The Shadow of the Shadow by Paco Ignacio Taibo II Read Free Book Online Page A

asked the poet.
    "I've never seen her before in my life. But-today I got an
invitation to go to her house for a private picture show."
    "Dammit all to hell, that's just one coincidence too many," said
the journalist.
    "As for me, I'm starting to believe less and less in coincidence all
the time," said the poet. "First someone kills the damn trombonist,
then Manterola here watches the trombonist's brother fall out of a
window, and now you get this invitation to the widow's house."
    "Maybe it's not coincidence, but fate."
    "I don't believe in fate any more either, not since Obregon won
the Battle of Celaya," answered the poet. "All I believe in is just
plain old bad luck."
    "Bad luck it is, then," said the lawyer Verdugo.

    AT PRECISELY 8: 0 0, the lawyer Verdugo arrived at the
small mansion in the Colonia San Rafael and climbed up the wide
porch steps along with three members of the Torreblanca Jazz
Band and a pair of artillery officers.
    No one was waiting to meet them at the door, and they went
on in without having to show their invitations. The customary
pre-party chaos reigned in the main hall. A pair of bonneted
maids dressed in black rushed about with trays of pastries and
two technicians from Arenas, Vera & Co. Ltd. were busy stringing
cables to the darkened salon where the pictures would be shown.
Verdugo leaned against the mantel of the white fireplace and
lit up an Aguila. The two officers followed his example. Finally
Conchita appeared through the swinging door from the kitchen,
accompanied by the rich smells of carne asada.
    "Gentlemen, please. You should be ashamed of yourselves.
When an invitation says eight o'clock, it means you're not supposed to show up before eight-thirty... Why, licenciado Verdugo!
Bless my soul!" and with a hurried "excuse me" to the two artillery
men, she took Verdugo by the arm and led him off into a corner.
    "I never thought I was going to see you again, Alberto, and
then the other day, by chance, a friend of mine gave me your
address. I'm in charge of the invitations, and.. .well here you are. I
can't tell you how good it is to see you."
    Conchita had been at the height of her career when one of the
other actors had inadvertently stuck a foil into her thigh during a
performance of Don Juan, and she fell screaming off the stage into
the orchestra pit.' That was the beginning of the end of her artistic
career. The real end came a couple of weeks later when, back on stage, she took a bronze jug and attacked the fellow who had
stabbed her, breaking his collar bone. She was a small, vivacious
young woman with a pair of bright green eyes that in her time had
turned many a leading actress green with envy. Everything she said
was accompanied by a dramatic gesture, a habit she'd picked up in
the theater, a unique kind of body language that gave her words
the sense of a double affirmation.

    Verdugo took her hand and kissed it.
    "Now let's not overdo it, Conchita. I'm flattered enough as it
is," said the lawyer.
    "What do you mean don't overdo it? When I've got this town's
only truly civilized lawyer right here in my own hands..."
    "I've come as a spy, Conchita," he whispered.
    The young woman interrupted her chatter to stare at the
lawyer.
    "To see how life's been treating you," Verdugo added quickly,
retreating in front of those green eyes.
    "Oh, well that's different. I certainly can't complain... Excuse
me a minute while I attend to these simpletons, and then I'll be
right back."
    She left Verdugo in the hall, hat in one hand, cigarette in the
other.
    Society affairs in those days tended to bring together a fairly
standard blend of young officers on the rise, cultured senoritas,
young students in the Vasconcelos mold practicing their Greek,
politically ambitious lawyers who spoke and dressed like their hero
Jorge Prieto Laurens, well-to-do industrialists, character actresses
from the more acceptable variety theaters, and young renegades
from the