“The few hours I have left,” Argenis repeated in a loud voice, tossing himself onto the IKEA sofa bed with his head at the foot and his feet on the cushions, adding, “Sounds like a death sentence,” although his aunt couldn’t hear the joke. In that position, thanks to the light from the street, he could see the photos Niurka had hung on the wall over the sofa. Niurka at her first communion, with her frizzy hair smoothed out under the white veil and her gray eyes that were really green. Niurka at her first birthday, with Don Emilio and Milito next to a cake in the shape of a horseshoe. Niurka all bundled up and happy, in the Retiro Park in Madrid in the early eighties. Niurka’s mom, his grandma Consuelo, on the patio of Renata and Emilio’s house, where she worked, laughing about something to the photographer, her hair now gray, wearing the light-blue servant’s uniform that neither Niurka nor José Alfredo had managed to get her out of.

On the other walls hung prints by Bidó that Niurka had inherited from Renata and some laminated fliers for concerts at Casa de Teatro. Next to the entry was a framed vinyl LP of the Beatles and, above the doorway, a little rag doll dressed in an outfit of denim jacket and jeans. She had brought the furniture over from her apartment in Spain, and she had just bought the stereo system – the best thing in the house – in Plaza Lama, along with the ceiling fans and the refrigerator.

Looking at the photos and the house, one might think that his aunt was and had been happy. But now, the centipede on her breast was superimposed on that landscape. Why had no one ever spoken of that breast? Did everyone else know that Niurka’s nipple was missing? Did they know her screams could be heard down Bolívar Avenue at night?

It was clear that he was wide awake, and that his wakefulness would swallow up the few hours left to him like his aunt had swallowed the rum from the cupboard. He went over to the bookshelf in search of something to do. Turning on the reading lamp next to the sofa, he found a dress hanging from one of the shelves on a plastic-covered hanger, the kind that comes from a dry cleaner or a tailor shop. The outfit was green and red and as he got closer he could see that its skirt was made up of strips, like a Spartan soldier’s. He lifted the plastic and confirmed that it was some kind of costume, a soldier’s outfit, or an angel’s. A sword and some sandals lay on the floor next to it. The sword was golden and said TOLEDO on the hilt. The sandals were made of rustic leather, with long straps, the kind that crisscross the shin. Argenis had first seen them in a picture a very long time ago, along with the rest of the outfit.