And Victoria cried and couldn’t sleep, and her mom called Gaspar’s uncle and told him about the situation and he told her about his own, and they went on talking.

“Gaspar’s uncle promised we’ll stay in touch. I’ll call him once a week. Everything’s fine. Gaspar is in treatment.”

“Treatment for what?”

“Vicky, you go to the psychologist too, it’s the same.”

“It’s not the same if I can’t see him.”

“Gaspar is in worse shape than you.”

“He’s not crazy.”

“You will get to see him, but he has to get better first.”

“Why do you all think I’m going to be bad for him?”

And her mom hugged her, but didn’t explain anymore. And Vicky saw Adela at least once a week, but out of the corner of her eye, like a shadow just behind her, and when she turned around no one was there. She told Pablo about it, and after he listened to her in the cool living room of his house that seemed so quiet to Victoria, he went to the bookshelf, took out a thin book with a green cover, and read: “There is the Hidebehind, which is always hiding behind something. No matter how many times or whichever way a man turns, it is always behind him, and that’s why nobody has been able to describe it, even though it is credited with having killed and devoured many a lumberjack.”

“Why the hell would you read me that?”

“You just reminded me of it. It’s Borges.”

He showed her the book’s cover.

“Is it a story?”

“No, not a story, it’s a legend. A legend from the United States, it says here.”

“Pablo, you mongoloid. I’m telling you what’s happening to me and you come out with Borges and some bullshit of his.”

She left in a huff, ignoring Pablo’s apologies and thinking that he was also pretty crazy. Thinking that Gaspar would understand. How could I be bad for him, explain that to me, she asked her mother later. I’m his best friend. Give me his phone number, don’t be an asshole.

“You curse at me again and I’ll smack you.”

“You always say the same thing, the same old shit. Like you’d ever smack me. Give me the number!”

“We do not curse in this house!” said Victoria’s father, who had come in from the kitchen holding a cup of coffee, the paper tucked under his arm.

“Hugo, stay out of this.”

He slammed the kitchen door.

“I’ll give you the number, but Luis won’t let you talk to Gaspar. You can talk to Luis.”

She snatched the paper with the number from her mother’s hand and called: her fingers were trembling, and she had trouble dialing the new phone. Luis was very friendly and explained that Gaspar was sick, that he needed time.

“Time for what?”

“To recover.”