She alludes to my absence during those days but asks no specific question about the reason for it and I take advantage of that to tell her nothing. I suspect she’s getting used to having me leave her on her own for a while and then coming back when I need to, which strikes me as the easiest and most pleasant way. Excessive contact between people produces frictions and irritations. If one individual sees too much of another there’s all the more chance of discovering their bad sides.

I say this to Julia and she appears to agree. Nevertheless, she asks what she means to me and without giving it much thought I give her the simplest response I can think of: “Everything.” Which is true because I have no one else, though I’ve tried to. Of course I make no mention of Mamá and Mauricio; in this context they don’t count.

I would appear to have left her no way to respond. Unsatisfied, she grows distracted and seems to be deliberating something.

Finally she says something: Why haven’t I asked her what I mean to her? And though in fact I have not, I tell her yes, her side of the story interests me, which isn’t true though I understand that it’s what she wants to hear and that it will bring her into line. She meditates a moment longer, then says: “Everything”—which, in truth, doesn’t add anything to the question. But then, giving me a severe and rather odd look, she goes on: “Everything. But everything-everything.”

She withdraws and disappears for a bit.

She comes back and picks up a chocolate bar and grinds it slowly in her mouth with a somewhat absent air.

She’s changed her robe—the one she has on now is showier and more delicate—and she’s put on perfume. I don’t see the point but she must have her reasons and she does look better like this.

Suddenly she questions me: Is it at all important to me to know what’s going on with her? I tell her that it is and that at some point I was going to ask her.

She then declares that she can no longer endure the shame, and I think this may be in relation to us. However, she reveals that the inspector has suspended her and that this has been the most mortifying episode of her entire existence.

She sobs more than usual, and because I don’t know what to do I hand her another chocolate bar, which she delicately rejects, claiming she wouldn’t be able to eat it.

I tell myself that in the end, it’s all so much theater. I know that.

•

In the morning, the boss asks whether I’m back. Since an answer would be redundant, I wait for him to say something else.