Page 57 of The Secret Dinner

“I’d rather not get involved.”

“Just tell me something. I know Leitão is his last name and Piglet is his nickname, but I have no idea what his first name is! That’s not right. We’re in a relationship.”

“He doesn’t like his first name.”

“I know, but you can tell me,” she begged. “I promise I won’t say anything to him.”

“Jorge Luiz.”

“Jorge Luiz … That’s beautiful. Jorge Luiz!” she said, savoring every letter. “What happened back in your hometown?”

“Look, Cora, you’re asking too much.”

“Throw me a bone at least, come on.”

“Piglet’s a good guy, but he had a tough childhood,” I said. “I can tell you one thing. When we were about five or six years old, our teacher asked each student to draw something they liked to do for fun with their family. I still have Piglet’s drawing, I saved it all this time.”

“Can I see it?”

“Hold on.”

I’ve always been organized, and I quickly located the folders in my room where I kept postcards, letters, souvenirs, things like that. I handed the drawing to Cora. She stared at the image like it was a Rembrandt.

“Is that him?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Eating, of course.”

Cora smiled. “And these women?”

“I already said I’m not going to tell you more.”

She went back to studying the lines, like that drawing might reveal every truth about her boyfriend. I would have stood there for hours, watching her gaze wander over the yellowed paper, but the doorbell rang. I got up to answer it. Hugo must have forgotten his keys, or maybe it was Miguel. I opened the door and was met by the sight of a tall, thin man, wearing jeans and a green polo shirt, with the least interesting face I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Are you Dante?” he asked.

“Yes. And you are…?”

He reached into his jeans pocket and handed me his badge.

“The police.”

[Piglet’s Drawing]

BURNING LOVE CREMATORIUMS

1

Detective Amóz sat down on the couch next to Cora and asked for a glass of water. I went to get it, wishing I were dead. Funnily enough, at that moment I wasn’t thinking about myself or this awful situation I was in, but about my mother. I could picture her tearstained face, her look of disappointment burning my skin and turning my stomach. I would have rather died than have to face her.

At the sink I splashed some water on my face and wet the back of my neck. Then returned to the living room.

“Thank you,” said the detective, drinking the whole glass in one go. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“It’s fine.”