Manuel knew her: when the hour of revenge had struck, she would beg for mercy.
And do anything to receive it.
The paved mountain road was not wide but in reasonably good condition. A truck loaded with sewer pipes drove in front of them. The diesel engine boomed when they reached the steep stretches.
“You drive well.” Alejandro looked outside. Just a few meters to the left of their car, there was an abyss covered with bushes. “But suppose the engine of that truck breaks down. His brakes may be bad, or the driver panics. The truck would roll back towards us.”
“What an unpleasant imagination you have.”
“That’s because I listen to sounds,” he said, apparently light-heartedly.
That afternoon, they had heard on the radio that political parties might be an option again in the future. Pelaró
