فصل سی و پنجم

35

The Wounded Wolf

Vidal was in front of his mirror rinsing his slashed face when he heard hoofbeats outside. Two of his soldiers had made it back from the forest, but no one dared tell the capitán the others were lying dead in a clearing among the trees, their blood dripping from fern fronds, while Mercedes, who had cut him like a pig, was alive and free.

Vidal inspected the grotesque grin Mercedes had given him. The kitchen knife had sliced his skin as efficiently as it sliced vegetables. When he tried to open his mouth, a jolt of pain made him shut his eyes, but he still saw Mercedes with the slim blade sticking out of her hand like the thorn of a wasp.

One of the maids had left the curved sewing needle he’d requested on his table. Mercedes had probably stitched his clothes with it. Vidal picked up the needle and shoved it through his lower lip. Each stitch made him wince, but he pulled the black thread through his flesh over and over again to get rid of the grin that made his own face mock him for what a fool he’d been.

Ofelia was listening to his moans through the door the Faun’s chalk had opened in her floor. She could even see the Wolf standing in front of his mirror, and right underneath her a ladder was leaning idly against some boxes that were gathering dust in the back of the room. The Faun had made sure she could get to her brother’s cradle easily. It was standing just a few steps away from it, and though Ofelia couldn’t see him she could hear him softly crying. Maybe he was calling for his mother. Their mother . . . Don’t think about her, Ofelia! Remember where you are!

She slipped into her shoes and drew her dark woolen coat over her nightgown.

The Wolf didn’t seem to hear her as she climbed down the ladder. He was still standing in front of his mirror, with his back to her, groaning with pain. There was blood on his shirt. Ofelia didn’t know who had wounded him, but she was grateful to whoever had dared to attack him, though she could feel his anger. As soon as she stepped from the ladder onto the floor she hastily slipped under the Wolf’s table to hide from his gaze in case he turned around.

But Vidal still didn’t turn.

He was scrutinizing the work the needle and thread had done. They had erased the grin Mercedes’s kitchen knife had drawn. All the mirror showed was a thin bloodstained line, embroidered with black yarn, running from the left side of his mouth up his cheek. He covered it with a bandage and inspected his face one last time. Then he walked over to his table.

Ofelia dared not breathe. She could have touched his legs when he poured himself a glass of brandy. Her brother let out a feeble squeal in his cradle and the Wolf groaned when the sharp liquor seeped through his bandage. Ofelia heard him pour himself another glass and . . . set it down on the table.

Ofelia felt her feet and hands go cold with fear.

The chalk. Where was the Faun’s chalk?

It was lying among Vidal’s papers on the table. Vidal picked it up and crumbled it between his fingers as he scanned the room for the intruder who left it there.

Oh, how Ofelia feared her pounding heart would give her away!

And maybe Vidal did hear it.

He pulled out his pistol, walked around the table, and cast a glance underneath. But Ofelia had been fast. The Wolf saw nothing, and her brother came to her aid by starting to cry. Vidal holstered the pistol, and approached the cradle. His son . . . would he rule the boy’s thoughts the way his father still ruled his? Would his son yearn to please him even with his death?

“Capitán! With your permission?”

He couldn’t remember the name of the soldier who rushed into his room. They died too quickly.

“What?”

They all knew how severe the punishment could be for disturbing the capitán in his room.

“Serrano is back. He’s wounded.”

“Wounded?” Vidal was still scanning the room.

His son was crying as if something or someone were disturbing his sleep.

Please! Ofelia pleaded. You will give me away, brother. But the pile of empty burlap sacks she had slipped behind kept her safe from the Wolf’s gaze, and finally she heard him walk toward the door.

Ofelia didn’t leave her hiding place until she heard his steps on the stairs outside. He had left the half-empty glass of brandy on the table. It reminded Ofelia of other glasses—the ones Dr. Ferreira had prepared for her mother to help her sleep. She slipped her hand into her pocket. Yes, there it was. The bottle of medicine she had taken from her mother’s room. She poured just a few drops into the liquor, afraid the Wolf would taste it if she added too much. Dr. Ferreira, her mother, her father, Mercedes . . . maybe they were all waiting for her in the Underground Kingdom the Faun had told her about.

All she had to do was do everything he said and she would see them all again.

Another squeal came from the cradle. Brother. Nobody had named him yet. As if her mother had taken his true name to her grave. Ofelia remembered how she’d talked to him when he was still in her womb. She had warned him of this world. Yes, she had.

She bent over the cradle and took the baby into her arms. He was so small.