Vargas shook his head, vaguely embarrassed, and hurried on. Alicia smiled and followed him, exchanging glances with the strapping woman in the doorway, who, seeing her prey walk away, shrugged and gave her the once-over, as if wondering whether this was the latest look preferred by well-shod gentlemen.

“This area is a social calamity,” said Vargas.

“Would you like me to leave you alone for a while to see if you can solve it?” asked Alicia. “I think you’ve just made a friend who’ll get rid of your hiccup in a flash.”

“Don’t prick me. I’m about to burst.”

“Would you like some dessert?”

“A magnifying glass. If possible, a huge one.”

“I thought you had no faith in those numbers.”

“You believe what it’s possible to believe, not what you want to believe. Unless you’re an idiot, in which case it’s the other way around.”

“I didn’t know indigestion brought out the philosopher in you.”

“There are lots of things you don’t know, Alicia.”

“That’s why I learn something new every day.”

Alicia put her arm through his.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Vargas warned.

“You’ve already told me that.”

“It’s the best bit of advice one can give anyone in this life.”

“What a sad thought, Vargas.”

The policeman looked at Alicia, and in his eyes she saw that he was speaking seriously. Her smile left her lips, and without thinking, she stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was a chaste kiss, full of affection and friendship, a kiss that didn’t expect anything and asked for even less.

“Don’t do that,” said Vargas, setting off again.

The doorway hooker was still watching, Alicia noticed. They looked at each other briefly. The old hand mumbled under her breath, smiling bitterly.

17

Clouds hung low in the afternoon sky. A greenish aura filtered through them, making the Raval quarter look like a small village sunk beneath the waters of a swamp. They walked up Calle Hospital until they reached the Ramblas and from there Alicia guided Vargas through the crowds toward Plaza Real.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“In search of the magnifying glass you mentioned.”

They crossed the square, heading for the passageway under the arches that surrounded it. Alicia stopped in front of a shop window through which one could glimpse a small jungle of wild animals, frozen in a moment of fury and staring at eternity with glass eyes. Vargas looked up to see the notice over the entrance and, a little further down, to the letters printed on the glazed door:

Museum

Widow of L. Soler Pujol

Telephone 404451

“What’s this?”

“People call it the Beast Museum, but in fact it’s a taxidermist’s establishment.”

As soon as they stepped into the shop, Vargas was struck by its rich collection of stuffed animals. Tigers, birds, wolves, apes, and a whole troop of exotic species inhabited this improvised museum of natural sciences, which would have delighted, or terrified, more than one expert on exotic fauna from any of the continents. He strolled among the glass cabinets, admiring the skill shown in those pieces of taxidermy.