A few days later, Susana went out to the medical school again to see her father. The reason this time was not because he needed her to play girl Friday. Instead, he had called and offered to meet her for a bite to eat. Susana asked her father if a new shipment of cadavers had come in. He sighed, told her not to be snide, and said he would see her when she arrived.
The echoing halls were empty when she arrived. The same student seated behind the desk asked her to sign in. As she complied, she felt his eyes moving over her body. She shivered a bit, signed her name, and headed into the school. She wished for a long moment that her uniform skirt was longer.
The janitor whose bucket she had overturned before saw her coming. Jokingly, he jumped in front of it and held out his arms protectively. Susana grinned nervously and went past him. He smiled at her, displaying yellowing teeth.
As she walked down the hall, a door opened behind her.
"Ah. Susana Alvarez," came a deep voice. Susana turned. It was Dr. Higuara. He watched her with detached amusement. His eyes, like inky black pools, fastened on hers.
"Dr. Higuara," she said, a flush rising to her cheeks.
"I wonder if I might have a moment of your time," he said calmly.
Susana stopped. Dr. Higuara reminded her of an old movie star her mother had confessed to having a crush on. Antonio Bandero, or something like that. He ran a hand through his black, glossy hair and folded his arms at her.
"Of course, doctor," she said, trying to keep from stammering.
"I am trying to get your father on board with me on a matter I feel strongly about." His voice was deep and rich. Susana felt herself go a bit weak at the knees and cursed herself. Don't get giddy. He's good-looking, yes.
"I'll help if I can," she said unsteadily. His eyes seemed to bore through her own to the back of her skull. "Papa usually keeps work and home private."
"This is a matter everyone should be concerned about," he explained. "I wish to introduce programs for poorer students. For those from the provinces."
Susana understood what he was talking about . Argentina had always been a country of two countries: Buenos Aires, the capital and largest city, and the provinces. There were racial lines as well as class and privilege separating the two. Most white Argentines lived in Buenos Aires. Affirmative action plans were nothing new.
"I'll ask him," she said.
"I ask you not only to ask, but to think." He spread his arms. "You've lived in Buenos Aires all your life, have you not?"
Susana nodded, her mouth slightly open. In the back of her mind she cursed herself for acting like a giddy schoolgirl.
"There are those much less fortunate than you. I, for example, was born and raised in the provinces. I had to work my way through school as a garbageman."
"You've come up in the world," she observed.
"Yes, I have. But I feel it is an obligation to see that those who come after me have it easier."
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"Simply ask your father to hear me out with an open mind."
"I'll do that."
He nodded and smiled at her humorlessly. "Thank you so much."
Susana murmured a quick goodbye and ran to her father's door, blushing madly. The only other man she knew who could command that level of intensity, or reduce her to that status of giggling schoolgirl, was her father. She closed her father's office door behind her and waited until her pulse stopped racing to announce her presence.
Dr. Higuara watched her leave. The janitor came up to him. He was the only other man in the building who was from the provinces, Dr. Higuara thought sourly. Because of that, he had actually taken some time to know the man instead of simply treat him like a monkey who knew how to mop.
"She's very pretty, huh?" asked the janitor. His hands described an hourglass shape in the air.
"Yes. And very underage, and very much a professor's daughter." Dr. Higuara mused. "Pablo, don't bother with girls like that. Girls like that are monsters, even if they don't know it. Monsters of indifference. They are born to money. Very spoiled, very hard to please. They know of people like you and I only as servants. They see their parents treat us as servants, and they come to believe it is their due. They become women like their mothers, marry a wealthy man who provides them with more servants and cars and furs. They never give so much as a thought for the poor, the backwards, or the downtrodden. " He shook his head. "Monsters of indifference," he repeated. "Sometimes, they can change. But not often."
"I can look, though, can't I?" Pablo said, frowning.
"Look all you like. But a girl like that will never accept you. Not because of your work, although that's part of it too. Because of your skin. They do the same thing to me."
"C'mon, doc, you? The ladies are all crazy for you."
"As an exotic thing, perhaps. Their fathers disapprove."
Pablo gave up on trying to jolly the doctor into a better mood. "If you say so, doc. I got to get this floor mopped. "
He returned to his labor, and Dr. Higuara returned to his office. He wasn't sure what had sparked his outburst of philosophical thought. Perhaps because Susana Alvarez seemed to him to be the avatar of the rich, indifferent girl. She would never have to work for a salary at all, let alone get up at five in the morning to work on a garbage truck before attending school full-time.
You don't even know her, he thought. And perhaps if she can wheedle her father into supporting my proposal, it could actually happen. Don't be so harsh, Ramon.
He heard her and her father passing in the hall, and glanced out at them. Susana caught him looking and pressed herself protectively against her father. He heard his name being mentioned in furtive whispers. He rolled his eyes. Silly, perhaps, to think that there might be a spark of social conscience in a girl like that.
…
Buenos Aires's best restaurant was not terribly crowded in the mid-afternoon. A few business lunches run terribly overdue, a few groups of wealthy women chatting away while their husbands worked, and Dr. Lecter and his daughter at a table on the side. Dr. Lecter did not sit by the window if he could possibly help it.
The entrees had been quite good. Dr. Lecter had chosen filet mignon; Susana had chosen the grilled swordfish. He was also pleased to note that his daughter recalled the correct fork to use throughout the meal. All of his effort in teaching her proper etiquette had not gone wasted.
They capped off the meal with cappucino and light conversation. Eventually, Susana turned the discussion to his work.
"Dr. Higuara is interested in helping the poor," she began.
Dr. Lecter raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Has he discussed this with you?"
"In the hallway. He said he was proposing something and wanted you to support him."
Dr. Lecter thought for a moment before he answered. He was displeased that his colleague had approached his daughter. Dr. Lecter believed strongly in keeping work and family separate. Involving work and pleasure had created problems for him in the past.
"Dr. Higuara is…quite interested in the problems of the indigenous," he said carefully. "He feels that he has been wronged by racism and a white power structure."
"There is some of that," Susana agreed. Noting her father's expression, she fell silent.
"Some, yes. The answer, however, is to bring those of other descents up to the same educational level. Medical school is not the place for lower standards." Dr. Lecter fixed his only daughter with his eyes. "And Dr. Higuara should not have involved you. University procedure is not your concern. I shall…speak to him."
"He didn't involve me. I don't think he likes me." Susana studied her plate, not liking her father's annoyed mien.
"He skates along the point of being a reverse racist," Dr. Lecter explained. "He resents all those who have more privilege than he did. He would like, in his heart of hearts, to see those not like him shamed and broken."
Susana traced a pattern of butter on her plate with a fork. Dr. Lecter sighed.
"But let's not ruin our time together with such nonsense," Dr. Lecter amended. "I will speak with Dr. Higuara, and you…you have an appointment, I believe."
"At the salon," Susana confirmed. Dr. Lecter's mouth turned down. He did not want to hear more. For a moment he found it amusing: while Clarice Starling had regarded couture as something shameful, to be studied in magazines in private and hidden away as if pornography, her daughter reveled in facials, waxes, and false nails.
They bid their goodbyes and returned to their separate destinations. Dr. Lecter returned to the medical school to finish up a few things and speak with Dr. Higuara. That good doctor, however, was not in his office when Dr. Lecter knocked on his door. Dr. Lecter made a note on his calendar to speak with his colleague tomorrow and returned to his experiments.
Susana went to her appointment at the salon. She indulged her girly side often, and at the best places in Buenos Aires, which meant the best on the continent. There were thin, effeminate gay men to cut and style her hair, Vietnamese immigrants to glue acrylic nails onto her fingers, and Brazilian women to wax her with near-sadistic enthusiasm. There were women ready with warm mitts and papaya to smear on her face. Susana liked this salon very much, as she could get everything she wanted done. She tipped well, was well-liked by the staff, and left much more satisfied with her appearance.
In the dying spring twilight, Susana started the Mustang in the parking lot behind the salon. The radio came on, playing an American tune, an oldie. Sarah McLachlan strummed an acoustic guitar and sang. Susana knew this song and sang along with the radio.
"You come out at night
that's when the energy comes
and the dark side's light
and the vampires roam
you strut your rasta wear
and your suicide poem
and a cross from a faith
that died before Jesus came
you're building a mystery,"
Behind Susana, the Skinner unfolded his body from where he had tucked himself in the back of the Mustang. The Skinner also came out at night, and privately agreed with the song that the energy did indeed come then. He had tucked himself in the rear seat while Susana underwent the early twenty-first-century rituals that society mandated for wealthy young females. In one hand he held a leather sap.
Susana saw a motion in her rearview mirror and drew in breath to scream. The Skinner laid the sap against the base of her skull. It was light enough to make sure she was not unduly damaged but heavy enough to do the job. Susana sagged in her seat, her eyes dimming. The Skinner grabbed her and shook her once. She lolled in his grip like a rag doll.
He allowed himself a moment to observe his prize. His lips split in a horrible grin as the song continued.
"'cause you're working
building a mystery
holding on and holding it in
yeah you're working
building a mystery
and choosing so carefully"
He had indeed chosen carefully. He carefully lifted Susana's limp body and carried it over to his own car. No one saw him. The engine squealed in protest as he started it and revved the engine. He looked over at his victim.
"Monstrua de indiferencia," he said.
Author's note: Lyrics by Sarah McLachLan, 'Building a mystery', © 2002, I didn't write them and make no profit off them, and anyone who'd come listen to me sing them should have their head examined anyway.