The Mastermind

by David Unger

  He looks at her, this alien who doesn’t stir. He hears a woodpecker pecking. He thinks he can survive this marriage. The two of them can live comfortably inside a tent of indifference.

  * * *

  The rest of the weekend passes by unremarkably. Guillermo and Rosa Esther are civil to one another, both in their own bubbles. He realizes he should never assume that his experiences can be shared with another person. Not with Rosa Esther anyway. They may share pleasures and delights, even physical ones, but they will do so occupying parallel planes in a three-dimensional universe.

  She will continue to share his bed, but makes it clear without using words that she is not interested in making love to him. If this seems like punishment, she expects him to bear it dutifully, and to remain faithful according to the terms of their marriage contract even though he has broken it more than once.

  This is all implied, not discussed.

  * * *

  As Guillermo is putting the suitcases in the car for the drive home and Rosa Esther waits in the lobby, he remembers the time he found Chichi in the bathroom of her apartment and they attacked one another, Jim Morrison and the Doors in the background. Her mouth smelled of too many cigarettes and bad wine, but he loved the feel of her stiff nipples against his cotton shirt. Had she been masturbating on the toilet seat awaiting him? As soon as he entered, she had come to him.

  When he came he had looked into her face, and he could tell that she was happy, probably having experienced something she had not had in the years of being married to Marcelo. The scream of the butterfly. Like Rosa Esther, the night before.

  But now he remembers what had happened next. Someone knocked on the door and Chichi quickly pulled herself away, took off her clothes, climbed into the shower, and closed the black curtain. Guillermo zipped up his pants and opened the door as she turned on the water. “Thank God it’s you. I really have to pee,” Rosa Esther had said to him, pushing her way in and sitting on the toilet seat. “Who’s in the shower?” Guillermo had said nothing, and simply left the bathroom.

  Had the two women spoken later? Rosa Esther never said anything to him about the incident. But she must have known that he had made love to Chichi, for something had shifted, undeniably changed.

  Even before all six friends had herpes.

  * * *

  Guillermo and Rosa Esther live their lives like two lines that intersect at only one point—the children. She has her girlfriends, her family, and her church. He has his work—which is quite consuming—his club, and the dalliances he manages, or so he believes, to keep hidden from his spouse. He is becoming the typical Guatemalan man, having multiple adventures outside the house, but not even considering the idea of ending his loveless marriage. He is not interested in finding a permanent lover—he enjoys the excitement of speed-coupling.

  Until he meets Maryam Khalil.

  chapter seven

  it wasn’t the hummus that he liked

  Guillermo will never forget the moment he first saw her.

  It was in February of 2006 that he first met Ibrahim Khalil, a new client. The president of the republic had asked Khalil to serve on the honorary board of the quasi-governmental Banurbano of Guatemala—the same bank where Juancho had worked—to oversee the legitimacy of loans to various private businesses and nongovernmental organizations.

  It didn’t take Khalil long to figure out that there were cash credits to companies that weren’t even officially incorporated or registered in Guatemala. These were ghost firms receiving funds to build essential factories in the middle of the Río Dulce or plant sea grass in the mountains north of Zacapa! Half the firms had no street addresses, just PO boxes and articles of incorporation in El Salvador or Honduras. Khalil reached out to Guillermo because he had received threatening phone calls after he made an incendiary statement during a contentious board meeting, claiming that he suspected someone or a group of managers was misappropriating funds.

  Pure and simple, Khalil had sniffed out money-laundering swindles. And unlike Juancho, he wasn’t about to keep quiet.

  Two days after he brought his discovery to the board meeting, he threatened to contact the supreme court—not the president whom he didn’t trust—to initiate an investigation into the financial shenanigans. This was when the threatening phone calls began. The first call—a female voice telling him he did not understand how Banurbano works, and that he should stop his probing—he simply disregarded. But the second call was a manly voice ending with the threat, “Or you’ll be sorry.”

  This was when he contacted Guillermo Rosensweig’s firm.

  After two short phone conversations, Ibrahim hires Guillermo not necessarily for protection (there are a dozen firms in Guatemala that offer armed bodyguards and all kinds of effective monitoring equipment), but to help him figure out how to proceed (should he contact the press?) and identify who is threatening him and who are the final recipients of these loans. As a board member Ibrahim has no real fiduciary responsibility, but he takes his work seriously and believes that he has been entrusted to oversee the administration of public funds. He sees his role as essential for maintaining public trust in the Guatemalan government.

  During their third phone call, Guillermo tells Ibrahim that he doesn’t think he needs added physical protection for now, but that it would be wise to keep his opinions to himself, especially since there will be another board meeting the following week. After Guillermo hangs up, he realizes he has made a mistake and calls him back to set up a time to meet. Because of his business background, he offers to go over the documents himself at Ibrahim’s office above his textile factory in the industrial zone behind Roosevelt Hospital.

  * * *

  Ibrahim’s textile business is doing well and needs oversight but not daily intervention. He feels he has a good management team, and the foremen and workers appear to be happy. He has blocked attempts at union organizing because he believes that business owners should have full say regarding the decisions that involve their primary investments—the workers and the products they make. He isn’t interested in sharing power.

  On the day he meets Guillermo, Ibrahim is wearing a blue jacket, checkered gray slacks, a blue shirt, and a striped black-and-red tie. Guillermo can’t imagine who has dressed him. When he turns seventy-four, he thinks, maybe he won’t care what he looks like either. Nothing the man wears seems to match.

  They have a good first meeting. Ibrahim trusts first impressions, and he thinks Guillermo is intelligent and, more importantly, an upright man. He gives the lawyer two folders filled with ledger documents and bank transfers and says to him, “Guard these with your life.”

  Guillermo nods. The phone rings and Ibrahim answers. To give him privacy, Guillermo takes the opportunity to go to the bathroom. When he comes back, Ibrahim says, “Guillermo, my daughter Maryam is picking me up in ten minutes. I’m going to have lunch with her in her apartment in Oakland. I would be pleased if you would join us.”

  Guillermo knows that Rosa Esther is waiting for him at home. She decided that morning to have the maid cook chayotes stuffed with canned crab meat, even though the meat is usually salty and dry despite mayonnaise dressing. Why did Guillermo even think that someone who knows nothing about food could instruct their maid Lucia to cook?

  “Shouldn’t you ask your daughter?”

  Ibrahim waves an arm in the air. “She’s always thrilled to meet one of my new associates, especially one as trim as you. Maryam admires athletic people,” he says politely.

  Guillermo smiles. It is a strange comment, somewhat enticing. “Well, I used to be an avid cyclist.” He is in good shape, but hardly athletic anymore. “Let me check with my wife—she’s expecting me for lunch.”

  He excuses himself and goes into the hallway to call Rosa Esther. He tells her that a last-minute business engagement has trumped their lunch plans.

  “Will you be home for dinner?” she asks. “I want to know because I’ve received an invitation from Canche Mirtala to have din
ner and play bridge with her friends tonight.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Guillermo, I don’t want to waste another evening waiting for you to decide if your evening plans include me or Araceli Betancourt.”

  His temples throb, but he ignores her comment. “Why don’t you go to Canche’s? If I finish early, I’ll meet you there. If not I can always fix something for myself at home.”

  Rosa Esther hangs up without saying goodbye. Twice already she has warned him that she will take the kids and go live with her uncle in Mexico if he doesn’t break off his chain of affairs. When she last made this threat, Guillermo complied, taking a break from his cavorting in order to keep his children close. He told himself that he would be faithful to Rosa Esther—but this only lasted until the next tight skirt rolled on by. Sex has become a drug, a good drug that makes him feel powerful, alive, and renewed. He is a devotee to erotic encounters.

  When Guillermo comes back into the office, Khalil has already put a gray Stetson on his head and is standing by his desk.

  “Ibrahim, I would love to join you.” He is curious to know more about Khalil’s daughter, whom he imagines will be around forty.

  The old Lebanese man’s eyes light up. “It will be a party,” he says cheerily.

  There’s an armed guard at the entryway to the textile factory—security is a top concern in Guatemala. It is common knowledge that for a mere five thousand quetzales, three vetted guards can decide to take their coffee break at the same time so a kidnapping crew can carry off a heist.

  When the two men step out onto the street, Guillermo sees a black Mercedes parked in front of the building. The driver’s tinted window rolls down and before he can see a face he hears a female voice calling out tentatively, “Papá?” The appearance of a stranger has troubled her.

  “Don’t worry, Maryam. Guillermo is an associate of mine. Actually, a new lawyer. I’ve invited him to join us for lunch,” he says, walking over to the front passenger seat.

  “You should have said something when I called,” his daughter reprimands softly. “I would have planned a larger lunch.”

  “Guillermo’s a light eater. That’s how he stays so trim,” her father replies as he opens the car door. With his head, he signals for Guillermo to sit in the back behind him. “Let me move the seat up,” he says, pushing a button on the side of his door.

  “You don’t need to,” Guillermo says, opening his door. Ibrahim is a shrunken man who probably wasn’t very big to begin with. From his seat, Guillermo can see the back of Maryam’s head. And of course he can smell her Coco Mademoiselle perfume.

  Maryam has thick black hair that falls over her neck and the headrest. This, along with the profile of her right cheek, is all he sees of her, since she won’t turn around to look at him. He can feel the icy mist of anger forming between the front and back seats like a glass partition. It is obvious that she is bothered by her father’s last-minute invitation. Guillermo has half a mind to simply get out and call for a rain check, but something holds him back.

  Maryam starts the engine and begins driving out of the lot. Finally Ibrahim breaks the silence and says, “Maryam, Guillermo Rosensweig is helping me figure out where all the money is going at Banurbano. I want you to be nice to him.”

  She actually humpfs as she zooms across the gravel of the parking lot, dousing Guillermo’s parked car in dust. “I am nice to everyone.” She pulls up to the fifteen-foot gate that encloses the factory, the offices, the loading dock, and the garbage dumpsters, and gives the attendant a ten-quetzal note.

  “Maryam, he is my employee.”

  “Whatever, Papá. I don’t want him to forget how nice I am to him, should a kidnapper want to make him a rich man one day.”

  “Please. Fulgencio has worked for me for twenty years.”

  “Precisely,” she says, striking the steering wheel for emphasis. “He doesn’t need much convincing to know he needs a change.”

  She rolls her window up and turns to Guillermo. “Sorry for making you feel less than invited. Papá knows that I want him to give me some advance warning when he invites someone to my apartment. It might be a mess or the cook may not have made enough food, but it’s also a question of safety.”

  The guard opens the steel gate and Maryam proceeds rapidly over the speed bumps, turns left, and drives the six blocks to Roosevelt Avenue. Guillermo tries to get a better look at her through the rearview mirror. She seems anything but radiant. She is wearing a white T-shirt; her tanned face sports no makeup; her lips are colorless.

  Guillermo imagines she is wearing a short white skirt and matching sneakers with puffy balls on the heels, and that she has been playing tennis all morning. Typical Guatemalan wifely style. And he is sure she hasn’t showered this morning because he can smell her sweat winning the battle over her perfume. He wonders if she has shapely legs, and this causes his penis to stir.

  Before he can say a word, Ibrahim asks his daughter: “Will Samir be joining us for lunch?”

  “No,” Maryam says. “Something’s always cropping up at the hardware store. Or maybe he has a meeting with his Lebanese Committee friends.” Samir must be her husband. Her lukewarm response implies there’s trouble in the marriage. Maybe this Samir is just like him, prone to lying and engaged in multiple affairs.

  “So,” Ibrahim says triumphantly, “it will be just the three of us.”

  Guillermo wonders what’s on the man’s mind. It has happened all too quickly. There is no way he planned it this way.

  Maryam pushes some buttons on the dash, and instrumental Arabic music starts playing. A female, possibly Fairuz, starts singing. She has a soft and plaintive voice, and Guillermo can hear a lightly strummed lute in the background.

  He can’t take his eyes off Maryam’s thick and lustrous hair. At one point she leans into the mirror to see behind her and their eyes meet quite by accident. Almost immediately she sets hers back on the road.

  “Guillermo is an avid cyclist! That’s how he stays trim,” Ibrahim says, after an inordinately long silence. “If I didn’t have this pacemaker I would take up the sport myself.”

  Before Guillermo can say a word Maryam laughs. “Father, I don’t think your old pacemaker is the reason you don’t bicycle. You could always get a training bike for your apartment. But if Guillermo thinks riding a bicycle in Guatemala City is a way to stay healthy, he doesn’t really value his life very much.”

  “I live in Colonia España in Zone 14. It’s very safe there, with lots of gentle hills perfect for cycling. And the air is pure.”

  “I’ve only driven through once. It felt like being in a private city,” Maryam says. “I’m told there’s an area in Colonia España full of modern mansions.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Our apartment is average sized, really.”

  “Isn’t that where Boris Santiago lives?”

  Guillermo is surprised by the question. “The drug lord?” he asks, somewhat hesitantly.

  “There would only be one. I read an article in El Periódico on the Guatemala Cycling Federation that he is an avid cyclist, and one of its principle donors. I thought you might know him since you live in the same area.”

  “Maryam, please,” Ibrahim says.

  “No, it’s okay,” Guillermo says. “I don’t have much in common with a drug lord.”

  “Do you live there alone?” she asks, driving with both hands on the steering wheel.

  Guillermo realizes that Maryam hasn’t noticed the huge wedding ring on his left hand. “No, with my wife Rosa Esther, my son Ilán, and my daughter Andrea. Now you know everything about me,” he replies somewhat provocatively, as if Ibrahim were not within earshot.

  Guillermo imagines Maryam smiling. “I wouldn’t say that. Men are full of secrets,” she says. “I hope you won’t think I was prying. I only like to know who is coming to eat at my apartment.”

  “Maryam, please—” Ibrahim interjects for a second time, almost playing the role of a referee.

  G
uillermo taps his client’s shoulder. “No offense taken.”

  After an awkward silence Ibrahim says, “You must have strong legs, Guillermo. I mean, to do all that cycling.”

  “Strong enough to get me up the hills. Riding is my passion and my joy. I love it. I like being alone. The exercise and the release of tension are added benefits.”

  Maryam snickers aloud. Guillermo thinks she might actually have a sense of humor—or is she simply laughing at him? His imagination is getting the better of him. He is already putting them naked together in bed. Maybe this is the ideal situation. He and Maryam are married, both unhappily, if he’s reading her relationship with Samir correctly. Ideal for meeting up for an occasional fuck.

  * * *

  As soon as the car is parked in the basement of her building, Maryam races ahead to call the elevator. Guillermo can see that she is indeed wearing a tennis outfit; she does have nice legs, evenly tanned. And she has puffy pink balls on her heels, which somehow warms his heart.

  Guillermo springs out of the car and opens the door for Ibrahim, who struggles out of the front bucket seat. They walk arm-in-arm to the elevator, where Maryam is pressing the button to hold the door open. Once inside, the elevator climbs slowly to the sixth floor. Maryam steps over to her father and holds his hand. She does not look at Guillermo, but he can see that she has dark eyebrows, a broad nose, and thick lips. Her eyes are green. When the elevator opens, they are facing a dark wooden door with an upside-down turquoise hand nailed to its middle.

  “What’s that?” Guillermo asks.

  “Fatima’s Hand. It keeps away the evil eye.” Maryam unlocks the door and welcomes them in. “Have a seat,” she says to Guillermo, indicating a brown leather chair, “while I change. My father will make you a drink.”

  “What will it be, Guillermo?”

  “Chivas on ice. And a soda on the side.”

  “A man who drinks a man’s drink . . . I’ll join you, though I shouldn’t,” Ibrahim says. He disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes and returns with a small silver tray with three glasses—Guillermo’s highball, with plenty of ice, and soda on the side, and for himself a Scotch, neat, in an ornate crystal goblet.