Breakfast in Bogota

by Helen Young

  ‘Thank you, this is too much, though, really.’

  Camilo slapped his back again. ‘We got you, didn’t we?’

  ‘I had no idea.’

  Luke looked across at Felisa and smiled. She returned it, her face bright and alive again. Whatever had passed between them at the lake and on the climb had been forgiven, he hoped.

  After the meal, two of Sofía’s friends produced four-string guitars. The table and benches were cleared and the space turned over for dancing. The men of the group had brought a box of beer up to the finca with them. They handed Luke a full bottle each time his current one ran low. It was warm and heavy, but it was the aguardiente he wanted. Back in Bogotá he’d developed a taste for it. He told them this and they laughed. José, back from finishing off with the mules, ran to a cupboard and returned with a jug of the aniseed drink. The way to drink it, they told him, was as a shot after the beer. One of the two men picked up the guitar he’d brought with him and played. This man had a black eye. When he caught Luke staring, his expression hardened. The man’s wife came between them with the other guitar and started playing. The tune was simple and Spanish in sound as the strings were plucked to set the rhythm. Luke was pulled to his feet by Sofía and shown how to move through the steps. He was glad for the aguardiente, making clumsy work of what she showed him. Felisa’s mood, he saw, had lightened. She was watching him and laughing but he didn’t mind. She was asked to dance by Sofía’s other friend. Camilo approached the last available woman, so that, except for José, they were all doing it. Although he was a terrible dancer, Luke relaxed into it. After the song finished they threw their hands in the air and glasses were refilled before the music started up again and Luke found himself with a different partner. He saw Camilo now danced with Felisa. Camilo danced with confidence, of course. He’d been born to that. They looked well together. The couple moved as one, like water slipping over a fall, quite differently to how Luke held Sofía’s friend, whose name, confusingly, was also Sofía. The evening wore on, partners were changed, and more aguardiente was drunk so that packed together as they were, they seemed to get drunk off each other. Eventually he took his turn with Felisa.

  She was quiet when they moved close.

  Luke took her hands. ‘I’m terrible, as you’ve seen.’

  She laughed. ‘Just follow me.’

  She showed him what to do and he found her a better teacher than Sofía. Perhaps, he thought, I’m just paying more attention.

  When the song ended they went straight into another one. Luke forgot himself. He forgot all of them but her. He didn’t want the dancing to end and he hated it usually, the performance of it. He’d always felt too tall for movement. The music slowed and so did they.

  ‘You arranged all of this, Felisa, didn’t you?’

  ‘I had some help.’

  ‘From Camilo?’

  ‘He admires you, Luke.’

  ‘He doesn’t know me.’

  She looked up at him. ‘Do I?’

  It was a challenge and she expected a response. They’d stopped moving but Felisa was swaying slightly. He realised she was as drunk as he was. God help him, he wanted to kiss her. She might regret it but he wouldn’t. Did she know him, though? Luke opened his mouth to speak but before he could answer, the song was dropped for something faster.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, stepping on his foot.

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘I don’t know this one, I’m confused.’

  Felisa looked upset. They abandoned the dance but didn’t break apart.

  ‘Felisa, come on!’ It was Camilo. He grabbed her hands from Luke’s and twirled her off and into space. Luke watched them go.

  They danced on, all of them, until he was sure the night must have ended and a new day begun. Later, he found himself stuck with one of the Sofías. She’d forgotten he didn’t speak Spanish fluently. It was nauseating trying to translate when drunk. He’d lost count of how much he’d had since that last dance with Felisa. It must have been a lot because he was still dancing, but it wasn’t fun any more. The words in his head just didn’t make sense, not in Spanish or English. He grabbed José as he passed, insisting he take his place. He needed air.

  Luke stumbled outside. The night was sobering and cool compared to the heat of the kitchen. He took a deep breath and then another, filling his lungs with the cool, quiet night. No more aguardiente, please, he thought. He tripped across the courtyard to the stable block and leaned over one of the half-opened doors. Luke peered in. He thought he recognised the mule inside as the one he’d ridden to the lake.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  The mule turned its head towards the wall.

  ‘Is the conversation any better out here?’ It was Camilo.

  ‘They only speak Spanish,’ Luke said, turning to face him. ‘I’m drunk.’

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘And Felisa?’

  ‘Inside. Come on, Luke; let’s walk.’

  Camilo waited for him before leading the way around to the front of the finca. When they got there, they sat down together on the front steps. From here, the party at the back of the house sounded like a wireless in another apartment. Luke looked up at the stars, but they were a white-hot blur. The drive stretched before them and, surrounding this, a canopy of lifeless trees. Beyond it all was the wide world, he thought, picturing the journey that would take him there in three days’ time.

  ‘This place,’ he said, throwing his arms in front of him, ‘has been slowly creeping up on me whilst my back has been turned.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Camilo said, looking at him strangely.

  Luke couldn’t tell if Camilo was drunk too. This place, it brought back memories of another dark time, after the trial, when he’d been shut away from the world and forgotten.

  ‘I’ve spent a lot of time on farms, that’s all,’ he said.

  ‘You?’

  ‘My father owned one. I was meant to run it.’ Luke laughed at himself.

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘I never went back. Not after the war. I was done with farm work then.’

  ‘I think it’s romantic.’

  ‘Liar.’

  Camilo shrugged and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Can I have one?’

  Camilo lit another and passed it to Luke. ‘You belong to the city.’

  ‘I had a brother, younger than me. He would have done it.’

  Camilo opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘Before you ask,’ Luke said, ‘he was killed too. Neither of us went back after the war.’

  ‘You and Felisa have that in common.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Farms and flight.’ Camilo lifted his free hand in the air as though it were soaring away.

  ‘It’s different,’ Luke said.

  ‘Yes, I bet your mother didn’t disappear.’

  ‘Felisa said she died.’

  ‘For her, she did.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Camilo ground his cigarette beneath his boot. ‘It’s in the past now,’ he said. ‘I had to pay her father to get her away from that life.’

  ‘You bought her freedom?’ Luke didn’t feel right. ‘Does she know?’

  ‘No, and she mustn’t. Don’t look so shocked, Luke. Do you think he would have let her go? She was better than all of them and he knew it.’

  ‘She talks as though she left freely.’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘And if she returned?’

  ‘I won’t allow it.’

  Luke looked at him. He was drunk and he didn’t like the way the conversation was going. Things he was only becoming aware of now were finding their way to the surface. Drink did that, he thought, it brought clarity.

  ‘And just what are you getting out of this arrangement?’

  Camilo laughed. ‘It isn’t like that.’

  ‘Then what is it like?’

  ‘Luke, we’re friends, you and I, aren’t we?’

  ‘If you l
ike.’

  ‘Well, Felisa and I are very good friends.’

  ‘The fucking kind?’

  Camilo was on him, his face twisted and close. Too close. Luke was pinned to the porch with Camilo’s right knee bearing down on his lower abdomen. The pain was absolute; sobering even. Luke pushed back against him and Camilo was sent with some force down the steps. He landed in the dirt, crying out as his head made contact with the filthy surface. Luke stood up and leapt towards him. He stopped, just in time. On the ground beneath his feet, the boy curled up pitifully into a ball, as though expecting more. He was crying.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Felisa screamed from behind Luke.

  She must have come looking for them. She ran towards Camilo and pulled him up. Luke stumbled backwards.

  ‘It’s nothing, Felisa.’ Camilo coughed, letting her help him up. He wasn’t crying now. ‘We’re drunk. We’ve been very foolish, haven’t we, Luke?’

  Luke tried to hold himself upright, tugging at his crumpled shirt. ‘We have,’ he said, unable to catch his breath.

  ‘You should know better!’ Felisa cried, taking hold of Camilo under one arm.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, standing back so they could pass.

  ‘How could you, Luke?’ she asked, but he didn’t know. It was between them. Him and Camilo. Luke followed them around to the back of the house. When they reached the door beside the stable block he stopped. The sound of the party was louder here. He couldn’t face them, any of them.

  ‘I’ll say goodnight here,’ he said.

  ‘You won’t say goodbye to the others?’ Felisa asked. She looked so disappointed.

  ‘Will you say it for me?’ He held his hand out to Camilo. ‘I’m sorry, for what I said. Too much aguardiente.’

  Camilo took it. ‘Goodnight, Luke.’

  He stood there and watched them walk arm-in-arm back to the sound of music and laughter.

  26

  Luke woke up the next morning wondering how he’d come to end up on top of the sheets, fully clothed and with one shoe on. He lifted his head in search of the other and saw it lying on its side against the far wall. Camilo’s bed hadn’t been slept in. Luke lowered his head and closed his eyes. The last time he’d felt this awful, he’d been a university man a long, long time ago. This new decade of his life had begun badly. The party and dancing he could remember but the rest of the night had already slipped into the abyss. These Colombians know how to drink, he thought, rising. His clothes were crumpled and sleep-worn. He had a pain in his side which ached as though bruised. He stood beside the bed and stripped down to his underwear, stumbling about in the shadows for what he had worn yesterday to travel up the mountain. Once he was dressed, he went over to the window and pressed his face against the wall. Its coolness was a welcome reprieve. Last night it had been cool outside too. He remembered the scene. It came back to him – the pain in his side caused by Camilo’s knee trying to crush him like some unwelcome insect. But what had he said to start this row? Luke couldn’t unpick it, whether he had been wrong, or Camilo. The truth seemed lost. One thing was certain, he couldn’t stay in the room forever. They were probably all at breakfast. It embarrassed him to think they might suspect he was hiding from them. That Camilo might think he was hiding from him. Luke took a deep breath and peeled himself away from the wall.

  When he entered the kitchen they all looked up.

  Sofía grinned. ‘Do you think you’ll want breakfast?’

  ‘Just coffee, thanks.’

  Luke sat down across from Felisa and Camilo. The room smelled stale.

  ‘How are your ribs?’ Camilo asked.

  ‘Sore.’

  Sofía handed him a cup.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ Felisa said.

  She looked angry but sad, as though something else had happened that he hadn’t been able to remember yet.

  ‘Yes, arguing like schoolboys. What was it about?’ Sofía asked.

  ‘A test of strength,’ Camilo said.

  ‘You men.’

  ‘Felisa stopped us before we really hurt each other, though, didn’t you?’ Camilo turned and kissed her clean on the mouth. She looked caught, frightened, but didn’t try to move away, not immediately. Luke froze.

  ‘It must be this place,’ Luke said, addressing Sofía. ‘One of your friends had a black eye last night.’

  Sofía’s face darkened. ‘No, Luke. That fighting is real.’

  Luke waited for her to continue but she didn’t say anything else. No one, it seemed, had an appetite for that conversation.

  ‘We thought we might go back into Guatavita today,’ Camilo said. He slipped his arm around Felisa’s shoulder. Luke forced himself to look at them.

  ‘I’ve nothing clean to wear.’

  ‘I’ll ask José,’ Sofía said. ‘You can borrow something of his.’

  It would be out of the question to join them now. ‘It’s all right, you two go.’

  ‘Sofía, find him something,’ Camilo said. ‘He’s just being polite.’

  ‘It’s too hot in here,’ Felisa said, shrugging Camilo off and rising.

  Camilo met Luke’s eye and smiled again. ‘You are a terrible drunk, Luke Vosey.’

  Luke went back to his room to wash and to hide. Camilo had slept in Felisa’s room and in her bed too, no doubt. Overnight, things between the two of them had changed; things which seemed inevitable, really, if he chose to think about them. They’re about the same age, he thought. He was so much older. What had he thought would happen? A wave of nausea hit him and he ran to the bathroom. Felisa, then, was gone. He was sick and glad of it. It was a distraction from how he really felt.

  While he was away from the room, Sofía had laid out trousers and a shirt that must have belonged to José, on the bed. Luke undressed. He put the new outfit on. The trousers were too short by far and so he swapped them again for the ones he’d worn up the mountain. These were accompanied by an animal smell, something caught between life and death which almost made him vomit a second time. The shirt would do and over this he threw his jacket. He’d have to find a way to return it. He was going back to the city. It was decided. He couldn’t stay there. Not with what had happened. He found his bag and put his dirty clothing and few belongings inside. Luke checked the room once more and went along the corridor to tell them. The group was outside, waiting for him beside the truck.

  ‘We’re only going into town,’ Felisa said, seeing his bag.

  ‘Actually,’ he said, addressing only her, ‘I’m needed back in Bogotá. I’m going to have to leave you.’

  ‘Impossible,’ Camilo said, walking over. ‘Who can contact you here?’

  ‘I’ve known about it for some time.’

  ‘Is it because of the party?’ Felisa asked.

  ‘No,’ he said, lying for both of them. He turned to Camilo. ‘I’ve left money for train tickets for both of you on the kitchen table. I hope it’s enough.’

  ‘And you say you’ve known the whole time you’ve been here?’

  ‘As I said—’ he looked at him ‘—it’s only fair I pay the return trip. I’ll join you as far as Guatavita.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Sofía said. ‘José will run you up to Sesquilé now.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to put you out,’ he told her, walking over to the truck. ‘It’s unavoidable.’

  José opened the passenger door. ‘Jump in.’

  Luke turned to his hostess. ‘Thank you, Sofía, for everything.’

  ‘Go,’ she said, offering her cheek to be kissed. ‘You’ll miss the midday train otherwise.’

  He climbed into the vehicle.

  ‘See you in Bogotá,’ he called back to them as it pulled away.

  In the wing mirror, he watched the two women lock arms and disappear back inside. It was only Camilo who stood there. Luke watched him in the glass. On the dirt track he didn’t budge and Luke could sense he was trying to work things out; to work him out. Let him wonder, Luke thought. He knew that he had to g
o. That he couldn’t stay to hear the night spoken of. That seeing them together, seeing Camilo’s happiness, was excruciating. He couldn’t stay for that – not having to look at Felisa’s face. The truck turned a corner and both Camilo and the finca were lost to him. He squeezed his eyes shut and held on tight. Guatavita might become a place he’d be able to forget, if he tried.

  27

  The trip to Guatavita seemed another lifetime ago and like it had happened to someone else. The date for Felisa and Camilo’s return had come and gone, and he hadn’t heard from either of them. He wondered how permanent their absence might be, whether Felisa would be back to work on the project. The events of that final night came back to him at times, like a half-remembered dream. And like a dream he dismissed the more distressing aspects as unreal. As Christmas approached, Luke threw himself into his work, bringing forward the lease on the new office. It was on a street called Calle del Divorcio, which would have been funny any other time. It was also only a block away from the Palacio Liévano where Felisa and he had met with the deputy mayor. Perhaps the new office was too close to what was coming, he thought, when he stood outside of it for the first time. It consisted of a couple of furnished rooms – an office and reception for Telma. It was a reasonable space in which two people could comfortably work. Both rooms were dark and dusty and had been cheap because of it. The electrics were a nightmare and he almost ended his life on more than one occasion trying to mend them. After a couple of days in the place by himself, he contacted Telma and practically begged her to start before Christmas. He hadn’t needed to worry about disturbing her. She’d been waiting for him to call, she said. Her sister’s son was driving her crazy. He hadn’t realised she didn’t have a family of her own. She arrived the next day and set about putting the office and him in order. She even bought new plants and the two of them settled in nicely. The only thing missing, he realised, was Felisa.

  His phone rang.

  ‘Telma?’