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XI
In the wavering light of the candle, the waxy skin, intense gaze and
clever face of Miguel impressed me. Vertiginously I took note of an
sensation uncommon in my experience and excessively disagreeable: I lost
my aplomb. To wit: huddled in the penumbra of the room of cages, Miguel
seemed resolved to defend his mystery. My nervous imagination summoned
images of small ferocious animals, backed into a corner.
 The
boy looked me in the eyes. Spontaneously I turned away from his stubborn
expression, and with a deliberate calm I dedicated myself to examining
the cages, the night table, the rickety cot, the walls. I settled on a
photograph of a soccer team: I had an inspired idea.
"I
see, young friend, that you too are a fan of Railway West."
No
gleam of sympathy illumined Miguel's face.
"Have
you been to the Athletic Club at Quilmes?" I added. "Did you see where
Eliseo Brown's kick tore through the barrier?"
Now he
smiled. But my knowledge of the annals of soccer had reached its end. My
next entry into the conversation would astutely combine the
characteristics of the retreat with those of the assault.
"Where
did you spend the evening?" I asked in a distracted tone. "The storm
doesn't scare you."
I remembered the abandoned sailboat and, sure
that we would be speaking of nautical matters, I scanned my memories of
Conrad. Miguel responded brusquely, "I was at Paulino Rocha's house."
"Who is Paulino Rocha?"
Miguel was surprised. "The
pharmacist," he explained.
I had regained my aplomb. I
continued the interrogation. "And what were you doing in the
pharmacist's house?"
"I went to ask him to show me how to save the
algae."
He pulled out, from beneath his cot, a can of naphtha,
with badly cut edges; he tilted it toward me; green and red strands
floated in water.
Now I saw clearly into the soul of my young
interlocutor. Boys are the open face of varying possibilities. Miguel
was one part fisher, one part philatelist, one part naturalist. A web of
circumstances -- or perhaps myself -- would determine whether he
followed the carefree meanderings of the collector or sportsman, or
whether he set forth into the endless avenues of science.
But I
could not allow myself those considerations, however fruitful and
opportune they might be: I had to pursue, tirelessly, my criminal
investigation.
"You loved young Mary very much?"
I
understood immediately that I had erred in formulating the question.
Miguel was carefully studying the tin can, the dark water, the algae:
again defending his mystery.
It was too late to backtrack. I
tried to verify that the boy knew of the deceased's relations, about
Atuel and Emilia. In that matter my investigations achieved nothing. Nor
did I learn much more about Esteban or Andrea.
I
lowered my eyes. Immediately I found myself staring at various drops of
blood on the floor. I shifted two cages. I heard a strangled cry, then
felt a sharp pain in my face. That boy's fingernails must have been
poisoned; I still bear the marks.
I was alone. On the floor, between
the two cages, was an enormous white bird, covered in blood.
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