The Listening Walls Read Online Free PDF Page A

birds, thousands of singing birds. If you like birds.”
    â€œI hate birds,” Wilma said.
    He went on to describe the climate, the tropical foli­age, the beautiful plazas, until he realized that neither of the two women was paying the slightest attention to him. They had begun to argue again, about a man called Gill, and what Gill would think if he walked in right now, or if he ever found out.
    O’Donnell got up and left.
    Consuela quit work at eight o’clock and went down to the service entrance where her boyfriend was supposed to meet her. He wasn’t there, and one of the kitchen help told her he’d gone to the jai alai games.
    Consuela cursed his pig eyes and his black heart and returned to her broom closet, determined on revenge. It wasn’t much of a revenge but it was all she could think of, to stay in the closet all night and let him worry about her and wonder why she didn’t come home and where she was.
    She made herself as comfortable as possible on a bed of towels. There was no ventilation in the closet but Con­suela didn’t mind this. The night air was bad anyway. It caused consumption, and if you had consumption you couldn’t get into the United States. The immigration authorities wouldn’t give you any papers.
    She dozed off and dreamed that she was on a bus going to Hollywood. Suddenly the bus stopped and a bearded man who looked a little like Jesus opened the door and said, “Consuela Juanita Magdalena Dolores Gonzales, you have consumption. You must get off the bus immedi­ately.” Consuela flung herself at his feet, weeping and pleading. He turned away from her sternly, and she began to scream.
    When she first woke up she could hear herself scream­ing, but a moment later, sitting up, fully awake now, she realized it was not herself she’d heard screaming. It was one of the ladies in 404.
    In spite of the lateness of the hour there were a dozen eyewitnesses who’d been passing on the avenida below the balcony of 404, each of them eager to give his version of what had happened.
    The American lady paused at the railing and looked down before she jumped.
    She did not look down. She knelt and prayed.
    She didn’t hesitate a moment, just ran across the bal­cony and dived over.
    She screamed as she fell.
    She didn’t make a sound.
    She carried in her arms a silver box.
    Her arms were empty, flung wide to the heavens in supplication.
    She turned over and over in the air.
    She fell straight down and head first, like an arrow.
    The eyewitnesses all agreed on one point: when she struck the pavement she died instantly.
    In the hotel manager’s office Dr. Lopez gave a brief statement to the police. “I treated Mrs. Wyatt last night for a case of turista. An unhappy woman. Very nervous, very high-strung.”
    â€œVery drunk,” said the bartender.
    â€œVery rich,” Consuela said with a nervous giggle. “What a pity to die when one is rich.”
    The doctor held up his hand for silence. “Kindly allow me to finish. My rounds begin in less than five hours and even a doctor requires some sleep. As I said before, you’ll get the complete story from Mrs. Kellogg when she re­covers. How soon that will be depends on the hospital authorities. She’s suffered a bad shock. Moreover, when she fainted she struck her head on the bedpost, so she may have some degree of concussion as well. That’s all I can tell you.”
    â€œI, too, am very nervous and high-strung,” said Mercado, the older of the two policemen. “Still, I do not leap off balconies.”
    Dr. Lopez smiled without amusement. “You might one day, one balcony. Good morning, gentlemen.”
    â€œGood morning, Doctor. Now you, Consuela Gonzales. You claim you were in the broom closet and heard a woman screaming. Which woman?”
    â€œThe small, brown-haired one.”
    â€œSeñora Kellogg?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWas