Free If I Close My Eyes Now by Edney Silvestre

whites who kill all of them.’
    ‘Yes, they do. But when they surround the wagons and kill the white people, before the hero appears … what do they take back to their tribe?’
    ‘Weapons. Ammunition. Food. Anything they can find in the settlers’ wagons.’
    ‘No, Eduardo! They kill the whites and scalp them!’
    ‘Yes, I know.’
    ‘They tear off a piece of the enemy’s body!’
    ‘So what?’
    ‘It’s a trophy, Eduardo!’
    ‘A what … ?’
    ‘The breast, Eduardo!’
    ‘The breast … ?’
    ‘The dead woman’s breast. It’s a trophy!’

4
Anita’s Birth
    HE HAD ONLY just reached the lowest rung when the boys rushed over. The skinny one apologized, but said they needed to talk to him urgently. His darker-skinned friend, the one with the curly ringlets and flap ears, was staring at the rope. The old man protested, annoyed at their intrusion.
    ‘You have to help us,’ said the tall one.
    Wiping his hands on his handkerchief, then putting it back in his pocket, the man did not even deign to look at Eduardo.
    ‘Please,’ Eduardo added. ‘We really need you.’
    ‘We’ve discovered an important lead. The most important!’
    ‘Not a lead, Paulo. A trophy.’
    ‘That’s right! The murderer wanted a trophy.’
    ‘Like the redskins!’ explained Eduardo, sure that the reference to the Indians of the Wild West would make sense, but unsure if it was the darkness under the trees or the old man’s squint that made it impossible to tell which direction he was looking in.
    He realized that neither of the old man’s eyes stayed fixedon one spot. Each of them seemed to move independently. If his right eye was looking slightly upwards, then the left one pointed to one side. And vice versa. The one that pointed towards the side, whether it was the left or the right, gave the impression of being stable. Or almost. All of a sudden, it would start to move again, uncoordinated with the other one. For a brief moment it seemed as though they were parallel to one another. Only for them to drift apart again.
    The old man didn’t even seem to be listening as he hid the end of the rope, with the ladder perched among the tree branches. Paulo thought he should explain further.
    ‘When the Red Indians defeat the palefaces who’ve invaded their lands, they scalp them.’
    ‘As a proof of victory.’
    ‘Did you hear?’
    ‘With the dentist’s wife, the proof of victory was …’
    Eduardo didn’t manage to finish the sentence. The old man turned his back on them and walked off. Not knowing what to do, Eduardo didn’t move.
    ‘Whoever killed her …’ he tried again.
    He couldn’t go on. He felt like an idiot. The invisible boy. The invisible boy who was no use to adults. The useless, invisible, idiotic boy to this particular adult. The idiotic, invisible, useless boy to all adults. His heart was pounding. He was gasping for breath.
    Paulo ran alongside the old man for a few steps. He started and stopped a few phrases about cowboys and Indians, settlers and ambushes, victories and scalps, then gave up. He fell silent, and turned back to his friend. Spreading his armswide, he shrugged: what now? This wasn’t the reaction they had imagined, or counted on, to continue their search for the real murderer. They weren’t expecting this indifference. What now? What now? What do we do now?
    All at once, unconsciously, Eduardo could feel a hot wave spreading over first his face and then his whole body. It was followed by a loud shout that took him by surprise and made Paulo stare at him wide-eyed.
    ‘Catch him! Catch the old man running away!’
    Eduardo’s greatest surprise came when he realized the shouts were coming from inside him. From his throat. It was his voice he could hear, loud and piercing in a way he had never heard before, roaring in the silent night.
    ‘Look! An old man escaping!’
    After a minute’s astonishment, Paulo joined in, as enthusiastic as a child with a new toy:
    ‘Stop him! Catch the