Dr. Brinkley's Tower Read Online Free PDF Page B

window. He retrieved a small glass bottle, walked back across the room, and stood before Francisco.
    â€” If you succeed in your intentions, will you be respectful and kind towards Violeta?
    â€” Sí, Father.
    â€” And will you treat her with the degree of courtesy with which you would treat a daughter of your own?
    â€” Sí.
    â€” In that case, I hereby sanctify your mission.
    Father Alvarez pulled the tiny cork from the bottle. He then splashed clear liquid on Francisco’s shoulders, not bothering to tell the young man that it was nothing more than water collected from his cistern after a rare Coahuilan rainstorm, and no holier than the acts committed at the House of Gentlemanly Pleasures.
    â€” All right, you’re ready. Go fulfil your destiny. Just do me a favour …
    â€” Sí?
    â€” Don’t blame me if Malfil Cruz gives you a kick in the seat of your pants.
    Forewarned, Francisco knocked on the door of Violeta Cruz’s row house. From inside he heard stirring. A dog or two howled from the alley next door. The door creaked open.
    Malfil Cruz was a tall, lean woman with frizzled hair who, Francisco never failed to notice, did not in any way share her daughter’s ethereal beauty. She worked as a laundress, her little house permanently infused with the scent of lye. Her hands, Francisco noticed, were pink and raw-looking.
    â€” Hola, Francisco.
    â€” Hola, señora.
    He entered. The living room was dimly lit to fend off the heat of the day. Two high-backed chairs, which would have looked ratty in proper light, were set in the middle of the room, facing each other. Between them was a small, unadorned table. From the back of the house Francisco could hear rustling and the clinking of spoons; he surmised that Violeta was preparing a pot of coffee.
    â€” Por favor, said Violeta’s mother. — Have a seat.
    Francisco hesitated before sitting, fearing he might take the favoured spot of Señora Cruz. But it was hot, and the room’s dense, soapy odour made him feel slightly weakened. Malfil again gestured towards one of the chairs, and this time Francisco obeyed. Violeta’s mother took the seat opposite him and regarded him for a moment, her expression one of scrutinizing concern. Just then Violeta emerged from the rear ofthe tiny home, carrying a tray bearing two cups and a small pot. As she lowered the tray to the table between them, the pot jiggled and a small amount of coffee spilled.
    â€” Careful, Malfil hissed at her daughter.
    As Violeta straightened, Francisco could swear he caught her rolling her eyes.
    Malfil leaned towards him. — Coffee?
    â€” Sí, gracias.
    Malfil Cruz poured two cups and handed one to Francisco. He took a sip, his mouth filling with a rich, black-earth deliciousness. He felt himself calm slightly. Again the two sat in silence, Francisco understanding that it would be impertinent for him to speak first. Violeta’s mother, meanwhile, sat looking at her cup and saucer as though disinclined to regard her guest. She took a sip and reflexively licked away the drops clinging to her flaking lips. Finally she looked at him.
    â€” Violeta says you would like to have a word with me.
    â€” Señora Cruz, he started, — it’s true.
    â€” Well, out with it, mijo. I have work to do.
    Francisco glanced at Violeta, who lowered her eyes. He then cleared his throat and said: — I’m afraid I’ve fallen for Violeta. With your permission, I was hoping she might accept me as her boyfriend.
    Malfil took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and looked at Francisco as though she were inspecting a mule. And then, suddenly, Francisco saw it: a slight softening of her carriage, a barely perceptible melting of the iron posture with which Malfil Cruz ordinarily met the world. Her eyes softened and seemed to mute slightly in colour and intensity.
    â€” Francisco, as you well know, it is my feeling that Violeta is not