A Crack in the Wall by Claudia Piñeiro Page B

to sleep a little more. Half an hour later the alarm goes off; Laura’s out of bed and having a wash. He gets out his list and looks over it again.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Laura asks, coming out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
    â€œLooking something over,” he tells her.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œNothing important, Laura. Last night I wrote down a few ideas to do with work and now I’m crossing out something that doesn’t apply.”
    The explanation seems to satisfy Laura, whose attention shifts to selecting the day’s clothes from her wardrobe and laying them out on the bed. Pablo says, without looking at her.
    â€œYou may need to go to the supermarket on your own this Saturday. Borla’s asked me to go and look at some things.”
    â€œOh, what a shame. I thought we could go to the cinema after we did the shopping. We haven’t been for ages.”
    Pablo wonders why, if they haven’t been to the cinema for ages, his wife has to choose precisely this moment to propose it for Saturday.
    â€œWill you get back in time to go to the cinema?” Laura asks, drying her hair with a hand towel.
    â€œI’m not sure,” he lies. “Can I let you know this evening?”
    â€œSure, tell me later. There’s no hurry.”
    She combs her hair, and once all the tangles are out she lets the towel around her body drop and finishes drying herself in front of him: first she lifts one leg onto the bed and dries her calf, her thigh and crotch. Then she does the same with the other leg. Pablo watches her and says:
    â€œYou were snoring last night.”
    Unflinching, towel in hand, she says:
    â€œThat’s a nice thing to say, isn’t it? And well timed! I’m standing naked in front of you and that’s the best you can think of?”
    â€œI didn’t realize you were naked, Laura,” he says, by way of an excuse.
    â€œWell that’s even worse! What were you looking at, then? The towel? You don’t notice when I’m naked, but you do notice when I’m snoring.”
    Without waiting for an answer, Laura begins to dress.
    â€œI don’t know, Laura,” he replies. “I was looking the other way, or I was thinking of something else. I don’t know why I remembered just now that you were snoring last night. I just did. Don’t analyse it too much. Snoring isn’t a capital offence, is it? I snore too, after all.”
    His wife doesn’t answer or even look at him, and Pablo, worried that he’s making things worse, says, “I’m tired, Laura. I slept badly.”
    His fatigue seems not to bother her. She steps into her shoes, checks that she has everything in her bag, puts on a blazer and gets ready to go out, but not before saying to him:
    â€œIt’s very ungentlemanly, Pablo. I mean, don’t worry. I know you and I don’t require you to seduce me, but it’s just as well you’re not at a stage in your life when you need to go out impressing girls, because I don’t think you’d know where to start.”
    She walks out, leaving him alone in the room. The wet towel Laura just used to dry her body lies on the floor at his feet. Pablo picks it up, feels the dampness, smells it. Then he turns and looks at himself in the mirror: he’s still in boxers and the T-shirt he uses to sleep in, holding in one hand the list where he scribbled down the addresses of some buildings he hopes to go and see on Saturday with a girl he hardly knows and, in the other hand, his wife’s discarded towel; he’s unwashed, his hair still ruffled from the previous night, his chin stubbly and his penis – which seemed so moribund a few hours ago – stirring and threatening to emerge from his boxers.
    Without moving, he considers his reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t put a name on what he sees, he doesn’t think of a precise adjective, but he knows exactly what his wife