Chapter 25 Section five

By the time I got home I was drenched and could barely breathe.The concierge, the night watchman, a few neighbors, and a half-dozen others were crammed into the foyer of my house. The rainstorm had flooded the basement downstairs. They were assessing the damage, and no one had noticed my presence. .I climbed up the stairs in two steps at a time, took off the wet silk handkerchief on my head, and looked for the keys, thankful that I finally got home and got rid of the stalker.I really want to take a hot bath to drive away the cold and fear in my body.But I couldn't be thankful for long.As soon as I opened the door, I found something strange in the room.

It was supposed to be dark in the house, and it was a bit abnormal to have a light on in the living room.But there is a plausible explanation for this: Although Ms. Manuela and the two girls turn off all the lights when they leave each day, perhaps they just forgot to check one last time that afternoon.So the strangeness is not from the lights, but from what I see as soon as I walk in the door.A gabardine coat.Light color, men's.Hanging on the hanger, slowly dripping water drops. The owner of the clothes was sitting in the living room waiting for me.For a long time I could not utter a word, it seemed like an eternity.The uninvited guest did not speak immediately.We just stared at each other blankly, drowned in countless chaotic memories and feelings.

"Did you like the movie?" he finally asked. I didn't answer.Standing in front of me is the man who has been following me, the man who left my life five years ago wearing a similar gabardine coat, the man who dragged his typewriter when he learned that I was in love with someone else and was about to leave him. The figure receding away in the dimness.Ignacio Montes, my first boyfriend, came into my life again. "We've all changed a lot, haven't we, little Sheila?" He stood up and came over to me. "What are you doing here, Ignacio?" I finally whispered.

I hadn't taken off my coat yet, and the water was dripping under my feet, forming tiny puddles on the floor.But I didn't move. "I'm here to see you," he replied, "Go dry yourself off and change, we need to talk." He smiled, and this smile seemed to say: I came to you with bad intentions.At this moment, I realized that I was only two meters away from the door I had just come in, and maybe I could try to escape, running down the stairs, across the foyer, and then into the street, running wildly.But I immediately gave up the idea.I shouldn't overreact until I figure out what exactly I'm dealing with.So, I walked towards him too, and confronted him.

"What do you want, Ignacio? How did you get in? Why are you looking for me? Why are you spying on me?" "Wait a minute, Sheila, just a moment, ask one by one, don't ask too many questions at once. But first, if you don't mind, I want to relax. I'm a little tired. You know? Last night You keep me wondering what time it is. Can you pour me a glass of wine?" "You didn't drink before." I tried to stay calm. A cold laugh ripped through the air in the living room like a knife. "You have a really good memory! It seems that many interesting stories have happened in your life over the years, but it's unbelievable that you can still remember such a small thing."

It doesn't sound like it's true, it's true.But I do remember.Not only remember this, but also remember many other things.I remember our aimless walks every evening, I remember the hot dances at the carnival ball with little lanterns, and I remember his optimism and tenderness at that time.I remember myself, a humble little tailor, with no prospects for anything other than marriage to a man.But now, the appearance of this man fills me with fear and uneasiness. "What would you like to drink?" I finally asked, trying to sound calm and not panicked. "Whisky, brandy, it doesn't matter. The wine you usually serve to other guests will do."

I poured out the bottle of Begbeer's leftover from the night before, and there wasn't much left.When I got back to him, I noticed that he was wearing a plain gray suit, better textured and cut than what we wore when we were together, but not much more so than the men I've been around lately.I set the glass down on the table next to him when I noticed an Embassy candy box on the table, wrapped in silver wrapping paper and tied with a bold bow of rose-colored ribbon. "Some admirer sent you a present," he said, stroking the box with his fingertips. I didn't answer, because I couldn't answer, and I almost didn't dare to breathe.I knew that somewhere on the wrapping paper of this sudden gift was hidden a coded message for Hirgarth, a message that no one but me could know.

I sat down on the corner of the sofa, away from him, still soaked, tense and stiff.Then pretending to ignore the candy, brushing a lock of wet hair from his face, he silently studied Ignacio.He was still as thin as before, but his face was completely different.Strands of white hair crawled up his temples, although he was not yet thirty.There are obvious dark circles around the eyes, deep nasolabial folds, and a haggard face. It seems that life is not peaceful. "Oh, Sheila, how many years have passed!" "Five years." I said without thinking, "Now, please tell me what you are here for."

"Not just one thing," he said, "but first, I want you to change into dry clothes. Also, when you come back, please bring your ID. If you are asked to check your ID at the entrance of the movie theater, in your current identity , I don't think it's appropriate." "Why do I have to show you my papers?" "Because, I heard that you are now a Moroccan citizen." "What does this have to do with you? You have no right to interfere in my life." "Who told you I don't have this right?" "There is no relationship between you and me anymore, Ignacio, I am a different person. Not only am I not related to you now, I am now not related to anyone I knew when we were together. All these years So much has happened in my life that I'm not who I used to be."

"None of us is who we used to be, Sheila. No one can stay the same after a war like this." There was a silence.There seemed to be a flock of seagulls flying around in my head, countless fragments of memories flooded my heart, and countless complex emotions entangled in my heart, which almost made me unable to control.The man sitting in front of me, who had almost been the father of my children, spoiled and loved me with all his heart, and I hurt him badly.He has the potential to be my worst nightmare, and maybe he has been chewing his resentment alone for five years, always ready to find an opportunity to avenge my betrayal.For example, denounce me, reveal my true identity, and let the debts I owed in the past be revealed to the world.

"Where did you spend the war?" I asked tremblingly. "In Salamanca. I went to visit my mother a few days before the war broke out, and then I was blocked there by the rebels. I joined the National Army because there was no other option. What about you?" "In Tetouan," I blurted out without thinking.Perhaps I shouldn't have said it so precisely, but the words have been spoken and cannot be taken back.Oddly enough, the answer seemed to satisfy him.There was a faint smile on the corner of his mouth. "Oh, of course," he murmured, "of course, so everything is clear." "What is clear?" "It's something I've always wanted to figure out." "You don't have to find out about me, Ignacio. The only thing you should do now is forget about me and don't bother me again." "I can't do it," he said emphatically. I didn't ask why, for fear that he would demand an explanation, that he would reprimand me for my treachery, that he would throw all the hurt I had done him back in my face, or something worse: that he would Tell me he still loves me and beg me to come back to him. "You have to go, Ignacio, you have to forget about me." "I can't, my dear," he repeated, bitter in his voice. "The thing I want most is to forget the woman who trampled on me, but I can't. I'm working for the Security Service at the Ministry of the Interior. , responsible for monitoring and following all incoming foreigners, especially those intending to settle permanently in Madrid. You are one of them, and one of the most suspicious." I don't know whether to cry or laugh. "What do you want?" I asked when I could finally speak. "Your papers," he demanded. "Passport, and customs formalities for everything in this house from abroad. But go and change first." His voice was cold, full of professional confidence, completely different from the previous Ignacio.In my memory, he is always full of tenderness, even full of childishness. "Can you show me your ID?" I asked in a low voice.Although I don't think he should be lying, but I still need time to digest this fact. He took out a wallet from the inner pocket of his coat, and opened it with one hand. The movements were skillful, and he was already used to proving his identity again and again.Yes, it has his photo, name, title, and the ministry just mentioned on it. "Wait a minute." I whispered. I walked into my room, quickly took out a white shirt and a blue skirt from the closet, and then opened the underwear drawer, ready to get clean underwear.That's when my fingers found Bergbeer's letter, hidden under a stack of underwear.I hesitated for a few seconds, not knowing what to do with them.Do you leave them where they are, or find a safer place to store them in a hurry?I scanned the room eagerly, on top of the wardrobe?Under the mattress?Tuck it under the quilt?Or behind a dresser mirror, or hidden in a shoebox somewhere? "Please hurry up," Ignacio called from the living room. I shoved the letters into the back of the drawer, covered them completely with several pieces of underwear, and slammed the drawer shut.No other hideout was necessarily safer than this one, so resignedly I dried myself off, changed into clothes, took my passport from the nightstand, and went back to the living room. "Iris Agrek." He slowly read the passport I handed him. "Born in Tangier, lives in Tangier. What a coincidence to have the same birthday as you." I didn't answer, and suddenly had a particularly strong sense of vomiting, which was almost uncontrollable. "May I know why you changed your nationality?" I quickly made up a lie in my head.I never expected to encounter such a thing, not even Shirgarth. "My passport was stolen while in Tangier, there was no way to apply for a new passport from Madrid, and the war was at its height. A friend helped me figure out how to get a Moroccan ID so I could move freely .This is not a fake passport, you can check it." "I've checked. What about the name?" "They thought it would be better to change the name and make it more Arabic." "Iris Agric, is this Arabic?" "It's Cerha," I lied to him. "It's the dialect of the Kabila people in the Rif region." As I said that, I remembered Begbeer's superhuman language ability. He was silent for a while, but kept his eyes on me.I felt like my stomach was turning upside down, but I tried to control myself, lest I couldn't help but run to the bathroom. "I also need to know the purpose of your stay in Madrid," he finally said. "Work. Making clothes, like before." I replied, "It's a boutique." "Show me." I took him into the innermost living room, and without a word pointed out bolts of fabric, clothing patterns, and magazines.Then lead him through the corridor and open the doors of all the rooms. - Spotless fitting room, guest toilet.The studio is full of cut fabrics, samples and semi-finished products worn on models.There are still a few garments waiting to be pressed in the ironing room.Finally there is the warehouse.We have been walking side by side, just like how many times we have walked hand in hand.I remembered that he used to be almost a head taller than me, but now the gap between us doesn't seem to be that big.Not because my memory is wrong, but when I was a fashion apprentice who dreamed of being a civil servant, I never wore heels.Five years later, high heels put me only half a head behind him. "What's in there?" he asked. "My bedroom, two bathrooms, four rooms. Two of them are guest bedrooms, and the other two are empty. There is also the dining room, kitchen and service area." I said quickly. "I'm going to have a look." "why?" "I am under no obligation to give an explanation." "Okay." I whispered. I took him to look at each room, but I still couldn't help but feel nauseated.On the surface, he pretends to be cold and calm, but inside he is like an ant on a hot pan.I tried not to let him see that my hands were shaking as I grabbed the doorknob and flipped the switch.Bergbell's letter to Rosalinda is in my bedroom, hidden under a pile of underwear.My legs trembled at the thought of the possibility that he might open that drawer on a whim and find the pile of letters.He entered the room and looked around, and my heart was in a ball.He pretended to flip through the novel on the bedside table with great interest, and put it back in its original place.Then he ran his fingers over the foot of the bed, opened a drawer of the dresser, and leaned over to the balcony to look for a while.How I wished he would let it go, but he didn't seem to want to stop at all, and made a move that scares me even more: he opened a wardrobe, where there were coats and coats, he touched the sleeve of one coat, another Belt the coat, then close the door.Then opening the next wardrobe, I held my breath as a row of drawers appeared before us.He opened the first one, which contained handkerchiefs, and he took out one to look at, another, and another.Then close and open the second drawer.I swallowed.Inside were stockings, which he closed again.When his fingers touched the third drawer, I felt the floor give way under my feet.There, under those silk underwear, lay the heap of the most detailed and truthful handwritten documents written in the first person concerning the change of foreign minister that was now being talked about all over Spain. "I think you're going a little too far, Ignacio," I whispered. His hand rested on the handle of that drawer for a few seconds, as if thinking about what to do next.My body was hot and cold, my throat was dry, and my heart was full of anxiety. I even felt that everything would collapse at this moment.Until I noticed that he opened his mouth to say something. "Let's get on with it," he finally said simply, before closing the closet door.Maybe it was out of what little respect I had left, maybe it was just embarrassment, or there were some boundaries in his professional conduct that he wouldn't cross, I'll never know.I breathed a sigh of relief, I wanted to cry at that moment, but I finally covered it up and played the forced tour guide again.He looked again at the bathroom where I showered, the table where I ate, the pantry where the groceries were kept, and the sink where the girls did their laundry.Then we went back to the living room without a word.I secretly thanked God in my heart that this search was finally escaped. He sat back in his original seat, and I sat across from him. "Is everything normal?" "No," he flatly denied, "not normal at all, not normal at all." I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. "What's wrong?" "Nowhere is normal, nothing is as it should be." I suddenly felt a flash of light in my mind. "What do you want to find, Ignacio? What do you want to find that you haven't found?" He didn't answer. "You think it's all just a disguise, don't you?" He still didn't answer, but changed the subject and regained control of the conversation. "I know very well who arranged all this." "All this, what?" I asked. "This bumbling boutique." "It's all real, and we work hard here. I'm working more than ten hours a day, seven days a week, without a day off." "I don't believe it," he said sourly. I stood up, approached his chair, sat on one of the arms, and gently grabbed his right hand.He didn't fight back, but he didn't look at me either.I took his fingers and stroked my palm and fingers, slowly, letting him feel every inch of skin on my hand, feel the years of hard work, scissors, needles and thimbles left on my hands. Under the thick cocoon.I could feel him shivering from skin to skin with me. "These are the hands of a working woman, Ignacio. I know what you think of me and what you imagine me doing. But I want you to understand that these are not the hands of a man who has been kept. Because of the hurt I caused you back then, I feel deep guilt from the depths of my soul, you really don’t know how sorry I am. I’m sorry for you, but it’s all in the past and it’s impossible to turn back. You intervene in me life, looking for clues that don't exist at all, and you won't get any benefit." I stopped touching his fingers, but kept his hand in mys.His cold hands slowly warmed up. "Do you want to know what happened after I left?" I asked in a low voice. He didn't speak, just nodded, still didn't look at me. "We went to Tangier. I became pregnant, Ramiro abandoned me, and I lost another child. I was alone, abandoned in a strange land, dying, with the burden of what he owed in my name. I am in so much debt that I can't even find a place to kill myself. The police have troubled me all day, I have experienced all the horrors in the world, and I have to participate in some illegal things. Later, with the help of a female friend Next, I opened a boutique and started working again. I worked day and night and made some new friends, completely different people. Slowly, I got closer to them and entered A whole new world, but I never stopped working. I also met a man who almost fell in love and maybe found happiness with him. But he is a foreign reporter and I know he will leave sooner or later, so I insist on not I started a relationship with him because I was afraid to experience the pain again, to relive the heartbreaking pain of being abandoned. Now I am back in Madrid, alone, and continue to work. You have seen everything here. As for you As for the matter between me and me, the sins I committed have been repaid. You don’t have to doubt this. I don’t know if you are satisfied with this, but don’t worry, because I have paid a hundredfold for the harm I caused you I am at ease, because I know that what I did to you and what he did to me is more than enough to maintain a balance." I don't know if the words shook him, calmed him a little, or confused him even more.Both of us were silent for a long time, his hand was still held in mine, our bodies were so close that we could almost feel each other's warmth.After a while, I left him and returned to my seat. "What is your relationship with Minister Bergbeer?" he asked.His tone was no longer so bitter, but he did not show any weakness, between the intimacy at that moment and the infinite distance before.I noticed that he was trying to regain his professional attitude, but unfortunately, not very successfully. "Juan Luis Begber was a friend of mine in Tetouan." "What friend?" "He's not my lover, if that's what you think." "He spent the night with you last night." "He spent the night at my house, but not with me. I don't have to tell you about my private life, but I would like to make it clear to you in case you have any doubts. There is no emotional connection between Bergbeer and me. Yesterday We didn't spend the night together. Not just last night, never before. I'm not being adopted by any minister." "Then why?" "Why didn't we spend the night together, or why didn't I get adopted by the Minister?" "Why did he come to you and didn't leave until around eight in the morning?" "Because he just found out he was fired and didn't want to be alone." He stood up, walked to a balcony, put his hands in his trouser pockets, looked outside and said: "Begbell's an idiot, a traitor to the English. A madman who's been charmed by an English vixen." I smiled wryly, stood up, and walked behind him. "You don't understand, Ignacio. You work at the Ministry of the Interior and you have to obey the orders of the Ministry of the Interior. They give you the task of frightening all foreigners who come to Madrid, but you have no idea what Colonel Bergber is. Such a person, why would he do such a thing." "I only know what I have to know." "what?" "He's a betrayer of his country, a traitor, an incompetent minister. The whole world thinks so, the papers say so." "Looks like there's something credible in the paper..." I said sarcastically. "What else can you trust if you don't trust newspapers? Trust your new foreign friends?" "Maybe. They know a lot more than you do." He turned around and took a few steps towards me, until he was less than a palm away from me, facing my face. "What do they know?" he asked hoarsely. I suddenly realized that I shouldn't say more, so I kept silent and let him continue. "Do they know that I can have you exiled early tomorrow morning? Do they know that I can have you arrested and turn your shiny Moroccan passport into a wad of paper and you'll be covered Eyes thrown out of this country without anyone noticing? Your friend Begbeer has been kicked out of the government, and you have no umbrella." He was so close to me that I could clearly see the stubble he had just shaved in the morning, could see his Adam's apple rolling up and down with his voice, and could observe every inch of his lips sports.It was the same mouth that the police had kissed me so many times, and now it was spitting out such a brutal threat to me. I played my last card desperately, a card as false as my identity. "Begbel is no longer around, but I have other resources than you can imagine. The customers in the boutique have powerful husbands or lovers, many of whom I have deep friendships with. As long as I apply, there are at least half a dozen embassies that can provide me with diplomatic protection. The German embassy is the first to bear the brunt. Of course, they also have a deep relationship with your department. Just a phone call and I can guarantee that I will be safe Injury. If you insist on meddling in things you shouldn’t be meddling in, it’s likely you will be the one who can’t afford to walk away.” I have never lied to anyone so arrogantly and unreasonably.It may very well be the big lie itself that makes me speak so haughtily.I don't know if he believed it or not.Maybe he believed it, because although this lie is as unbelievable as my life trajectory, the former lover standing in front of him has indeed become a Moroccan citizen, just like it proves every moment that those incredible things have a Innocence becomes reality. "Then we'll see." He said through gritted teeth. He moved away from me and sat down again. "I don't like you the way you are, Ignacio," I whispered behind his back. He laughed out loud, full of bitterness. "Who do you think you are to judge me? Don't you think you are superior to others when you escaped this war in Africa and came back dressed as a lady? Don't you accept a deviant minister at home? Am I honorable? While you are enjoying those sycophants' flower sweets, the rest of us have to pay for our black bread and bindo!" "I judge you because you mean a lot to me and I wish you well," I replied, my voice almost floating out of my throat. He responded with another laugh, more bitter this time, but also more sincere. "No one is more important to you than yourself, Sheila. Me, for me, for me, with me, I've worked hard, I've suffered, I've gotten what I deserve, me, me, me. Except myself, You don't care about anyone. Don't you bother to ask your old friends how things are after the war? Have you ever thought, just once, to go see them in those high fashions and see if anyone needs you Help? Do you know what happened to those old neighbors? And those friends when you were young, how have you been all these years?" His question reverberated in my mind like a bolt from the blue, like a handful of limes thrown unexpectedly in the eye.I don't know how to answer, I don't know anything, because I choose not to know.I follow other people's orders, which to me is discipline.They told me not to leave a certain circle, and I didn't leave, trying not to see another Madrid, the real Madrid, the real Madrid.I concentrated my activities on the most beautiful and poetic areas of the city, forcing myself not to touch its other side: the streets full of gun craters, the ruined buildings, the glassless windows, the dry canals.I'd rather not look at the people rummaging through the trash for potato peels, the women in mourning wandering aimlessly through the streets, with babies cradled on their dimpled chests, and the hordes of naked A child with dirty feet, a face full of dry snot, a small bare head full of scabs, begging for mercy by the sleeves of passers-by, sir, please give me some Come, madam, give me a little charity, and God will reward you.I am a strictly disciplined and obedient intelligence officer of the British intelligence service, disgustingly obedient, always following their instructions verbatim, never returning to my original community, and never setting foot in the past Land, avoid knowing the situation of old people and close friends who grew up together.I never sought out that little square, never set foot in those narrow streets, nor walked up one of the steps there.I didn't knock on the neighbor's door to find out how they were, what their families went through during and after the war; never tried to find out how many of them were dead and how many were being killed Imprisonment, and how those who survived struggled; I didn't want anyone to tell me what rotten leaves were cooking in their pots, or that their children were consumptive, malnourished, forever Bare feet; and I never worried about their wretched lives full of lice and chilblains.I already belonged to another world, a world of international intrigue, fancy hotels, luxury hair salons, and aperitif-hour cocktail parties.I no longer have anything to do with that miserable world that smells of urine and boiled beets.Or at least I used to think so. "You don't know anything, do you?" he said slowly. "Then listen carefully, and I'll tell you everything. Your neighbor Norbert died in Brunette, and his The eldest son was shot by the Canadian National Army in Madrid, but I heard that he also actively participated in the suppression of another faction. The second son is now digging stones in Kurgamulos, and the younger son is squatting in Ertueso Prison, he joined the Communist Party, even if he is not shot, he will not be able to get out in a short time. Their mother, Ms. Ingracia, who took care of you when you were young, whenever your mother went out to work, The woman who treated you like her own daughter is now alone, helpless, almost blind, wandering the streets insane for six days, hitting everything she sees with a stick. There are no pigeons and no cats in your neighbourhood. All of them were eaten. Do you want to know what happened to the female companions you grew up with in Plaza Baja? I can also tell you that Andreita got a job from her work one afternoon. The workshop went home from get off work and was killed by a grenade when passing the Via Ferncarral..." "I don't want to know more, Ignacio, I already know." I tried to hide my trance.But he didn't seem to hear my protest at all, and continued to tell these terrible things. "Sole, the dairy girl, was pregnant with twins, but the father, a militiaman, didn't even leave his name. She couldn't support the two children on her own, so she had to send them to an orphanage , and have not been heard from since. It is said that she often sells her body to those porters in the Sabada market for only one peseta each time, and she is there, leaning against a brick wall. She usually does not wear underwear, and she is a child every day. Early in the morning, when the trucks began to arrive, she would roll up her skirt and wait." My face was covered with tears. "Shut up, Ignacio, please shut up, for God's sake," I whispered, but he ignored me. "The two daughters of the chicken farmer, Augustina and Nati, joined a private nurses' association and worked in a hospital in San Carlos during the war. But when the war was over, someone came and stuffed them in They were tried in the Xarezas court and sentenced to thirty years and a day in prison. The baker's daughter Chini..." "Shut up, Ignacio, stop talking..." I begged. He finally stopped. "I could tell you more stories like this. I've heard almost all of them. I've been approached every day by people I've known since I was with you. All in one voice, Mister Ignacio , I spoke to you when you were little Sheila's fiancé, the daughter of Madame Dolores, the tailor who lived in Rue Redendia..." "Why are they looking for you?" I choked up and asked. "All for the same reason: begging me to help them get someone's family out of jail, or to see if I have anything to do with getting someone out of a capital crime, or to help them find someone to make a living out of Work... You can't imagine the day-to-day scenes in the headquarters at that time: in the lobby, in the corridors, and on the stairs, there are always crowded people waiting to be interviewed, trying their best The way to find even a little bit of hope, hoping that someone can listen to their situation, receive them, or give them some clues about their missing relatives, pointing them to whom to ask for the freedom of their loved ones... Especially many, many There are a lot of women. They have no source of livelihood, they are dependent on their children, and they have no way to feed them." "Then you, can you help them?" I tried my best to dispel the anxiety and trouble in my heart. "Rarely, basically not. War-related criminals are handled by court-martials. People who come to me are desperate. To them, I follow anyone who works in the government department." "But you are a government official..." "I'm just a small civil servant with no power," he interrupted, the lowest rank in the ministry. "I can't do anything for them except listen to their plight. If I happen to know, I'll tell them they should Where to find a way, give them some money when you see them in a desperate situation. I'm not even a Falangist, it's just that when the war broke out, I happened to be on the side of the ultimate victory, so I was able to Go back to the ministry and take charge of what they tell me. But I'm not with anyone. I've seen too many horrors and I've lost respect for either side. I'm just following orders because it's me The rice bowl. Bear the humiliation and bear the burden, put away the edge, just to support the family, that's it." "I didn't know you had a family," I said.He handed me a handkerchief and I wiped my tears. "I got married in Salamanca and came back to Madrid after the war. I have a wife and two small children. No matter how hard the day is and how cruel the reality is, at least there is someone at home waiting for me to go back every night. We My home is not as luxurious as yours, but there is always a brazier lit, and the hallway echoes with the laughter of children. My two sons are named Ignacio and Miguel, and my wife is named Amalia I never loved her the way I loved you then, and she never swayed like you did when she went out. My desire for her wasn't even in my heart when you held my hand tonight.引起的渴望的四分之一。但是她面对困难永远那么乐观，不管日子有多艰难，在厨房做饭的时候都会唱着歌。每个夜晚当我梦见自己再次回到前线，即将被人杀死，并且在噩梦中惊醒的时候，她都会紧紧地抱住我。” “对不起，伊格纳西奥。”我几乎已经泣不成声了。 “也许我确实是个安于现状的懦夫，是这个复仇政府的走狗。”他一边说，一边死死地盯着我，“但是你没有资格评价喜不喜欢我现在变成的这个人，你没有资格给我上道德课，希拉。如果说我是个坏人，你只会比我更坏。我，至少在灵魂深处还有一丝同情，而你，我觉得你连这都没有。你不过是个自私自利的人，独自住在豪宅里咀嚼寂寞。一个连自己的出身都不肯承认的可怜虫，除了你自己，你谁都不在乎。” 我想大喊着叫他闭嘴，叫他别再来骚扰我，叫他永远永远不要再出现在我的生活中，却一句话也说不出来。我的身体仿佛变成了无穷无尽流淌的泪泉，就好像有什么把我的五脏六腑都生生撕碎了一样。我只是不停地哭，手捂着脸，一直哭一直哭。当我终于能停止抽泣回到现实中时，已经过了半夜，伊格纳西奥不在了。他悄无声息地走了，就像以前一直对我做的那样，细心体贴。然而他的出现给我带来的恐惧和不安却如影随形。我不知道这次拜访会有什么样的后果，不知道从那天晚上开始这位艾瑞斯·阿格瑞克将会怎样。也许，他会念在我是他多年前深爱过的女人放我一马，让我安安静静地继续走我的路。又或者，他为了完成自己在新西班牙的职责和使命决定向上司汇报我的虚假身份。也许，就像他说的那样，我会被逮捕，或者驱逐，或者从人间消失。 桌上还放着那盒看来清白无辜，实际上却蕴含着机密信息的糖果。 我用一只手打开，另一只手还在擦眼泪，盒子里只有二十四块牛奶巧克力。于是我又去检査包装纸，最后在捆包裹的玫瑰色丝带上发现了一些几乎看不见的点线。不到三分钟我就把它们破译了出来：紧急会面，找瑞克医生就诊，卡拉卡斯二十九号，早十一点，加倍警惕。 糖果盒旁边还有一杯儿个小时前我给伊格纳西奥倒的酒。一口未动。就像他自己说的那样，我们谁也不是曾经的那个自己了。但是，尽管大家的生活都发生了巨大的变化，他却还是滴酒不沾。