by Helen Young
He ordered two taxis and sent them off in opposite directions. Rocío looked furious when he’d bundled her into hers, as though robbed of something she couldn’t yet measure. Felisa went willingly. He didn’t blame her. She had found him with another woman. In Guatavita she’d been with Camilo, though. He’d wanted to mention the new office, to say she could come whenever she chose, there was a desk there waiting for her, but couldn’t bear the thought of mixing this night with the days he hoped would follow. He led her to her car silently and handed the driver an extra note, as if this might alleviate some of his guilt.
He rose early the next day, dressed and left the apartment. He made his way down a deserted Seventh Avenue and onto Plaza de Bolívar where he boarded one of the few trams that stuck to the timetable over Christmas. He was going to see Felisa at any cost. He was going to put things straight. He hadn’t slept at all and was grossly hungover. Perhaps he should have shaved, presenting a better version of himself than the one she’d seen last night. It was too late for all that now. He stifled a yawn picked up from a man seated across from him. The tram reached Tres Esquinas. He jumped off and walked the couple of blocks to her building, trusting his instincts to get him there. He hadn’t been back to the neighbourhood since the raid. He could smell it though, the remnants of violence from that day. It was a lazy form of malice. On these streets you’d be killed for no reason other than the turn in someone else’s mood.
He reached Felisa’s apartment block. It was as he’d imagined it would look by day, crumbling and, by some miracle, still standing. He went up to the door and knocked hard. No one came. He tried the handle. It was locked. He looked up at the window she’d said was hers and understood she wasn’t there. There was no way of knowing for sure – her room was on the second floor – but he knew. He hadn’t expected her not to be there because it’s where he’d asked the taxi to take her.
29
Christmas came and went without Felisa. On the eve of Osorio’s party Luke pulled himself out of his malaise and went to a barber. He returned to the apartment riding high on the pretence that he’d changed. To add to this, he’d also had his tuxedo pressed and it felt new again against his skin. Señora Rojas’ attempts to ply him with larger portions at dinnertime had paid off and the suit fit better than it ever had. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and adjusted the necktie. Camilo would be there tonight. Would Felisa have mentioned her visit? Luke worked his cufflinks into place. Something told him she wouldn’t have.
He hired a car to take him to Osorio’s. As it pulled away from his apartment block he relaxed. It felt good to leave the city behind, as it had before. On the streets, the New Year’s Eve festivities had begun. From the window, he watched a young couple chase each other down the street followed by the pop of cheap, homemade fireworks. When the car slowed, he saw two old men embrace. I’m fine in here, he thought, not sure if he meant the car, the starched tux or some other border. It didn’t pay to get too involved. Look what had happened with Felisa when he had. In Osorio’s world, wrongs were settled in currency, not conversation. He could guess at where the money for Osorio’s project had come from and he’d probably be right. By signing up for the work on the centre, he’d already aligned himself with their way of thinking.
The car rolled into the grounds of the hacienda and stopped some distance from the house. There was no trouble getting past the guard on the gate tonight, although that was as far as they did get. The drive was jammed.
‘It’s all right, I’ll walk,’ Luke said, opening the door.
The air was fresh and he inhaled it like medicine. The hacienda glistened, more so than before, illuminated by thousands of tiny low-level lights that made the entire building look as if it was levitating. Perhaps it was, Luke thought, Osorio was capable of many tricks. As he got closer, he could see the entrance to the inner courtyard too, glowing, like the open jaw of a golden snake. The serpent’s mouth pulsed with people and it made him afraid to approach it after his recent weeks spent in near solitude. Somewhere on the grounds he heard a dog howl. Luke looked about for Osorio, remembering the mutt from last time. The cry came again, but it was more a whimper this time. It was coming from behind the house. Luke changed course and headed towards it. The rear of the hacienda was unlit. It took his eyes a while to adjust to the darkness and when they did it was a forest of tall trees he saw, running off into the night. On the edge of the forest was a low hut that could have been a pen or a workman’s shed. Luke heard the dog whimpering again. It was inside.
‘I think you must be lost?’
A man he’d missed stepped out from among the trees. He recognised him from last time.
‘Is that your animal in there?’
‘It might be.’ The man smiled.
‘I used to have a dog,’ Luke said, ‘a pet.’
‘Neron!’ the man shouted, running forward. As if on cue the dog appeared from the hut and launched itself towards Luke. A thick chain, wrapped like a noose around his neck, stopped him from making contact. He snarled and bit wildly at the space between them. Luke, backed up against the hacienda, had nowhere else to go. The man took a pole that had been lying against the side of the hut and beat the dog until he backed down. Luke didn’t hang around. He needed to find a drink. The man’s laughter followed him back around the house and up the front steps of the hacienda.
‘Luke.’
It was Osorio and he looked genuinely pleased to see him.
‘I thought I saw you arrive but then you vanished again.’
‘I’m afraid I got lost,’ Luke said, extending his hand.
‘We need more lights, perhaps.’ Osorio smiled. ‘Come, there are many friends here you should meet.’
He led Luke inside. Even for the host it was hard to get through the crowd of people, packed together against the papered walls and fine furniture. It was like the time at the opera, Luke thought, recognising some of them from that night. He passed Pino, the lawyer, and recalled a few others from the Jockey Club, picking them out with slim smiles. He thought again of the dog called Neron. Was he here to protect the likes of Pino, to keep them safe? The way the crowd pressed and squeezed Osorio, it might have been the other way around.
‘Here.’ Osorio handed Luke a glass of champagne. ‘Most of the city has come, you see.’
He led him down the lit passageway and into the courtyard. The fountain had been turned off and covered by a platform. It was being used as the base for an eight-tiered cake. Around its sides the year, 1948, had been iced in cursive script.
‘Quite the party,’ Luke said, sipping the cool liquid. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’
‘Luke,’ Osorio said, taking him by both shoulders. ‘You’re one of us now. No more pleasantries.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Will you make yourself at home?’
The grip on Luke’s shoulders was firm. ‘Yes,’ he said, hoping this might free him.
Osorio smiled and let go. Those in the passageway recognised their host and went forward to claim him. Osorio turned just once and caught Luke’s eye. He shrugged, as if to say, what can I do? Luke watched until he disappeared, swallowed whole by his guests.
The courtyard was more naturally lit than the rest of the house. Luke looked at the people gathered there. He didn’t recognise any of them. A passing waiter filled his empty glass and Luke sat down on the bench he’d shared with Karl on his last visit. Where was Karl tonight? He hadn’t seen him.
‘Hello, Luke.’
‘Camilo.’
Camilo sat down beside him. He looked tired, like a schoolboy who had stayed up late studying. Despite the events in Guatavita, Luke had missed him. It seemed perverse, but he couldn’t hate Camilo for what he felt. For loving Felisa. If they stuck to politics, maybe they’d be OK. ‘You’ve been working late again, I can tell.’
‘Always,’ Camilo said, being handed a glass. ‘Happy Christmas, New Year, and anything else we can consolidate,’ he said, raising it to L
uke’s.
‘Salud.’
They both looked up. A woman standing perilously close to the cake was saved by her friend and now they were shrieking over what might have been.
‘Has there been any progress in government?’ Luke asked. ‘Even in Guatavita, you could sense it.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The tension, I mean.’
‘There’s been nothing. They can’t control it. Not even Gaitán can reach outside of the city to stem the flow of violence.’ Camilo lit a cigarette. ‘A few days after you left, one of Sofía’s friends from the party was murdered. Showed up face down one morning in the centre of town.’
‘The guitar player with the black eye?’
Camilo shrugged. ‘Probably.’
‘How did you know he’d been murdered?’
‘Hard to stab yourself in the back. All his fingers were broken too, the local paper said. God, the women! They were very shaken up. Luckily, I was there.’ Camilo grinned. ‘I suppose it could have been the guitar player, on account of the fingers.’
Luke swallowed. ‘And the president – Ospina?’
‘He doesn’t care. He’s preoccupied by the coming conference. Did I tell you how much money he’s given to Gómez’s department to paint the city?’ He looked again at the two women who had spotted them too.
‘How much?’
‘Four million pesos.’
‘I bet the people don’t like that.’
‘Why should they? They’re pinched harder than ever.’
‘So why do it?’
‘To show the Americans what their investment looks like. It’ll be worth it, you’ll see.’
Camilo gestured for a waiter and helped himself to a second glass of champagne. He yawned. ‘I’m down to cover most of the bigger openings when the conference comes. I have to arrange accreditation for some of the senior figures flying in from overseas, so yes, there’s a lot keeping me up. It’s Felisa too. Has she spoken to you?’
‘Felisa? No.’
Camilo leaned in close. ‘You should know, in Guatavita, we got close.’
‘Like you always wanted.’
‘Yes, it was always going to happen.’
‘It must be nice to think so.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That night, Luke.’ Camilo grinned. ‘You can’t imagine. She’s wild.’ He leaned in closer. ‘It’s better when you don’t have to pay, hey?’
Camilo didn’t know when to shut up.
‘I’m joking, Luke! Your face. Anyway, when we got back to the city, she changed. No, it happened before that, after you left us there.’ He laughed. ‘As though the two of us can’t be happy unless we’re a three. Does that sound crazy to you?’
Luke shrugged. ‘You knew each other before I came along.’
‘She’s fond of you. It’s nothing but a schoolgirl infatuation, you understand.’
‘Of course.’
‘In the meantime,’ Camilo said, ‘it seems you’re necessary to our happiness.’
The two women by the fountain shrieked again and Camilo, Luke noticed, was grinning at them.
‘She’s very pretty, isn’t she?’
‘Beautiful, when she’s not telling me how to do my job.’
‘Not Felisa.’ Camilo turned to him. ‘The blonde over there.’
It was the woman who’d lost her balance minutes before.
‘She gets these dark moods, you see,’ he said, still staring at the blonde. ‘Came to see me just after Christmas in one.’
‘What did she say?’
‘What?’ Camilo sat up as the woman and her friend came across the courtyard towards them. ‘She said she was looking forward to work – to getting everything back to normal.’ Camilo extended his hand and the blonde took it. ‘I mean, what’s wrong with her?’
*
As the New Year struck, Luke found himself alone again, craning upwards along with the other guests who’d crowded out onto the front lawn to watch the sky blister and explode. He’d bored of the blonde and her friend, both American it turned out. The blonde, who called herself Ruby, was over from the States visiting her diplomat father. To the girls, everything was either wild or cool; his British accent was cool, Colombia was wild, as was Camilo for being so handsome and it was also wild (and cool) that they were all hanging out together, the friend had told him repeatedly. The wildest thing of all, though, he learned, would be when they told the girls back home. Luke soon tired of them. He was tired of Camilo too, leaving him in both their company and wandering off alone. That was at least two hours ago and he hadn’t seen the three of them since.
After the fireworks had finished, the guests returned to the main house. Luke watched them go, passing through incendiary fog. He felt bitter about the whole evening. Karl had failed to show. Lucky him, Luke thought, looking for Osorio in the crowd gathered on the front porch. He wanted to say he was leaving. Across the lawn, Luke spotted his driver and waved.
‘Luke!’ It was Camilo, coming across the grass towards him. He looked as if he’d fallen over and taken some time to get up again. ‘I thought you’d left?’
‘What happened to your friends?’
‘Who?’ Camilo asked, looking behind him. ‘The thing is, Luke, I’m quite stuck here. If you’re leaving, can I get a ride back into town?’
‘If you like,’ Luke said. ‘Let’s tell your uncle.’
‘Leave him,’ Camilo said, putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder. ‘I’m not sure I can face that mob again.’
Luke forced a smile and the two turned and headed towards the car.
‘Do you mind if the windows come down?’ Camilo asked, as they pulled out of the estate. Luke turned the handle of the one on his side. He was glad for it. Camilo smelt like cheap perfume. Luke leaned his head against the window. The first hours of the New Year were cold and sobering. When he turned back, Camilo had his eyes closed.
‘There were two girls, Luke. You could have enjoyed yourself more.’
‘That sounds like a reproach.’
Camilo turned towards him. ‘Got to let go sometimes.’
‘I thought—’ he paused ‘—I thought you might have spent tonight with Felisa.’
‘I told you before, Luke. I couldn’t invite her here. Anyway, she’s no fun.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Luke said. ‘It’s none of my business.’
‘Oh, but it is,’ Camilo said. ‘At least, it feels like your business. She won’t stop mentioning you. Luke thinks this, Luke said that…’ He prodded Luke hard in the arm. ‘Any other man would be jealous.’
‘I’m not sure she’ll listen to me, not now.’
‘Now?’ Camilo sat up. ‘That’s it. I should go there now. Wish her happy new year. Good idea, Luke.’ He leaned forward and passed instructions to the driver. Camilo turned back to face him. ‘We’ll drop you off first, though.’
30
Luke went out early the next morning to buy a copy of El Tiempo which he took to a nearby café because back at the apartment, Señora Rojas had arrived early. He found the only empty table in a room packed with people, all keen to breakfast on 1948. The penultimate year before they were all tipped towards the fifties and then what? A whole new decade he already felt unfit for. He sipped his coffee and, above the bubble of noise, tried to concentrate on what he was reading. There had been a protest at the oil refinery in Barrancabermeja. The workers there were in dispute with their bosses over pay. It looked like the economic situation was worsening all round – and poverty spreads faster than wildfire, he thought. More minor riots had been reported closer to Bogotá because of hikes in the price of food, along with steep taxes placed on general goods. The harvest, it said, was going to fail again – more violence and murder, this time in the district of Caldas, west of Bogotá. In large cities like Manizales and Pereira life was being lived increasingly lawlessly. And it’s only January, he thought.
When he arrived back at the apartment, Señora Rojas already had lunch under
way although it wasn’t yet midday. Luke went into the bedroom, opened the closet and reached back into the furthest corner of the top shelf, pulling out an envelope. He counted out Señora Rojas’ salary for the month and then an extra hundred centavos before replacing it. He liked to keep some money at the apartment. The banks, with their public siestas that stretched wide-armed across the middle of the day, were less reliable. In the kitchen, Señora Rojas had her head over the pot.
‘This is for last month,’ he said, handing her the money.
‘But it’s too much,’ she said, blinking at him.
‘How can you tell?’
‘It’s heavy.’
Luke smiled. ‘You would say if there was anything you needed?’
‘Yes, señor… I… thank you.’
‘It’s all right,’ Luke said, leaving her there before either of them said anything that might embarrass them both.
The doorbell rang.
‘Oh, Señor Draper,’ Señora Rojas said, answering it. ‘Look at your eye!’
‘Don’t fuss, woman.’ Karl came in and closed the door behind him.
‘I’ll get something,’ she said, going back to the kitchen.
‘What happened, Karl?’
‘Can I have a drink?’
Luke found the bottle and a glass.
‘Got robbed,’ Karl said, collapsing onto the sofa.
‘Robbed?’
‘Not far from here.’
Señora Rojas appeared with a wet cloth and tried to place it over the cut lid.
‘I said don’t fuss!’ Karl said, snatching it from her.
‘I’ll be in the kitchen,’ she said.
‘It’s not her fault, is it?’
‘Damn it, Vosey! Little buggers took my wallet and my coat. Why would they take my coat?’
‘How did they get it off you?’
‘I was holding it, wasn’t I?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Just finished up with a nice little secretary I’ve been seeing. It’s a fine day so I decided to walk back. They must have seen me carrying it and recognised it for a piece of work. Some of these lowlifes aren’t without taste.’