“The truth is that we have a rather unusual request,” Alicia began.

“Unusual is usual here. A few months ago, Salvador Dalí himself came through this door to ask whether we could stuff two hundred thousand ants for him. It’s not a joke. When I told him I thought it wasn’t feasible, he offered to paint my Serafina in an altarpiece of insects and cardinals. Quirks of genius. As you can see, we’re never bored here . . .”

Alicia pulled the notebook out of her handbag and opened it. “What we wanted to ask you is whether you could help us decipher the text that appears in relief on this page, using your lenses.”

Matías took the paper carefully and examined it against the light. “Alicia always with her mysteries, eh? Come into the workshop. Let’s see what can be done.”

The taxidermist’s workshop and laboratory was a small cave of alchemy and wonders. A complex device with lenses and spotlights hung from the ceiling on metal cables. The walls were crammed with glass cabinets, filled with countless bottles and chemical solutions. Large ocher-colored anatomical atlases flanked the room, presenting the visitor with images of the internal organs, skeletons, and muscles of all types of creatures. Two wide slabs of marble dominated the workshop’s center, making the room look like an operating theater conceived for otherworldly specimens. Next to the slabs, small metal tables covered with crimson cloths displayed a collection of the most extravagant surgical instruments Vargas had ever seen.

“Don’t mind the smell,” the taxidermist warned. “After a few minutes you won’t even notice it.”

Doubting this, but not wishing to contradict Matías, Alicia accepted the chair she was being offered next to one of the tables and smiled affectionately at him, aware of the longing in the eyes of her old suitor.

“Serafina never comes in here,” he said. “She says it smells of dead bodies. But I find it relaxing. Here one sees things the way they are, with no illusions or deceits.” He took the piece of paper and extended it over a glass plate. Using a dimmer close to the marble table, he lowered the main light until it was barely visible, then turned on a couple of spotlights hanging from the ceiling. Next, he tugged at a bar held up by pulleys, bringing down a set of lenses articulated on metal arms.

“You never said good-bye,” he said without looking up from his work. “I had to find out through the caretaker, Jesusa.”

“It was all a bit of a rush, from one day to the next.”

“I understand.” Matías placed the glass plate between one of the spotlights and a magnifying glass. The beam of light outlined the marks on the page. “Numbers,” he remarked.

Adjusting the angle of the magnifying glass, he studied the page with great care. “I could apply a contrast to the paper, but that would probably damage it and we might lose some of the digits . . .”