Gaspar started toward Andrés and Pablo tried to stop him, because from the way Gaspar was walking, he could intuit a certain rage, and he knew that when his friend had those attacks of ire, things could end badly. But he didn’t need to intervene: Gaspar changed his mind and changed course toward the bathroom. Pablo followed him. Gaspar blocked the door with a chair that was beside the sink. He was mad, but also shocked. That’s why he had gone into the bathroom: he needed to calm down.

“Had you seen it? Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Gaspar. His voice shook.

“How could I see it and not tell you? I’ve never seen it.”

Gaspar leaned against the marble sink so hard his fingers turned white.

“Sorry,” he murmured between his teeth. And he rubbed his eyes as if they burned, fighting back tears. Pablo embraced him, and when he heard someone banging on the door he shouted “occupied.” He could stay in that bathroom forever, holding Gaspar’s waist, his taut belly. I love him so much, he thought. I don’t care about the others, Andrés, this gallery. If only you’d stay with me. I’d set up house for you. I’d cook for you, I’m not afraid of anything. Just talk into my ear on the motorcycle. The sun and the wind in our faces, and then we’ll fuck all night long. For ever or as long as it lasts.

Pablo kissed Gaspar’s forehead, and Gaspar stiffened a little and gently pulled away from the hug. He took some paper towels and used them to dry his face. He saw a ghost, thought Pablo, and he must have been afraid he’d have one of those attacks that Pablo had never seen himself, but had heard described so many times.

“Sorry,” Gaspar repeated. “Open up, they’re going to kill us.”

They went out and stood under the stairs beside the bathroom, in the shadows. Upstairs, on the second floor, were the gallery’s offices. Gaspar said: I don’t remember that photo. It must be from when we went to the waterfall, I’ve told you about that trip many times. I got upset because of the surprise, but also because, though I don’t remember much, something really specific came to me, I don’t know where or when it was, but I remember that my head hurt and my dad laid me in a bed. It was hot. He left me alone, but it was okay.

“You want to talk to Andrés?”

Gaspar wiped his face again and said yes. Andrés saw them coming and opened his arms wide to welcome them. He was standing next to the central photo of the show, an image of some soldiers kneeling in a church, praying, in the foreground; in the background and a little out of focus, children were taking Communion. In command of the room, he shook off a thin woman holding a long cigarette between two fingers and her elegant friend with perfect, salon-styled gray hair. He hugged Pablo long enough that those who didn’t yet know would realize that this attractive young man was his lover. Then he gave Gaspar a kiss on the cheek, but there was something in the boy’s expression and his pale face that made him stop his flirting and turn serious.