‘Have you heard anything from my sister?’ he says.
‘Anything like what?’ I ask.
‘Have you talked to her, do you know where she is?’
I think back to our last phone call, count the days. ‘We haven’t talked in a while.’
‘When was it you last talked? Where was she?’
‘I don’t know, it was a few days ago.’
The Tucumano’s eyes are moist, he walks slowly to one end of the sofa and sits down. I infer that something bad has happened to Marta Paula, I remember now her anguished tone and two of the last sentences she said: ‘It’s because I went to Feli’s that I’m like this. She did something to me.’
I sit at the other end of the sofa and stammer something about that last phone conversation. Miguel Javier stares at the floor while I talk.
‘She’s disappeared,’ he interrupts. ‘She hasn’t been home for two days.’
I try to calm him down, I lean over to hug him but he pushes me away. ‘She’ll turn up soon,’ I say.
I go and get Shanice’s mobile phone and try to figure out exactly when I last talked to Marta Paula but the device is too sophisticated for me. I find messages I hadn’t seen before. My hands sweat and I feel the phone slip.
‘If something happened to her because she went to see that witch I swear I’ll never forgive you.’
I dial the number she last called me from but no one answers. I didn’t ask Marta Paula to go and see the psychic, but I could’ve tried to stop her. I was curious, I wanted to know what else she’d say about my pregnancy. The fact that the Tucumano was worried made me think that she was no charlatan but a real medium, someone with paranormal powers. Now his sister is missing and I can’t stop thinking about what she said the last time we talked: Feli did something to me. Miguel Javier is pale. I offer him some tea and he accepts with a barely perceptible nod of the head. When I bring it to him he asks me not to leave him alone, says he’s never been so frightened in his life. His anger seems to have faded.
‘She’ll show up,’ I repeat.
Miguel starts to cry, and seeing him like that breaks my heart.
Once he calms down he tells me that his mother called two days ago to tell him that his sister hadn’t come home the night before. Miguel, from ten thousand kilometres away, organised a search. His other sisters don’t seem to have the time to give the issue the attention it deserves. The first thing he did was track down his former brother-in-law. Their relationship had never been very good so the interaction was cold and hostile and he didn’t get any information out of him. He’s worried about the kids, Marta Paula’s children. His mother is looking after them but she’s got too much on her plate to begin with. ‘I have to go back,’ he says, ‘if she doesn’t show up tonight I have to go back to Tucumán.’
Miguel Javier hasn’t been to school in days, spending all his time making calls and writing e-mails. He even talked to the Tucumán police to tell them about Feli, about that place in the La Aguadita slum surrounded by black magic, prostitution, and drugs. He didn’t really expect the police to do much but he felt better knowing a report had been filed.
We talk about how he’ll get home tomorrow or the next day in the event that his sister is still missing. Miguel Javier can buy a ticket on his credit card and pay for it over the next few months with his scholarship money. It’s exams time and his absence will mean a setback in his hard-earned academic achievement, but now’s not the time to think about that. We sit at Mario’s desk and search for flights to Buenos Aires and connections to Tucumán. There’s an Aerolíneas Argentinas flight leaving from Frankfurt tomorrow at noon. If he takes the first train he could get to the airport in time. But I convince him to wait a little while, to spend the night here, checking in with his family in Tucumán. If there’s no news after five in the morning he’ll buy the ticket.
IV
I cook sausages and potatoes and open one of the bottles of wine Mario has in the kitchen; I know he keeps them for special occasions but when I explain he’ll understand. ‘You can’t drink,’ the Tucumano tells me. We turn the conversation to my pregnancy and the change in subject makes us both feel better. I tell him that one glass won’t hurt and he tells me that I look chubby. His eyes hover over my tits and thighs as he says it but then he immediately looks down into his glass. We also talk about the wine, neither of us is an expert on the matter but we agree that the one we’re drinking is so nice that we’d really enjoy it if we weren’t in such a terrible situation.
In a little while we’ll call his mother’s house again. Miguel Javier walks over to the window and motions for me to come quick.
‘Is that snow that’s falling?’ he asks.
‘Yes, it’s snowing,’ I confirm.
‘‘sbeautiful, I’ve never seen snow,’ he says pressing his face to the glass.
The sound of Shanice’s mobile phone startles us. I imagine it’s Joseph calling. I search for the phone between the couch cushions. I keep hearing the ring but I can’t find it, thinking how I’ll have to tell Joseph we can’t see each other tonight. Finally I see the phone on one of the bookshelves and I run over to it. I answer before it cuts off.
‘It’s me, Marta Paula.’
‘Marta Paula! Where are you?!’
‘I’m staying in a hostel. I needed to be alone.’
‘Are you okay?!’
‘Yes.’
Miguel grabs the phone away from me. He shouts at her, asks over and over why she didn’t let us know where she was. He asks if anyone had done anything to her. He asks if she’s alone. He tells her that she’s crazy, that she’s totally irresponsible, that he was about to get on a plane to go looking for her, that he loves her a lot, that he couldn’t carry on living if something bad happened to her.
I go into the kitchen so he can talk in private. I wash the dishes, I dry them, I dry my tears with the same tea towel. The brief cry seems to settle my nerves.
Miguel Javier comes into the kitchen and hands me the phone, he says that his sister wants to talk to me.
‘You understand why I did it, don’t you?’
‘I think so, but you really scared us.’
‘I needed to think.’
‘Think about what?’
‘To think about things, about my life. It was Feli who made me think about what I was doing with my life, and back home with the kids making such a racket all the time, I can’t think. But it took me longer than I’d planned, it took me two days to think, but I’m going back home now.’
‘Take care of yourself, Marta.’
‘I will, you guys don’t need to worry, tell my brother not to worry, that he needs to focus on graduating.’
‘Okay, I send you a big hug.’
‘Me too. Oh, I just remembered: when I went to Feli’s the other day she told me you were having a girl. Congratulations.’
After Marta Paula hangs up, Miguel Javier and I talk for a while about his sister, about the snow and the wine and Mario. I’m dead tired and my eyes begin to close. ‘It’s time for me to go,’ he says. We exchange a long hug at the door. Miguel walks away, huddled in his jacket, jumping up and down to catch the falling snowflakes, like a little boy.
ELEVEN
I
Last night after Miguel Javier left I called Joseph but he didn’t pick up. I have the impression he’s avoiding me so I won’t try to get in touch with him again until he turns up on his own.
The snow fell heavily all morning. It’s so cold that I sharpen my culinary creativity to avoid having to go out to get anything, I don’t even change out of my pyjamas. I’ll make the most of what I have: potatoes, instant soup mix, flour, sausages, tomatoes, and a bit of sliced meat. I watch TV all day, closely following the news of the refugees and the outbreaks of violence in a few European capitals. There are only a few images of the bombings in the Middle East, but
it’s enough to paint a picture of absolute disaster.
For the first time, I miss my family and friends in Buenos Aires.
I open Mario’s boxes again and spread his photos, letters and papers across the living room floor. I don’t really know what I’m looking for but I find myself once again staring at the picture of the strange animals. Mario and I, both blurry, stand in a clearing in the woods outside Heidelberg; the city can be glimpsed between the trees in the distance. The animals look like miniature bison and they seem to be approaching us with caution. I don’t remember anything about this day but I imagine that my dad must’ve taken the picture. I look at the photos of him; he smiles in all of them and I start to cry, wishing I could hug him one more time.
I look at the picture of Elvio, Mario’s young boyfriend who disappeared. I find something about him unsettling but it takes me a moment to figure out what it is. I’m saddened, of course, when I think of his fate but this discomfort comes from something else. Elvio looks strikingly similar to Joseph. His large dark eyes, the wide smile, the thick black hair, heavy eyebrows, even his coat looks like the seventies trench coat that Joseph always wears.
I place the picture on a shelf so I can look at it from the sofa, the likeness at this distance is uncanny.
It’s already getting dark, the day is over, an entire day of my life in which I didn’t see or speak to anyone. Sleep comes over me before I can gather up Mario’s mementos and I fall asleep on the sofa. I have fitful dreams of a little girl playing in a clearing in the woods. It could be me or it could be another little girl, it could be my daughter.
II
The sound of keys in the lock wakes me up. Before I know it someone is inside. It’s Mario. Through half-closed eyes I see him walk in with a suitcase which he sets down beside the sofa I’m lying on. It’s morning and Mario smiles at me. ‘You fell asleep down here,’ he says. I look around at the mess of papers and photos, his papers and photos, his most intimate memories spread out on the rug.
‘I’m sorry, I was looking at the pictures last night…’
‘Don’t worry about it, you can look at whatever you want. We’ll put it away later.’
Mario looks well, really well. This immediately makes me happy. I’d imagined him on his last legs in some clinic in Frankfurt and now he’s here and not only does he not look ill but he looks better than before. I ask him how he’s doing and he says he’s perfect. He asks me how I am, if I went back to the doctor, he says I look beautiful and I’m showing a lot more now. I heat up some coffee left over from the day before and I tell him about the episode with Mrs Takahashi, also about what happened with the Tucumano and his sister. Mario listens as if I were explaining the plot of a movie, he’s highly entertained by the story but I think it’s strange that he doesn’t interrupt or say anything. When I finish he asks what else happened in the days he was gone. Nothing else, that’s it, I lie. I don’t have the guts to tell him about Joseph, I wouldn’t know what to say or where to start or whether we still have a relationship at all.
Outside it’s started snowing again and the little garden is covered in white. Mario says that we’re going to have a great time together over the holidays. The holidays? Of course, I hadn’t thought of that at all. Once again I think about everyone in Buenos Aires. The holidays are going to be nice, he says again, but first I’m taking another trip. Mario is sitting on a thesis panel at the University of Berlin, it will be a very short trip, ‘a getaway’. He has to leave tomorrow so he’s not even going to unpack, he says. And then, as I pick up the photos and papers off the floor, he says that he’s going with Joseph.
‘I invited him along and set up a meeting at a little Berlin gallery connected to the university. It’s a great opportunity for him. He’s very excited about it.’
I carefully place each photo in the box. I don’t have the words to respond and my body feels like it weighs a ton.
III
I know I won’t be able to sleep tonight. I toss and turn in bed, I get up, I go to the kitchen. I drink an entire jug of water. Tonight, in this house, everything I know seems to have become very distant, unreachable. Mario sleeps in his room and tomorrow Joseph will come here to meet him. I imagine them arriving in Berlin, Joseph’s smiling face, the smile that shows all his teeth and his glittering dark eyes. I imagine them stopping to eat at some restaurant before checking in to the hotel. I see Mario adjusting his glasses, moving his hands. The rest of the images that come to my mind are like something from a gay porn film, their naked bodies in a reddish light, their faces disfigured by pleasure. The scenes I imagine are so clichéd that I start to laugh. Mario and Joseph might not even share a room, I have no idea. I wouldn’t dare ask so I should stop thinking about it.
I remember Mrs Takahashi and I feel terribly guilty. I’m not a good person, a good person wouldn’t have done what I did. Because I know it was her wandering barefoot along the riverbank.
Trying not to make any noise that might wake Mario, I go to his desk and turn on the computer. In my inbox 1,472 unread messages have accumulated since I arrived in Germany. The majority of them are unimportant. I delete almost all of them, one by one without reading them. I stop at one from an old high school classmate. She talks about a reunion she’s organizing that weekend. The e-mail is from almost two months ago. I imagine the reunion and what my former classmates might look like after so many years. I immediately remember the smell of jasmine outside the house I lived in as a teenager. I save the e-mail so I can respond and apologise for not going. I’ll say that I would’ve loved to go but I’m in Europe.
I also save an e-mail from Santiago in which he tells me that Ringo died a month ago and he was a good dog right up to the end. He says it in three lines and he signs off coldly.
I don’t even open the e-mails from my former co-workers.
I read a message from one of my father’s former students. He sends a paper he wrote in homage to him. He talks about my father’s contribution to philosophy but also about his sense of humour and the happy unity between his life and work. I read it several times.
There’s an e-mail from Marta Paula written yesterday from a cyber café. She tells me about the unbearable heat in Tucumán and the commotion she stirred up in her family after spending two nights away from home.
I open an e-mail from my mum who still doesn’t know about my pregnancy. She thinks I’m just travelling and meeting interesting people. She says I sounded strange the last times we talked on the phone. She asks what my plans are, if I’m going to keep travelling or if I already have a flight home. She says she’s been feeling a bit depressed and that she isn’t in the mood to do anything special for New Year’s Eve. She says that if I’m coming back, we should take a trip out of town for Christmas.
I close my inbox and I see the Aerolíneas Argentinas website that Miguel Javier and I looked at the last time he was here. There are a few flights with seats available before the holidays. I type in my first and last name and my passport number, but the session times out before I get to the next step.
I fall asleep at the desk for a few minutes and wake up with a sore neck. I turn off the computer, too tired to think anymore. It’s still night-time. I make it to bed and lie down. I don’t know how much longer I’ll stay in Heidelberg, but I do know that I’m going to sleep till noon. Mario will probably be gone before I wake up.
IV
Joseph, sitting on the sofa where we lay together several times in recent days, doesn’t say a word. He waits for Mario to get ready so they can leave. He just sits there with his arms crossed and a blank stare, looking bored. I feel like smacking him, throwing something at his head, pushing him out of the house. But I barely have the strength to approach him.
‘You’re not going to say anything to me?’ I say looking him in the eye.
Joseph blinks, slowing raising and lowering his long lashes. He has a bag and a portfolio case that
must contain his photography work. What right do I have to get angry, to feel betrayed? Joseph looks back at me, his mouth is so close to mine that it makes me tremble.
Mario appears, freshly showered and clean shaven. He looks happy, he tells us he hasn’t been to Berlin in a long time, that this invitation was fortunate. As he gathers his things to leave he discovers the photo of Elvio on the bookshelf; I tell him, stuttering, that I forgot to put it back with the other pictures. He holds it in his hand for a few seconds and then puts it back on the shelf where I’d left it. He doesn’t seem angry. Just the opposite, he says it’s a better spot for that picture after so much time put away. Joseph still hasn’t said anything, not even about his obvious similarity to Elvio. Neither of them seem to notice; or maybe they’ve talked about it so many times that it’s stopped being something noteworthy.
Mario asks me to follow him to the kitchen and he shows me a jar full of money hidden among the pantry items. It’s over five hundred euros, for expenses around the house or whatever I need, he says. That won’t be necessary, I answer embarrassed, but he repeats that it’s for whatever I need and he hugs me and I feel an affection so sincere that I’m moved to tears. Mario closes the kitchen door, I assume he’s going to tell me something he doesn’t want Joseph to hear.
‘I didn’t go to Frankfurt for work, I went to have surgery for a little tumour that they found. But it’s nothing. Everything turned out fine.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me go with you?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you in your state, and you already have enough problems… Everything turned out fine, just fine. But that picture of Elvio you left there made me think of something… something I have to ask you.’
‘Of course, whatever you need.’
‘If someday… if I die, whenever that may be, I want you to take my ashes to the La Plata forest and spread the ashes on the ground. You’re the only person I can ask.’
Mario smiles, he seems embarrassed by the request. I promise to carry out his wishes. We’re silent for a moment and then we laugh nervously. He opens the door and reminds me that he’ll be back next week and that I shouldn’t hesitate to use the money for whatever I need.
The German Room Page 11