When I got back from my walk I called Laura, who arrived in under half an hour. Judging from her expression when I opened the door, she thought we’d invited her to a dinner party, one of our fun-filled nights at Cheyne Walk. She realized her mistake when she saw Juan. They sat down on the rugs and he told her what he’d felt. She denied having perceived a door before—I believed her, I still believe her—and, to my surprise, she refused to go with him. The excuse she gave made me gasp in shock.

The Book doesn’t say anything about opening doors, she murmured. What does that matter? asked Juan. He got up from the floor calmly, his hands folded, and went over to Laura, who looked so small sitting there, her head at the level of his knees. Why are you talking about the Book? Laura was trembling a little: I put my arms around her shoulders. The transcriptions don’t say anything about any door or any house, she repeated. Juan got angry and told her: I have no doubt that there is something important and repulsive behind that door, and I don’t believe in the transcriptions, and neither do you. Why are you so afraid? He looked at her, and his eyes were dark green.

“Because to follow you is to disobey,” she said.

With his index finger, Juan touched Laura’s patch, just barely.

Who took it? Rosario didn’t tell me anything. She keeps those kinds of cruel secrets to herself. In the Order they say it was your father who pulled it out, and that was why Anne adopted you. That’s the lie they tell. A brutal father who emptied out your eye socket because he didn’t want a daughter with second sight. Your father was a gypsy? A traveler? That part is true? I’m sure it was Mercedes who did it with her own two hands. Though Florence would also be capable. They believe in pain more than anything else, they lie when they say those methods are in the past. If, as Rosario says, gods resemble their believers, then this cruel god is the one who wants and allows them to mutilate you. I’m not going to spell out what they did to me, or to Eddie, or to all the others. Did your father sell you, too, like mine did? We are servants to those people, we are the flesh that they torture. We’re the rickshaw drivers transporting rich little girls in India. I’m the lumberjack who fucks the plantation owner’s daughter. You’re going to have to disobey them if you want to follow me. There is something behind that door and I need you. Don’t be a coward.

Laura slipped between us and ran out. She left the house, but stayed sitting on the front steps. She was crying.