“Of course I know, because it feels good for me too.” He shook his head and shrugged. “We shouldn’t have let time get the better of us. I’ll blame it on Maria Elena. It’s easier to blame a woman!” He lifted my case, surprised by its lightness, and led me out into the car park.
I savored my surroundings. Coming from snow and ice I was uplifted to feel the hot sun on my skin and breathe in the floral scent of midsummer. It was early, but humidity had already turned the air to syrup. Birds squawked in the rubbery palm trees and the borders hummed with bees. He stopped at a dirty white truck. In the back were empty wooden bird cages all piled on top of each other, sacks bursting with seeds, and other paraphernalia. He threw my case in with the cages. The truck smelled of hot leather and dust. There was a hole in the passenger seat and the broken gear stick had been mended with a red sock. He put on a pair of sunglasses and climbed in.
“What are all those cages for?” I asked, shuffling my long legs to get comfortable.
“I buy birds from the aviary in Valparaiso and set them free in my garden,” he said with a shrug.
“Do they fly away?”
“Some do, some don’t. I lay a feast before them; most are as greedy as I am, so they eat and stay.”
“I got your number from the aviary.”
“I thought Maria Elena had sent your mother our new address. We moved fifteen years ago.”
“You always said you’d retire and breed birds.”
“How clever of you to remember.” He patted my knee and I noticed that although his face looked young his hands were covered with brown age spots. “I’m glad you took the trouble to find me, hijo.” Matias always peppered his sentences with Spanish. I don’t remember exactly when he started, but at some stage after Coyote had left he began calling me hijo —son.
“You haven’t changed at all,” I said, watching the white buildings of Santiago scatter until we were cutting through the desert towards the coast. It was very hot, even with the windows open. The warm air blew in, through my hair and over my skin, and I felt renewed.
“Perhaps a little fatter.” He shrugged again. “Otherwise, I’m still me, which is a good thing. I would hate to be anyone else.” He laughed that familiar bellow, lifting his chin and puffing out his barrel chest. “Whereas you, hijo, look like a man.” He slapped my leg. “A man. The beautiful little boy finally grew up!”
After about an hour Matias pulled up in front of a little shack. A group of small, grubby-faced children played in the dust beneath the umbrella of a large tree where a donkey slept on his feet, tethered by a rope. Bright flowers waved their petals in the soft breeze and an old woman in black sat, fanning herself with a magazine. “Let’s have a juice,” he said, climbing out of the truck. He raised his hand to the old woman, who nodded back. The children stopped their game and stood staring at me. I imagine I was a strange sight with my pale hair and skin. A little boy kicked an empty Coca-Cola can. It rattled across the earth and stopped in front of my feet. The children waited to see what I would do. When I kicked it back, they erupted into squeals. Matias responded in Spanish, then roared with laughter. “They think you’re a giant,” he said, wandering into the shack. “They’re worried you might eat them.”
“What did you say?” I asked, for they were in a frenzy of excitement.
“I told them that you only eat dogs. That where you come from there are none left. That’s why you’re here!” I rolled my eyes and followed him inside.
It was cool in the shade and took a while for my eyes to adjust. There was a counter behind which a young man was sitting, listening to the radio. There was a fridge of cold drinks and a large display of sandwiches that made my mouth water. “I recommend the avocado ones,” said Matias. “And their fresh juices are the best in Chile.” A young woman emerged from behind a curtain of ribbons. She was brown-skinned and pretty, her long black hair tied into a plait that almost reached her bottom. She looked at me and I noticed her flush. She smiled shyly. Matias greeted her in Spanish and they engaged in conversation for a while. Although she spoke to Matias, her big eyes kept glancing at me as if she was unable to draw them away. I was flattered and surprised — I must look a sight, having come straight from the airport and in need of a shower and a shave.
Matias bought a couple of raspberry juices and palta sandwiches and we moved outside to sit at one of the wooden tables to enjoy them. “Still a hit with the ladies,” he said, nudging me playfully. “You had them wrapped around your little finger as a pretty little boy. Now you’re an unwashed, stubbly man who looks like he’s been through the wringer and yet, they still sniff something alluring in you.”
“I don’t deserve such high praise,” I said with a smile.
“You got a girl back home?”
“Not any more.”
“Qué pena. A handsome man like you. Still, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“This place is a gem,” he said, as we sat down. “I stop off every time I drive to Santiago. They’re a sweet couple. That old woman there is José’s mother.”
“She must be hot dressed like that,” I said.
“She’s in mourning,” Matias stated, biting into his sandwich.
“When did her husband die?”
“About forty years ago.” When he saw the surprise on my face, he shook with laughter. “Don’t ask me how he died because I don’t know. She’ll wear black until she joins him. I shouldn’t think it’ll be long.” He suddenly turned serious and put down his sandwich. “I haven’t had the courage to ask, but now I feel the time is right. Tell me, Mischa, how did your mother die?”
“She had cancer.”
He shook his head and heaved a sigh. “It’s always the good who die young.”
“She knew she was going to go. By the time she passed away, she had handed the business over to me and settled all her affairs. There’s one thing, though, that took me by surprise. I thought you might know something about it.”
“Go on.”
“She had a Titian.”
“A Titian?”
“Yes, The Gypsy Madonna.”
“A real Titian?”
“Yes, it’s real. She gave it to the Metropolitan.”
“Your mother must have been a shrewd businesswoman to invest in works of art.”
“That’s just it, Matias. I never knew she had the picture. She certainly couldn’t have afforded to buy it.”
He sat up and frowned at me. “Then do you have any idea how she acquired it?”
“No. I know nothing at all.”
“Didn’t you ask her?”
“She didn’t want to talk about it. She simply said that she had to give it back. She said it with such force, such determination. Christ, Matias, at the end she was so sad. So, so sad. As if by giving it away she was giving away her very soul. It sounds strange, but she could barely bring herself to do it. I told her she should hold on to it, but she just simply shook her head in that resigned way of hers and said that she had to give it back, that she couldn’t explain why.”
“Did someone give it to her? Did she have a man in her life? Lovers?”
I shook my head, disappointed. I had thought he might know something. “No one. I was going to ask you if maybe it had something to do with Jupiter.”
He bit into his sandwich again. “There was nothing like that knocking about in Jupiter. Dios mio, if I had had that kind of merchandise in the warehouse I would have bought a palace, not a humble bungalow by the sea. I’m sorry, hijo, I can’t help you. But the mystery does intrigue me. Perhaps Maria Elena knows something about it. They were once as thick as thieves, those two. Although, I’d be surprised if she kept something as important as that from me. Maria Elena is good at most things, but she can’t keep a secret, not on a grand scale like that anyway.”
We drove on through the desert. The road was long and straight. Sometimes we passed horse-drawn carts, small settlements made up of shacks with corrugated iron roofs and children playing among the
trees. Skinny dogs trotted about in search of scraps, their noses skimming the dry ground with little success. Large billboards advertised diapers and dish soap, while the desert behind was barren and unforgiving. Finally, from high up in the mountains, we could see the Pacific Ocean below, dark blue and glittering in the sun. The road wound its way down into Valparaíso, a large port town of tall office blocks and lush green parks from which palm trees soared to the sky. Traffic-congested scruffy streets passed crumbling walls and once-glorious houses with elegant driveways and doors framed by grand porticoes. To me there was immense charm in the decadent disintegration of the place. The cracked sidewalks, the uneven streets, the crumbling plaster: the violent scars of Chile’s regular earthquakes were everywhere.
We drove along the winding road that followed the coast. There were seals on the rocks, basking in the sunshine, and women and children playing on the sand in small coves that punctuated the black rock. It was cooler by the ocean. Finally, after climbing a steep hill, the truck turned into a driveway bursting with large green bushes of gardenia. Matias tooted the horn. “Welcome to my home,” he said. “Your visit is long overdue!”
When Maria Elena emerged in a pale blue dress, her gray hair tied into a loose plait, the joy that overcame me was fringed with sorrow. I climbed out of the truck and hurried to embrace her. She felt small and frail in my arms, in spite of the fact that she was a large-boned woman. She buried her head in my chest and held on so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She was too overcome to speak. Her breath hissed up from a constricted windpipe. When she pulled away my shirt was stained with her tears. I turned to Matias, but he now looked as desperate as she did. He strode up with my case and patted me on the back, once again nearly winding me with the force. “We’re pleased you’ve come,” he said, and Maria Elena nodded, smiling shakily.
“Finally,” she whispered. “I’ve waited twenty-five years for this moment. Twenty-five years. You don’t understand. How could you?” Then she reached up and placed her hands on my face, pulling me down so that she could kiss me. I felt her wet lips on my skin. She was right, I didn’t understand, but I didn’t care.
25
We sat on the terraced veranda, overlooking the garden and the sea below. The air was sweet with the scent of gardenia mingling with the slightly marshy smell of the ocean. Birds of every color and size played about the trees, squawking loudly as if crying for attention along with the children who played in the street behind the house. A green parrot perched on the back of Matias’ chair. When he sat down the bird stepped across to his shoulder, stretching its legs with the agility of a dancer. As Matias talked he fed the bird nuts, which it took in its beak, turning them around and around with its claw, shiny black eyes watching us with interest.
Their house was white with a red-tiled roof and green shutters. It needed a new coat of paint, and a thick crack shot up one side in a jagged line, but the flowers that clung to the plaster were bright and so abundant that the eye was drawn away from the flaws. I liked the feel of it the moment I arrived. Surrounded by dark green bushes of gardenia and leafy palm trees, it gave one an immediate sense of refuge.
A small, elderly maid in a pale blue uniform walked out with a tray of drinks. “You have to try a pisco sour,” said Maria Elena. “It’s a traditional Chilean cocktail made with lemon. I think you’ll like it.” The maid left the jug and glasses on the table and disappeared back into the shadows. “I’m so pleased you’re here,” she said as she poured a glass and handed it to me.
“Christ, this is good!” I exclaimed as the sour liquid burned its way down my gullet.
“You were still a boy when you left,” she continued. “Tall and gangly with incredibly long legs and arms. You’ve grown into yourself.”
“Neither of you has changed,” I said, taking another sip. “You’re both the same as I remember you.”
“A lot older, I’m afraid,” she said with a sigh.
“Time does that,” growled Matias, passing the parrot another nut.
“What’s he called?” I asked.
“Alfredo. I rescued him from the pet store.”
“They must enjoy a nice life here.”
Matias chuckled. “They’re fat and happy like their master.”
“The mess is quite something,” said Maria Elena, looking exasperated. “But what can I do?”
“Quiet, woman, I know you like them because I watch you feeding them and your face is alight with the glow of love.”
She laughed and shook her head. “You silly old man!”
We talked and drank and the heat made my tongue loose and my heart swell. I was happy to be there, far from New York and the snow, far from Linda and my mother’s empty apartment. After a while, I asked Maria Elena about the painting.
“A Titian?” she exclaimed in surprise. “A genuine Titian?”
“Yes.” I shrugged helplessly. “She never mentioned it to me until the end, when she was dying. She said she had to give it to the city.”
“The city?” she repeated with a frown.
“Well, she didn’t exactly say it like that. She said she had to ‘give it back.’ She gave it to the Metropolitan.”
Maria Elena thought for a moment. “Back? To whom?”
“I don’t know, because I don’t know who gave it to her. I’d hoped you and Matias might have known something about it.”
“If that painting had belonged to an individual, or a family, she would have given it back to them. If it was stolen, well, that’s another matter.”
“You don’t think my mother stole it, do you?”
“No. Your mother was an honest woman and anyway, how would she go about something like that? It’s inconceivable. Besides, what’s the point of stealing a painting of such fame? Who’d buy it?” She looked at Matias in a shifty manner that caught my attention. “I’m sorry she suffered,” she added, lowering her eyes. “Although we drifted apart, I was always very fond of her.” I wondered what it was that they weren’t telling me.
“I saw Coyote,” I said, putting down my empty glass. They both stared at me in astonishment. “He appeared in my office a few days ago.”
“How is he?” Maria Elena asked.
“Almost unrecognizable,” I replied. “He looked more like a tramp than the dashing man I used to know.”
“Dios mio!” Matias gasped. Alfredo climbed onto his chest and began picking at one of the buttons with his beak. Matias ignored him. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“I was angry.”
“Of course you were,” said Maria Elena sympathetically. She filled my glass. “Besides, it’s been, what? More than thirty years?”
“It was only after he’d gone that I wished I’d asked him. I ran out into the street, but he’d disappeared. I lost him again, I suppose.”
“Why do you think he came back?” she asked.
“He had read about the Titian. He didn’t know my mother had died. He was shocked. Well, the painting was all over the papers, you can imagine. An uncatalogued work by such a famous artist — everyone wants to know where it came from, even him.”
“Your mother gave no clue?”
“Nothing.”
“But Coyote wriggled out of the woodwork,” said Matias, nodding his head with disdain. “We can cancel him out from our inquiry. If it had had anything to do with him he would have come back earlier. Though, I wouldn’t put it past him to steal a Titian!”
“He wasn’t that good,” Maria Elena scoffed.
“Where did he go?” I asked and my anguish must have shown all over my face, for they exchanged looks again. “You know something, don’t you? You can tell me now; I’ve painted the town red already and washed it clean.”
Matias picked up Alfredo and placed him gently on the floor. With a big, sausage finger, he stroked the bird’s feathery head. Then he sat up and poured himself another drink. We were all feeli
ng light-headed. The heat, combined with the drinks, loosened us all up like oil poured on stiff hinges. There were to be no more secrets. “Coyote was already married,” he stated simply. I was shocked. In a flash I remembered the time my mother locked herself in her bedroom. Now I understood what that was all about.
“Christ, I didn’t understand it then. I wondered why she was so furious that he was pretending to everyone that they had married in Paris. I thought Paris was a very romantic place to get married! Now I know he couldn’t marry her.”
“He had a family in Virginia, just outside Richmond.”
I shook my head in amazement. “My mother was devastated. She shut herself in her bedroom for three days and refused to come out. But she did in the end, and declared that she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I remember she made him buy her a ring. She claimed it was for my sake.”
“She didn’t want people to think their relationship was improper. People can be very unforgiving.”
“Don’t I know it,” I replied. But I doubted that Matias and Maria Elena knew what had gone on in France. My mother had always been very guarded. “So every time he went away on business, he was with them, in Richmond.”
“I imagine so,” said Matias gravely. “Although I can say with complete confidence that he loved your mother in a way that he had never loved anyone else.”
I looked about the small paradise that surrounded me and wondered whether anyone really knew what Coyote’s heart contained. “If he loved her so much, why did he leave her?”
“Coyote was a mystery, even to those like me who knew him best. I don’t know much about his life in Virginia growing up. I can tell you, though, he had a tough start. His father drank and beat him, his mother was out holding down two jobs. He was left to run about the place like a wild dog. I don’t know if he had any siblings. He received little education. He lived…how do you say?”
“By the seat of his pants.” I could hear Coyote’s voice in my head. That gravelly tone seasoned with irony.
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