“I still have a job in Mexico. I have to go back next week.”
“Call me up tomorrow. We're heading to the beaches the day after tomorrow for the summer holidays but we'll have another drink before I go, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Hey, I'm too loaded to drive. I'll call you a taxi.”
“No, Julio,” Carmen said. “We can't do that. He's our guest. I'll drive him back to his hotel.”
“It's okay,” Reuben said. “A cab is fine.”
Carmen shook her head. “We haven't seen you in seven years and then we let you take a taxi home? I won't hear of it.”
She went inside to fetch the car keys. Julio shrugged. “Women.”
“Yes,” Reuben said, avoiding his eyes. “Women.”
Chapter 46
THEY DROVE THROUGH the back streets. They didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, Carmen said: “It's all right. He knows about us.”
“You told him?”
“Sure. I wanted to hurt him, like he hurt me.” A racing change through the gears as she sped through a red light.
Reuben studied her in the glow of the dashboard light. She had put on some pounds around the middle, and the jeans and dark jumper did not flatter her. It was hard to remember that they were once lovers. “You didn't do anything wrong,” he said. “He was playing around with other women all the time.”
“I didn't do it because of Julio. I was jealous of Gabriella.”
A hollow laugh. “And I always thought it was me.”
“You were beautiful. You still are.” She took a packet of cigarettes from the console, put one in her mouth, fumbled in the glove box for a lighter. “I always promised myself I would marry him one day. And I did it, too. Now I wonder why I thought it was such a big deal.”
“George Bernard Shaw said there were two tragedies in life. One was losing your heart's desire, the other was getting it.”
Carmen kept her eyes on the road, but her lips parted in a sly smile. “Perhaps I should have gone to university like you. I would have known the trouble I was getting into.”
“University doesn't stop you getting into trouble. It just helps you explain it afterwards.”
She turned to look at him a moment. “You look great, Reuben.”
“So do you.”
“You're a liar.” She stole a look at herself in in the rear vision mirror. “Look at me. I was never as beautiful as Gabriella, but I didn't look too bad. Now I'm fat, I've got four screaming kids and a shit of a husband. I suppose it's no better than I deserve.” She touched his knee lightly with her hand.
It was hot in the car. It was a warm night, he had the window down. The city smelled of heat and gasolene. Closer to the city there was a lot more traffic on the road, porteños heading into the city for the restaurants and the clubs.
“I still lie awake at night thinking about it. She was my best friend. And there I was, fucking her husband.”
“There's something I've been wanting to ask you. After ... after that night. Did the police come?”
She shook her head. He didn't think so. If Gabriella had told them about Carmen, she would have disappeared too. Just like Carmen said, his wife had known her best friend was fucking her husband but she had still not given either of them up under torture. His father had called her a gold-digger, Carmen had said she was a bitch. Maybe she was both these things, but she had also been raised in the barrio, and over there you didn't talk to the cops ever, and you didn't rat out friends and family, even when you looked like a lingerie model.
“Why did you come back, Reuben?”
“Like I told Julio, to try and find out what happened to Gabriella and my girls.”
“You think you ever will?”
“I have to try.”
They reached the old city. The broad boulevards gave way to fin de siêcle apartments and cobbled streets. Reuben stared at a couple pressed close together in the doorway of an apartment building, under the yellow halo of a street lamp.
“Gabriella told me what you were doing, about the money going to Cuba.”
He felt as if he had been punched in the chest. “What?”
“That was why they came after you, right?”
“But she didn't know about any of that.”
“Right. The same way she didn't know about you and me.”
“But how?”
“Perhaps she heard you talking on the telephone some time. Perhaps you left some papers lying around. I don't know. She never told me the details.”
They were back in Recoleta. Carmen turned into the forecourt of the Alvear Palace. Reuben just sat there.
“You never knew?” she said.
He shook his head. “She shouldn't have told you. She shouldn't have told anyone.”
“She was frightened. She needed to talk to someone.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Of course not. What do you think I am, stupid?”
He clenched his hands into fists in his lap. “I think about her every day. I should have gone back to the apartment, just like I told you.”
“It wouldn't have made any difference. Except you'd be dead as well.”
“I keep thinking that perhaps the girls are still alive somewhere.”
“Reuben, disappeared is the same as dead. Stop torturing yourself.”
“I shouldn't have been with you that night.”
“We're both going to hell, Reuben.” She put her face in her hands. “If it's any consolation, I'm not happy. Perhaps it's justice. Por Dios. He's changed so much, Reuben. I don't even know if I love him any more.”
He had drunk too much. He was in no state to make any sense of this. Suddenly Carmen leaned over, took his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. The kiss had a terrible, desperate urgency and he could feel her disappointment when he did not respond.
She pulled away. “I'm sorry.”
“I can't, Carmen.”
“You don't want me any more. I don't blame you.”
“You're married now. Julio's my friend.”
The green glow of the dashboard light threw her face in shadow. There was an odd smile on her face. “It never stopped me, did it?” She turned away, put both her hands on the wheel. “It never stopped Julio either.”
“What?”
“It doesn't matter.”
He grabbed her wrist. “What did you mean by that?”
“You're hurting me, Reuben.”
“Tell me!'
“She never told you?”
“Told me what?”
“About Julio. What he did to her.”
He held his breath. Did he really want to hear this?
“He raped her, Reuben. Oh, it was before you. He was sleeping with me at the time. I was the one he betrayed. But I still wanted him, even after I found out. Isn't is sad? Isn't it pathetic?”
This was too much to take in. For so long he had supposed he had cornered the market on disgusting behaviour. “I don't believe you.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Okay.”
“Carmen?”
“What, you think I'm making it up?”
“Gabriella would have told me.”
“Would she? Do you tell the people you love about the things you're ashamed of?”
He didn't answer her.
“You see?” She angrily brushed away a tear. “Goodbye, Reuben.” She leaned across him and threw open the door. “Goodbye,” she repeated.
He got out of the car. The Fiat pulled away from the kerb and merged with the traffic on Ayacusso. Holy Mother of God. He could not believe this. The world had turned on its head. Drunk as he was, he needed another drink.
***
When Carmen got back Julio was still sitting on the patio, drinking. She stood at the French doors, watching him. “He's all tucked up in bed?” Julio said.
“I don't know. I only took him as far as the front door.”
Julio opened another beer. “What a surprise seeing him agai
n.”
“You knew he would come back. You said so yourself.”
“Still. Seeing him, in the flesh. What did you tell him?”
“I didn't tell him anything. Are you going to sit there drinking all night?”
“I'll do what I damn well please. Just like you do.” He expected she had thrown herself at him in the car. He could imagine the scene.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I'm going to bed.” She went back inside.
Julio looked at his watch, tried to remember what time she had left, if there had been enough time for a quick fuck in the back seat. If I went up to the bedroom now, I bet I would smell him on her, he thought.
He threw back his head, staring at the night sky. He could not go on living like this. The guilt was killing him. He had only ever told Carmen about it; now he wished he had kept his mouth shut. He thought it would make him feel better but every time he looked in her eyes, it just made him feel worse.
Chapter 47
THEY MET IN a whiskería on Azopardo where they had gone the previous evening. There was no air conditioning in the bar and the ceiling fans barely moved the air. The bar was crowded with businessmen on their way home from work, there was also a few journalists from the Herald with their clipped Home Counties accents.
Julio shambled in almost half an hour late.
“Reuben. Sorry. What a day.”
Reuben ordered two gin and tonics.
“I can only stay for a while. I have to get home. We're leaving early in the morning.”
The forced bonhomie of the previous evening had vanished. They made stilted conversation, two complete strangers pretending they were friends. Julio forced the pace with news of tenuous mutual acquaintances, another unenthusiastic interrogation about life in Mexico, a discourse on politics.
Finally, Julio said: “I had a big fight with Carmen last night.”
“What about?”
“Our marriage is not so good. I suppose you knew that.”
“Why would I know that?”
“I thought she would have told you all about it in the car.”
Reuben did not answer.
“I think she's still burning a candle for you.”
“For me?”
“I'm not accusing you of anything,” Julio said. “I knew about the two of you. It's okay.” Julio drained his glass. Reuben was still nursing his first.
He's not accusing me? Reuben thought. Well, that's good of him, considering. When Carmen had told him what Julio had done, he had wanted to break his neck.
Julio looked pointedly at his watch. “Look I have to get home and pack. How much longer are you going to be in Buenos Aires?”
Reuben shrugged. “I don't know.”
“We'll be gone about a week. If you're still here when we get back, give us a call, okay? You have to give me your address, so we can keep in touch. Come on, I'll give you a lift back to your hotel.”
Reuben followed Julio out of the bar, into the sweating January night.
Chapter 48
JULIO'S FIAT WAS parked about a hundred yards away. They drove in silence. Taxis and buses passed them in the street, most driving with just their parking lights, some without lights at all. It was a peculiarly Argentine habit; most porteños believed that using headlights made it harder to see at night.
Julio held a match to yet another cigarette before he started the engine.
“Carmen told me what you did.”
Julio reacted as if he had been slapped. He dropped the lit cigarette onto the floor well. “What?”
“She told me what you did.”
“Por Dios. You don't believe her?” He started to get out of the car. Reuben grabbed him and dragged him back in. “Reuben! Please! I had no choice! They tortured me! I'm lucky to be alive!'
Reuben stared at him. He had no idea what he was talking about. “Who tortured you?”
Julio's eyes were starting out of his head. He could make out the play of emotion on his face, the realisation that he had said too much, too soon. He made a little whimpering sound. Por Dios, the bastard was trembling.
Then it hit him. “It was you,” he said, slowly. He felt like a child; the world had been explained to him and he had lost at once both his innocence and his confusion.
“There was nothing I could do. You don't know what they do to you, Reuben ...”
“How did you know?”
“Carmen.”
“Carmen?”
“Gabriella used to tell her everything. She told me about it, she shouldn't have, I didn't want to know. She can't keep her stupid mouth shut about anything. Reuben, they dragged me off the street ...”
He didn't listen to the rest of it. In his mind he was putting together the pieces of the puzzle. Julio was babbling some story about the tortures and outrages that had been done to him but it was all a lie. He was still alive, so it had to be.
“Stop it,” Reuben said.
“They made me tell them, Reuben. You don't know the things they do to you. I resisted them as long as I could. You have to believe me. Reuben?”
***
Julio had rung the apartment the next morning but the line was disconnected. He drove straight there. The security lock on the wrought iron gate was gone and the glass door had been smashed in. He ran up to the fourth floor. The apartment was empty. It had been ransacked.
A neighbour told him a death squad had taken everyone. He stumbled back into the street, numb with disbelief.
He had not gone more than a hundred yards when two men grabbed him and pulled him into a car. They threw a blanket over him and when he struggled they punched and kicked him until he was quiet.
He thought that after everything they were still going to murder him because of those articles he had written. They had been watching the apartment, looking for Reuben or any of his friends or family to show up.
They took him some place, stripped him and handcuffed him to a bed.
When he first offered his services as an informer, he had been interrogated by an army colonel with ice-blue eyes. Julio had thought it would vouchsafe immunity from the death squads. At the time it seemed perfect; his name off the death lists; his revenge on Reuben for sleeping with Carmen and marrying the girl he dreamed about.
For being rich.
With Reuben gone, Gabriella would need someone to protect her. He would be there for her, help her through it.
He lay there in the dark, panting. He soiled himself and started to cry. “I'm on your side,” he shouted, and heard his voice echo along an empty corridor. “But I'm on your side!'
***
It must have been hours later that he heard the cell door open. “Is this Castro?” a man said. He recognized the voice, it was the colonel who had enrolled him as an informer. “What is this man doing here? Idiots! Mother of God, he stinks!'
Julio lay naked on the bed, shivering, and covered in his own sweat and piss.
“What were you doing at the apartment?”
“I went to see Gabriella.”
“Gabriella Altman is no concern of yours.”
“But she's innocent. It's her husband you want! I told you that!'
“So that was your reason for informing on Reuben Altman? And we thought you were a good patriot.”
“She's innocent!'
He wondered what they were going to do to him. Perhaps they would torture and kill him anyway.
“Where is Reuben Altman?”
“I don't understand. You've got Altman, haven't you?.”
“He was not at his apartment last night.”
Not at his apartment? Julio did not understand. He heard a whispered conversation between the colonel and the guards, knew his own fate was being decided. He wanted to protest, beg them to let him go, but his throat had closed up and he couldn't speak.
He heard the colonel say: “Clean him up and send him home!' and heard him march away along a corridor.
They took off his handcuffs and dragged him off the bed
. They tore off his hood and threw his clothes at him. A guard pushed him towards a bare shower cubicle. “Clean yourself up and get dressed,” he said.
When the men came back they pulled the hood back over his face and led him out to a waiting car. An hour later they threw him in the gutter, a block from the Plaza de Mayo.
He had spent the next eight years living in fear.
Chapter 49
“YOU DON'T KNOW what it's like, the things they do to you,” he said. You'll tell them anything to make it stop.”
“I hope you rot in hell,” Reuben said.
“Don't judge me, you prick! If I rot in hell, you'll rot with me! Maybe your family would still be alive if you hadn't run away! You're the one to blame, not me!'
Reuben did not remember what happened next. He was right, what he said; he was to blame. That was the trouble. Even Julio's confession did not change his mind about that. He had kept his rage bottled up for eight years, and now he couldn't hold it in any longer.
The next thing he knew he was staring at the ruins of Julio Castro's face. Had he done that? Por Dios, the man looked like he had been hit by a truck. There was blood everywhere. His hands were still locked around his throat. He wasn't moving.
Reuben took his hands away and Julio slumped over the wheel.
He sat there, frozen, unsure what to do next. In the space of a few minutes the world had turned on its head.
He did not know how long he sat there. A bus rumbled past. A young man and woman passed on the footpath, arm in arm, kissing as they walked. They did not spare a glance for the car.
Finally he reached over, felt for a pulse at Julio's throat. Nothing. I've murdered him. But that's impossible, I'm not a murderer, I'm a banker. I've never hurt anyone in my life, not even when I was playing rugby, I was always the one at the bottom of the ruck. Any moment Julio would stir, try to sit up.
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