An Acceptable Sacrifice Read Online Free PDF

our nation’s writers too, of course—that whole wall there. I love all books, but it’s important for us in Mexico to be aware of our people’s voice.” He strode forward and displayed a few. “Salvador Novo, Jos Gorostiza, Xavier Villaurrutia, and the incomparable Octavio Paz. Whom you’ve read, of course.”
    “Of course,” Díaz said, praying that Cuchillo would not ask for the name of one of Paz’s books, much less a plot or protagonist.
    Díaz noted a book near the man’s plush armchair. It was in a display case, James Joyce’s Ulysses . He happened to have read about the title last night on a rare book website. “Is that the original 1922 edition?”
    “Yes, that’s right.”
    “It’s worth about $150,000.”
    Cuchillo smiled. “No. It’s worth nothing.”
    “Nothing?”
    His arm swept in a slow circle, indicating the room. “This entire collection is worth nothing.”
    “How do you mean, sir?”
    “Something has value only to the extent the owner is willing to sell. I would never sell a single volume. Most book collectors feel this way, more so than about paintings or cars or sculpture.”
    The businessman picked up The Maltese Falcon . “You are perhaps surprised I have in my collection spy and detective stories?”
    The agent recited a fact he’d read. “Of course, popular commercial fiction is usually more valuable than literature.” He hoped he’d got this straight.
    He must have. Cuchillo was nodding. “But I enjoy them for their substance as well as their collectability.”
    This was interesting. The agent said, “I suppose crime is an art form in a way.”
    Cuchillo’s head cocked and he seemed confused. Díaz’s heart beat faster.
    The collector said, “I don’t mean that. I mean that crime and popular novelists are often better craftspeople than so-called literary writers. The readers know this; they appreciate good storytelling over pretentious artifice. Take that book I just bought, The Old Curiosity Shop . When it first came out, serialized in weekly parts, people in New York and Boston would wait on the docks when the latest installment was due to arrive from England. They’d shout to the sailors, ‘Tell us, is Little Nell dead?’” He glanced at the display case. “I suspect not so many people did that for Ulysses . Don’t you agree?”
    “I do, sir, yes.” Then he frowned. “But wasn’t Curiosity Shop serialized in monthly parts?”
    After a moment Cuchillo smiled. “Ah, right you are. I don’t collect periodicals, so I’m always getting that confused.”
    Was this a test, or a legitimate error?
    Díaz could not tell.
    He glanced past Cuchillo and pointed to a shelf. “Is that a Mark Twain?”
    When the man turned Díaz quickly withdrew the doctored Schiller and slipped it onto a shelf just above Ulysses , near the drug baron’s armchair.
    He lowered his arm just as Cuchillo turned back. “No, not there. But I have several. You’ve read Huckleberry Finn? ”
    “No. I just know it as a collector’s item.”
    “Some people consider it the greatest American novel. I consider it perhaps the greatest novel of the New World. It has lessons for us as well.” A shake of the head. “And the Lord knows we need some lessons in this poor country of ours.”
    They returned to the living room and Díaz dug the iPad from the case. “Let me show you some new titles that Señor Davila has just gotten in.” He supposed P.Z. Evans was relieved to hear his voice and learn that he had not been discovered and spirited off to a grave in the graceless Sonora desert.
    He called up Safari and went to the website. “Now, we have—”
    But his phony sales pitch was interrupted when a huge bang startled them all. A bullet had struck and spattered against the resistant glass of a window nearby.
    “My God! What’s that?” Díaz called.
    “Get out of the room, away from the windows! Now!” José, the security man, gestured them toward the doorways leading out of the