were forced to make a detour through the forest and rejoin the path farther on. In general, however, they only did so when Elena was on the beach; if she was not there, they simply lifted the wire and squeezed through the gap. Elena would often find the barbed wire held apart by lengths of rope or fabric, sometimes it was ripped from the posts. Every week, with J.’s authorization, Gilberto repaired the gaps, a never-ending task made all the more absurd since Gilberto and his family were the ones who most often damaged the fence on their way to and from the village.
25
N EITHER OF THEM felt like going to Medellín for Christmas. The weather here was cool, the nights were long and they were once more happy in each other’s company. Sometimes, J. would make a little jibe about the barbed-wire fence which would trigger a minor squabble; over time it became a sort of game.
On December 24, they were invited to the Christmas Eve ball in the village. Since Elena did not want to go, J. dropped by during the afternoon. When he got there, everyone was happy and excited. Salomón was the first to greet him. He was clutching a bottle of whisky and cradling his baby daughter in his arms, but when he saw J. he set his daughter down and ran over to hug him. One arm still around J.’s shoulder, he offered him a drink of whisky. At Doña Rosa’s house, J. was plied with food and more drink. Primped and powdered and wearing bright red lipstick, the old woman looked jovial. She was pleased that J. had come to visit, but disappointed that he could not stay for the party. She effusively thanked J. for his gifts—a bolt of fabric printed with yellow daisies and several bars of imported
turrón
.
He left, happy and grateful to the villagers, and arrived back at the house at six o’clock to find Elena waiting for him wearing a beautiful dress.
“Did you put the wine out in the sink to chill?” he asked.
She had, she said, it should be perfect now.
“Go fetch a bottle,
hermana
. Let’s drink a toast before dinner.”
Mercedes had prepared two large lobsters with lemon and onions and there was a platter of oysters on the half shell which they ate with lemon and salt. From the village, they had been sent two bowls of
arroz con camarones
.
“An aphrodisiac Christmas,” said J.
The wine was better than they had expected; only the last bottle was a little vinegary but they drank it nonetheless.
When they had finished off the wine, they started on the whisky.
J.’s Christmas presents to her were a blue bikini all the way from Italy and a copy of the
Diccionario de la Real Academia
. Whenever Elena read, she liked to jot down unfamiliar words on a piece of paper—in her case, there were a lot of unfamiliar words. Later, in a naïve attempt at self-improvement, she would look up the words in a battered old dictionary with missing pages they had picked up somewhere. Elena gave J. a
History of Erotic Art
with illustrations ranging from Pompeii to Picasso. Months later, one of the police officers involved in theinvestigation would slip the book surreptitiously into his backpack, and when his wife found it later it ended up being sold to a textile merchant in Turbo who would use it as cheap pornography.
“There’s nothing like sophisticated pornography,” said J.
They spent the evening listening to the strains of
vallenato
drifting from the village. Just before midnight, Elena and J. launched a huge paper lantern. Since there were only two of them, they had to use fine threads to hold the lantern open while it filled with hot air from the candle. They managed to succeed. The lantern soared and, carried on a gust of wind, drifted over the forest.
“I bet it floats all the way to Panama,” said J.
Until about 3 a.m., J. remained calm, but clearly the whisky did not agree with them and both he and Elena foundered. They had a terrible argument, though neither of them quite understood what triggered it. It had clearly been a vicious
25
N EITHER OF THEM felt like going to Medellín for Christmas. The weather here was cool, the nights were long and they were once more happy in each other’s company. Sometimes, J. would make a little jibe about the barbed-wire fence which would trigger a minor squabble; over time it became a sort of game.
On December 24, they were invited to the Christmas Eve ball in the village. Since Elena did not want to go, J. dropped by during the afternoon. When he got there, everyone was happy and excited. Salomón was the first to greet him. He was clutching a bottle of whisky and cradling his baby daughter in his arms, but when he saw J. he set his daughter down and ran over to hug him. One arm still around J.’s shoulder, he offered him a drink of whisky. At Doña Rosa’s house, J. was plied with food and more drink. Primped and powdered and wearing bright red lipstick, the old woman looked jovial. She was pleased that J. had come to visit, but disappointed that he could not stay for the party. She effusively thanked J. for his gifts—a bolt of fabric printed with yellow daisies and several bars of imported
turrón
.
He left, happy and grateful to the villagers, and arrived back at the house at six o’clock to find Elena waiting for him wearing a beautiful dress.
“Did you put the wine out in the sink to chill?” he asked.
She had, she said, it should be perfect now.
“Go fetch a bottle,
hermana
. Let’s drink a toast before dinner.”
Mercedes had prepared two large lobsters with lemon and onions and there was a platter of oysters on the half shell which they ate with lemon and salt. From the village, they had been sent two bowls of
arroz con camarones
.
“An aphrodisiac Christmas,” said J.
The wine was better than they had expected; only the last bottle was a little vinegary but they drank it nonetheless.
When they had finished off the wine, they started on the whisky.
J.’s Christmas presents to her were a blue bikini all the way from Italy and a copy of the
Diccionario de la Real Academia
. Whenever Elena read, she liked to jot down unfamiliar words on a piece of paper—in her case, there were a lot of unfamiliar words. Later, in a naïve attempt at self-improvement, she would look up the words in a battered old dictionary with missing pages they had picked up somewhere. Elena gave J. a
History of Erotic Art
with illustrations ranging from Pompeii to Picasso. Months later, one of the police officers involved in theinvestigation would slip the book surreptitiously into his backpack, and when his wife found it later it ended up being sold to a textile merchant in Turbo who would use it as cheap pornography.
“There’s nothing like sophisticated pornography,” said J.
They spent the evening listening to the strains of
vallenato
drifting from the village. Just before midnight, Elena and J. launched a huge paper lantern. Since there were only two of them, they had to use fine threads to hold the lantern open while it filled with hot air from the candle. They managed to succeed. The lantern soared and, carried on a gust of wind, drifted over the forest.
“I bet it floats all the way to Panama,” said J.
Until about 3 a.m., J. remained calm, but clearly the whisky did not agree with them and both he and Elena foundered. They had a terrible argument, though neither of them quite understood what triggered it. It had clearly been a vicious
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