Read Online A Crack in the Wall by Claudia Piñeiro - Free Book Online

forth in his chair, waiting.
    The truth was that Pablo did not entirely understand what Jara wanted, but he decided that the only way to findout was to be as direct as possible. Before saying anything, he retrieved his Caran d’Ache pencil from the edge of the desk, placed it diagonally across his notebook again and tidied up some of the disorder caused by Jara’s files – not much, but enough to establish that he was once more in charge of his own domain. Once he felt ready he leant back in his chair, stretched his arms upwards and brought them down behind his neck, interlacing his fingers for support; he looked Jara straight in the eyes and only then did he say:
    â€œSo Señor Jara, tell me, what is it you want?”
    Just as he had expected, Jara acknowledged the question, but discreetly, without surprise, as though he had been waiting for it. And he was equally direct.
    â€œMoney, arquitecto, ” he said. “Money to pay for all the trouble that this is causing me. And all the eventualities. Because if it were just a question of rendering a small crack, I could do that myself without bothering you or your people. But there may be a structural problem here that ends up affecting other apartments too, and my silence has got to be worth something, don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for an answer to the question. “Money, arquitecto , that’s what I want: money.”
    Once again they sized each other up, watching each other in silence. Pablo smiled briefly and nodded, several times, communicating to Jara with this gesture that yes, he finally was beginning to understand.
    â€œAnd how much would we be talking about?” Simó asked.
    â€œDon’t make out like you don’t know, arquitecto . You’re the one who deals with this sort of negotiation, not me. Name a figure, I leave it to your discretion.”
    But Pablo didn’t name a figure or say anything else for the moment. Then Nelson Jara began to put his things awayin the bag. He took time over the operation, not in order to stow the papers neatly away, but to maintain the level of tension he had succeeded in creating. Only now that he seemed confident of getting what he was looking for did he offer his hand to Pablo, and as they shook hands he said:
    â€œI’ll be waiting for your call, arquitecto .”
    And then he slid his card onto the table, a white card printed with thick black letters that set out his name and telephone number with a shiny calligraphy in which some letters – the “t” and the “f”, for example – extended exaggeratedly high or low in relation to an imaginary base line.
    Pablo took the card, read it and was surprised to see that Jara’s telephone number shared the same last three digits as his own: two, eight, two. It was a sign that he and Jara, who seemed so different, had something in common. Even if all they shared was those three numbers. He wondered whether it was Kabbalah, fate, chance or coincidence as he put the card into his wallet.
    On his feet and loaded down once more with the papers that confirmed the existence of the crack and the validity of his claim, Jara said goodbye, adding:
    â€œI trust you arquitecto , I trust that you will know how to put yourself on the right side.”
    And he left.

6
    Only a week after their chance encounter in that café Pablo Simó never usually goes to, Leonor calls him at the Borla studio. He’s surprised by this unexpected contact. He had persuaded himself, as a way to forestall disappointment, that their exchange of telephone numbers had been nothing more than a formality, a kind of courtesy. Pablo had told Borla as little as possible about his meeting with Leonor: only that he had run into the girl, that she was living in the area but – and this was what should really matter to the Borla studio – that she was no longer looking for Jara. However, Borla didn’t seem completely