son, when he’d scold her for being so good and for being such a whore, when he’d adore her for taking pity on him and healing him. She’d explore the thick, curly hair on his chest, as if she wanted to make sure there was a heart underneath. To hear it beating and tear at it with her teeth. And then to feel herself the female again and ask him for forgiveness, for mercy, for the harshest punishment imaginable. Or to leave him outside the room while she stretched out naked on this very mattress, under the covers. And he’d come in like a thief, without knowing how he’d be received, and open her legs and put it in her. And afterward she’d hit him, thrust her fingers in his ass until it hurt, scratch him, and hate him as much as she desired him.
Or why not recall, for example, that time at the gas station? That Thursday when she was so angry at him, and she went with some girlfriends to a disco where she knew Tanveer would come looking for her. She spent a little time before he arrived chatting up some poor chump whose name was Luis or Ángel, she can’t remember now. When Hussein appeared and saw them sitting so close together in the corner, he rushed over to them, looking as though he was going to kill the guy.He grabbed him and shook him and pressed a fist against his face so hard it seemed it might go through his skull. Tiffany was frightened by the scene, by the violence she saw seething in Tanveer. But she had to admit it was a little like what she’d been hoping would happen. It felt godlike, determining future events, capriciously provoking moments of blinding intensity. The guys from security showed them the door, and they obeyed. It was better to leave than to have the management call the police. Then they all piled into Epi’s van. They drove around looking for Luis or Ángel or whatever the fool’s name was. It took more than an hour, but at last they saw him and his friends standing near a metallic Skoda in a gas station, fueling up. After telling Epi to park several yards away from the first pumps and keep the engine running, Hussein got out and headed straight for the soft drinks machine into which Luis or Ángel was inserting coins. After half a minute, Tiffany also stepped out of the van, but without any specific goal. She was afraid, and she didn’t know whether she’d rather calm things down or enjoy her fear. Epi and two of Tiffany’s friends, tired girls with their war paint quite faded, were remarking that the whole thing was madness. One of them got out with the intention of walking to the avenue and catching a cab. The other girl hesitated, but in the end she told Epi good-bye and ran off after her friend. They stood on a corner of the avenue, waiting for a taxi with a green light to come along and take them home.
Tiffany’s erstwhile suitor became aware too late of Tanveer’s presence. The
Moro
punched him in the face, causinghim to stagger and fall backward; he landed hard on his back and had the bad luck to strike his head against the curb. As he lay on the ground unconscious, the kid began to shake. Later they would learn that Tanveer hadn’t killed him, but the sight of that body shaken by spasms, with a protruding tongue, a pool of blood spreading around the head like a Gothic nimbus of sanctity, and eyes starting from their sockets, made them anticipate the worst. Little by little, Tiffany got closer to the scene. She was surprised and fascinated. She couldn’t turn her eyes away. What she was looking at repulsed her, frightened her, and attracted her, all at the same time. Then Tanveer snatched away the fuel hose one of Luis or Ángel’s companions had been using to fill his tank. The terrified suitor lay on the ground, sometimes shaking, sometimes unmoving, as Tanveer doused him with gasoline. Then the
Moro
turned to the Skoda and pumped gas all over it; two other guys who had taken refuge inside the car sprang from it in terror. Tanveer flung the hose to the ground, next
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