Free Mapuche by Caryl Férey, Steven Randall Page A

María went through her grunge, or gothic, period when she was a teenager, but that’s no reason to throw yourself off a bridge. And then that’s the time when you resist your parents: hers may be rotten with money, but in photography María found her way and the means to be independent, with regard to her parents and the rest of the world.”
    â€œA loner?”
    â€œRather someone who knows how to compartmentalize her life: private on the one hand, professional on the other. That’s what we have in common.”
    At the cost of a stubborn battle against gravity, Ledzep had found his balance between Rubén’s thighs.
    â€œIs María involved in politics?” Rubén asked.
    â€œYou mean on the left?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you know any right-wing artists?” Jo Prat laughed.
    â€œNobody’s perfect,” Rubén admitted, pushing aside the angora tail that prevented him from seeing his interlocutor. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
    â€œNo, not especially involved. Just in what she does. That’s already enough,” Jo remarked, calling upon Rubén to witness what he’d said. “Look, Calderón, why don’t you ask her parents directly? If anybody can help you, they can, can’t they?”
    According to Carlos, who had ended up contacting their servant, María’s parents were returning that day from Mar del Plata. Rubén crushed out his cigarette in the bowl of sashimi without disturbing the cat.
    â€œYou live in the same neighborhood as María and you haven’t seen each other for weeks,” he noted.
    â€œI’ve been on tour since the beginning of the summer,” the singer replied. “I’m at home between two series of shows. In any case, we almost never see each other outside work. Why are you asking me all these questions?”
    Ledzep played dead; Rubén had to helicopter him to the floor in order to reach his jacket pocket. He turned on his BlackBerry and showed Jo the pictures he’d found in María’s loft.
    â€œThese photos were taken in late November,” he said, “during your concert in Rosario. What do you think about them?”
    â€œThey’re pretty flattering, don’t you think?”
    Annoyed, Ledzep shot the stranger a haughty glance.
    â€œMaría Victoria hasn’t contacted you since she developed the shots?” Ruben asked.
    â€œI’d have told you.”
    â€œUnless you’ve got something to hide.”
    â€œMy fat belly gives me enough to worry about,” Jo replied.
    â€œI found marijuana and cocaine in her night table. Was she taking drugs?”
    â€œIf fucking on Ecstasy is a problem for you, you’re the problem. María is not a junkie,” Jo assured him. “By now I can tell one a thousand miles off.”
    Sure.
    From the other side of the table, Rubén looked at him hard with his coal-black eyes.
    â€œCan you tell me why you’re looking at me that way?”
    â€œBecause María Victoria is pregnant,” the detective told him point blank.
    Jo Prat paused. “Pregnant?”
    â€œThree months gone, according to analysis,” Rubén confirmed. “I don’t know much about kids, but in my opinion María plans on keeping it.”
    The seducer frowned, covering his forehead with deep wrinkles.
    â€œDo you sleep together often?” Rubén asked, taking for granted that they did.
    â€œAlmost every time we meet,” Jo Prat replied without blinking.
    â€œThe last time in Rosario, at the end of November?”
    â€œPossibly. If you’re including me among the potential fathers, keep in mind that in thirty years of touring I must have fathered at least a dozen rug rats.”
    Rubén lit a cigarette, less courteously.
    â€œPaternity moves you to the point of tears, doesn’t it?”
    â€œI’ve never wanted children I couldn’t take care