“Now you’ve really stopped hiccupping,” said Alicia.

Hearing footsteps behind them, they turned to discover a young woman, thin as a rake, observing them with her hands joined over her chest. Her eyes and her general demeanor reminded Vargas of a praying mantis.

“Good afternoon. How may I help?”

“Good afternoon,” said Alicia. “I’d like to speak to Matías, if at all possible.”

The look of suspicion that colored the eyes of the praying mantis deepened. “And that will be about . . . ?”

“A technical inquiry.”

“And may I ask who wishes to see him?”

“Alicia Gris.”

The praying mantis gave them a thorough going-over, screwing up her nose with disapproval, before she walked off unhurriedly to the back room.

“I’m discovering a most welcoming Barcelona,” whispered Vargas. “I’m thinking of moving here.”

“Don’t you have enough stuffed glories in the capital?”

“I wish we did. I’m afraid they’re all alive and kicking. Who is this Matías? An ex-boyfriend?”

“More like an ex-candidate.”

“Heavyweight?”

“Featherweight, I’d say. Matías is a technician here. This place has the best magnifying glasses in town, and Matías has the best eye.”

“What about the lamia?”

“I think her name is Serafina. Years ago she was his fiancée. She must be the wife now.”

“Maybe one of these days he’ll stuff her and put her on one of the shelves, next to the lions, as a finishing touch for the museum of horrors.”

“Alicia!” came Matías’s euphoric voice, as he welcomed her with a warm smile.

Matías was a small man with nervous gestures. He sported a white lab coat and round spectacles that enlarged his eyes and gave him a rather comical appearance. “It’s been a long time,” he cried, visibly excited. “I thought you’d left Barcelona. When did you come back?”

Serafina watched, half hidden behind the back room curtain, with eyes as black as tar and an unfriendly expression.

“Matías, this is my colleague, Don Juan Manuel Vargas.”

Matías studied him as he shook his hand.

“You have an impressive collection here, Don Matías,” Vargas said.

“Oh, most of the pieces are the work of Señor Soler, the founder of the establishment. My teacher.”

“Matías is very modest,” Alicia interrupted. “Tell him about the bull.”

Matías shook his head humbly.

“Don’t tell me you also stuff fighting bulls?” asked Vargas.

“No task is impossible for him,” said Alicia. “A few years ago a famous matador came here and asked Matías to stuff a beast weighing over five hundred kilos. He’d fought it that afternoon at the Monumental bullring and wanted to present it to a film star with whom he was madly in love . . . Wasn’t it Ava Gardner, Matías?”

“The things we do for women, eh?” added Matías, who obviously preferred not to broach the subject.

Serafina coughed threateningly from her sentry post; Matías stood at attention and his smile disappeared.

“So, what can I do for you? Do you have a pet you wish to immortalize? Some memorable piece of game?”