by Arthur Rawl
“Yes … I like it very much. Both the food and the discretion of the owners are comforting. No one leaves here with problems they didn’t bring with them and sometimes less than they brought.”
“What about the problems they didn’t know they were bringing with them?”
“What can I say? Sometimes receiving an education can be painful.”
“… and sometimes fatal.”
“Not often enough to worry about my friend.”
“Not unless you’re the rare one who ends up dead.”
“Let’s go in, I’m hungry.”
Pedro said something quickly in Portuguese to the hostess who had slid the unpainted door open for us. She then whispered discretely to the manager in Japanese after we entered the dimly lit dining room. He in turn whispered in the ear of a kimono clad young woman sending her hurrying to wait outside our room.
The hostess took us back to Pedro’s usual tatami room. He stepped in but the waiting attendant stepped in front of me, smiled, took my briefcase, put it in the room, closed the door behind her, took my arm and led me down a narrow hall with a loudly creaking floor that reminded me of those I had walked on in Kyoto. The ones designed to warn of someone’s approach. At the end of the near dark hall she gracefully went to her knees, slid a door open and motioned me on. “Favor Senhor.”
Ten minutes later, after a hot towel had been wrapped around my face followed by a shockingly cold one and my shoulders were not too gently massaged I was led back to Pedro feeling a hell of a lot more awake. “I feel like … like someone washed most of today away. What else is on offer that’s not listed in the menu?”
“Whatever the customer wants or the customer needs … in here it is Japan where the customer and the customer’s needs are at the top of a business’s … ah … responsibilities.”
“Why don’t you order for us? You did a great job the last time.”
“I already took the liberty of doing so. Our Kirin should be here any minute.”
“Thank you, I need one. Have you spoken to Jesus? Is there anything new since he left me at the airport?”
“Yes.” Pedro looked down at his hands … “I talked to him several times after you left. His biggest worry seems to be you. He said you are being uncooperative and secretive. If true, these are things that are all too easily misunderstood here in Brasil.”
“You’ve known me long enough Pedro. I was just being careful as you advised many times.”
“Careful … yes among strangers you should always be careful.”
“You may know Jesus but I don’t. He may be your partner but remember, you leave the office when you want to have a private conversation. I need something more solid to place trust in someone new.”
“I see your point but you should remember every new person you meet represents some amount of risk. You should try to measure the risk while not increasing it without good reason.” Pedro looked down at his hands again while he considered his next words. “I will calm Jesus down and tell him what he needs to know for Sr. Watson’s visit.”
“Thank you. The trip was worthwhile and Jesus was a big help. I think I understand what Skip has gotten himself, or more correctly, was put into and I am being ‘very’ careful because I don’t want it to blow up in all of our faces.”
“He is no more than a pawn in someone else’s chess game. Pawns are usually not important enough to take much notice of. I think it is the case here. Sr. Watson senior is the target and Skip is no more than the lure to bring his father here. Sr. Watson received good advice to bring an important government official and his bodyguards along on the trip with him. It will help keep things in balance. You should try to stay here in São Paulo while he is in the country. It will be better for you.”
“That’s what Sam said.”
“My reason for saying so is different than his. I think Skip will be eventually released to his father causing public awareness that will not please Sr. Watson. You must try to stay out of what will certainly become a very damaging spectacle.”
“I was expecting something like that.”
“It is not hard to predict and then your ‘new’ friends will need to be seen in certain quarters as dealing with someone who has clean hands. Our democracy is getting stronger and if Lula gets elected some of the old ways may start to end sooner than some may like.”
“Somehow I have trouble believing the past will do more than begin a very long period of slow fading away. Some people are still powerful enough to keep it very much alive for a long time.”
“In that you may be right Carl. Some people say in the 1980s the military developed a detailed plan for Brasil’s way forward and put mechanisms in place to measure national progress and make corrections when necessary. Maybe it’s just rumor or gossip. You know how people here love gossip.”
“Senator, with respect, we don’t have any idea whether we can trust this Englishman. He is a stranger, not one of us. He should be eliminated from the situation as soon as possible. We have never needed to use an outsider before and we should not risk that now.”
“I have told you once. I would hope that should be enough my ‘friend’. Remember time does not stand still and yesterday’s tools must be replaced with those more suitable for today.”
“There is too much at risk particularly with the election coming. Our current President has always listened to his father’s old friends. Lula listens to no one but himself. We have to be able to stay ahead of events or we will lose the ability to manage them. Why should we trust this outsider with something that is so important? We do not know his family or anything else about him that is important in deciding to place trust in anyone.”
Aranni’s eyes drifted away from the small table filled with empty coffee cups and spent cigars toward the dark corner of the garden where his grandchildren played during the day … there and beyond into his distant past. Seconds then minutes ticked by in silence while his comrades sat watching, wondering whether he was still their ally or … “I agree family is important. Perhaps it is the most important thing that determines who and what a man is and will be. Let me tell you an old story my friends. It is part of my story and therefore it is shared by us all. Remember when we graduated from the Academy. It was when certain of us were sent to West Point in New York to study with the American Military. Later some of us who studied at West Point were even given the opportunity to go to Vietnam to observe the application of tactics that could be helpful in protecting Brasil’s jungle borders.”
Aranni’s companions nodded as old memories, memories of their youth brought the gleaming light of their now lost youth back to their eyes. “You were one of the fortunate ones chosen.”
“Fortunate … yes I was fortunate, I am still alive. Several of us never came home. It is why I could come home that makes me feel I can trust Matthews … why I owe him a debt that must be honored. It was May of the year we finished and went to Vietnam. I was with an American covert operations team, Army Rangers, deep in the jungle near the Cambodian border. The place was a terrible place. Insects in size and variety beyond anything I could have imagined. Unfamiliar plants tore at my clothes. Some nights I still see the trees closing above us. During the day the trees let only broken rays of sunlight find their way to the ever-wet jungle floor. The jungle floor itself was so thick with vines and debris that taking a single step took far more effort than taking a hundred on the drill field. The air around us was so wet and heavy far worse than in Manaus deep in Amazonia during the middle of summer.” Color fled the old General’s face driven by unpleasant memories, “We met a British Commando Group in a small clearing near the center of a region thought to be no longer in Viet Cong hands. As I said I was with American Army Rangers and a CIA liaison officer whose job was to recruit resistance leaders. The young officer in charge of the British began explaining that a large force of Cong had recently moved back into the sector and the people we were to meet were most likely dead. We stood too close to one another talki
ng and our attention wasn’t where it should have been. We were all young and full of ourselves.” Aranni paused again rubbing his brow as if to wipe away perspiration, “We were careless … careless and naïve.”
Pain marked Aranni’s now completely pale face as his memories came alive, “A British Lieutenant from the group was the first to see him … the Cong who stepped from behind a tree gripping the Russian sub-machine gun at his waist. In the time it took the Cong to pull the trigger the Lieutenant was upon him taking the full blast from the machine gun as they went down. When we separated them the Lieutenant’s dagger was buried in the VC’s throat. The Lieutenant’s chest was torn away by the bullets he took for every one of us. We all signed a notation of the incident for the Captain in charge of the British Group. I thought it just British formality. Months later I received a telegram from the British High Command informing me that Lieutenant Carleton Matthews IV had been awarded the Victoria Cross … their highest award for gallantry in the face of the enemy.”
“It is a coincidence. The man is dead.”
“The father is dead but his son is now here in São Paulo. I had the Military Attaché at our embassy in London investigate for me. The Carleton Matthews here today is without any doubt his son and his family has a generation’s long history of honorable and outstanding military service. His Great-Great-Grandfather, a cavalry Captain, earned honors and died with the Light Brigade in the Crimea. His Great-Grandfather, a highly-decorated Major, died at Verdun. His Grandfather, a decorated tank corps Captain, died in North Africa. Carleton Matthews is one of us by history, by deed and by blood. I owe his father my life. This I know because I saw it with my own eyes and I saw the father in his son’s eyes. I know I can trust his son as if he was my own flesh and I will protect his son with all my strength. Honor demands no less of me.”
Silence filled the garden broken only by the sound of water from a fountain lost somewhere in the dark. More minutes ticked past but were unnoticed by the three aging men each lost in his own past. Each alone in his yesterday when honor guided their lives with military precision and politics was not something to concern them.
“Is my position understood?”, followed immediately by two energetic affirmative nods. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’m pleased we all still measure a man the same way. I am certain we will not be disappointed.”
Col. Armando Lopes stood and walked around his seated comrades and onto the garden path stopping two meters from the others. Turning he looked into Aranni’s eyes, “I have done as you asked. Now that we are of one mind I wish, with your permission Senator, to explain what has been arranged.”
“Please Armando … now we are only we three. We are a group small enough to keep what we say to ourselves. Come, sit with us.”
“Yes … well, as you asked Senator I visited some of your old friends in the highlands of Santa Catarina. I stayed ten days outside of Blumenau at the family farm of the late Field Marshall Hilzmann. His family sends their warmest regards to you Senator. They remember as if it were yesterday the honors you arranged for their father’s funeral. They said they will be eternally grateful to you and Brasil for your kindness,”
“Thank you, I remember the Field Marshall from his outstanding lectures on tactics at the Military Academy. He was a great and respected man. But, unfortunately, he was a man no longer appreciated in the country of his birth.”
“It is more unfortunate that most people refuse to separate those who cause a war from those whose duty it is to fight it. I had not been to Blumenau before Sir. It is more like a city in the mountains of Germany. The buildings, the order of the city are impressively beautiful.”
“The real beauty of the city is in its people. Brasil was fortunate the Field Marshall came here after the war in Europe. He and his comrades who followed him built Santa Catarina State into one of our countries most productive. They did it with their own vision and hands. They fashioned Blumenau after their homes in Bavaria because they were denied the right to rebuild the ones they had lost there. Their methods were important examples for us when it became necessary to set aside the civilian regime, cut away decay and governmental dishonesty and most importantly, to improve conditions in our biggest cities.”
“Only a blind man could miss their example. Back to my trip, I believe what was needed has been accomplished during my time in Blumenau. The first week was filled with meetings and dinners arranged by the Field Marshal’s son. All these were held at the farm and for security purposes none of them were attended by more than one man. I was told this was done because of concern for kidnapping. Since the Israelis took Eichmann security is foremost in the minds of the few remaining from the older generation.”
Lopes paused waiting for Aranni but he remained silent. “On the second day of the next week I was taken to Pomerode, a small town not far from Blumenau. When I entered the town, I felt as if I had left Brasil. Every building in its center was of Bavarian style and all the signs were in German. I heard only German on the street when we left the car. We went to a restaurant for lunch and the menu was only in German. The food was prepared in the true German way not like the German restaurants here in São Paulo that are a mixture of here and there. Have you been to Pomerode Sir?”
Uncharacteristically, Aranni who always answered questions instantly with absolute assurance took a long few moments to answer what to the others appeared to be a simple question. Aranni used those few moments to decide if certain long past secret dealings had to remain buried. Very rich dealings for a few Brazilian army officers including himself who had Brazil’s doors opened for a small number of hunted Germans to enter while leaving their past behind forever lost in a net of carefully confused and tattered dead ends. “No, I have been to Blumenau many times before re-democratization but never to Pomerode. The Field Marshall told me his comrades kept the town more ‘pure’ so outsiders would be visible. He said many former senior officers from the army and ‘other’ more political services chose to live in Pomerode for this reason.” Another long uncharacteristic pause, “I expect only few, if any, remain alive today.”
“You should try to visit the town. It is something to be experienced because it is so different from the rest of our country.”
“You are right. The people who came there in the late nineteen forties and early fifties wanted the town that way because they wanted to keep their ‘ideas’ undiluted. I am sure their families still hold many of the old ideas and believe they are the right ideas for many others just as their fathers did.”
“It is to be expected with people who have suffered for their ideas.”
“You are right. Still, what I learned of their clinging to the past made me feel uncomfortable. The people of Blumenau looked to their past for strength while their eyes were fixed on the future they want to build here in Brasil so they could let the past become an honored memory. They were and are the kind of people our country needed.”
“The night I was in Pomerode there was a dinner at the town’s beer hall. That night it was closed to the public and only ten men including the Field Marshall’s older son and I were there. I believe these were the men who those I met with in Blumenau were representing. Most were in their late fifties but there were two who were much older … older than any of us. They must be part of the few remaining from the generation who came here.”
“Do you have the names of the old men? Who was in charge?”
“There were no names used that night and it was made to look like no one was in charge but, the eyes of the others often turned to the old ones.”
“Did they ask you many questions? What did the old ones ask?”
“No … surprisingly few. The old ones asked none. From so many I would have expected twenty maybe thirty questions but there were only five … no more than seven.”
“You were completely open with them? Your answers were full and complete omitting nothing?”
“Yes, exactly as you instructed. I am sure it was done well and as instructed.
There were no questions about my previous answers and they did not return to any topic once we had moved on. As I think about it now, the lack of probing questions from them made me uncomfortable.”
“They were measuring you and not just your answers. Knowing who you were dealing with and the simple fact you were taken to Pomerode says your earlier meetings were considered satisfactory. Were you given their answer to my request before the meeting ended?”
“No, not then but on the way to the airport the next day when I was alone with the Field Marshall’s older son Franz for two hours he told me the ‘Comrades’ would start moving resources to Austria in line with your request. He said the process would be done in ten or twelve days and then they would wait for your final instructions. He also said that I was to come personally with the instructions.”
“You have done well … very well. They have trust in you. The most necessary parts of our plan are now complete. Now it is time to execute the final phase. In no more than thirty to forty days the BrasTel matter will be resolved.”
“What about Sr. Watson’s visit Sir? Are there any developments?”
“Many … we have been given the details of his visit. Globo television in Rio has been anonymously informed of Watson’s arrival tomorrow. I am certain there will be many cameras to greet him at the airport. Money has been sent to two favelas to insure there will also be crowds of concerned and patriotic citizens waiting for Sr. Watson to demonstrate their dissatisfaction. I am certain they will loudly express their feelings about his son’s disregard of our country’s laws.”
“Is there anything unexpected?”
“There is only one unexpected item. Sr. Watson believes he is well advised but in fact he has handed us a very useful opportunity. He has chosen to bring along an American Under-Secretary of State who is routinely traveling with his security staff. According to protocol and courtesy the presence of the Under-Secretary will require our Diplomatic Security Force to provide Sr. Watson with what could appear to be an unnecessary high level of domestic security at the expense of every Brasilian taxpayer. I have had it suggested to those who will be encouraging our concerned citizens that use of Brasilian security forces by Sr. Watson can be turned to our advantage. A confrontation between our poor, caring Brasilian citizens and the Diplomatic Security Force will look very bad for Sr. Watson when broadcast around the country accompanied by the right kind of story. Once the story has gained momentum we will be able to manage the reporting in Brasilia to create the right kind of political atmosphere. I am certain it will grow to be just the kind of atmosphere necessary to strangle his company’s BrasTel efforts.”