Read The Last Resort for Free Online

song lyrics. And then, ‘Oh, look, look! Read this—what do you think he means, this bit here about
you are my blue unicorn . . .
what fascinating lyrics!’ And this goes on for a while until, surprise surprise, the passion suddenly bubbles up after a fortuitous brush of the skin. Of course. But anyway, I don’t have to bother describing the ritual to you—you certainly know it well enough. Everything deliciously slow, because what makes these early encounters so very perfect, so very thrilling, is when they are played out like this in slow motion. ‘Can I pour you another drink? Are you hungry at all? There’s not much to eat around here. All I can find are some almonds; would you like some? and then . . . I tell you about my hopes and dreams, you tell me about yours . . . we laugh a little, with the devious knowledge, of course, that all of this seems so perfectly normal. And that, more or less, must have been the atmosphere in that house that night. But given that these things take time, we have to assume that by now it had gotten late, it had to be about one in the morning, and Steine had long since been snoring away peacefully in the guest house in the garden. That was when Habibi, the cook, who was the only other person in the house, suddenly heard noises coming from the living room. Valdés had given her strict orders not to come downstairs, that he would take care of their guest. For this reason Habibi was hesitant about checking in on them—that is, until the music suddenly stopped. Then Habibi heard a thunderous noise, like the sound of something breaking, like a piece of furniture. This was then followed by ‘a lot of very hoarse panting. Just awful. It sounded as if it was coming from a sick animal,’ according to Habibi. That noise, she said, was what convinced her to go downstairs—she was rather frightened, of course. And when she reached the downstairs vestibule, she says, she heard a woman’s voice, followed by the sound of a door creaking—the door that opened onto the garden. Someone was leaving the house. She ran into the living room, and when she walked in, all the lights were out, which led her to believe that she was the only person in the room. When she turned on a lamp, she saw the overturned table. And next to the table there was something else, too, something very interesting that I heard about through the maid connection. Now, are you sure you don’t want me to . . . ? All right, all right, just the essential and substantiated facts, fine. Well, the fact is that Habibi found Mr. Valdés lying on the floor, but she didn’t dare move him.”
    “Because he was bleeding, naturally . . .”
    “Bleeding? What are you talking about? Why on earth would there be any blood anywhere?”
    “When his head struck the . . . the table, or whatever it was . . .”
    “No, no, nothing like that happened. Habibi did not dare move him, because he seemed gravely ill. His breathing was very labored. He sounded as if he was choking. And then, just when the poor woman was simply desperate, at that very moment the door flew open and suddenly—guess who appeared?”
    “Isabella, who had gone out for help.”
    “That is a logical guess, isn’t it? Well, no, actually. The person who suddenly appeared was Valdés’s wife, whom nobody expected to see until the following day. Appeared out of thin air. And right behind her—ten minutes later, however—Isabella and Steine turn up, both of them in their bathrobes, as if they’ve just crawled out of bed. Habibi was calmer by now, because Mrs. Valdés was there to take care of things, so she breathed a sigh of relief. If only we could say the same thing for poor Valdés, whose face had suddenly turned a ghastly shade of blue, according to those present. The next thing Mercedes did—now, listen closely—was this: She asked everyone to leave her alone with her husband. She wanted to call for an ambulance, one of those mobile ICUs. But it was all for nothing,