He had arrived too early at the house on Villarreal. On the way there he’d seen some boys playing soccer in the street and a group of girls jumping rope. It was Saturday evening, the weather was already starting to turn a little warm, and the sky seemed painted, not a cloud in it, darkening toward the blue that came before the black of night. Gaspar had a large crowbar in his backpack to use as a lever; he’d borrowed it from the tire repair shop. Pablo was in charge of bringing the flashlight, Adela would be bringing keys to try in the lock, and Vicky wasn’t bringing anything because all of a sudden she was against going into the house. She’d told him very clearly: I’m scared, there’s something in the house and I don’t know if it has to do with Adela’s dad or not, but I don’t care. Don’t come in if you don’t want to, Gaspar had told her. I’m not going to leave you guys alone, she’d replied, but I sure hope the door doesn’t open.

The door would open, Gaspar was sure of it.

He sat down on the sidewalk to wait for the others and lit a cigarette. From his position he couldn’t see either the house or the door, but he could picture them clearly.

He remembered how, when they were scattering his mother’s ashes at the Costanera, his dad had told him to open the iron gate leading down to the beach. What had he done then? Just obeyed. He thought he could do it again on his own. His father was going to be cremated, too. No one ever got cremated. Why did his parents? He had asked his uncle, who, clearly uncomfortable, had said he thought it seemed like a healthy habit, though he preferred the earth, a grave. Cremation was expensive, too, though that wasn’t a problem. Gaspar asked if they would get the ashes, and his uncle replied that it would be up to them. He added that Juan had told him: If you scatter them, do it in the river. But as long as they’re in the same house as Gaspar, let him decide when. Again, the box of ashes on a shelf. That’s what it meant to be an orphan: to have boxes of ashes and not know what to do with them.

Adela arrived first, as he figured she would. She had the keys. She sat down beside Gaspar on the sidewalk: she was wearing a pair of jeans a little too big for her and an old pink sweatshirt with wide sleeves. Pablo arrived next, with Vicky. Gaspar could tell she was scared, more scared than the rest of them. Of course, she was the only one who’d heard that buzzing from the house; Gaspar had tried to hear it too, but for him the house was silent.

“Let’s not go in. Please,” said Vicky.