“Have a beer, girls, but watch your manners if you want more,” they announced from the middle of the room.

Pepa set the good example, grabbing a glass off the tray with a wink to her girls, and everyone else drank, too, except for Santa. The two citizens chose two women and, after finishing their beer, went upstairs with them to the bedrooms.

Hipólito had long since stopped playing and turned toward the others. His pock-marked face with those horrid whitish eyes of a bronze statue without patina stood out from the black background of the piano the way that painted faces stand out on Japanese lacquer ware. Santa began to study his ugliness intently.

All of a sudden, Eufrasia, the maid, who only on rare occasions entered the parlor, walked into it angrily and addressed the manager:

“Doña Pepa, there's police out there, and they say they have a legal order, and I've told them that this is a bad time and the girls are busy, to come back tomorrow … but they won't budge!”

“Let them in, silly!” instructed Pepa, with the poise of a woman who knows that her accounts are in order, and who knows, too, how certain minor obstacles can easily be overcome.

It was a group of Sanitation Agents, the bottom rung on the city's administrative ladder devoted to the regulation of prostitution. Society had entrusted them with the direct supervision of the professionals themselves, ensuring their compliance with a list of requirements supposedly intended to safeguard the health of the community's male citizens. And because they somewhat resemble police, perhaps it is not surprising that they exercise their authority arbitrarily and commit countless abuses, even a few really scurrilous ones, like intentionally hauling in helpless, poorly dressed girls, who turn out not to be prostitutes at all and whom they finally release with a priceless smirk and an “excuse us, ma'am.” On the other hand, as long as the professionals are careful to grease the agents' hands with money—because, after all, money is always useful in this life—even major infractions commonly pass unremarked. The only exception would be the ambitious agent who makes a show of his incorruptibility in order to rise in the ranks and harvest the benefits of larger graft in the future. At any rate, a visit from the Sanitation Agents must always be taken seriously, which is why Pepa went to greet them with a broad smile and Santa turned pale with the thought that her papers lacked a signature for the doctor's last visit. She quickly went to consult with Hipólito who, despite having so recently compared himself to a worm—and despite really believing it—stood up as soon as he heard mention of the agents' arrival and, turning his back to them, adopted an attitude of dignified nonchalance, resting an elbow on the top of the piano.

“Do you think they're here for me, Hipo? I haven't been inspected in two weeks.”

“For you, Santita?” exclaimed Hipólito, incredulous at the notion. “For you? No way. They'd take away the whole house first, with all the furniture and me, too, before you. It's probably just some rumor or because they want a tip from Pepa … You know they're as corrupt as they can be …”