Read Online If I Close My Eyes Now by Edney Silvestre - Free Book Online Page A

anything. Nothing new. They were no further forward than on the night they had gone out to investigate for the first time.
    He looked round for a clean, dry spot in the grass, and lay down. His uniform was folded up neatly beside him. In the nearby bushes, birds were celebrating the morning. Clouds were gathering overhead, reflected on the surface of the lake.
    ‘When?’ Paulo’s voice came from some way off. He had to be close to the water.
    ‘When what?’
    ‘When did you do the signature above?’
    ‘The last time you were suspended.’
    ‘Oh, right. When I punched Sávio Januzzi.’
    ‘No. When you put that little mirror under Suzana Scheienfeber’s desk to see her knickers.’
    The sound of someone plunging in, then noisy swimming strokes. Silence. Paulo must be floating. A squawking macaw. Silence. The call of a fly-catcher. A gentle breeze in his ear. Silence. The sound of bamboo rustling against bamboo. A slight rubbing sound. The bamboo swaying. A distant whine – a mosquito, or a dragonfly? Silence. Drowsiness … feeling sleepy. Closing his eyes. The clouds building up. Black.
    ‘She wasn’t wearing knickers.’
    Paulo’s voice woke him with a start.
    ‘She what?’
    ‘No knickers.’
    Paulo was standing in front of him. Sprinkling him with water.
    ‘What d’you mean, no knickers? Suzana had a pair on, I remember.’
    ‘The dead woman, Eduardo. That Anita. She had no knickers on.’
    Eduardo raised himself up on his elbows.
    ‘The murderer must have torn them off.’
    ‘Torn them off?’
    ‘To have his way with her. To rape her.’
    Paulo leaned over him.
    ‘But there weren’t any in the dentist’s house either.’
    ‘Any what?’
    ‘Any knickers. Not a single pair.’
    ‘There must have been – we simply didn’t see them. We didn’t have time to find them.’
    ‘We opened everything.’
    ‘There must have been some. All women wear knickers. Knickers, bra, slip, petticoat, suspender belt and stockings. They wear all that under their dresses.’
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘I just know.’
    ‘Does your mother wear all those?’
    ‘Don’t bring my mother into this.’
    Paulo sat down. Mothers were something neither of them discussed. Paulo’s because she was dead. Eduardo’s because she was still pretty. Another tacit understanding between the two of them.
    ‘Do you remember yours?’ Eduardo suddenly asked, afraid of breaking their pact, but genuinely interested.
    ‘My what?’
    ‘Mother.’
    ‘Hmm.’
    It wasn’t a reply: it was meant to close a topic Eduardo imagined must be painful for his friend.
    ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’
    ‘Hmm.’
    ‘The thing is, I sometimes wonder … I wonder … if you don’t …’
    ‘Hmm.’
    ‘Miss her … If you don’t feel …’
    ‘Hmm.’
    ‘Don’t you feel … ?’
    ‘Hmm.’
    ‘Don’t you remember her?’
    ‘My father.’
    ‘Your father what?’
    ‘My father.’
    ‘Your father?’
    ‘My father has.’
    ‘Your father has what?’
    ‘One.’
    ‘Your father has one what?’
    ‘Photo.’
    ‘Photo?’
    ‘A small one. One of those three-by-fours.’
    ‘Your father?’
    ‘He has one.’
    ‘A photo of what?’
    ‘Of her. A small photo. Hidden in his wallet.’
    ‘A photo of your mother?’
    ‘Just one. That’s the only one I’ve seen.’
    ‘Your mother.’
    ‘I took his wallet to pinch some money.’
    ‘Does he never give you any?’
    ‘I saw it. A tiny one: a three-by-four.’
    ‘He keeps it in—’
    ‘She was dark. Thin. Teeth sticking out a bit. An identity photo. The only one I’ve ever seen of her.’
    ‘You don’t have any others?’
    ‘I don’t remember her.’
    ‘Didn’t you manage to—’
    ‘When I think of her—’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I think of that photo. Hidden in my father’s wallet. It’s not the same as remembering.’
    He fell silent. Eduardo didn’t know what to say next either.
    ‘If that crazy old man hadn’t appeared,’ Paulo went on, ‘we would have