Disappeared

by Colin Falconer

  “I despise you.” She turned her head and looked out of the window. Out in the plaza the pigeons were flocking around an old woman, eager for the scraps of bread she had brought for them. Finally she said: “Carmen loves you. If I tell her about this, it will break her heart.”

  “No, Carmen mustn't know.”

  “I had a friend who was raped,” she said. “A poor girl from the provinces, like me. The policeman who took the report came back the next night and propositioned her. When she refused he forced her onto the bed.”

  “I love you.” It was just a line, a declaration he had used countless times before on many women. This time it was true, he was sure of it.

  She removed her sunglasses. There was a small bruise over her right eye. He didn't remember doing that. She leaned across the table towards him, lowered her voice, soft as a lover. “One day I shall get even with you. You are never to come near me again. I have a brother who would kill you if he ever found out what you did. Do you understand?”

  She tipped the scalding cup of espresso into his lap and walked out.

  Chapter 8

  “SEEN THE NEWSPAPER?” Julio said.

  He pushed his copy of La Prensa across the table. Reuben picked it up. There was a photograph of a charred body beside the burned out wreck of a car. It had been found in a rubbish dump near the woods out at Ezeiza. The corpse was riddled with bullets. There were also signs of torture, the newspaper reported.

  “Rega's bastards,” Reuben said, meaning the Triple A.

  The violence was getting worse, and student life was becoming unbearable. The rector of the university had lost his four month old son to a bomb blast, and he and his wife had been badly injured. A week ago police with riot trucks had moved onto the campus.

  The Montos had stepped up their own campaign. A few days before, a policeman had been blinded and lost both arms and legs trying to defuse a bomb. He had a family.

  There was nowhere you could feel safe anymore. La Prensa carried another report of a seventeen year old high school student who had been shot dead as he lay asleep in his bedroom in Barracas in the southern suburbs. His father was a businessman so no one was sure whether the Montos or the Triple A were responsible.

  “The country can't go on like this,” Julio said.

  “I agree. But what can we do?”

  “We get rid of Isabelita for a start.”

  “I worry who we will replace her with.”

  “It's time, you know, that the people had a say.”

  “We've been playing that tune that since Evita.”

  “She married one of them. This time we need someone completely different. But why am I telling you all this? Tomorrow I'll get arrested.”

  A joke. Or was it? That was the worst of it, no one trusted anyone any more. “I'm not a Peronist, Julio.”

  “You're the enemy, whether you like it or not.” Julio picked up a handful of salted nuts, threw them in his mouth, washed them down with the rest of his beer. He reached for his cigarettes, lit one. His hands were shaking.

  “You okay?”

  A shrug. “Girl trouble.”

  “Nothing you can't handle, right?”

  “Well I don't need your help.” He gave him a nervous grin which vanished just as quickly. “Jesus, women!'

  “Who is it this time?”

  “You don't know her.”

  “Women are like buses, Julio. There'll be another one along in a minute.”

  “Thanks Reuben, but I don't need your platitudes right now.”

  “Fine. Come on, drink up. I'll buy you another beer.”

  And there it might have ended, except for the twist of fate that brought Reuben and Gabriella together one evening in Boca.

  ***

  The restaurant was a bedlam of scraping chairs, shouting customers and clattering plates. A thick haze of cigarette smoke had settled under the vaulted ceiling. On a small stage in the corner a singer and a bandoneón player battled the noise while waiters scurried to and from the kitchens with plates of pasta and glasses of flaming Sambuca.

  You are never to come near me again.

  It was Carmen's birthday and she had insisted that Gabriella join them for her birthday celebration in the teeming Italian restaurant in La Boca. Did she know? Julio wondered. She had accepted his story about the bruised lip, had never asked about the scratches on his arms. Everything was as it had been before. He had got away with it.

  But still he burned for her.

  Julio sipped his wine, uncomfortable at the way men stared openly at Gabriella. She was enjoying it, her red dress riding up her thigh, tossing her mane of her hair in a deliberate provocation. He remembered her lying underneath him on the bathroom tiles, naked. Mother of God! And here he was sitting between her and Carmen, like her chaperone. Such a savage irony.

  “You're quiet,” Carmen said to him.

  “Am I?”

  “You've hardly said a word to me all night. Do I bore you?”

  “Of course not.” He flicked ash from his cigarette. “What do you want? That I should act like a schoolboy all the time?”

  Gabriella watched this exchange, her eyes hard as flint. And so everything is the same as before, he thought. I am still with Carmen because I cling to the hope that she will change her mind about me. What a fool I have made of myself.

  A man stopped by the table. Julio looked up, expecting trouble.

  “Reuben?”

  If there was one man Julio had not expected to see slumming it in La Boca that night it was Reuben Altman; but there he was, elegant in his tan suit and powder blue silk shirt. He looked more like a hotshot businessman than a student. “For most men one beautiful woman is enough,” Reuben said.

  Julio held out his hand, surprised and dismayed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Never mind that. Aren't you going to introduce me?”

  “Of course. Reuben, this is a good friend of mine, Carmen Lazzeri.”

  Reuben smiled and kissed her hand. “So you are Julio's best kept secret. I have heard so much about you.”

  Carmen purred with pleasure, the bitch.

  “And this young lady is Gabriella Goncalvez. A friend of Carmen's.”

  Gabriella's eyes glittered. Julio felt sick to his stomach.

  “This is Reuben Altman. He's a grade C student and a hopeless bum, but I support him when I can.”

  Reuben laughed easily, leaned across the table and kissed Gabriella on the cheek. “Julio always likes to surround himself with beautiful women. This time he has surpassed himself.”

  Julio forced himself to smile. There was an awkward moment as Reuben waited for Julio to invite him to join them. He had no choice, of course. “Would you like to join us for coffee and sambucca?”

  “There's nothing I would like better but I'm meeting my father here for dinner. He doesn't like to be kept waiting. He's bringing some bankers from Sao Paolo.”

  Julio tried to hide his relief. “That's a shame. But ... you're meeting them here?”

  “They want to see some local colour. Besides, this is the best Italian food in Buenos Aires.” He offered the two women another powder white smile. “It was wonderful to meet you at last, Carmen. And you too, Gabriella. I hope we meet again.” He slapped Julio on the shoulder. “I'll see you tomorrow at university.”

  Gabriella's eyes followed him as he disappeared into the fog of tobacco smoke at the back of the restaurant. “He dresses well for a student.”

  “His father owns a bank,” Julio said bitterly and then realised what he had said and wanted to bite off his tongue.

  “Which one?”

  “Well, not the Banco de la Naçión. A financial group, I think he calls it. The Altman Group.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “The Altman Group? I've heard of it. The company I work for does a lot of business with them.” In that moment Julio knew for certain that he had lost her, although of course he had never possessed her in the first place, and had never even had a chance.
For a poor but sensible girl from Córdoba, Julio's limited charms were small currency indeed.

  ***

  “Now we have women ringing the office,” Jacopo Altman shouted down the telephone.

  “Father?”

  “Some woman left a message for you with my secretary. She claimed to be from an insurance company. She wants you to ring her about a disability claim.”

  “A what?”

  “A disability claim!'

  Reuben blinked at the wall, his finger drumming against the telephone cradle. “What was this woman's name?”

  “Goncalvez. Gabriella Goncalvez. From a company called British-Argentina Assurance. If you've got a pen, I'll give you the number.”

  Chapter 9

  “GABRIELLA GONCALVEZ, PLEASE.”

  “Speaking.”

  Reuben hesitated. He remembered her, of course. “This is Reuben Altman.”

  “You're calling about your disability claim.”

  “My claim? I don't ... I haven't made any claim.”

  “Really?” Gabriella laughed into the phone. “I believe you are suffering from blindness.”

  “Blindness?”

  “We met the night before last in La Boca and you made no attempt to get my phone number, not from me or from your friend Julio. So I think, yes, you must be blind.”

  “I see. Well, you can tear up the claim, Señorita Goncalvez. I believe I have just been miraculously cured. Are you free for lunch?”

  ***

  The Calle Lavalle and the Florida were the city's shopping and pedestrian malls; they were crowded with pizza parlours, kioscos and restaurants. Lovers strolled hand in hand to and from the movies, children ate ice cream on the benches and old men read their newspapers or played truco and canasta at the sidewalk cafés, nursing their filtered coffees. It was the haunt of buskers and folk musicians and every kind of street artist, all performing for small change.

  “This friend of Carmen's,” Reuben said. “Did she tell you I've been seeing her?”

  Julio tried to appear only vaguely. interested. “You like her?”

  A smile flickered at the corners of Reuben's mouth. Merda. “She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”

  “Yeah? I think she's a bitch.”

  Reuben raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?”

  “The way she treats her boyfriends. She's had two or three in the few weeks I've been going out with Carmen. Leads them on and then dumps them like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Carmen says she's cold when it comes to men.”

  “Perhaps she just hasn't found the right one.”

  “According to Carmen there's not that many left to go through.”

  Reuben shrugged. “That wasn't my impression of her. I think she's quite shy deep down. Perhaps, you know, coming from the provinces, she's a little nervous around city boys.” He tapped a finger against his coffee cup. “I think she likes me.”

  “Have you slept with her?” It didn't sound as casual as he had wanted it to. His hands were shaking. He put them in his lap.

  Reuben didn't answer directly, just shrugged. So he had, already. No woman could resist Reuben, his charm, his good looks, his money. His money.

  A mime stopped by their table, a young man in overalls, his face painted with black and white greasepaint. He was juggling tennis balls. “Fuck off,” Julio snarled, 'or I'll jam those up your arse.”

  The man moved away with a muttered insult.

  “He's just trying to make a living,” Reuben said.

  “I'm a fucking student. What does he come to me for?”

  They fell silent. Julio cursed himself for being so transparent. Reuben just looked embarrassed. “So Julio, what are you going to do when you leave university?”

  Why is he asking me this? Julio thought. All he could think about was Gabriella, naked, slick with sweat, with her long limbs wrapped around his friend. “I don't know.”

  “You must have thought about it.”

  “Get a job in one of the city newspapers, maybe. If I'm lucky. If not, I'll have to go out to the provinces, Córdoba perhaps, or Rosario.”

  “Perhaps I can help.”

  “With a job?”

  “At La Prensa. I know someone there, one of the senior editors, he's a friend of my father's. His name's Albrecht, Jorge Albrecht. I've talked to him about you and he said he'd like you to give him a call. Perhaps you can work something out.”

  “Thanks,” Julio said. He thought about Gabriella, her red skirt swinging around her hips, elegant, breath-taking and walking out of his life. Everything was so easy for Reuben; education, money, women. Now he's feeding me scraps. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

  “Hey, what good is anything if you can't help out a friend?”

  He's right. Forget about it. Two weeks and you won't even remember what she looks like.

  March 1976

  So here he was, a year and a half later, holding his girlfriend's hand and standing beside Gabriella and Reuben and his parents, smiling for the photographer. He had a job at La Prensa; Reuben was installed in his father's banking house, he had a comfortable life and beautiful wife and twin daughters. It had all worked out so well for everyone, right?

  Right?

  Outside in the garden a cloud raced across the sun. A rain shower sent the guests who had ventured onto the lawn scurrying inside. The photographer squinted up at the sky, annoyed. He had planned to take some photographs by the marble fountain.

  Thunder rumbled over the city. No one had been expecting a storm.

  The day of the colonels was coming.

  Chapter 10

  AFTERWARDS A HANDFUL of close family and friends went to Giorgio's, an Italian restaurant in Recoleta. The torchy voice of the tango singer drifted through the open French doors on the hot, breathless air.

  Outside, on the flagstone patio, the clatter of plates and the laughter of the men and women on the dance floor was muted by glass. Instead of cigarette smoke there was the scent of flowers. A white wall was obscured by wreaths of bougainvillea and honeysuckle.

  Reuben was on his way back from the washrooms and saw Carmen sitting alone at one of the wrought iron tables. She held a cigarette in one hand, a glass of wine in the other. She was wearing a black cutaway cocktail dress, looking pretty, plump, and a little blowsy with drink.

  Reuben stopped and smiled. “Where's Julio?” he asked her.

  Carmen nodded her head towards the window. Julio was dancing with a redhead in a green dress. His hand was on her waist and he was laughing.

  “I broke a heel,” Carmen said. "He wanted to keep dancing.”

  “You're wasting your time with him.”

  “These shoes are practically new.”

  “He's my friend, so I know what I'm talking about. He doesn't like women.”

  He thought she might be about to cry. Instead, she said: “I never had a chance with him. It was Gabriella he wanted all along.”

  “Gabriella?”

  “You didn't know?”

  Reuben shrugged and sat down. “Yes, I knew,” he said at last. “In a way.”

  “I don't blame him. It's just the way he is.” She drew on her cigarette. “Funny, isn't it? I always wanted you. But we don't always get what we want. Well, I don't anyway. Gabriella does.”

  She was drunk. I always wanted you. Reuben knew he should walk away now. “Julio doesn't know what a lucky guy he is.”

  “You're sweet.”

  “I mean it.”

  She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her head wreathed in a chimera of pale blue smoke. “Well, Reuben, if you ever want to come upstairs you only have to ring the bell.”

  His mouth was suddenly dry. He looked over his shoulder. Someone might see them. “Take my advice,” he said. “Forget Julio.” He went back inside.

  ***

  A storm had swept in from the Atlantic Ocean, lashing the capital with freezing rain, turning the streets black and slick as the belly of a snake. Rain wept
down the windows of the labour ward as Francesca Angeli threw back her head and screamed.

  When the contraction was over she lay gasping on the hospital gurney. She saw a doctor staring at the foetal monitor. He shook his head.

  “My baby,” she croaked.

  He leaned over her. “Señora Angeli. We think your baby is in danger. We have to operate immediately.”

  Hadn't she tried to tell them that? She had felt something was wrong for the past week, the way a mother always knew. But the doctors had just smiled and said that everything was normal. Now she stared at the rain-smeared windows and groaned aloud with rage and frustration.

  My baby!

  They stuck a needle in her arm. It felt as if she was falling into a warm bath. Everything faded to black.

  ***

  When she woke her husband was sitting beside the bed. The storm was still raging outside, and another flurry of rain spattered against the windows.

  “My baby,” she whispered.

  Angeli leaned over her. “It's all right. It's over. You must rest.”

  “My baby!' She remembered what the doctor had said before they sedated her, and the tense faces of the nurses. “Where is my baby?”

  A doctor appeared on the other side of the bed. “Señora Angeli,” he said, “I'm sorry. We did all we could. Unfortunately your baby was already dead when we operated. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

  She frowned, trying to make sense of what he had just said. Someone had died. She felt sorry for them

  “Where's my baby?”

  “I am very sorry,” the doctor repeated, and then she remembered the prescient knowledge she had brought with her to the labour ward. She felt for the pain, searched for it as desperately as she might search through her purse for lost money; but it was not there. She was empty. Her baby was gone.

  Instead there was just an empty place, a broken nursery where the child of her imagination had played. “I want to say goodbye,” Francesca said. “Let me hold my baby.”