Widows

By ARIEL DORFMAN
Seven Stories Press

Chapter 1

"That old bitch again?" said the captain. "Again?"

"Yes, sir. The same one."

"The same one. That's what I was afraid of. Tell her I'm not in."

"I already told her that, sir. I told her you weren't in."

"Well?"

"With your permission, Captain, she says she'll wait until you come out."

"But didn't you tell her I wasn't in? Isn't that what you said?"

"She says she'll wait, that there's only one door and that you'll have to come out where you went in. That's what she said, Captain."

"And the body? It's about the body, right?"

"It's still there, Captain."

"And the women?"

"The same, Captain. They're still there, next to the river."

"It must be about the body, the son of a bitch. Another body. It must be about that, don't you think?"

"If you say so, Captain."

"'If you say so, if you say so.' Don't you have any opinions of your own? Can't you speak and think for yourself? If you say so, if I say so. I'm asking you what you think."

"Yes, sir, it must be about the body. The lady claims it's Michael Angelos. That she's the wife."

Before responding, the captain took out a cigarette and lit it.

"Wife? She's this one's wife?"

"That's what she claims, Captain."

"How can she know she's the wife if she hasn't even seen it?"

"I don't know, sir. Ask her, if you want to."

"She hasn't even been to the river, right?"

"No, she hasn't, Captain. As soon as she found out about the body, she came straight here. Just like the other time."

The captain got up and walked to the window. The spotless window was the only clean thing for miles. Outside, even at this early hour, the heat was drying, twisting, tightening the air. A little girl passed with a donkey. The two went by slowly and disappeared. The dust they'd raised came down, taking its time, swirling to the ground. It was as if no one had ever walked down the street.

"Stink hole." The captain bit off the words under his breath. "I have to be posted to this fucking stink hole."