—Because yesterday I overheard Uncle Julia talking on the phone. He said that when it was all over today, we were going to go “very far away” because nobody would be able to open their mouths anymore. And I said that I wasn’t going to stop, damn it. Not with me. Not with her.
The ethereal room seemed to become illuminated.
The choir turned towards the social worker.
—Is the pineapple still under the uncle’s custody?
She nodded, pale.
—Yes, sir. For three years now.
Méndez let out a curse between his teeth. Then he turned towards the guards.
—Suspeпdaп todo. Бhora. Nadie mυeve a Ramira Fυeпtes de aqυí hasta пυeva ordeп. Y comυпiqυeп de iпmediato al fiscal de gυardia qυe пecesito reaperυra υrgeпte del expedieпte y υпa ordeп de localizacióп para Jυliáп Fυeпtes.
The youngest guard ran without asking.
The oldest, who for years had treated Ramira as just another co-star, observed her then with a certain disbelief, almost ashamed.
Ramira continued to cling to Salome as if, by loosening her arms a little, the world would snatch her away again.
—Coro—she said, her voice trembling—, he forced me to hide that night. He told me he would take my daughter away.
And then, during the trial, his lawyer repeated the same thing to me, though not so clearly: that if I persisted with Julia’s story, he was going to say I was delusional, that the girl would end up in a children’s home, and that no one would ever see her again. I… I couldn’t…
Méndez closed his eyes for a second.
He understood then what had bothered him since the trial.
It wasn’t that I didn’t see any fault.
Was what he saw in Ramira’s eyes the look of a murderess?
