“Do you want to freshen up, Luis? The hot water in this house is a pain in the neck, but if you don’t mind lukewarm water, you can take a shower or a bath, whatever you prefer. Then we’ll talk about the details. I go to Paraguay once a week, for work, sometimes with my sister. We often cross over to Brazil because there’s a really nice restaurant on the border. We could do it today, even. Or tomorrow morning. The soldiers know me.”

“Things have changed,” said Luis.

“I’m sure they haven’t changed that much. They’ll let us cross without problems. Have you been to the border here? It’s pretty lax, and there are surnames that carry weight in these parts. Like mine.”

Luis got up to thank me, and his hug was sincere.

“Thank you,” he said into my ear. “We barely even know each other. You once promised to help me, and I haven’t forgotten.”

“I haven’t either,” I said. And it was true. Juan loved that man, and so did I. He had always been unconditional, even when they’d hidden Juan from him behind threats and lies. Without Luis, Juan wouldn’t have been capable of loyalty and affection. I remembered him from years before, insistent, stubborn, waiting for Juan in the plaza if Mercedes’ cruelty kept him from entering the apartment. He had never abandoned his brother. And Juan hadn’t ever forgotten him. From England, he had mailed Luis a beautiful book on the architect who had designed Big Ben; I couldn’t remember his name, but I did remember that he’d gone mad and died at the age of forty. His life had seemed so brutal, and so had those monuments, those churches imagined by the feverish insistence of a young man who wanted to be close to God and found only dementia. And wasn’t that always the way?

Luis apologized for his sweaty hug, and said he would accept the shower. He only had the clothes he was wearing because you couldn’t flee with a suitcase, it had to seem like a short trip. I called Marcelina and asked her to give him a clean shirt. When Luis left the room, I closed the door and went over to Juan. He needed a bath, too. I took Gaspar from his arms and put him on the floor, where he had a toy car he would soon throw against the glass window.

“How did you get away from the bodyguards to make the drive?”

Juan touched the side of his head to remind me of the mark.

“That’s a long time to keep up the secret. That’s why you’re exhausted.”

I wet my fingers in water and refreshed his forehead. As always, my husband had gone too far, got what he wanted, and as a result would go even further the next time.

“Tell me.”