I KNEW SOMETHING irreparable had happened the moment a man opened the door to that hotel room and I saw my wife sitting at the far end of the room, looking out the window in the strangest way. Id just returned from a short trip, four days away on business, and I swear that Agustina was fine when I left, I swear nothing odd was going on, or at least nothing out of the ordinary, certainly nothing to suggest what would happen to her while I was gone, except for her own premonitions, of course, but how was I to believe her when Agustina is always predicting some catastrophe; Ive tried everything to make her see reason, but she wont be swayed, insisting that ever since she was little shes had what she calls the gift of sight, or the ability to see the future, and God only knows the trouble thats caused us.
This time, as usual, my Agustina predicted that something would go wrong, and once again, I ignored her prediction; I went away on a Wednesday, leaving her painting the apartment walls green, and on Sunday, when I returned, I found her in a hotel in the north of the city, transformed into someone terrified and terrifying, a being I barely recognized. I havent been able to find out what happened to her while I was gone because when I ask she turns on me, its incredible how fierce she can be when shes upset, she treats me as if I'm not me and shes not who she used to be, or at least thats how I try to explain it, and if I cant its because I dont understand it myself. The woman I love is lost inside her own head and for fourteen days now Ive been searching for her, wearing myself out trying to find her, but its excruciating and impossibly difficult; its as if Agustina were living on a plane parallel to reality, close but just out of reach, as if she were speaking a strange language that I vaguely recognize but cant quite comprehend. My wifes unhinged mind is a dog snapping at me, but at the same time its barking is a call for help, a call to which Im unable to respond; Agustina is a hurt and starving dog who wants to go home but cant, and the next minute shes a stray dog who cant even remember it once had a home.
I'M GOING TO TELL YOU this pointblank because you have the right to know it, Agustina sweetheart, and anyway what do I have to lose talking about it all, when Ive got nothing left anymore. Your husband is spinning in circles trying to find out what the hell happened to you and theres so much even you dont know, because listen, Agustina darling, all stories are like a big cake, with everybodys eyes on the piece theyre eating, and the only one who sees the whole thing is the baker. But before I start, let me tell you that Im happy to see you, despite everything Ive always been happy to see you, and the truth is that after what happened youre the only person I wanted to see. Will you believe me if I tell you that this disaster started with a simple bet? Its almost embarrassing to confess, Agustina doll, because you took it all so seriously and were hurt so badly by it, but it was the lowest kind of bet, a dirty joke if were going to call things by their true names, a prank that turned bloody.
We dubbed it Operation Lazarus, because the idea was to see whether we could breathe life back into Spider Salazars pecker, which had been dead between his legs since the accident at the Las Lomas Polo Club. Do you remember the scandal, Agustina darling? The truth is, it was a stupid, ordinary accident, although later people tried to make it seem more heroic by spreading the story that Spider fell off his horse during a match against a Chilean team, but the rough stuff actually came later, during a drunken freeforall, because the match was in the morning and Spider had watched it from one of the bottom rows of the stands since hes too fat to make it up to the top, and I can tell you that the closest he got to the action was betting on the Chileans and against the locals. The Chileans won and then were treated to a typical Colombian lunch that they probably choked down out of politeness, who knows what folk dishes were foisted on themsuckling pig, tamales, fritters, figs with caramel cream, or all of the aboveand then they went back to their hotel to digest it while at the club the revelry went on, everyone getting drunker by the minute. Rivers of whiskey flowed, it got dark, and the only people left were the local polo players and the club regulars when Spider and his pals decided to saddle up, and Im guessing, or actually I know, that when the happy pack rode into the night they were all as drunk as cossacks, a gang of juicedup clowns; I dont know whether your brother Joaco was with them, Agustina doll, though probably he was, because Joaco never misses the chance for a spree.
Excerpted from Delirium by Laura Restrepo Copyright © 2007 by Laura Restrepo. Excerpted by permission of Nan A. Talese, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Blood at the Root
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