Conversation in the Cathedral by Mario Vargas Llosa

were smothering her, child, she couldn’t breathe: the way you laugh, you devil. Get away, they should let her go, a drowned voice, a regular, slow animal panting, and suddenly shh, shoves and little shouts, and Santiago shh, and Popeye shh: the street door, shh. Teté, he thought, and he felt his body dissolve. Santiago had run to the window and he couldn’t move: Teté, Teté.
    “Now we do have to go, Amalia.” Santiago stood up, left the bottle on the table. “Thanks for inviting us in.”
    “Thank you, child,” Amalia said. “For having come and for what you brought me.”
    “Come by the house and see us,” Santiago said.
    “Of course, child,” Amalia said. “And give my best to little Teté.”
    “Get out of here, get up, what are you waiting for,” Santiago said. “And you, fix your shirt and comb your hair a little, you fool.”
    He had just lighted the lamp, he was smoothing his hair, Popeye tucked his shirt in his pants and looked at him, terrified: beat it, get out of the room. But Amalia kept sitting on the bed and they had to lift up her dead weight, she stumbled with an idiotic expression, supported herself on the night table. Quick, quick, Santiago smoothed the bed cover and Popeye ran to turn off the phonograph, get out of the room, you fool. She was unable to move, she was listening to them with eyes full of surprise and she slipped out of their hands and at that moment the door opened and they let go of her: hi, mama. Popeye saw Señora Zoila and tried to smile, in slacks and wearing a garnet turban, good evening, ma’am, and the lady’s eyes smiled and looked at Santiago, at Amalia, and her smile diminished and died: hi, papa. Behind Señora Zoila he saw the full face, the gray mustache and sideburns, Don Fermín’s laughing eyes, hello, Skinny, your mother decided not to, hello, Popeye, I didn’t know you were here. Don Fermín entered the room, collarless shirt, summer jacket, loafers, and he shook hands with Popeye, how are you, sir.
    “You, why aren’t you in bed?” Señora Zoila asked. “It’s already after twelve.”
    “We were famished and I woke her up to make us some sandwiches,” Santiago said. “Weren’t you going to sleep over in Ancón?”
    “Your mother had forgotten that she’d invited people to lunch tomorrow ,” Don Fermín said. “Your mother’s outbursts, otherwise …”
    Out of the corner of his eye, Popeye saw Amalia go out with the tray in her hands, she was looking at the floor and walking straight, they were in luck.
    “Your sister stayed at the Vallarinos’,” Don Fermín said. “All in all, my plans for a rest this weekend didn’t work out.”
    “Is it twelve o’clock already, ma’am?” Popeye asked. “I’ve got to run. We didn’t pay any attention to the time, I thought it must have been ten.”
    “How are things with the senator?” Don Fermín asked. “We haven’t seen him at the club in ages.”
    She went to the street with them and there Santiago patted her on the shoulder and Popeye said good-bye: ciao, Amalia. They went off in the direction of the streetcar line. They went into El Triunfo to buy some cigarettes; it was already boiling over with drinkers and pool players.
    “A hundred soles for nothing, a wild bit of showing off,” Popeye said. “It turned out that we did the girl a favor, now your old man has got her a better job.”
    “Even so, we got her in a jam,” Santiago said. “I’m not sorry about those hundred soles.”
    “I don’t want to keep harping on it, but you’re broke,” Popeye said. “What did we do to her? Now that you’ve given her five pounds, forget about your remorse.”
    Following the streetcar line, they went down to Ricardo Palma and they walked along smoking under the trees on the boulevard between rows of cars.
    “Didn’t it make you laugh when she talked about Coca-Cola that way?” Popeye laughed. “Do you think she’s that dumb or was she putting on? I don’t know how I held