Sweet Money by Ernesto Mallo Read Free Book Online Page A

game, dancing to the music of the breath, the cadence of the blood, the piping of the flutes, the glances, the creaking of wood, the blowing of the bellows, the plucking of the strings, the pulsing, banging marimbas, vibraphones, kettledrums, which bear them aloft to the end, where she, already sated, begs him to come, for now she wants to receive his warm semen, this other semen, a final ringing of chimes, once, twice and again… the telephone, it’s the telephone that keeps ringing.

    Leaving Lascano alone with the aftereffects of a stupendous session of loveless sex, Ramona gets up and walks across the room naked, as majestic as the Seventh Fleet entering the Mediterranean. Lascano lies back in bed, enjoying the release of tension and the cool night air on his overheated body. The effort has left him exhausted, and the pain of his chest wound has returned, steady and implacable. From the adjacent room he hears Ramona’s voice but not her words. He hears a tone of urgency, a vibration of alarm. Lascano sits up, suddenly and totally alert. When she returns, the expression on her face tells him immediately that recess is over. She quickly starts getting dressed. Fear propels her haste.
     
    We have to get out of here. What’s going on? Jorge’s dead. What? You heard. How? The official story is that he had a heart attack in his office, but they think they killed him. Who? I didn’t ask; what’s more, I don’t want to know. I’ll help you get dressed. Where are we going? I don’t know, we’ll think of somewhere on the way. Did they tell you we were in danger? They told me we should make ourselves scarce, very scarce.

8
    Miranda’s gait reflects his anxiety. One part of him just wants to get it over with, wants to know already, but the other part of him is scared to death. The news about Noelia, Screw’s daughter, plays over and over in his head like a stubborn melody. Then there’s Andrés’s eyes… and Villar’s ghost, chiding him at every turn. That pink spot that appeared under his nipple. This morning his eyes were very red when he got up. Maybe it’s the price you pay, he thinks, for a year of buggering a dude, and so much for his excuse that’s it was just for survival, for the release he needed. Maybe he should have been stoical and made do only with masturbating.
     
    He walks through the lobby of the laboratory. When the elevator doors open he finds himself face-to-face with a guy who’s got death tattooed all over him. His dim, sunken eyes seem to be interrogating him. Miranda steps aside at the same moment and in the same direction as the sick man. The action repeats itself until finally they coordinate and each one goes on his way. He no longer has any doubts: this encounter has confirmed his worst fears that he is doomed. Now nothing will have any meaning. His dearth of funds, Noelia’s illness, Duchess and
her supposed lovers. In this case, he thinks, everything will boil down to one simple question: should he slash his wrists with a razor blade? As he walks up to the counter where they give out the test results, he thinks about his own funeral and the image of his son standing next to his coffin makes his throat constrict. The beautiful young woman in white attends efficiently to those waiting in line to pick up the results of their tests. When it’s his turn, Miranda feels like his heart is about to explode. The girl hands him the envelope and notices how his hand is shaking. She looks him in the eye and offers him a splendid smile:
     
    No need to worry, sir, if it was positive the doctor would have given it to you personally.
     
    Miranda has a moment of surprise before feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet. But what really pisses him off is that this divine young thing has just called him sir . He’s a new man when he re-emerges on the street and tears open the envelope: Antibodies ANTI-HIV1/ HIV2… Negative (ELISA). He crumples up the piece of paper and throws it in a trash