Free The Return by Roberto Bolaño Page A

darkness of the apartment, but my instinct told me that
someone was hiding there, listening to us, waiting. Are you feeling all right? Fine, she said very quietly. Have you taken something? No, nothing, I haven’t
taken any drugs, she whispered. Are you going to let me in? Can I make you some
tea? No, said Sofia. Since I was asking questions, I thought I might as well try
one more: Why won’t you let me see your apartment, Sofia? Her answer surprised
me. My boyfriend will be back soon and he doesn’t like it if there’s anyone here
with me, especially a man. I didn’t know whether to be angry or treat it as a
joke. Sounds like this boyfriend of yours is a vampire, I said. Sofia smiled for
the first time, although it was a weak, distant smile. I’ve told him about you,
she said. He’d recognize you. And what would he do? Hit me? No, he’d just get
angry, she said. And kick me out? (Now I was starting to get indignant. For a
moment I hoped he did turn up, this boyfriend Sofia was waiting for, naked in
the dark, just to see what would happen, what he would do.) He wouldn’t kick you
out, she said. He’d just get angry; he wouldn’t talk to you and after you went
he’d hardly say a word to me. You’ve lost it, haven’t you, I spluttered, I don’t
know if you realize what you’re saying, they’ve done something to you, it’s like
you’re a different person. I’m the same as ever; you’re the idiot who can’t see
what’s going on. Sofia, Sofia, what’s happened to you? You never used to be like
this. Get out, just go, she said—What would you know about me?
    More than a year went by before I heard any news of Sofia. One
afternoon, coming out of the cinema, I ran into Nuria. We recognized each other,
started talking about the movie and decided to go and have coffee. It wasn’t
long before we got on to Sofia. How long since you saw her? she asked me. A long
time, I told her, but I also said that some mornings, when I woke up, I felt as
if I had just seen her. Like you’ve been dreaming about her? No, I said, like
I’d spent the night with her. That’s weird. Something like that used to happen
to Emilio too. Until she tried to kill him. Then he stopped having the
nightmares.
    She told me the story. It was simple. It was incomprehensible.
    Six or seven months earlier, Sofia had rung up Emilio. According to
what he later told Nuria, Sofia mentioned monsters, conspiracies and murders:
she said the only thing that scared her more than a mad person was someone who
deliberately drove others to madness. Then she arranged for him to come to her
apartment, the one I’d been to a couple of times. The next day Emilio arrived
exactly on time. The dark or poorly lit staircase, the bell that didn’t work,
the knocking at the door: up to that point it was all familiar and predictable. Sofia opened the door. She wasn’t naked. She invited him in. Emilio had never
been in the apartment before. The living room, according to Nuria, was pokey,
but it was also in a terrible state, with filth dripping down the walls and
dirty plates piled on the table. At first Emilio couldn’t see a thing, the light
was so dim in the room. Then he made out a man sitting in an armchair, and
greeted him. The man didn’t react. Sit down, said Sofia, we need to talk. Emilio
sat down. A little voice inside him was saying over and over, This is not good,
but he ignored it. He thought Sofia was going to ask him for a loan. Again. Although probably not with that man in the room. Sofia never asked for money in
the presence of a third party, so Emilio sat down and waited.
    Then Sofia said: There are one or two things about life that my
husband would like to explain to you. For a moment Emilio thought that when she
said “my husband” she meant him. He thought she wanted him to say something to
her new boyfriend. He smiled. He started saying there was really nothing to
explain; every experience is unique . . . Suddenly Emilio understood that he