At the same time, there are also distinctive patterns of distribution across the seasons. Since people tend to kill themselves more frequently in spring and summer, a city of half a million may have a case every two or three days during certain months, but fewer cases during the colder months.

•

At the bowling alley, Bibi shows me which three fingers to put in the ball, how far toward the lane to step, the proper inclination of the body. It’s not enough to enable me to knock over any pins. My projectiles veer here and there and seem irresistibly drawn toward the gutters.

I’d rather Piel Blanca took over for me, but she never shows up.

With Bibi, we order something off the menu and share it for dinner. Before that, she drank gin, neat. “Shall we roll?” she suggests, and takes my hand, which was resting on the table. I say “Yes,” then say, “I’d like that.” “Who wouldn’t?” she comments, which, though I don’t know precisely what she means by “roll,” leads me to believe my conjecture is correct. I make so bold as to inquire, “Where?”

“Around here,” she says airily.

She guides me to the 4L.

She steers with her right hand, hanging her left arm outside the car as if to cool it off or pretend it can fly. She hums.

I wait.

We’re driving along side streets, semirural, overgrown with weeds.

She tells a spicy story, laughs at it, and, releasing the steering wheel altogether for a moment, squeezes my knee. I stroke her thigh. She says “No,” which is not an impediment. She insists, “No,” and stops the car.

“Here?” I query.

“Here what?”

“Quick question,” I say. “What does ‘roll’ mean?”

“Driving around, driving around anywhere.”

I don’t believe her and try to kiss her. She stops me. I remain expectant. How things go from here depends on her.

She apologizes. “It’s not that I don’t want to. The thing is, I’m otherwise engaged . . .”

“To be married?”

“I wouldn’t say that yet. Maybe sometime soon.”

Which is all the same to me. As I said: Every woman has somebody.

We drive back to the center of town, without anger.

•

That night, Julia has abandoned her aggression. Even better, she accedes to my desires, as docile as ever.

Afterward, in a moment of attention I notice that she gives the impression of being oblivious to what’s around her and, at the same time, somewhat frightened. But I don’t ask.

On her own, she begins to voice what’s gnawing at her. She had a dream.

She saw herself in a hole underground, and an animal was hounding her. She cried out for help, called to her father. The animal shape-shifted into her father, who in reality no longer exists. Julia thought she was saved but the father devoured her.

She asks what I make of this. I tell her I haven’t formed an opinion.