Free A Game for the Living by Patricia Highsmith Page B

Ramón?—Josefina.”
    But he doesn’t want to see me, Theodore thought. “No, it’s best he stays quiet,” Theodore said.
    They hung up cordially.
    Inocenza arrived at three in the afternoon. She had seen the papers and was full of questions, sympathy, condolences from all her family in Durango, until Theodore finally said, gently: “Please, Inocenza—would you be quiet?”
    â€œBut you do not think Don Ramón killed her, señor!” She was very fond of Ramón.
    â€œHe was released this morning.”
    â€œOh! “she said with relief. “Thanks be to God! He is not guilty!”
    â€œNo,” said Theodore. “Let me help you with your things. What’s all this?”
    â€œMy family sends a duck with their good wishes. And my Aunt Maria made a counterpane for you. That is this,” she said, slapping a string-tied bundle on the floor. “Inside the wrapping is very pretty, but I didn’t want it to get dirty on the plane. Ah, the plane, señor! The soup went this way, that way! I was afraid for my life, especially when I thought of the Señorita Lelia— la pobrecita . No, don’t carry anything, it is not fitting for you to carry my suitcase. Would you like tea or anything, señor?”
    â€œNo, thank you, Inocenza. I am just very glad you are back.” He walked to the window that looked on to the patio and lighted a cigarette. It was good to have her in the house again, to hear her hurrying footsteps and her humming and singing in the kitchen, though she would probably be careful not to hum today. Inocenza had been very fond of Lelia, too, and not at all jealous, as Ramón had suggested a few times. Sometimes Ramón tried to pique him by telling him that Inocenza was his ‘real wife’. It was true she got her way most of the time, but what servant didn’t? Inocenza had been with him nearly four years. Ramón wanted a servant to be more servile than Inocenza, perhaps, yet neither Ramón nor anybody else could find one justifiable complaint about her. She stayed home at night, she ironed well and cooked well. She was also pleasant to look at, with her shining black hair always neatly done up in a great bun at the back of her neck. She wore shoes with a slight heel, which set her apart from the average flat-footed drudges one saw in the markets, and she wore a little lipstick. She was only thirty-two, and at the prime of her attractiveness, Theodore thought, though the only man she seemed to like at all was a quiet fellow called Ricardo who worked in Toluca and seldom got to the city. Eight or nine years ago she had borne an illegitimate son, Pepe, who lived with her family in Durango. Theodore sent him little gifts and toys now and then.
    For the first time since he had come home, Theodore was able to unpack his canvases, six of them rolled in a waterproof cloth, and spread them on the couch and the floor of the room in which he painted. One canvas was not absolutely dry, but it had not smeared. He avoided looking at them now, because they seemed to bring Lelia very close. He called the Mercedes-Benz garage and asked for his car to be delivered as soon as possible.
    At six o’clock he went out for a walk and came back at seven. Inocenza had the table set for one, and a plate of almonds on the liquor trolley for his aperitif . Theodore poured a small glass of Fernet-Branca. Then Inocenza’s questions began again, thick and fast, because she knew he liked to talk while he took his aperitif and preferred to read during his meals.
    â€œAh, you will be very lonely now,” she said over and over, shaking her head. “And poor Don Ramón, too. Aren’t you going to see him?”
    â€œI think he needs to rest now.”
    â€œAnd so do you. You have circles under your eyes. You must also eat. I made a chicken soup—tomorrow we’ll have the chicken—and a lamb chop and salad.” She