Thursday Night Widows (16 page)

Liliana made a reassuring gesture which allowed her to conceal a certain vanity. “Let me show you my work, then afterwards we'll see what you can pay.”

She led Carla to an outdoor room, all glass – an old greenhouse that had been converted into Liliana's atelier. Heavy drapes protected the paintings from the sun, hindering the growth of those few plants that remained. She showed her about twenty paintings, most of them made many years ago. On some of them the signature had clearly been altered. Carla's eye was drawn to one of these alterations and Liliana preempted the question that she would never have dared to ask. “Before I married I was Liliana Sícari. Now I'm Liliana Richards. I changed the LS into an LR. Richards sounds better for an artist, don't you think?”

There was an easel propped against the back wall bearing a half-finished canvas. Carla approached it, lifted the cloth that covered it, and found herself looking at an ochre painting, with sand, and a long narrow canoe, inside which there were three women, with some ears of corn growing out of the canoe and towards a sky that was also ochre, and two trees, small but with long roots plunging into ochre sand. And pieces of hessian, here and there, stuck on with oil paint. It was a recent work, signed LR, with no alterations. “I like this one,” said Carla.

Liliana hurriedly covered it with the cloth again. “That one's not finished,” she said. Carla had lied: she wouldn't have picked it out. It would be like buying the same dress or swimsuit as Carmen, but in a seconds shop, and she would never do that. She looked at the others again and chose a still life that wasn't an original, but seemed validated by having been copied so much. She realized now that there were Liliana's still lifes, Mariana's, Lascano's, the plates that Mariana copied, and surely many more that she didn't know about, copied ad infinitum by women she also did not know. Moreover, she was certain that Gustavo would agree with them that a still life looks good on any wall. “I don't know, if it's for Gustavo, let's say three hundred dollars and leave it at that. Does that sound reasonable?” Carla paid, put the canvas in the car and left.

At home, Carla carried the painting to the storage room, removed her stripes canvas from the chair and substituted Liliana's. She took a brush and, with great care and a little black ink, transformed the LR into a CL, for Carla Lamas. But then she felt a pang and changed it again, to CM, for Carla Masotta; she didn't want the
use of her maiden name to spark a row with Gustavo. She was proud of the alteration: it was neatly done. She was always neat.

On the evening of Gustavo's birthday, she had dinner ready for him in the dining room that they used only for entertaining people when Gustavo insisted and Carla had no choice but to receive his guests. They dined by the light of a candelabra, with music and the painting hanging on the end wall.

“I love it!” he said, and he kissed her. “And how is the workshop going?”

“There's your evidence.”

“I mean the people – what are they like? Any potential friends?”

“Yes, I think I'm fitting in.”

Gustavo raised his glass for a toast. She raised hers, they clinked glasses and made a toast, to Gustavo's birthday, and to friendship.

Every year on the 8th of December, the day of the Immaculate Conception, all the houses in Cascade Heights are decorated for Christmas. White lights are trailed around trees, pergolas and front doors. Through open-curtained windows, the lit-up Christmas trees wink on and off. People favour different kinds of pine, all of them big. The colours of Christmas baubles are never mixed: they are either all yellow or all red, silver or blue. Some people prefer red bows. Or apples. The Administration puts up a crib in the wood, complete with figures that are close to life-size. And every year a
gardener, caddie or workman forgoes his family dinner in exchange for a tip collected by the neighbours, dresses up as Father Christmas and drives around the houses on this private estate delivering presents from the back of the maintenance truck. Truth be told, the only thing missing is snow.

That year, even though it was the last Christmas of the century, the decorations were no different from usual. The thing is, when one is used to making a huge effort, to make just a little bit more effort is almost impossible. The end of the century manifested itself, not so much in the trees and cribs, but in a feeling that floated through conversations at The Heights. There was talk of all kinds of computing catastrophes; someone was making backups and copies of all his cards, codes and bank account details, while someone else was withdrawing everything from the bank to bring it home for the holiday, fearful that his statement would appear blank on the 1st of January 2000.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Teresa made sure, as she did each year, that the Club's administration had taken delivery of the fireworks they would let off after midnight, at the ninth hole. Every year El Tano donated quantities of fireworks for the enjoyment of his friends in Cascade Heights. It wasn't that he was a particular fan of pyrotechnics, nor did he do it for the joy of the display itself, but his pursuit of perfection had made him an expert. One year he had hit on the idea of presenting this gift to his friends in The Heights – to fill the Christmas sky with fireworks – and from then on, each year, he raised the bar. He researched which ones were the best to buy, the safety procedures that must be met, the places where you could see the best fireworks in the world. The
displays in Sydney and Tokyo were his favourites. And he endeavoured to imitate them. He used the best fireworks available in Argentina, and one year he even imported some from Miami and eventually had to retrieve them from Customs by bribing an official Fernández Luengo knew because “people are getting ready to pop open bottles, and we still haven't got clearance!”

Teresa returned home. The marquee had been ready since the day before. The Scaglias always put up a marquee for gatherings of more than thirty people, ever since the first communion of their younger daughter on a day of torrential rain, which had ended with mud all over their pine floors and the deep-pile carpet upstairs. They had hired crockery, as well tables and chairs decked in white – each table with a centrepiece of jasmines – and a false wooden floor, to protect the lawn. The food was contracted out to a catering company Teresa had used for previous birthdays and parties. The maid had been told she was free to go after 5 p.m. Teresa would have liked her to clean her bedroom's en-suite bathroom before leaving. She still hadn't had a chance to shower, and wouldn't until after she had wrapped the presents. But she was not in the mood to listen to the maid complaining about how busy the buses are on holidays, and how last Christmas she had not got home until everyone was drinking the midnight toast. The catering company was bringing its own serving staff. And the crockery could be returned dirty. In truth, apart from the bathroom – which only she would see – there was nothing much to worry about at this stage.

The maid came upstairs, changed and ready to leave. Teresa was in her room, wrapping up presents. “Señora, do you need anything else?”

“On your way out, drop in at Paula Limorgui's house and tell Sofi to come home by seven at the latest, to get changed.”

“Yes, Señora… and happy Christmas…”

“Thank you, Marta; don't forget to take the authorization I left on the table, or Security won't let you take out the
pan dulce
.”

As soon as she had finished wrapping up everything, Teresa hurriedly rang Administration, to ask them to come and pick up the parcels. Sofía had just turned seven and still believed in Father Christmas. Matías, who was fifteen, said it was because she didn't want to miss out on any presents, but Teresa assured him that was not the case – she had been equally innocent at Sofía's age and even older. Presently the bell rang; it was Luisito, the boy who watered the tennis courts. It was his turn to be Father Christmas this year. He was not all that keen, but his wife had insisted – they needed the money and, if they couldn't raise a glass at midnight, they'd raise it some other time. Teresa told him to come upstairs and help her bring down the Barbie house for Sofía. Luisito asked permission to leave his shoes, which were covered in brick dust, at the foot of the stairs. She had bought Matías a sandboard, but it wasn't necessary for Father Christmas to hand that over in person. In fact, Matías would kill her if that happened, given his mood these days.

The guests arrived punctually at nine o'clock. Except for El Tano; he came twenty minutes later, having stayed on at the golf club making sure that the fireworks were properly spaced and ready for midnight. The only family members invited were El Tano's father, with his new wife, and Teresa's brother, with her husband and children.
The rest were people from Cascade Heights, neighbours who, like them, had opted to spend the holiday among friends. Gustavo Masotta and his wife, the Insúas and a few others. The Guevaras had been invited, but they wanted to spend the evening with Ronie's parents. And the Uroviches celebrated Christmas with the Catholic branch of their family. The waiters circulated with trays of savouries, ham and champagne. On every table there was a little menu detailing each dish. Starter:
vittel toné
– a traditional cold meat dish. Main Course: duck
à l'orange
. Dessert: ice cream with blueberry sauce. And to finish: an arrangement of dried fruits, preserves and
pan dulce
.

The first course had already been served, when Teresa realized that Matías had not yet come downstairs. She looked up at his bedroom window and, seeing that the light was on, asked Sofia to call him down. Sofía scampered off to carry out her mission. She found her brother's door closed and banged on it. She hammered it with her fists. “Mummy says come down now!” There was no reply. She banged on the door again. “Mummy says come down or…” Matías opened the door.

“Stop it, are you crazy?”

“What's that smell?” Sofía asked.

“What smell?” he said, and went to open the window. Then he came out of the room, pushing her ahead. “Come on, girl, get a move on.”

Every now and then, above the chatter of the dinner party, the noise of a rocket made itself heard. “Don't these people realize that the fireworks are supposed to be at midnight?” asked El Tano.

“There's all sorts of simple things people don't understand, Tanito, don't go worrying yourself about it,”
replied Alfredo Insúa, staring at his wife, who was chatting to Carla, clutching a bottle of wine and laughing about something.

At half-past eleven, Luisito rang the bell. Teresa started, then peered around the acacia and saw the red suit. She began to shout: “Santa's here! Come on everyone!” Sofía ran after her mother, but the other young people present, all of them older than her, got to their feet grudgingly. Matías was the first to come closer. “All right, old chum?” he said, slapping Luisito on the back.

Teresa frowned at him. “Off you go, Mati, Sofía wants to see Santa.” Matías stepped aside and Sofía, who was standing a few steps back, was left face to face with the Father Christmas that had been provided for her. She fixed him with a stare. Luisito felt uncomfortable: he thought perhaps the people in Administration had been right and that he should have agreed to say “Ho, ho, ho”, but he already felt like enough of a dickhead dressed up in red, without adding sound effects. He looked at the little girl who kept staring at him and knew that he had failed. For all that, he got on with the job in hand, bringing Sofía's present down from the truck and carrying it towards the house. Determined to get Sofía caught up in the spectacle, Teresa kept asking questions in a too-high voice. “Have you come from far away, Santa?” “Are you tired?” Luisito did not feel like going along with the game, and said nothing. Matías pretended that he was going to look at the presents that were still in the trailer. Teresa's nieces and nephews returned to their table and the Insúas started to kick around a football that had been forgotten under the acacia tree. Luisito looked at Sofía again and felt an
urge to say sorry. But she was already too excited about the Barbie house to take any notice of him.

“Aren't you going to give Santa a kiss?” asked Teresa, as Luisito was climbing back into the truck. Sofía left her present for a moment and came over to him. She waited for him to rearrange his hat and beard and then she kissed him. When Luisito had gone, Sofía confided in Matías, “Father Christmas smelled like your bedroom.”

“Really?” her brother said with surprise.

“What is that smell?”

“Forget it, silly, mind your own business.”

“Is it the fireworks?”

“Mind your own business.”

At midnight everyone made a toast. Everyone except El Tano. He had left ten minutes earlier to be there as soon as the fireworks started. He was responsible for making sure that everything went well. At five minutes past twelve, the rest of the retinue made its way to the golf club. Teresa and the children walked, so that they could come back with El Tano in the Land Rover. On the way, they saw the colours of the first fireworks erupting in the sky, which meant, Teresa realized, that she had once again missed her husband's speech. When they arrived at the golf club, everyone came up to greet them. In a way, the Scaglias were the hosts, because they paid for the fireworks. They sat down with the others to watch. Teresa chose the front row, next to El Tano and his father. Matías walked off to the side, towards a eucalyptus that stood some distance away, almost on the road. It was somewhere he could be as sure of being on his own as he was in his room; no one selects a leafy tree under which to sit and look at fireworks in the sky. He put his hand in his pocket and groped for the joint. He
lay back on the grass and closed his eyes. Between the leaves, he could see the sky covered in lights that changed colour and shape with every new explosion. Everyone was clapping. First came a blue flower encompassing nearly all the sky. Three pink flowers followed, smaller, but more elegant. Later there was a seemingly endless golden waterfall. Almost no one remembers what came after that.