The Two Deaths of Senora Puccini Read Online Free PDF Page A

see her tomb, an elaborate mountain of granite topped by an angel. A few days after it was in place, Mendez had his accident.”
    â€œI still don’t believe it,” said Dalakis, “and even if the story’s true, what makes you think the girl in the picture is Jorge Mendez’s daughter? Did you ever see her?”
    â€œJust once. She was with her father at the opera. But of course she’s also been described to me—those eyes, those high cheekbones, one wouldn’t forget them easily. Yes, that’s the girl all right: Cecilia Mendez.”
    Dalakis seemed torn between refuting Malgiolio and telling some story of his own which might betray a confidence. He took a sip of Scotch, then walked to the mantel and reached out for the picture. His hands were so big that I was afraid he might accidentally break the glass. As he looked at the picture, his anger disappeared and he began to look sad. He was easily eight inches taller than Malgiolio and standing together they appeared to be preparing a comic turn. It is odd the relationship you have with people you’ve known since childhood—not love, not hate. It’s more like they are of your own skin. Looking at Malgiolio and Dalakis, while musing on their comic potential, was like looking at myself.
    â€œYou see,” said Dalakis after some moments, “I recognize the girl and her name isn’t Cecilia Mendez and Pacheco never made love to her. That’s his daughter, his illegitimate daughter, and the reason I know is because she was a close friend of my own daughter. Her name is Sarah something, I can’t remember her last name. She’s in school in Paris now.”
    â€œAnd I suppose you knew her personally,” said Malgiolio, his voice skirting the edge of mockery. Despite the mistakes in his life, he was not a man who felt much doubt.
    â€œShe came to my house a few times several years ago. Pacheco had just brought her up from the south and enrolled her in the university. My daughter, you know, is an art teacher in a high school. This woman, Sarah, was also an art student, and she and my daughter were in three or four classes together.”
    Malgiolio raised his eyebrows and glanced at me as if seeking my agreement that Dalakis was mistaken. To tell the truth, I felt a little skeptical. I had my own idea who the woman was. “You mean he put her through the university?” I asked. “Did she live in this house as well?”
    Dalakis stood facing us with his back to the mantel. “No, she lived in the women’s dormitory. Actually, only a few people knew she was Pacheco’s daughter. It’s quite an odd story. He didn’t even know the girl existed until about seven years ago. Her mother was the wife of another doctor in the south, the doctor who took Pacheco into partnership after he finished his residency. He was an older man with a young wife. Well, you know Pacheco’s reputation with women. They had a brief affair. But when the child was born she swore it was her husband’s.
    â€œAnyway, they broke off and their lives drifted apart. Pacheco started his own practice. The old doctor and his wife were later divorced. She taught school for a while, then opened a tea shop. The old doctor saw the girl regularly. Then, about eight years ago, he died. The woman expected he’d leave the girl something in his will. She was seventeen and it was probably around then that the picture was taken. Well, the old doctor didn’t leave her a cent. Perhaps he knew the girl wasn’t his. The mother had little money but she wanted the girl to go to the university. She was a very talented artist and it seemed a pity for her to spend her life in some small town.
    â€œThe upshot was that the woman contacted Pacheco and confessed that the girl was his daughter after all. Many men wouldn’t have believed her, but Pacheco believed her and, what’s more, he offered to support the