If I Close My Eyes Now Read Online Free PDF Page B

by two silver candlesticks holding tall candles.
    Paulo’s eyes strayed to the paintings of different sizes and shapes ranged above the table. They portrayed women and men with pious expressions on their faces. Some had wounds to their hands and feet. Others had haloes round their heads. Paulo recognized one of them: a bearded old man leaning on a staff who was crossing a river carrying on his shoulder a smilingyoung baby with golden curls and blue eyes. It was the same saint a driver friend of his father’s had hanging from his taxi’s rear-view mirror.
    ‘It’s St Christopher,’ he explained. ‘Carrying the infant Jesus.’
    ‘Not so loud,’ Eduardo warned him. ‘If anyone catches us here, we’re done for!’
    Paulo thought this was a bit unnecessary. He was sure nobody had seen them climb the wall behind the house, or get in through the bathroom shutters. There was no one in the streets at that late hour. Even if somebody did pass by the dentist’s house, they would not hear anything said behind its thick walls. In any case, he could not really control his voice, which was beginning to mix the gruffer tones of adolescence with the higher ones of childhood. He clicked his tongue in protest, but Eduardo ignored him, still gazing at the statues in amazement.
    ‘I’ve never seen so many.’
    ‘So many what?’
    ‘Male and female saints. And they’re so old. Look at that one. See how well made it is. Look at the nose, the hands, the detail of the fingernails. The crucifix signifies devotion to Jesus Christ.’
    Paulo did not know what the word ‘devotion’ meant.
    ‘It’s like love, only more so.’
    His reply meant nothing to Paulo.
    ‘Who’s this?’
    ‘It’s St Teresa. Her devotees are greeted with a shower of roses when they enter paradise.’
    This didn’t make sense either, but Paulo said nothing.
    ‘And the one with all that hair?’
    ‘St Maria Goretti. The lilies are to show that she was pure.’
    ‘How do you know it means that?’
    ‘Everybody does.’
    ‘I don’t.’
    ‘All Catholics do.’
    ‘My mother was a Catholic. My father isn’t interested in religion. Nobody makes me go to mass.’
    ‘Nor me. I go because I want to.’
    ‘You mean that when your mother and father go to church on Sunday they allow you not to go?’
    ‘I go because I want to.’
    ‘And I don’t go because I don’t want to.’
    Eduardo closed the discussion by pointing to the female saint with long hair.
    ‘That one had a film made about her.’
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘The one with the lilies. St Maria Goretti. Somebody tried to behave indecently towards her, she wouldn’t let him, and he stabbed her to death.’
    ‘That’s what must have happened to the dentist’s wife.’
    ‘But wasn’t she a whore?’
    ‘Oh yes, she was.’
    ‘And the dentist had the right to enjoy her. He was her husband.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘So let’s continue with our investigation. Let’s look further. What’s that up there?’
    The beam of light picked out a tall piece of furniture against the back wall. It had two doors in the top half, with a drawer underneath. They opened the doors: one of them creaked. The light showed some charcoal-grey jackets, a couple of black coats and matching trousers, white formal shirts, black and navy-blue ties, white coats with the dentist’s initials embroidered on the pockets. In the drawer they found piles of underpants, vests and handkerchiefs, all of them white. Rolled up in one corner were several pairs of black socks.
    ‘It’s all men’s things,’ said Eduardo.
    ‘An old man’s things.’
    ‘And dentist’s clothes.’
    ‘This must be his bedroom.’
    ‘Their bedroom, Paulo. A husband and wife sleep together.’
    ‘Look over there: it’s a single bed.’
    ‘It must be the guest room,’ said Eduardo, glancing at the image of a crucified Christ over the bed. ‘Rich people have a spare room. The couple’s bedroom must be somewhere else.’
    They went out. The torchlight