Page 48 of The Secret Dinner

“It’s my first language.”

Equally nervous, Albertina decided to join her in prayer.

“Umberto, there’s no need to overreact,” said Nilo.

“Yes, there is,” said Gabriel. “He’s right: Everyone has to eat.”

Gustavo was trembling and soon burst into heaving sobs. Kássio placed his body in front of his boyfriend, protecting him.

“You’re ruining my meal. I paid a lot of money for this,” said Umberto, dissatisfied. “I’ve got nothing against you people … I just need you to try it. And I can’t eat in peace with that little pansy making a scene!”

I needed to act. And soon.

“You can put the gun away,” I said. “I’ll handle this.”

I approached Kássio, calling him to one corner of the room, with my back to the table so they couldn’t read my lips.

“Look, I get it. But the guy’s got a gun, there’s nothing I can do,” I muttered. “There’s a regular steak in the fridge, left over from lunch. I can reheat it and just pour the sauce on top. Now, I want you guys to go back to the table and drop your plates in some sort of scuffle. I’ll serve you new plates with beef, and pretend it’s the same dish. You’ll eat it with a disgusted look on your face and then get out of here as soon as it’s finished.”

With no other alternative, they agreed immediately. They sat at the table under everyone’s stares and Gustavo started to cry again. I couldn’t tell if his tears were real or if he was just a great actor.

“For God’s sake, this is all very unpleasant. Let them both go!” said Kiki, dropping her knife and fork on the table.

“I don’t want to, I don’t want to,” Gustavo repeated, like a mantra.

He flailed his arms around, knocking both plates to the floor. Umberto got up from his chair, holding the gun. He pointed it at Gustavo, who was shaking all over—his face was red and creased at the horror coursing through his veins. Umberto cocked the revolver, keeping his index finger on the trigger, ready to shoot.

“Hey, hey, come on now, stop.” I stood between Umberto and Gustavo, who was staring emptily at the broken shards and food on the floor. “I’ll get more and they’ll eat it … Won’t they?”

Gustavo and Kássio hesitated for just the right amount of time to make it seem believable before nodding their heads in agreement.

“Great!” I said and went back into the kitchen.

I came out five minutes later, carrying two new plates of food, served on the crappy set of dishes we ate off at home every day. In the center of each plate were three medium-sized slices of meat covered in the citrus sauce. An unpleasant vibe hung over the table. Umberto sat up straight, not taking his eyes off the couple, like a mother superior at a convent.

I set the plates in front of them and couldn’t help but give Gustavo a wink as I walked away from the table. I wanted them to eat and leave immediately. Maybe then the dinner would go back to normal, though normal wasn’t exactly the right word to describe anything that night.

They both took the smallest piece. Gustavo stared at the floor as he chewed and even stopped crying, as if the intense flavors had swept away his sadness. Kássio looked at me and I tried hard to make my gaze convey confidence and serenity. He cleaned his plate and even scraped up the sauce with the dessert spoon, just to taunt Umberto.

“Now you can go,” said Umberto, satisfied.

Kássio helped Gustavo up and they got to their feet. I walked them both to the door and called the elevator.

“Thank you for everything. Thank you and … sorry,” said Gustavo, relieved. “Thank you, thank you.”

Kássio held the elevator door for Gustavo, and once his boyfriend was out of earshot, he looked deep into my eyes.

“That second dish … was it really beef?”

I hesitated but put on my best smile.

“Yes.”

6

When I got back to the table, everyone was busy eating their food as if nothing had happened. Ataíde resumed his story about sailing along the Amalfi Coast, but nobody seemed interested. Enraptured by the flavors, they’d set aside their prim and proper manners and were practically licking the sauce off the plates. I was almost inclined to have a taste, but I knew I couldn’t. With my back to the table, I opened another bottle of 2008 Angélica Zapata Alta Malbec.

“This has been the wildest experience of my life,” said Kiki. “Eating human flesh in an apartment in Copacabana!”