The Death of Adrián Cienfuegos
Adrián Cienfuegos screamed once. His was a scream short and to the point: after all, there was no need for it to be different, since he died at once.
In contrast, the wail of Lola Laguna when she found his body, together with a lavender ball gown and a squashed peach was long and it ululated up and down. It also had the effect of summoning most of Marilia's inhabitants to the foot of the Staircase.
"He's dead! He's dead!" Lola repeated. "Adrián Cienfuegos is dead!"
"Call the police, quickly!" the Mayor said. She was a sensible person, the Mayor. The most sensible one in Marilia. That was the reason why her neighbours had stopped holding elections and had sat her in her office in perpetuity.
Rafael, the baker's son, was sent to fetch the cops. The rest of the neighbours started talking while they waited for Rafael to arrive. Understandably, they conversed about the recently deceased. After all, Adrián Cienfuegos didn't mind any longer, and they needed to let their nerves settle.
"Poor Adrián Cienfuegos," one said. "He was so loved."
"Yes," said another. "His aerialist exercises were a pure work of art."
"I still can see him flying from one trapeze to another."
"He was poetry in movement, as they say."
"And he was unparalleled as a mailman."
"He never delivered awful letters."
"Or bad written ones."
"What a pity, seeing him like this."
"And at the foot of the Staircase."
"Doesn't suit him."
"Not at all".
There was a commotion and the crowd parted in order to make room for Detective Inspector Otter and Deputy Huron, who carried a haversack. They arrived accompanied by Rafael.
"What's happened here?" Detective Inspector Otter said. He was more cunning that he seemed, and people said his black eyes could see your soul, which was a good trait for a police officer. "Sending Rafael for us wasn't perhaps the best of ideas. You know we're not fluent in sign language."
"Yes, we seem to have understood there was some kind of problem with spilled butter?" Deputy Huron interjected. He had the ability to smell truth, and that was arguably an even better quality for a police officer.
"Adrián Cienfuegos is dead," the Mayor said, moving aside.
"Poor lad." Detective Inspector Otter said. "Ah, I see the ravens are already there.” Sure enough, the family or morticians stood in line, all in smart black suits and top hats. “Please let us do our job and we’ll let you do yours, will you?”
The Ravens nodded all at once and took a step back.
“Deputy Huron, please,” Detective Inspector Otter said.
Deputy Huron unslung his haversack and produced a roll of red tape and scissors from within. He started cutting pieces of red ribbon and placed them carefully on the floor around body, gown and peach, creating a perimeter. Marilia's neighbours stepped back so they kept outside the red dotted line.
"Who discovered the body?"
“I did,” Lola Laguna ventured.
“Come in,” Detective Inspector Otter said. Lola Laguna stepped over the red tape. “Is everything here as you found it, ma’am?”
“Yes, Otter.”
“Detective Inspector Otter when I’m in police business, please. So, let’s make this clear. Were this ball gown and this peach already here when you arrived?”
“Yes, they were, Detective Inspector Otter.”
“Did you touch anything, ma’am?”
“No, I didn’t. I just started crying.”
Deputy Huron whispered something to Detective Inspector Otter’s ear.
“Ah, well seen, Deputy Huron.” Detective Inspector Otter produced a magnifying glass and examined the ball gown. “Hm,” he said, “yes, yes…”
“What’s it?” Lola Laguna asked.
“Are you still here? Please remove yourself from my crime scene.”
“Is this a crime scene?” the Mayor interjected from beyond the red line. Lola Laguna was already beating her retreat.
“We’ll see, we’ll see. Who do you think this ball gown might belong to, Mayor? Such a fine dress? No, don’t answer. Deputy Huron, please go find Melinda the Dancer.”
Deputy Huron saluted briefly and sped up the Staircase, taking the direction of Melinda the Dancer’s home. Detective Inspector Otter stayed back, examining all the details of the scene, his nose twitching this way and that. The neighbours watched in fascination, and kept whispering among themselves.
Minutes later, Deputy Huron climbed the stairs back down, followed by Melinda the Dancer, whose shoes seemed to float above the steps. She was smiling, right up to the point when she saw Adrián Cienfuegos’ body. She then stifled a scream and put her hands over her mouth.
“Please get closer, Melinda the Dancer,” Detective Inspector Otter said. She complied, still staring at the corpse that had contained the soul of Adrián Cienfuegos. Detective Inspector Otter stared back at her, his nose still twitching. Deputy Huron watched the scene intently.
“What… what’s happened here?” she said.
“I was going to ask you the same, Melinda the Dancer,” Detective Inspector Otter said. “Have you seen this ball gown before?”
“Yes, it’s mine.”
“Ah. Can you explain why it’s here?”
“I gave it to Adrián Cienfuegos so he could take it to the cleaner’s,” she said.
“And why did you do that?”
“He came to my home to ask me out on a date. He wanted us to go the ball next week at La Llave. I told him I’d go with him, but my ball gown was not clean, and he offered to take it to the cleaner’s himself. Oh! He must have slipped and fell! Look, there’s that smashed peach over there! He must have stepped on him and fallen, I can still see peach bits on his shoe from here.”
Detective Inspector Otter sighed.
“I don’t think that’s what really happened, Melinda the Dancer. As I see you, I can feel there’s something amiss with you.”
Melinda the Dancer fidgeted with a ribbon in her dress, but said nothing.
“Do you want to change your version, Melinda the Dancer?”
Melinda the Dancer stayed silent, but shook her head no.
“Very well. But I think… I think I you rejected Adrián Cienfuegos, didn’t you? Perhaps an aerialist and mailman was below your station?” Melinda the Dancer still said nothing. “This dress looks quite new to me. I think he wanted to give it to you as a present. So Adrián Cienfuegos left your home, not happy but sad, and while walking down the stairs, he didn’t see the peach and stepped on it.
“Is that closer to the truth, Melinda the Dancer?” Detective Inspector Otter said.
“No! I said the truth!”
“No,” Deputy Huron said. “I don’t think you did. I can smell truth, and I’m not smelling it right now. I have my own opinion, if I may, Detective Inspector Otter?”
“Certainly, Deputy Huron, go ahead.”
By now all the neighbours were silent and paying attention to the proceedings.
“I think you called Adrián Cienfuegos to your home, Melinda the Dancer. You asked him to take your gown to the cleaner’s, but that was an excuse. You were the one who asked him out on a date, and he was the one who rejected you. So he left in anger, and he fell to his death.”
“No…” Melinda the Dancer said in a feeble voice.
The neighbours all started whispering at the same time.
“The truth is,” a soft, tiny voice said, “that Adrián Cienfuegos hated me, because Melinda the Dancer loved me and not him. And so he smashed me, but he slipped on my flayed skin and fell to his death.”
But nobody paid any attention to the last words of a moribund peach, who exhaled his last breath shortly afterwards.
Nobody but Melinda the Dancer, who let a single tear roll off her cheek.
~~~~
This is my entry for this week’s Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge: Behold The Magic Realism Bot. Chuck directed us to the Magic Realism Bot Twitter account, and told us to choose one tweet form that account, then write 1500 words isnpired by that tweet.
The tweet I chose said: “ Solve this mystery: A circus performer is found dead in a staircase. Beside him is a ball gown and a peach.” And this is my story. I have the feeling I’ve overstepped into surrealism, but who am I to say?
