The Wind That Lays Waste. Selva Almada

go out,’ she said.

      When they stepped outside, Leni’s eyes had to adjust again, now to the fierce early-afternoon glare.

      The Reverend was dozing on his chair, and Leni put a finger to her lips, warning Tapioca not to wake him. She walked away from the porch and beckoned to the boy, who followed her.

      ‘Let’s go under that tree,’ she said.

      Tapioca tagged along. Except as a child, with his mother, he had never been in female company. Another boy would have resisted, feeling that the girl was pushing him around.

      They sat down under the leafiest tree they could find. Even so, the hot wind smothered everything in a hellish torpor.

      ‘Do you like music?’ asked Leni.

      Tapioca shrugged. Not that he disliked it. But he wasn’t sure if he liked it, exactly. The radio was always on, and sometimes, when they played one of those cheerful, up-tempo chamamés, the Gringo would turn the volume right up. He’d always give a whoop and sometimes even dance a few steps, which amused Tapioca. Now that he thought about it, he liked the other kind more, the sad ones, about ghosts and tragic love affairs. That music was really beautiful; it made your heart go tight. It didn’t make you want to dance; it made you want to keep still, watching the road.

      ‘Put this in,’ said Leni, helping him to insert one of the little earphones. Then she put the other one into her ear. Tapioca looked at her. The girl smiled and pressed a button. At first, the music startled him: he’d never heard it so close up, as if it were playing in his brain. She shut her eyes; he did the same. Soon he got used to the melody, and it didn’t feel like something that had intruded from outside. It was as if the music came surging up from his core.

      The car had broken down as they were leaving Gato Colorado. Leni was amused by the name, and especially by the two cement cats, painted bright red, sitting on two pillars at the entrance to the town, which was on the border between the provinces of Santa Fe and Chaco.

      The bad noises had begun much earlier, as they were coming in to Tostado, where they had spent the night in a small hotel. Leni said they should get it checked before setting off again, but the Reverend paid no attention.

      ‘The car won’t let us down. The good Lord wouldn’t allow it.’

      Leni, who had been driving since she was ten and took turns at the wheel with her father, knew when a noise was just a noise and when it was a warning signal.

      ‘We better get a mechanic to take a look before we leave,’ she insisted as they drank coffee early that morning in a bar. ‘We could ask here if they know someone who’s good and doesn’t charge too much.’

      ‘If we take it to a garage, they’ll make us wait the whole day. We have to have faith. When has this car ever broken down, eh?’

      Leni kept quiet. They always ended up doing what her father wanted, or, as he saw it, what God expected of them.

      When they’d been on the road for two hours, the car gave one last snort and stopped. The Reverend tried to start it again, but it was no use. Leni looked through the insect-spotted windscreen at the road stretching away and said, without turning her head, but in a clear and firm voice:

      ‘I told you so, Father.’

      Pearson got out of the car, took off his jacket, and put it on the back of the seat. He shut the door, rolled up his sleeves, went around to the front, and opened the hood. A jet of smoke made him cough.

      All Leni could see now was the hood with its chrome plating and smoke or steam coming out the sides. Then her father walked past; she heard him open the trunk and shift the suitcases. Two big, battered suitcases, secured with leather straps, which held all their belongings. In his: six shirts, three suits, an overcoat, undershirts, socks, underwear, another pair of shoes. In hers: three shirts, three skirts, two dresses, a coat, underwear, another pair of shoes. The Reverend slammed the trunk shut again.

      Leni got out. The sun was scorching, and it was only nine in the morning. She undid the top two buttons of her shirt, walked around the car, and found her father putting out the warning triangles. She looked at the triangles and the deserted road. Between Tostado and where they were, they hadn’t seen a single car.

      ‘Any moment now a Good Samaritan will come along,’ said the Reverend, with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face, oozing faith.

      She looked at him.

      ‘The good Lord won’t leave us stranded here,’ he said, rubbing his lower back, ruined by all those years of driving.

      Leni thought that if one fine day the good Lord actually came down from the Kingdom of Heaven to attend to the Reverend’s mechanical mishaps, her father would be more stunned than anyone. He’d fall on his backside. And piss himself too.

      She took a few steps on the road, which was full of cracks and potholes. Her heels clicked on the concrete.

      It was a place that seemed to have been completely forsaken by humans. Her gaze ranged over the stunted, dry, twisted trees and the bristly grass in the fields. From the very first day of Creation, God too had forsaken that place. But she was used to it. She’d spent her whole life in places like that.

      ‘Don’t go far,’ her father called out.

      Leni lifted an arm to indicate that she had heard him.

      ‘And get off the road; if someone comes, there could be an accident.’

      Leni laughed to herself. Yeah, or a hare might run her down. She turned her Walkman on and tried to find a station. Nothing. Only aimless static on the air. Steady white noise.

      After a while she came back and leaned on the trunk, beside her father.

      ‘Get in the car. This sun is fierce,’ said the Reverend.

      ‘I’m fine.’

      She glanced across at him. He looked a bit downhearted.

      ‘Someone will come, Father.’

      ‘Yes, of course. We must have faith. It’s not a very busy road.’

      ‘I don’t know. I saw a pair of guinea pigs up there. They went flying over the asphalt so they wouldn’t burn their paws.’ Leni laughed, and so did the Reverend.

      ‘Ah, my girl. Jesus has blessed me,’ he said, and patted her on the cheek.