said Adeline, “allow me to introduce Gracieusse.”
It was clear that some of the ladies were about to bolt. If they were unable to do so just at that moment it was because they were unsure as to which route to the door they could take without tripping over Adeline and Gracieusse.
“Your reaction is perfectly normal,” Adeline continued, undaunted. “I’ve invited you all to my home under a suspicion, which I’ve been able to confirm this evening listening to you talk: not a single one of you is satisfied with your domestic help, nor do you harbor any hope that the situation might improve in the future. I can solve your problem.”
The authority with which Adeline made her appeal relaxed the mood, although just slightly. Even the most cowardly among them considered staying to listen to what possible explanation Adeline might offer for having placed them in such a terrifying situation. Those who’d covered their mouths with their hands had not yet removed them.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” said Adeline in a serious tone accompanied by two concise claps of her hands, which had the effect of bringing Gracieusse instantly to her side. “Gracieusse doesn’t eat or sleep. It’s a good idea, however, to give her a bit of water now and then, once or twice per week, along with a handful of unsalted nuts. It’s important that she never taste salt.”
On the majority of faces the grimaces of consternation disappeared and were replaced by expressions of curiosity. Hands guarding mouths were withdrawn.
“Gracieusse does exactly as she’s told,” continued Adeline, “to the letter, even if the order she’s been given jeopardizes her own . . . existence. She doesn’t know how to differentiate. Of course, one must take precautions. After all, the smartest thing to do is to protect one’s investment.”
Cuesta Hermosa raised her glass of wine and took a sip. Piantini, Bella Vista, and Arroyo Hondo spread pâté on slices of bread. Los Ríos ate a grape. All eyes were on Adeline. No one dared ignore her presentation.
“Gracieusse has no sex drive. She has no idea what money is, and it doesn’t interest her. Gracieusse, in fact, doesn’t want anything, doesn’t know anything, doesn’t feel anything. Her sole purpose in life is to do what she’s told.”
Evaristo Morales, among those who’d screamed the loudest, stood up and approached Gracieusse, who, absently and acquiescently, allowed herself to be inspected.
“Boys and girls like Gracieusse come with their ears sealed with wax and a blindfold over their eyes. When they’re delivered these seals are broken. The voice of the first person who speaks in their presence will be, henceforth, like the voice of God. Their face, the face of their lord and master.”
“Do they come any taller?” asked Arroyo Hondo. “My ceilings are so high.”
“I can get them in any size you want.”
“Can their hair be done up?” asked Evaristo Morales. “Can they be dressed in other clothes?”
“Of course. I keep Gracieusse like this because she works in the washhouse out in the courtyard. It would be a waste of time and money to fix her up.”
“How much?” said Piantini, who’d taken out her checkbook and awaited an answer, pen aloft.
It was difficult to understand what was said in the chaos of the ensuing hour and a half. Adeline registered the orders of her friends (who continually interrupted one another with childish desperation) in a notebook and stored their payments in a shoebox. She made out an invoice and receipt for each transaction. That night Adeline collected several hundred thousand dollars, issued in cash and check. Bella Vista asked twice if she could pay by credit card. The response was in the negative both times. One of the ladies had the nerve to ask where she got them. Adeline replied that her husband and his associates were in charge of that—that the less she knew about it, the better. Before bidding them good night, Adeline reminded them that she’d offer compensation for discrete referrals that resulted in sales. She did not specify the percentage she’d pay.
I was dumbstruck. Only later did I realize that I’d been witness to a kind of macabre Tupperware party. Valérie had gone back to studying as soon as she’d realized what was going on. I went back to the table and stared at her in such a way that she couldn’t fail to notice my agitation. I needed to share it. She felt it, too, but not for the same reasons.
“Oh, I know, I know,” was her only comment. “Such a shame. . . . She’s always thinking about business.”
I arranged to have lunch with Valérie the next day, but she didn’t show up. Later, I learned that shortly after I’d left that night, her father, the retired Colonel Simònides Myrthil, had come home and hacked her and Adeline to death with a machete.
3. ECCENTRICITIES / THE ONLY ANSWER
“Hmmm . . . ,” said Dionisio, and the sound was the only indication that he was thinking, that he was pondering what I’d just told him; his body and face remained, of necessity, rigid. “Strange, very strange. Let’s see: tell me again.”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I said. In the shadowy tavern, dozens of taciturn zombies drank and talked, occasionally looking at us out of the corners of their eyes. It was obvious that they envied the deferential treatment I received from Dionisio. “There’s nothing to tell, really. They’re eccentricities that I don’t understand. Three months ago—no, four—I moved into the laboratory where they work. Before that, I saw them sporadically, during my supervisory rounds, but now we see each other all the time. If they ever have any questions, they consult me, and I help them. At the mere sight of me preparing the workstation for an experiment, immediately there they are, wanting to help me without even being asked. Sometimes they even argue amongst themselves; each one wants the other two to go away and let her help me alone.”
“Hmmm. . . . Strange. Very strange.”
“You’re telling me? I’ve begun to suspect that they’re simply looking for an excuse not to do their own work, but the truth is that they’re very efficient and they’ve made more progress with their research than anyone else.”
“In other words, it would not be right to fire them.”
“Not in the least.”
“A pity. That would have been a very expeditious solution.”
“Dionisio, please. My wish is not to avert a situation that I don’t understand, but rather to try to understand it.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“Well . . . What do I know? For example, before, they didn’t smell like anything, and now they smell all the time.”
“They smell? What do they smell like? Of decay?”
“No! They do not smell of decay. They smell like—I don’t know—flowers? Perfume. Fragrances.”
“Hmmm. . . . And before they didn’t?”
“No, before they didn’t. Maybe every once in a while, but very rarely. Not like now. Oh, and they also dress differently.”
“In what way?”
“They’re
