This time the food seemed to be some kind of meat fried in breadcrumbs; two thin slices that sat on the plate along with three lukewarm potatoes. There was something cold in a tub next to the plate and María tasted to be sure that it was coleslaw. It seemed to be hospital food, or a dinner tray from an old people’s home. She used a little of the water in the flask to rinse her hands and wiped them on her trousers. She put one of the potatoes in her mouth and then took a bite of one of the slices of meat. She had given up using the plastic cutlery that came with the tray, and ate with her fingers instead, except for the dessert, and then she used the plastic spoon. Dessert! This looked to be either lunch or dinner, so there had to be a dessert. There was always a dessert with a cooked meal. She felt around with her hands, but there was no dessert to be found. She passed her hands over the tray and was certain there was nothing more than the plate of food, the tub of coleslaw and the flask of water. The tears flowed and she burst into sobs. She couldn’t understand why she was in tears over a missing piece of pie or cake, but in some odd way she saw the missing dessert as a deep betrayal. She had looked forward to eating the entire meal at a slow, leisurely pace, while she thought of something other than the fact that she was locked away in a dark cell, practically a dungeon that could be anywhere. Somehow the dessert was the most important part, a kind of sticking plaster for her own miserable circumstances, a final pleasure that she could string out as long as she could.

María sniffed hard and wiped her nose on her sleeve. She must be suffering from Stockholm syndrome, or some kind of condition that makes captives so crazy that they’re grateful for the slightest display of kindness from their captors; such as a tub of dessert. She ate a second potato and bit into the second piece of meat, and felt over the tray for the fork to eat the coleslaw. It had been cut too fine and was too moist for fingers. Her fingers came to a halt on something plastic, and she felt it to be sure if it was the knife or the fork. It turned out to be a spoon. The tears flowed again, falling down her cheeks. How vindictive it was to put a spoon on the tray but no dessert?