Mapuche Read Online Free PDF

are friends or relatives of the victims, did you know that?”
    Paula shrank on the nearby chair.
    â€œSo far as I know, we’re witnesses,” Jana said, “not suspects.”
    â€œAnd the story of the killer who returns to the scene of the crime, have you heard that one?”
    On the wall behind Andretti was a poster showing a girl with Teflon tits who was biting her thumb with a naughty air.
    â€œBull,” Jana said.
    â€œWe’ll see about that: where were you between midnight and six o’clock this morning?”
    â€œAt home,” she replied calmly. “In my workshop.”
    â€œWorkshop for what?”
    â€œI’m a sculptor.”
    â€œIs that right. What do you make, totem poles?”
    â€œHilarious.”
    â€œThe thing is, you don’t have an alibi, sweetie, that’s what I see,” the head of the night squad declared. “And you, tranny,” he barked, “where were you?”
    Paula’s tears had made her mascara run, her heels and stockings were spotted with vomit, the sight of Orlando mutilated had struck her dumb, and this jerk terrified her.
    â€œShe was at the Niceto for an audition,” Jana replied for her. “A club in Palermo: two thousand people can confirm it for you.”
    â€œThat means that your pal Orlando was alone on the docks when he was attacked,” the policeman deduced.
    â€œMassacred would be more exact.”
    â€œYeah. Did he have enemies, this Orlando?”
    The Mapuche shook her head.
    â€œNo . . . We know lots of sons of bitches but nobody who would do that.”
    â€œA matter of settling scores, did you think of that?”
    â€œOrlando and my friend here were working for themselves, and they earned hardly enough to live on: that doesn’t deserve that kind of ruthlessness.”
    The policeman pretended he hadn’t heard.
    â€œWho else was close to Luz?”
    Jana turned to Paula, or rather her colorless shadow.
    â€œOnly us,” she mumbled from her chair.
    â€œYou’ve started talking again!” the sergeant observed. “So: you don’t know anyone who might give us information about Orlando?”
    â€œNo.”
    The giant receded like a tide of fuel oil into the chair, and crossed his meaty hands behind his head.
    â€œIf I understand correctly, you claim that the victim has no friends other than you, and that you’re close to him but not to the point of knowing his last name,” he laughed. “That’s some friendship!”
    â€œIt’s not friendship,” Jana said, “it’s loneliness.”
    â€œOh ho! Do you at least know where he lives, your best friend?”
    The Mapuche grimaced. “No idea.”
    â€œIn a barrio,” Paula threw in. “La Villa 21.”
    A slum in the center of town.
    â€œFamily?”
    â€œIn Junin . . . At least that’s what Luz, Orlando told me. He broke with his former life and came to Buenos Aires.”
    â€œWhere he ran into the wrong person at the wrong place,” Andretti continued.
    Paula was interlacing her fingers on the chair. The sergeant pushed back the keyboard of his computer, which resembled the shabby buildings in the neighborhood.
    â€œSince you don’t have anything else to tell me, you can go home,” he announced.
    â€œYou’re not going to take our deposition?” Jana said, astonished.
    â€œTo write what, that you know his first name?”
    â€œYou’re going to inform his parents, at least?”
    Andretti scowled at her in a special way. “You know what they say around here, Indian: mind your own business.”
    An old adage that had been widely repeated during the dictatorship. At that time, Jana hadn’t yet been born.
    â€œOur friend was massacred by a psychopath and there’s every reason to think he’s still roaming the neighborhood,” she said. “Luz had a purse and clothes; if you haven’t found