he witnesses a hold-up and that in the shoot out the thief falls dead at his feet with a briefcase. Amancio picks it up and somehow contrives to slip away from the police and when he opens the valise, there’s a million dollars inside. Or he gets into a lift with another man carrying a briefcase. It’s just the two of them. The other guy has a fit, a heart attack or something, and falls down unconscious on the floor. Amancio checks that the guy is out cold and takes off with the attaché and when he opens it, there’s a million dollars inside. But now is not really the time for such fantasizing and so he stands up, straightens his trousers, looks at himself in the mirror and leaves the bathroom without flushing the toilet, something that drives Lara mad.
    You always forget, Amancio, always. We’re going to have to transplant an eye into your arse so you can see the shit for yourself.
    Lara finishes rinsing off under the shower. Amancio spies
on her from the shadows of the corridor, thinking she doesn’t notice. Even wearing the ridiculous plastic shower cap, she looks amazing. Lara could dress in rags and her beauty wouldn’t be diminished in the slightest. In fact, it would stand out all the more for the contrast. She turns off the taps, takes off the shower cap and shakes her hair in a circular motion, which fascinates Amancio even more.
    It’s getting late. The party never starts until I get there. Madam is too modest. It’s true. Nothing happens when it’s just the die-hard Jockey Club regulars. Pass me my dressing gown.
    Lara lets him put the garment over her shoulders, but when he moves to embrace her, she slips away with a calculated, agile movement, proving once again that she’s one step ahead of him. In the bedroom she sits in front of the mirror and brushes her hair, like a femme fatale from a white telephone movie, admiring herself all the while. There’s much to admire.
    Amancio, why don’t you make us a drink?
    She’s not sure she fancies a drink, but she certainly doesn’t fancy giving Amancio the pleasure of staring at her naked body and, at the same time, she saves herself the bother of having to reject him when he starts his annoying advances. She quickly puts on her underwear. Provocative, yes, easy, never, or at least not now, not with this fool. When Amancio gets back, jingling the ice in the glasses