“It is a pity, Jorge,” Señora Carzino-Cormano said, “that Cletus is such a bad driver. Otherwise he could drive you home in your car.”
“Cletus, you silly woman, is a splendid driver. I myself accompanied him while he was at the wheel of the Horche. He drives it nearly as well as I do.” He turned to Clete. “It is settled. You will drive me home in the Horche. Then you may use the Horche as long as you like.” He turned back to Señora Carzino-Cormano: “Are you satisfied, you silly woman?”
“Perfectly, my darling. You are always such a reasonable man.”
Not without difficulty, El Coronel was installed in the front seat by Clete, Enrico, and Señora Pellano. And he was asleep by the time they reached the big house on Avenida Coronel Díaz. With Señora Pellano preceding them to open doors, Enrico and Clete half-carried, half-dragged him up the stairs to his bedroom, undressed him, and put him to bed. As soon as he was on his back, he started to snore.
“Will he be all right?” Clete asked Enrico.
“I will stay with him, mi Teniente, until Señora Carzino-Cormano arrives.”
Clete considered waiting for Claudia, then decided to hell with it, he would take the Horche and worry about the Buick in the morning.
“Señor Clete?” Señora Pellano asked.
“I was wondering if I can get this car through the gate.”
“I will guide you,” she said. She stepped out of the car, opened the gate, and with great seriousness (which made him smile), used hand signals to guide him into the basement garage.
“Can I make you a little something to eat, Señor Clete?” she asked as they entered the house through the kitchen. “Perhaps a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you, Señora Pellano. I’m beat. I’m going to bed.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am positive.”
“Señor Clete, I have something to say,” she said hesitantly.
“Say it.”
“Today was a sad occasion. But it was not the burial of Jorge that made your father drink.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was happiness. You are here and alive, and your war is over. That is why your father drank. He is so relieved, so happy about that.”
She touched his face.
“¿Con su permiso?” she asked, and before he could reply, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.
Without thinking, he put his arms around her and hugged her.
It was hotter than hell in Uncle Guillermo’s playroom. No one had raised the vertical blinds to take advantage of the breezes coming off the Río de la Plata. Señora Pellano would have taken care of that; but she wasn’t here.
By the time he raised them and opened the windows to the balcony, Clete was sweat-soaked. He stripped down to his undershorts and boots, then stepped onto the balcony to catch the
breeze.
Who’s going to see me, anyhow? And if somebody does, so what?
He relaxed for a moment on one of the six comfortable, cushioned chairs around the table, wiping the sweat from his brow as soon as he was seated. Then he stood up and went to the ice chest. It should certainly be stocked with cold beer, he thought with pleasure.
The beer was floating around in tepid water.
When the cat’s away, the mice will play, he thought. If Señora Pellano had not gone to the Duartes’ to help out at the funeral, there would be cold beer in here.
And then the hair on his neck curled.