Dona Dolores fainted when she saw the corpse sprawled right in the middle of her kitchen. The shock of seeing a dead man with a pool of blood around him had been too much for the nearly eighty-year-old woman. Durval carried her back to the living room sofa and rubbed her hands, trying to wake her from the shock.
Gradually, Dolores began to regain consciousness. She was groggy.
– Durval! The cat, the cat, don’t let the cat lick the blood!
– Calm down, Dodô – he said affectionately, rubbing the woman’s hands more vigorously.
Dolores opened her eyes and started to cry, clinging to her husband’s shoulder. She avoided looking in the direction of the kitchen.
– I’m going to get a glass of water with sugar for you. Where’s Joana? She disappeared?!
– Are you going back to the kitchen?
– Don’t be silly, woman. It’s just a body.
– I’ll wait outside with Joana.
Dolores tried to get up, but she lost her balance and collapsed back onto the sofa like a piece of meat on the butcher’s counter. It’s true that the couple had faced worse situations than this. Over their fifty years of marriage, they had even gone through a train accident during their second honeymoon. But that was a long time ago, and Dolores was not the same anymore. The woman simply couldn’t handle strong emotions. She wouldn’t even watch very tense movies. If there was death involved, then forget it. The only emotion she allowed herself was playing cards with her husband and sometimes with a few friends who came over on Wednesday afternoons.
– Stay here sitting, I’ll be right back with the water.
Durval walked quickly down the hallway. Dolores could see her husband enter the kitchen and then come out again with the glass of water.
– Is he still there? The… body?
– Of course he is. Where would he go?
– Did you scare the cat? She was licking the blood.
– Drink the water. I forgot to put the sugar – he considered going back to the kitchen to get the sugar but gave up – I’m going to call Moreira.
He went to the desk that was leaning against the living room wall, in front of a large glass window, and picked up the phone. Dolores was holding the glass, looking at the hallway that led to the kitchen. With wide eyes, she took a sip of water.
– Deputy Moreira, please. Yes. This is Durval.
Dolores and Durval exchanged glances. They knew the situation was serious; it wasn’t every day that two old folks from a small town found a corpse in their kitchen.
– Moreira! This is Durval – he paused and continued – yes, yes, but that’s not why I called. I don’t even know where to start – he ran his hand through the few white hairs left on his head and rubbed his forehead, trying to formulate the situation. Then he blurted out: There’s a dead man in our kitchen. I think it’s best if you come here.
Durval hung up the phone and looked at his wife.
– Do you want the sugar?
Episode III continues in the next edition.