The door closed and the three of them went down the stairs in silence. Simona chewed her lips. She had a knot in her stomach, her body felt weak, and she thought she might tumble down the steps any second. She didn’t have anything to hold on to because there was no railing, and her father was on the wall side. Pressed against the wall. He looked like he was about to fall over, too, but his steps weren’t shaky. They were firm, or at least they possessed a weight and violence that could be associated with firmness. His eyes were fixed on the ground, his hands were balled into fists, and his tongue darted over his lips. She could see a little thread of saliva that went from one corner of his mouth to the other. She wanted to say something to him, but she didn’t dare. She could feel his anger. Because he wasn’t nervous or tense anymore—something in him had come unbound. But it wasn’t something good. Not for her. He was furious. She could almost hear her father’s heart pounding. Instinctively, she glanced at his leather belt. But she didn’t feel afraid, just sad at how old and worn out it looked. She tried to take his hand but he went down faster and faster, she couldn’t keep up. No, he wasn’t going to look at her or give her his hand. And she couldn’t stand it. And the stairs seemed endless.

He reached the ground floor and flung the door open wide, and Simona remembered how he slammed the door when he locked himself in his room, and she ran down the stairs to make it outside. To stay beside him. She couldn’t be left out again.

On the sidewalk, the sun beat painfully into her eyes; she could barely distinguish her father’s shape, silhouetted against the light.

“Do you have a bank card like Mom now?” asked Pía when she joined them outside.

He didn’t look up. Started to look for something in his pockets.

“Dad!” Pía shouted suddenly, the way she did when she was nervous, on days when she stood in the window and shouted “Christmas!” or “Birthday!” She could feel the tension too, then, and needed it to end.

“How stupid,” blurted the father, and he clutched his head with both hands. “How embarrassing!” he shouted, letting his rage loose. “How humiliating!” he said, and turned his face to Simona. He looked her straight in the eyes, which were reddish brown just like his, and she met his gaze and finally she could see her father’s contempt. “What an idiot! How stupid! How humiliating!”

He turned around and started to walk, muttering all the while.