Durval’s wide eyes did not blink when Botelho unlocked the two metal latches on the side of the coffin and opened the lid with a creak.
Twisted like a thick rope, the corpse looked more like a ghost due to its pallor. The clothes, so tattered, resembled a white veil covering the body, with thin strands like spider webs stretching from the body to the sides inside the coffin. It seemed that the coffin had been submerged in the river’s waters for a long time. The skin was spongy and almost transparent, allowing the protrusions of the bones to be seen. The belly was quite visible and looked like a shapeless mass that wobbled like gelatin about to detach from a spoon. The head was so tilted in relation to the body that it seemed loose from the neck. The eyeballs were bulging out, without eyelids, and the half-open mouth seemed about to say something. When Botelho slammed the open lid of the coffin, the whole body trembled, and the face turned from side to side as if vehemently denying.
Durval heard a “ploft”. He looked to the side and saw Dolores fallen on the ground. Without thinking twice, he ran to help the woman. Luckily, she had fallen on the pile of branches and leaves that Botelho had used to cover the coffin. Carefully, Durval crouched beside her and managed to sit on the pile of branches. The cane was to the side.
— Dodô! My dear! Wake up.
Durval rubbed Dolores’s hands vigorously in an attempt to wake her from the shock.
— I knew I shouldn’t have come with her — he said to himself. Then he looked at Botelho: — Why didn’t you warn me earlier about the state of the… look at the situation! Look at this! — He pointed at the corpse. — I didn’t know he was already like this, all falling apart. When I saw him for the first time, he looked a bit better.
— You had seen the corpse? And didn’t inform the police? What are you…? How did you…? — Durval paused, searching for words. Then he shouted: — Why??
— Because of you!
— What!? What are you talking about??
— You are the murderer, Durval. You killed him, didn’t you?
Durval stood up, leaning on the cane, unable to believe what he had just heard.
— What!? Have you completely lost your mind?
— There’s no point in denying it — Botelho said calmly. — I have the proof.
— What proof!?
Botelho looked around, as if to ensure they were alone. Then he rummaged in the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a knife. It must have measured about thirty centimeters in length, the carved wooden handle and the shiny blade looked quite sharp.
Then a voice was heard:
— Drop the weapon!
Durval and Botelho looked towards the woods and saw half a dozen police officers pointing automatic pistols at them. Among them was Moreira, the inspector.
— Throw the knife on the ground and slowly raise your hands! — Moreira shouted.
Botelho dropped the knife to the ground and raised his hands. His thin, long arms looked like two tree branches.
— You too, Durval! — the inspector said. — Raise your hands up and turn around.
Durval raised his hands and turned around.
— What happened, huh? — Dolores asked, coming back from her fainting spell.
— It seems we are being arrested, Dodô.
JOSÉ GASPARFilmmaker and writerwww.historiasdooutromundo.comjagramos@gmail.com