Firefly by Severo Sarduy Page B

occurring inside.
    He approached silently. No doubt about it. It was she, Ada, so fascinated by what she was hearing that she did not even notice his presence, his nearness. When he reached her the redhead gave a start and covered her mouth. Having stifled her cry, she put a finger to her lips, opening wide those purple eyes in which Firefly thought he could see himself acknowledged, perhaps reflected, as in a minuscule and convex ship’s mirror.
    â€œWho is it?” the melon-head asked straight off in a whisper, as if the snooping had rekindled a long-standing complicity of which this chance meeting was but an astute step, minutely plotted.
    She moved close, her lips to his ear. Her mothball-and-violets perfume, the rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her breath against the lobe of his ear all shook him with the same intensity as the fear or desire that made him tremble when he rubbed himself against the silk or the words he had overheard coming from the ship.
    â€œIt’s them,” the redhead murmured, as if their identities went without saying. “Them again.”
    Firefly’s right hand went to his throat, his breath caught short.
    â€œThe same ones? Are you sure?”
    â€œYup. Greaseball and Boots from his own skin.”
    â€œThe healers . . . Isidro and Gator, those are their names . . .”
    â€œThem . . .”
    â€œSo . . . how come?”
    Ada touched one of her index fingers to the other in a rapid indication of a bridge, a contact, an electrical charge, something going on between the peroxide giraffe and the odious men.
    Inside, the conversation stopped.
    Firefly was about to say, “Let’s get out of here,” when the door flew open.
    The spied-upon trio came into view. They were rigid, flushed with contained rage. In the middle reigned Munificence, her Venetian tower in full erection, an emblem of unwavering determination. On either side, like two merciless Cerberuses awaiting the order to kill, were Fatso (his alcoholism evident in the pendular oscillation of his gelatinous body and in the incandescence of his beady eyes, now tinged orange like a vulture’s behind those heavy lenses) and bearded Gator, who brandished a decoction like an avenging dagger in his raised right hand, his face frozen in an infanticidal smirk.
    From these offended souls emanated a reproving, practicallymucilaginous silence that stuck to the skin, that befouled, and that – Firefly felt it immediately – also enveloped the redhead, trapping the two of them in a single net of disgust.
    It was Munificence who spoke up, without raising her voice, her teeth clenched tight enough to squeak.
    â€œI knew it,” she spit out each syllable, the words like hissing blow-darts sent to punch holes in them. A moment of silence, then, “What a disgrace my life is! What a disgrace!”
    She leapt upon the defenseless redhead as if on a bloodied prey, seizing her in the blink of an eye by both shoulders. Quickly she covered her mouth and hauled her the length of the hall and down the stairs.
    Firefly thought he heard Ada’s sobs, then realized he was alone with the two henchmen. What surprised him most, however, was not the suddenness of his abandonment but the inexplicable reaction of the visitors: They looked at each other, as astounded as the melon-head himself . . . and they burst out laughing!
    â€œSo, now we’re grown up, little man!” Gator fired at him derisively while opening the door wide and stepping aside, extending his hand toward the interior of the office in a gesture of invitation.
    â€œCome in, young gentleman, come in,” Isidro added in the same tone. “As you can see, there is still plenty left for a surprise guest.”
    On the desk, with no more utensils than two baccarat goblets, a kitchen knife, a stack of paper plates and another of paper napkins, they had laid out a veritable cold banquet. The chicken salad had stained the green