Breakfast in Bogota

by Helen Young

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I think we’ll be finished on time. You were right about her.’

  ‘I’m the only one that sees it.’

  ‘Then she’s lucky,’ Luke said, ‘to have a friend like you.’

  ‘Excelente trabajo, Luke, look at it, the little English village.’ Camilo surveyed the buildings. ‘And all finished by January?’

  ‘Or earlier. She really is quite wonderful, you know – her drawings, I mean.’

  Camilo waited for a man to pass. ‘I came to talk about the article but, if I can speak plainly—’ he kicked up the dirt at his feet ‘—I wish she and I were much closer.’

  ‘I’m sure, if she knew…’

  ‘Yes, if she knew. She knows. And after everything I’ve done for her.’

  He looked at Luke and grinned.

  ‘You can’t know her the way I do, Luke.’ He leaned in close. ‘When I found her, she owned only the clothes she stood up in.’

  ‘You’re right, I don’t know her the way you do.’

  Camilo sighed. ‘It’s hopeless.’

  The sun was low in the sky and both men turned to look as it momentarily split the road they were standing on in two.

  ‘Nothing is without hope,’ Luke said.

  ‘That’s true. Felisa and I belong together.’ He grinned. ‘But I’m sorry. I wanted to ask if you’re coming to this little gathering tomorrow? Felisa said she’d invited you.’

  ‘You know about that?’ Luke said. ‘I thought you might be working.’

  Camilo seemed to consider this. ‘I’ll be there, Luke. Anyway, for me, it is work. I was rather hoping you’d keep her company in case I need to run off. These things can get a little lively. I know she trusts you, like a father.’

  ‘Did she say that?’

  Camilo waved the question away. ‘She says many things. Anyway, I came here to ask for something else. For the article.’

  ‘What else could you possibly need?’

  ‘A photograph. Do you have one?’

  11

  The secret rally Felisa spoke about was to take place at Tres Esquinas as well. Felisa and Luke got through the day not talking about it and at five o’clock left the office together. Telma eyed them with suspicion, as though she expected to be invited too. Out on the street and in the afternoon crush, they were bundled onto a tram together and made to endure a forced intimacy. Felisa, he noticed, closed her eyes when they were pressed closer and he tried to make space for her, feeling in some way responsible for his nearness.

  ‘This is us,’ Felisa said.

  They disembarked and he recognised the place from before. Felisa went ahead. She walked fast and he followed close behind.

  ‘Where’s Camilo?’ he asked, feeling the question come reluctantly.

  ‘He’ll meet us there.’

  Felisa left the main thoroughfare and turned into a side street. About halfway down she stopped in front of a low doorway whose door was broken off its hinges. It was nothing like the Faenza cinema hall, the scene of their first meeting, and that saddened him in a way he didn’t understand.

  ‘We’re here,’ she said, going through.

  Luke followed and found himself in a small courtyard, enclosed on all sides. It was standing room only and the space was already filling, as was the upper terrace which ran its full length. He expected the same people as the meeting in town, but this crowd was harder. He stood out a mile.

  ‘Who are these people?’

  ‘These are the real pueblo,’ she whispered. ‘They aren’t afraid to act because most of them have nothing to lose.’

  A man pushed past him. The armband he wore caught Luke’s attention. Red and unmistakable. The same as the flag the boy from La Casa de la Risa had tried to pin onto the front of the streetcar last month. Communists or labour party members, Luke thought. Some of them anyway. He looked back towards the exit but it was hard to locate now that more people had piled through. Luke turned forward and crossed his arms. Felisa smiled up at him. Did she really see him as a father figure?

  ‘Luke!’

  Camilo appeared beside them.

  ‘How did you get through all that?’ he asked.

  ‘Press papers.’ Camilo grinned.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No, not really,’ Camilo said. ‘This is more Felisa’s doing, I told you.’

  Camilo smiled at her but she didn’t go to him.

  ‘Who are these people, really?’ Luke asked.

  ‘The Workers’ Communist Party,’ Camilo said, placing a finger to his lips. ‘We’ve come to see if they’ll support Gaitán.’

  The crowd grew still. Up on the balcony a man appeared, surrounded by others, carrying pistols and machetes. He scanned the crowd below, letting his gaze rest on Luke. ‘Our membership grows,’ he shouted. ‘Our cause is your cause. You come here because those elected men have not served you.’

  ‘Thieves,’ a man beside Luke spat. Any mention of politicians would do that, Luke thought. He shifted on the spot. He was drawing quite a lot of attention to himself, he couldn’t help it.

  ‘You demand a better way,’ the man on the balcony said. ‘But I can’t give you anything you don’t already possess.’

  He threw open his arms. A couple of machetes were unsheathed in the crowd and used to stab at the sky.

  ‘You like this?’ Luke leaned down and asked Felisa.

  ‘Just listen,’ she said.

  It had been a mistake to come. Behind them, a fight had broken out.

  ‘They drink too much,’ Camilo said, looking back.

  Luke doubted he could know that. He was taller and still couldn’t see a thing.

  The speaker continued. ‘Soon, there’ll come a chance to put words…’

  The crowd surged forward and Luke grabbed Felisa so that she wouldn’t fall.

  ‘…to put words,’ he said again, but he wasn’t looking at them, he was looking over their heads at the exit, ‘…into action!’

  The speaker stepped backwards, signalling to the others. Luke watched the group form around the man. Together they backed away from the balcony edge and were gone. Nobody seemed to have expected them to do that.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Felisa asked, as they were pushed forward from behind.

  Camilo was knocked to the ground. Luke was pushed too and winded, propped up by the man at his side. Other people had fallen and were screaming to be helped up. It was impossible to get at them, though. They were too packed in. The men with machetes still had them raised, not because they wanted to, but because they couldn’t drop their arms without cutting their neighbours.

  ‘Take my hand,’ Luke said, fighting his lack of breath to pull Camilo to his feet.

  ‘Policía, policía!’ was being shouted now.

  ‘It’s a raid,’ Camilo said, grinning. ‘But we need to leave.’

  Around them was panic, as people looked for places to run to, finding one exit only to discover it blocked and pushing through the crowd to reach another. He couldn’t be arrested. Not here, not before this new thing had a chance to begin. Luke struggled to keep his footing. Felisa was knocked in the head by someone’s elbow and he pulled her towards him, looking for a place, anywhere, that might offer a way out of this one. For once, he was glad to be taller than the rest of them. Over the heads of the crowd, he spotted an open door, on the far side of the courtyard. It was how the speaker had disappeared so quickly.

  ‘Camilo?’ he said, turning and finding him gone.

  ‘What do we do?’ Felisa asked. She looked terrified.

  The people were fighting back. As the police moved in from behind, beating and cutting the crowd down, the men who’d brought weapons retaliated. He saw a large man launch himself from the balcony onto the head of a young officer. The men fell to the floor together but only one got up.

  ‘Take my hand,’ Luke shouted.

  He pulled Felisa low through the knot of people. His stomach was bruised but he tried to focus. He tried to breathe. He had to find the door h
e’d seen. He thought he had, but instead ended up backing them into a corner. He’d taken them the wrong side of the pillars at the far end. They’d have to go around.

  ‘Stay close to the wall,’ he told her.

  Two police officers almost fell on top of Luke, going after one of the men he’d seen on the balcony. They’d come for men like this one. Felisa screamed as the wanted man grabbed her arm and shoved her forward. Luke took her other arm and fought to keep her beside him. She cried out and he worried that he was hurting her too. Luke pushed the man off with his free hand. He heard a crack and saw that one of the officers had split the man’s skull with a baton. There was blood everywhere. The officer swung again, cutting the air between them in two. Luke backed off and pulled Felisa away. They kept low and to the sides. Then he saw it, a small chink of light. He broke out into the open and lunged towards the exit, dragging Felisa after him. They fell through, gasping for air, as though they’d been holding their breaths the whole time. They’d emerged onto a deserted backstreet behind the building. They were both breathing heavily. After them, more people flooded out, scattering in all directions. He still had hold of Felisa’s hand. He smiled down at her with relief. The smile was also an invitation to let go, if she wanted to. Instead she came closer, so he kissed her.

  12

  Luke hadn’t slept. After walking Felisa back to her lodgings, close to Tres Esquinas, he’d gone home on foot. Felisa’s building looked worse than the meeting place. She didn’t seem to mind and said it wasn’t so terrible on the inside, although she hadn’t invited him to see. It had taken him hours to get back to his apartment because of the number of police and people on the streets but he didn’t care, slotting his key into the lock sometime around two. He lay on the bed all night in a state passing between brilliance and nausea. That night, things had shifted between them in the most unexpected way. He couldn’t sleep. He felt sick. Had he taken advantage? It would look like that, wouldn’t it? That’s what Felisa might have thought at the time or soon afterwards. Even if that wasn’t the way it had gone, Camilo wouldn’t like it. When Luke eventually rose, exhausted, he poured himself a coffee, had a second cup, and then a third before leaving the apartment. He’d washed, dressed and scented himself in something he’d forgotten he had.

  He arrived at the site, took the stairs to his office two together, avoiding the urge to knock on the closed door of the draughtsmen’s room. Not yet, he thought, greeting Telma at the entrance to his own.

  ‘You’re early,’ she said.

  ‘Am I the only one?’

  ‘So far.’

  He went into his office, removed his jacket and threw open the windows. Now he was back on site, he felt full of hope, and coffee – feverish, almost. The street below had been scrubbed clean and now glistened under a rising sun. He stared at the almost-finished vista, feeling brave and triumphant in a way he hadn’t in the apartment. As an architect, he was on his way to being celebrated again. There was nothing to be afraid of. A man passed below the window and looked up, squinting and wondering perhaps who this grinning figure was. I shouldn’t stand here, Luke thought. She might think I’m watching for her. He went over to his desk and sat down.

  He waited until nine, ten, and then eleven came and went. The waiting was exhausting in itself, making it impossible to work. There was a lot of paperwork to sign off to start the process of closing the site down. That kept him tied to his desk. It was approaching twelve when he’d finished with it. He slipped his arms inside of his jacket. The room had grown cold. Everything ached.

  ‘Isn’t it cold, Telma?’ he asked, propping himself up on her desk.

  ‘Cold?’ Telma rose and put the back of her hand to his head. ‘You’ve a fever.’

  ‘I didn’t sleep well.’

  Telma nodded. ‘Yes, because of the fever.’

  Luke left her there and, gripping the banister for support, made his way down to the draughtsmen’s office. ‘I’m going to check on the work,’ he called back up.

  Blanco and Felisa’s door was open.

  ‘You look terrible,’ Blanco said. ‘Just awful.’

  The draughtsman was alone. Felisa’s desk was empty.

  ‘Is Señorita Mejía at lunch?’

  Blanco shook his head. ‘Oh no, she never came in.’

  ‘What? She isn’t here?’

  Having imagined her there all morning, Luke was confused that she wasn’t. ‘What?’ he asked again, falling limply into the chair that Blanco, having risen, had put out for him. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  Blanco shrugged. ‘I saw it as no great loss.’

  ‘No,’ Luke said. So, she simply hadn’t shown. She hadn’t wanted to face him. He coughed and drew his hand across his forehead. He felt hot, as Telma said he was, but he was still cold, shivering in fact. ‘No loss, no,’ he repeated, realising that Blanco had left him talking to himself.

  Blanco returned some minutes later with Telma.

  She put her hand to his forehead again. ‘Burning up!’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Luke said, trying to rise and finding he couldn’t.

  ‘Go upstairs and call him a car,’ she told Blanco.

  Telma left the room too. She returned with a glass of water. Luke forced himself to drink.

  ‘I had an awful amount of coffee this morning,’ he said.

  She took back the glass. He’d only managed a sip. Telma looked concerned. He was fine – if he could just lie down, just for a moment, he’d be better.

  ‘One of the workmen has flagged a car down. They’re waiting outside,’ Blanco said, reappearing, although he refused to come any closer than the door.

  ‘Let’s get you up and home,’ Telma said, trying to lift him by herself.

  ‘I can walk,’ Luke said.

  He insisted on going alone in the car, promising to have his housekeeper phone Telma when he arrived home. It was the only way she’d let him leave.

  When the car pulled up outside his building, the driver helped him out. Luke forgot to thank him, stumbling past the doorman without a word. He had to lie down and it could only happen once. He might not be able to get back up again. When he reached his door, he could hear laughter coming from inside of the apartment. He took the key from his pocket and turned the catch. Inside, there wasn’t any sign of his housekeeper. Instead he found Karl in the chair closest the window, nursing a tumbler of whisky. The near-empty bottle was on the table beside him.

  ‘Jesus, Vosey, what happened to you?’

  ‘Why are you here, Karl?’ He went over to the sofa and collapsed onto it.

  ‘Just passing, wasn’t I, about to leave this.’ Karl waved a note in the air before pocketing it. ‘Hey, Mrs Rojas?’

  She came into the room.

  ‘Looks like Luke here is unwell.’

  She put her hand to his head as Telma had.

  ‘Burning up, I know,’ he said, pulling his knees up to his chest.

  Her hand went to her own head. ‘And me at my mother’s in Soacha this week; I’ll cancel.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Rojas, I’ll look in on him,’ Karl said.

  Luke turned his face from them to retch.

  ‘Perhaps for now, though, I should leave you to it.’ Karl got up.

  ‘That might be best.’ Señora Rojas had taken a blanket and was tucking it in around him.

  ‘Before I do,’ Karl said, getting down on his knees so they were face to face, ‘I need to tell you the reason I came. Remember the executives?’

  Luke nodded, using the blanket as a mask. Karl’s breath was rancid.

  ‘They’re coming to see the project. It’s out of my hands. I said it was short notice but they want to see the city homes you’ve created for them. Coming in with their uptight wives and screaming brats. All flying down from Barrancabermeja.’

  He struggled with the vowels.

  ‘Unfinished,’ Luke whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not finished!’ he said.


  ‘All right, Luke, I can hear you.’

  ‘Perhaps you should come back another time.’ Señora Rojas held out Karl’s hat.

  ‘Right you are,’ he said, rising. ‘It’s very short notice, Vosey. Sunday in fact. This Sunday. Do you think you can get well for then, Luke? Because that’s when they’re coming and there’s no stopping them.’

  13

  Señora Rojas stayed as late as she could, helping him to his bed before she had to leave. She left him a jug of water and a bucket, because he’d already been sick twice, and brought a weight of blankets down on his body. His poor, aching body – he couldn’t breathe and kicked them off as soon as she’d left. He slept for what felt like forever, but because of what Karl had said, he couldn’t rest. The executives were coming. He kept waking, thinking he could hear them, their screaming families too, gathered at his bedroom door.

  Luke woke up for real on what felt like the next day. He rolled onto his side and attempted to push the remaining sheets away but ended up twisting deeper into them and, from there, found himself on the floor. He vomited again, getting some of it in the bucket and the rest on the floor and himself. Exhausted but relieved to have purged something, he stayed there for the rest of the day, drifting in and out of sleep, staring at the forgotten space beneath the bed. When he woke again it was still light. It felt like the same day but could have been another. The vomit on his clothing had dried. Both his legs ached. He used the last of his strength to pull himself back onto the mattress where he stayed the rest of that day, drifting in and out of consciousness. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but when he opened his eyes next, the moon outside the window was high and his bedsheets and pyjamas were clean.

  ‘Luke.’

  It was Camilo. The journalist smiled and rose from the chair beside him. He must have carried it in from the other room.

  ‘Nice to have you back.’

  ‘What time is it?’ Luke asked, trying to sit upright.

  ‘What day, more like – it’s Tuesday, Luke.’

  ‘Tuesday?’