The chairs avoided him. When he thought he couldn’t find any new routes around the sitting room, he ventured down a corridor at the end of which were two doors. One led to the bathroom. The other one had to be the door to Alicia’s bedroom. He suddenly felt himself blushing, a mixture of modesty, unease, and embarrassment. Before he reached the bathroom door, he turned and went back to the main room, where he sat on a chair and waited. A few heavy minutes dragged by, with no other comfort than the ticking of a grandfather clock. Time, Fernandito realized, always flows at the opposite speed to the needs of the person living through it.

He stood up again and went over to the window. No sign of Vargas. The world went by, distant and banal, five floors down. Without knowing how, he found himself again in the corridor. Outside the bathroom door. He stepped in and looked at his reflexion in the mirror. An open lipstick rested on a shelf. He picked it up and examined it. Blood red. He put it back again and walked out, feeling embarrassed. On the other side was the bedroom door. From the doorway, he could see that the bed was made. Alicia hadn’t slept there. A thousand ideas assaulted him, and he killed them off before they could reach his mouth.

He took a few steps into the room and gazed at the bed. He imagined her lying there and looked away. He wondered how many men had been there, lying by her side, exploring her body with their hands and lips. He walked over to the wardrobe and opened it. Alicia’s clothes were visible in the shadowy darkness. He brushed the hanging dresses with his fingertips, then closed the door. Opposite the bed stood a wooden chest of drawers. He opened the first drawer and found a whole stash of beautifully folded silk and lace garments. Black, red, and white. It took him a few seconds to realize what he was staring at. This was Alicia’s underwear. He gulped. His fingers paused two centimeters from the material. He pulled back his hand as if the lace might burn him and closed the drawer.

You’re an idiot, he told himself.

An idiot or not, he opened the second drawer. It contained silk stockings and some device with straps that had the look of something designed to hold them up and made him feel quite dizzy. He shook his head slowly and began to close the drawer. Just then the telephone started to ring with such fury that Fernandito thought his heart was coming unstuck, ready to shoot out of his mouth and crash against the wall. He slammed the drawer shut and ran panting back to the dining room. The telephone was hammering accusingly, like a fire alarm.

Fernandito approached it and watched it vibrate without knowing what to do. The bell rang incessantly for about a minute or more. When at last the boy placed his trembling hand on the receiver and lifted it, the bell stopped ringing. He let it drop back and took a deep breath, then sat down and closed his eyes. Something was pounding in his chest. It was his heart: it was throbbing, and seemed to have gotten trapped in his throat. He laughed at himself, finding comfort in his own foolishness. If Alicia could see him . . .