by Jerold Last
Dinner was delightful and strengthened our emerging friendship. Our hosts let us pay the bill this time, which was not expensive. Andrea invited us to join them tomorrow morning at 10 for a feria, an open-air market and more, in Pocitos where they lived. Gerardo gave us instructions to take the #52 bus from the hotel area to get to the market and where we should meet. He told us the buses ran every 15 minutes on Saturday mornings. He guessed that the bus ride would take less than 15 minutes and we would see parts of the city we had not yet visited en route.
They dropped us back at our hotel at midnight, which was close to my preferred bedtime these days in Uruguay.
On the way upstairs Suzanne asked, "What do you think? Could the big meeting in Punta del Este have been about planning for some sort of terrorism here like poisoning the drinking water supply?"
"I don't know. Anything's possible at this point. I'd hate to think that something like that could happen here to a lot of people I like and that I didn't do anything about it when I had the chance."
When we got to bed a few minutes later I made a comment about Goddess Suzanne. That earned me a good wallop with a pillow, which started a stimulating end to the evening.
"OK, a water goddess like you should know the answer to this one. What does a buxom cyanobacterium wear?"
"I haven't the slightest idea, but I'm sure you'll tell me."
"How about an algae bra?"
Chapter11.A Feria and a Bund Meeting
Saturday morning started with a ride on the #52 bus to the affluent Pocitos neighborhood. The most striking view from the bus was how dirty the streets were. Discarded paper and plastic were everywhere---streets, sidewalks, alleys. Street sweepers and public sanitation were nonexistent or completely invisible. Trash and garbage pickup was haphazard, done by men driving horse-drawn carts essentially dumpster diving for salvage. After a long ride through some of the city's poorer neighborhoods, we got there just in time to connect with Gerardo and Andrea.
The feria was a combination of a farmer's market and flea market crowded into a large park in the middle of an affluent but crowded neighborhood of high-rise apartment buildings surrounding the park and a large gymnasium and recreation facility with a swimming pool and tennis courts at the lower end on the side closer to the river. At the upper end of the park was the farmer's market. The ripe fresh tropical fruits from Brazil we missed at breakfast were here in abundance, as were seasonal vegetables grown in the rural areas around Montevideo. Andrea stocked up on both fruits and vegetables using Gerardo as the shopping cart to carry packages. Gerardo told us the Spanish names of several exotic fruits that neither of us had ever seen before, encouraging us to buy one or two of each to taste.
Whatever space was left on the street and in the middle of the park was occupied by the flea market. Stall after stall sold cheap clothes, cheap appliances, or hardware and kitchen appliances. Think of Walmart chopped up into little booths lining the streets. We found a dozen or so booths selling mate gourds and bombillas. Gerardo explained that the bombillas were made from alpaca, a cheap alloy that looked like silver but was of low quality and would break with heavy use.
"Alpaca's a good choice for a gift unless it's for a loved one," he said. "The gourds are all of about the same quality so pick the ones you like for color or pattern. Buy the gourds and the bombillas separately and bargain over the price," Gerardo suggested. Clearly he had done all this before.
Suzanne and I picked a stall and selected a couple of gourds.
"Cuando?" I asked as confidently as my limited Spanish allowed. "How much?"
"Cincuenta," the vendor answered. Fifty pesos, less than two dollars for the two gourds, was his asking price.
"Offer him half of that," advised Gerardo.
"Veinte cinco."
"Cuarenta," the vendor counter-offered. Forty pesos.
"How much for each if we buy ten gourds?" asked Suzanne in her much more fluent Spanish. The price would drop some more for a fluent Spanish speaker rather than just another tourist like me.
The shopkeeper thought for a moment then said, "diez y seis". That amount was sixteen pesos each, a total of 160 pesos, about $6 US. In return for 160 pesos he gave us a bag of 10 gourds that Suzanne had selected.
A similar process accomplished the same thing at a stall selling bombillas, and we bought 10 of them for less than $10. The mate ritual appliances and the CDs of Andean music we had bought previously from the concert in the Plaza Chaganza across the street from our hotel took care of gifts to bring home.
The four of us stopped for coffee and artisanal cookies containing dulce de leche filling at another stall.
"What plans do you have for tomorrow, Sunday?" asked Andrea.
"We have to get to Buenos Aires for a day. What's the best way to get there from here?" Suzanne replied.
"The fast ferry from Colonia to BA is by far the best choice," suggested Andrea.
Gerardo gave us detailed directions on the best way to do this. "When are you planning to return to California?" he asked.
We explained that we weren't sure yet as we had some unfinished business to complete, but that we would be leaving as soon as we finished that final item of business, probably some time during the next week. Much too soon it was time to take a bus back to the hotel to drop off our packages and try to connect with our other life in Uruguay. We promised to call Gerardo and Andrea and try to get together for dinner at least once more before we left.
We called Juan Ramirez from the hotel. The only good thing about the cell phone culture is that people answer their phones wherever they are at the time. I connected with Juan and identified myself.
"Did you get a chance to visit with any of my friends on your trip?" he asked.
"Yes." I told him who we had seen and where.
"You met some very interesting people," he said.
I agreed that we had without telling him which people I was thinking about.
"We have a meeting tonight. I don't know the word in English. We call it a Bund meeting. Would you like to come as my guests?"
"We would consider joining you to be an honor," I lied as sincerely as I could.
He told us where we should be and when. I wrote the information down.
I called Martin Gonzalez next. He answered his phone promptly.
"I wanted to touch base with you," I said. "I bought a new cell phone and I just spoke to Juan Ramirez. He invited us to attend a Bund meeting as his guests tonight."
I told him the time and place of tonight's meeting, as well as our new cell phone number.
"Very good," replied Martin. "Eduardo just arrived in Montevideo and hoped we could all meet. Can you make time this afternoon?"
We arranged to meet over a late lunch at a restaurant between his office and our hotel in an hour.
We shook hands with Martin and Eduardo, ordered lunch (stuffed calamari baked with a tomato and garlic sauce for me) with wine, and discussed the case. Eduardo went first and reported no progress in Paraguay. Martin said much the same on behalf of Uruguay. Suzanne and I told Eduardo about our invitation to the Bund meeting scheduled for tonight, and that we planned to visit BA tomorrow via the fast ferry from Colonia to finish picking up samples for her research. Suzanne pointed out that if we needed a cover story for why we were here in South America that between tomorrow's trip to BA for samples, the samples she had picked up in Paraguay, and her new collaborations in Montevideo and Sao Miguel do Oeste, she had solid reasons for visiting everywhere we had gone and official U.S. government sponsorship for the trip.
Eduardo thought for a little bit, while the waiter put the various plates in front of each of us and poured our wine. After the waiter had gone well beyond hearing distance he spoke directly to Martin. “This is your case, your turf, your jurisdiction. What do you suggest?"
"Eduardo, at this stage of my career I don't need to have my ego stroked. I don't know if Roger mentioned it to you, but he used to be a homicide cop in Los Angeles before he be
came a private detective. He is almost certainly the most experienced homicide detective among the three of us. A policeman in Salta told me that Roger and Suzanne investigated a killing there last spring, so Suzanne is not exactly a virgin in murder cases either. Let's pretend among the four of us that it is our case, our turf, and our jurisdiction. Now, does anybody have any ideas?"
Eduardo spoke first. "Obviously we want Roger and Suzanne to go to tonight's meeting. It's in a public place so they should be perfectly safe as long as they don't leave the well-lit areas with other people in them. Martin, you and I need to figure out a plan to keep them safe and under surveillance from now until they go home."
Martin agreed. "I don't have any manpower for full-time surveillance. Can you handle that?"
Eduardo stared directly at Martin. "In Uruguay? Where would I find men to do this in Uruguay?" He stopped and thought deeply for a moment. Then he looked directly at Martin again and nodded. "Yes, I can handle full-time surveillance and protection for Suzanne and Roger with our best agents."
Obviously Eduardo had figured out that Martin knew about his Israeli connections. I finished sipping on my glass of wine and jumped into the discussion. "Eduardo, for the record Martin didn't get that particular insight from anything Suzanne or I might have told him."
"Let's get back to business. Does anyone have any idea of how we can start figuring out what might have happened in Punta del Este?"
Martin had an idea about that.
"It seems reasonable to assume that Maria was killed in Punta del Este, or between here and there. She drowned in water from the Rio de la Plata. According to our pathologist, there's forensic evidence of sexual intercourse that was probably forcible rape a short time before or after her death. There is also additional forensic evidence that she was beaten and choked before she was killed. My job over the next few days should be to try to backtrack the Ambivalent Corpse from the Rambla to Punta del Este. I have a few ideas how this could work. I'll ask my pathologist what kind of tools could make clean cuts on a dead body like the ones we saw on Maria Fajao. Then I'll check if there are any obvious places to get your hands on special tools like that between Punta del Este and Montevideo. And, Eduardo, also for the record, what Roger just told you about keeping your secret is absolutely true. I've suspected your ability to multitask for many years."
Eduardo said it would take all of his time in the next day or two to get our surveillance set up and working. He asked Suzanne to explain her research to him but that she should remember that he wasn't a scientist. She did, briefly but thoroughly.
"Tell me more about your new collaborations here in Uruguay and Brazil," asked Eduardo.
Suzanne described her arrangements with the universities in Montevideo and Sao Miguel.
"Our little Goddess got very lucky in Sao Miguel do Oeste," I said. I told them about the Guarani legend that Professor de Silva had shared with us.
"That's very interesting," said Eduardo. "The stories he told you about Porá-sy are real legends locally in western Santa Caterina and Parana, as well as among the Guarani in eastern Paraguay. The modern version is about one-half indigenous folklore and one-half Nazi Aryan. I suspect that your Professor de Silva has some German ancestors, just like most of the population of Santa Caterina. What's his first name so I can check him out?”
Suzanne looked at me. "Do you remember, Roger?"
"It's Carlos, as in Karl," I answered. "Oh, and one more thing for you to think about, Eduardo. Last night we discussed terrorism with our friends. We talked about using some natural marine toxins to poison Montevideo's water supply. Is there any way to figure out what Punta del Este's agenda was and whether urban terrorism was part of it?" I gave Eduardo our new cell phone number.
After lunch we said our good-byes. I promised to phone both of the cops with a debriefing about the Bund meeting later tonight.
Our big lunch and the wine were substantially metabolized during a long hike between the restaurant and the Old City, where we bought two tickets for tomorrow's 10:45 ferry to BA, with a late afternoon return trip.
We still had most of the afternoon to kill so I invited Suzanne to join me for a visit to the second largest mall in Montevideo. She knew very well that we both hated to shop, so asked me why.
"Punta Carretas Mall is a great example of urban renewal, Montevideo style. It was the biggest prison in Uruguay during the military dictatorship, where they put the Tupamaro Guerillas they caught. When democracy came they didn't need a political prison. In the USA it would have been bulldozed into a park or a high-rise apartment complex. Here it was remodeled into a shopping center in Pocitos. It's worth a look."
We got back on our favorite #52 bus, which happened to stop at Punta Carretas Mall a few streets after our previous stop for the feria.
The mall was three stories of stores, one at street level, one below, and one above. Street level also contained a supermarket and plenty of parking spaces. Everyone in the crowded mall was here to shop. There were no obvious teenagers hanging out or geriatric walkers looking for a safe place to exercise. Uruguayans of all ages moved swiftly from store to store carrying the ubiquitous plastic bags containing whatever they purchased. There were no paper bags and no reusable cloth bags in evidence anywhere. Most of the plastic bags were apparently destined to join their counterparts littering the streets.
Visitors could clearly see the outside of the former prison. Concrete walls with wide gates on two sides surrounded the mall. The former gun towers were still there in an ornamental role. There weren't any guns to be seen. We walked through the mall people watching. The shoppers were apparently oblivious to the past. None of the stores called out to us, and about 20 minutes later we were back on the street.
"Interesting place," I said. "It has a real emotional effect on me when I think of it in its previous incarnation as a high-security political prison and the symbolism of how Uruguay is using it now."
"Yes," agreed Suzanne emotionally. For no obvious reason she kissed me deeply.
"I didn't know you were Jewish."
"It never came up before. Does it matter?"
"Probably not. I'm still trying to process that you're a half pagan, half Aryan Goddess from the deep. I think that's enough for me."
She kissed me again, deeply and passionately.
We caught the #52 bus back to within a block of the hotel and went to our room by way of the lobby bar and a beer for each of us. After quickly checking our e-mail, we showered together, made love, and showered again. It was just about time to walk over to our first Bund meeting, a few blocks from our hotel.
The security guard at the door checked our names against a list. After passing this screening test we were given two tickets with seat numbers. These admitted us to a large ballroom in a medium sized hotel in the downtown area. Our seats were next to Juan and Maria Ramirez, who had not yet arrived. There was an audience of about 50-60 people assembled in a ballroom with room for 250. The audience was brought to attention by martial music on the P.A. system, Wagner of course. This was followed by greetings from yet another Rush Limbaugh lookalike. A few couples and a larger number of older men continued to trickle in late. The first real speaker came to the podium. After greeting the crowd in strongly accented German he switched to native Spanish. He talked endlessly about welfare states versus work ethic, Spanish and Italian racial purity versus the inferiority of mixed races, and a lot more crap that I tuned out. The next two speakers were more of the same. All three had much the same things to say.
More Wagner played during an intermission. Juan and Maria walked in, taking the seats next to us and greeting us loudly. Other apparent big shots showed up for the second half of the meeting. The speakers in the second half all came from these later arrivals. Their talks were a lot more motivational, each a variation of "work hard for the Party and you'll advance rapidly at work and the other sex will be attracted to you." The theme and the reward was pretty much the same as a toothpaste or deodorant a
d in the USA. The last speaker, with the same message, was Juan.
The meeting ended with a final dose of Wagnerian music.
The four of us, Juan, Maria, Suzanne, and I, gathered together to talk afterwards just outside the ballroom.
"What did you think of the meeting?" asked Juan.
"To be perfectly honest," I answered, "I've heard all of this stuff before. I don't need to be motivated; I already am."