Rage by Sergio Bizzio Page A

he'd already executed the deed.
    He left the room and slowly crossed the dark landing,
heading in the direction of the staircase. Halfway over
he heard a noise. He turned to look. One window pane,
which had swung itself shut, was swinging slowly open
again... It was the wind, nothing but the wind. Even so,
he hastened his pace.
    9
    Spring only really arrived in mid-November. Outside
- he could observe it in the garden or on the street - it
had begun earlier, before you could get a sense of it inside the house. The attic and the third floor stayed
damp and dark, but all the same the temperature had
risen in there by at least a degree a day in recent weeks,
until finally it seemed on a par with that outside.

    Maria had come to feel more comfortable and at ease:
he slept somewhat easier, food seemed to taste better,
he allowed himself longer in the shower... Even his
daily constitutionals around the house lasted longer.
This was helped by the fact that his confidence had
also improved: neither Alvaro nor the police had reappeared, Senor and Senora Blinder were spending
more and more daylight hours away from the house,
and Maria's domination of its second and third floors
was nearly complete, in every sense. For some time
now, he'd been able to tell the footsteps of the house's
inhabitants apart; now he'd learned to distinguish the
direction they were heading in, their degree of haste,
even what each person had in mind as they went on
their way. He knew their routines, their caprices, he had
the measure of their breathing and differentiated the
manner in which they opened and closed doors - and
he could tell who had just deposited their glass on the
table... all learned as a blind man would, since he had
never - or almost never - seen any of them.
    Two or three times he had gone into the Blinders'
bedroom, so at least he'd obtained a physical portrait
and an intellectual profile of the two of them. He had
investigated their wardrobes, and always noted the new
copy of Reader's Digest on Senor Blinder's bedside table,
and the daily paper on the Senora's, invariably with a
glass of whisky standing on it. Rita Blinder drank in bed,
and no doubt in all kinds of other quiet places, like her
son. And finally he discovered that a man had started
phoning Rosa.

    This discovery coincided with another, which he
made through his passion for intercepting all forms
of communication with Rosa. The very thought of
Rosa kissing another man wounded him deeply.
In a fit of jealousy, one afternoon when Rosa had
just received one of these calls, Maria raced up the
staircase and picked up the telephone on the third
floor. But he could only hear the dial tone through
it. He headed downstairs again at full speed. Rosa
was still talking. That meant the house had to have
two phone lines.
    At that moment, he wasn't particularly bothered with
following Rosa's conversation, with its suggestive giggles in the background. His only thought was that he
must have made an extraordinary discovery. "I've got
a phone!" he told himself. It was so absurd it was emotionally moving. He could speak to Rosa, he could ring
and talk to her without her suspecting he was no more
than a few yards away.
    He went back up to the third floor, picked up the
telephone directory and searched for a phone number
under the name Blinder. There were seven.
    He began with the first. He dialled the number, and
while the phone rang at the other end, he realized he
hadn't the faintest idea what he was going to say. He
cut the line. He had let himself be carried away on an
impulse, but - wasn't it perhaps something he should
think about? He made an effort and thought.
    He felt a dizziness throughout his body. A dizziness
that didn't - as usually happened - begin in his head.
Then he picked up the handset again and resumed
dialling the first number on the list.
    Engaged.
    He hung up and redialled.

    Still engaged. He couldn't believe