“All this time?”
She looked up at Emilio, who was frowning. Clumsily she sat down on an acrylic bubble chair and put her drink on the floor. She opened her bag and took out the film canisters, showing them to him before quickly stuffing them back in her purse. “I didn’t know. I swear. I…she put them inside this little statuette…I swear I didn’t know. Shouldn’t you develop them? You have a darkroom.”
“I’m not sure I should touch the film rolls.”
“But we need to see what’s inside.”
Emilio grabbed the bottle of whiskey and filled a glass for himself, topping her off in the process. “It depends. The newspaper might want to do it, to make sure we don’t tamper with anything. I know an editor who might be willing to publish them.”
“Really?”
“I’ll give him a call. Wait here. Drink up.” he said, downing his whiskey. “Liquid courage for the both of us.”
He disappeared up the stairs, and Maite was alone, in the large room of paneled oak, sitting in front of Emilio’s black-and-white photographs. A gigantic eye stared at her from a frame, and she drank as he’d suggested.
She wondered if the others had escaped the building. It was possible. If they had, she had no idea where they might have gone. Aside from the hospital, that is. She supposed it depended if they were badly hurt or not. If Rubén was alive, she promised herself she’d waste no time finding him and nursing him back to health. And then they would leave the city together. She could become a modern adelita, caring for the sons of revolution, the guerilla fighters deep in the mountains. Rubén would have scars from this night, but he would wear them proudly.
The eye stared back at her, unblinking and cruel.
She raised the glass to her lips, hit her teeth in the process and winced. Emilio came walking down the stairs just then.
“He’ll be here right away. No later than half an hour, he said. He lives nearby.”
“Does he? That’s good. What’s his name?”
“José Hernández. He works for El Universal.”
“He’ll publish the pictures?”
“If there’s anything to publish, he will. You want something to eat?”
“I don’t think I could eat anything. I’m so nervous.”
“You’ve been very brave.”
“I don’t think so,” she whispered. Her purse was on her lap. She clutched it with one hand, not letting go of it for an instant. If she let go, she feared she’d lose what little composure she possessed. Somehow the purse and the film canisters held the tears at bay.
Emilio sat in front of her, in a matching chair, and solicitously offered to refill her glass. She accepted but didn’t take another sip. Her mouth tasted sour. He then offered her a cigarette, and she declined. He shrugged and lit one for himself, leaning forward a little as he smoked. Their conversation dwindled as the smoke rose.
The bell rang. She almost dropped her glass, startled by the noise, but Emilio smiled.
“It’s probably José. Give me a second.”
She heard a muffled greeting and then Emilio was walking back into the room, still smiling. “I was right. José, this is Maite, the young lady I was telling you about.”
The man who walked into the living room in the company of Emilio was older and distinguished, dressed in a good camel coat. He was also terribly familiar. Maite knew that face. She’d seen it before in the house belonging to Leonora’s sister. It was Leonardo, the uncle in military uniform, whose photo sat proudly in a silver frame.
Maite glanced down quickly at the floor, trying to conceal this flash of recognition.
“Maite. I’m glad to meet you. Emilio was saying you’ve kept some important photos safe.”
She nodded and licked her lips.
“Have you developed them?” the man asked.
“We haven’t had the chance. We thought perhaps you’d like to do that,” Emilio said.
“Of course. Even though you haven’t developed the film, perhaps Leonora told you what was in the photos? Did she, Maite?”
She wanted him to go away, to leave her alone. The purse felt heavy on her lap. She shook her head again, no.
“But you’ve been keeping the film safe for her all this time. You must have done it for a reason. You must have an idea of what’s in there.”
“I didn’t know,” she muttered.
She looked up at the man. He had a hand in one coat pocket. A casual detail, unimportant. Except he might be concealing a gun. She stood up. “Excuse me, I drank too much and I need to use the bathroom. Where is it?”
“Oh, that way,” Emilio said, raising a hand and pointing in the right direction.
Maite tried to walk without a hurry, her purse slung over her left shoulder. Multiple eyes, rendered in black-and-white, watched her from the walls. As soon as she stepped into the bathroom she locked the door. It was a large bathroom, spotless, with plush towels and expensive looking fittings. If she’d had more time, Maite would have admired it and carefully gone through all of Emilio’s prescriptions and toiletries. She would have stolen a memento. But she didn’t have time. She pulled the shower curtain aside and stepped into the shower.
There was a window there. It was high up. She grabbed a stool that was tucked by the sink and stood on it, attempting to pry the window open. It remained stubbornly jammed. As she stood there on her tiptoes there was a knock on the door.
“Open up,” the man said.
She didn’t bother replying. Maite looked around in a panic, but there wasn’t anything she might use as a weapon; she tried to wedge the window open, pressing her hands against the glass. There came a sonorous crash, and the door slammed open and the old man walked in. She stood in the shower, stunned, not knowing what to say or do while he reached forward and pulled her with him.
Maite reflexively grabbed on to the shower curtain, and when the man yanked her by the arm, she yanked the shower curtain in turn, ripping it off the shower rod. Silver shower rings fell onto the floor, rolling across the tiles.
“Let go of me,” she said.
The man did not reply. Although he was old, he was still strong, and soon he had hauled her back into the living room, where they almost collided with Emilio. He stared at them and stepped back, mouth open.
“You recognized me. How do you know me?” the old man asked, shoving her until her knees hit the back of one of the chairs and she was forced to sit down.
“Leonora’s graduation photo,” Maite said quickly.