The Summer of Dead Toys by Antonio Hill Read Free Book Online Page A

to have managed it without any major problems. At least at first glance.
With the luggage—a badly treated suitcase with a broken lock which appeared to have survived a war rather than a plane journey—in the boot, Ruth drove slowly. The city lights were shining at the end of the motorway.
“How’d it go today with Savall?” she asked finally, turning to him for a moment.
He exhaled.
“Well, I suppose it went OK. I still have graft . . . work. It seems they’re not throwing me out, which is something. The guy’s dropped the charges,” he lied. “I suppose he thought it suited him better not to get on the wrong side of the forces of law and order. But I have to see a shrink. Ironic, isn’t it? An Argentine visiting a shrink.”
Ruth nodded silently. A long tailback had formed at the traffic lights at the entrance to the city.
“Why did you do it?”
She looked at him without blinking, with those big chestnut eyes that had always managed to get under his skin. A look that had managed to unmask small white lies, and others not so small, as soon as he’d put them forward.
“Drop it, Ruth. He deserved it.” He corrected himself. “It happened. I messed up. I never pretended to be perfect.”
“Don’t go off at a tangent, Héctor. The morning . . . the day you attacked that man was just after . . .”
“Yeah. Can I smoke in this car?” he asked, rolling down the window. A gush of warm air slipped inside.
“You already know you can’t.” She made a gesture of fatigue. “But smoke if you want to. Carefully.”
He lit a cigarette and took a long drag.
“Give me one?” she murmured.
Héctor laughed.
“Fuck . . . here.” When he lit it for her, the flame of the lighter illuminated her face. “I’m a bad influence on you,” he added in a light-hearted tone.
“You always were. My parents used to tell me so . . . Of course they’re not exactly delighted now either.” They both smiled, with the complicity given by shared rancours. Smoking gave them something to do without having to talk. Héctor contemplated the city through the smoke. He threw away the butt and turned toward Ruth. They were already arriving. They could have filled a much longer journey with all the things they still had to say to each other. She slowed down to turn and parked in an unloading space.
“One last cigarette?” he said.
“Sure. But we’ll get out of the car.”
There wasn’t a breath of air. The street was empty; however, televisions could be heard. It was the news hour. The weatherman was predicting a new heatwave for the next few days and the possibility of storms for the weekend.
“You look tired. Are you sleeping any better?”
“I do what I can. It’s been a full-on day,” he said. “Héctor, I’m sorry . . .”
“Don’t apologize. You don’t have to.” He looked at her, knowing full well he was exhausted and in this condition the best thing he could do was to stay quiet. He tried to make light of it. “We slept together, that’s all. The wine, the memories, habit. I think that at one time or another eighty percent of ex-couples do it. See, deep down, we’re typical.”
She didn’t smile. Maybe he’d lost the ability to make her laugh, he thought. Maybe they no longer laughed at the same things.
“Yeah, but—”
He cut her off.
“Yeah but nothing. The following day I split the guy’s face but that had nothing to do with you.” He continued in a more bitter tone that he couldn’t help. “So you can relieve your conscience, sleep soundly.” He was going to add something else, but stopped himself in time. “And forget about it.”
Ruth was about to answer when her mobile rang. He hadn’t even seen her take it from the car.
“It’s for you,” he pointed, suddenly exhausted.
She walked a few paces away to answer. During the brief conversation he took the opportunity to open the boot and take out his luggage. He dragged it to his house.
“I’m going,” she said and he nodded. “Guillermo comes