Breakfast in Bogota

by Helen Young

  Luke held out his hand. ‘And why are you hiding in the bathroom?’

  ‘I told you, it’s safe. I’m only a secretary and a badly paid one at that,’ he laughed. ‘Not important enough to shoot.’ He went over to the door, opened it and peered out. ‘At least that’s what I’d tell them if they’d stop.’

  ‘Why didn’t you leave with the other Americans?’

  ‘Because I was in here!’ He closed the door and then slid down to the floor. ‘When they all ran.’

  ‘They torched the embassy.’

  ‘Oh my!’ The secretary rose. ‘We’ll be next! They’ll come for us.’

  Something like a mortar, fired from a tank, made the whole building shake. The secretary ducked and Luke joined him.

  ‘Just breathe,’ Luke said.

  ‘We’re trapped. I heard them running, but then I heard the gunshots.’

  ‘There has to be a back way out of here,’ Luke said. ‘One that doesn’t lead onto the square.’

  ‘There’s a garden. I saw it through the windows but I don’t know how to get there.’

  ‘We’ll try.’ Luke rose. ‘Come on, I promise you’ll be safe.’

  It was easier than he’d thought. Keeping low, they found a set of old service stairs which snaked down to the ground floor. The back of the building was much quieter than the front. The destruction hadn’t reached here. He realised too late that it was because the area had been cordoned off. No member of the public had been able to breach this section because of the huge army presence. Luke stepped outside with the secretary cowering behind him. The garden was dark and as far removed from what was going on at the front of the palace as was possible to get.

  ‘We’re alone,’ the secretary said.

  Luke’s heart lifted. Perhaps they were, with only the swaying trees and shrubs for company. Joy was short-lived as what he’d taken for part of the landscaping was a heavy-set soldier walking towards them.

  ‘Hello,’ Luke said, extending his hand as the soldier had.

  ‘What are you doing!’ the secretary spat, grabbing hold of Luke’s arm and forcing it down.

  As the man got closer, Luke saw he wasn’t aiming for a handshake. He had a rifle pointed right at him.

  ‘American?’ he said.

  ‘That’s right,’ Luke lied.

  By this time more men had arrived, more guns were aimed.

  ‘Oh God, oh God,’ the secretary mumbled.

  Firing squad, Luke thought. If it was to come to this, if he was to be shot alongside a man he had just met in a washroom, if he was never to see Felisa or anyone who could identify him again, let it be here, in the garden of the presidential palace. Somewhere inside of his delirium, he smiled and then he laughed. The secretary started to cry. Before Luke knew what was happening, a real hand was placed in his, a face up close – a man with a big grin to match his own leading him away, explaining that he was Commander Hernández. The secretary was no longer with him, Luke realised. When he looked back, he was gone.

  Luke was led to a quiet corner of the presidential gardens. He was sure Peter K. James would be fine. The secretary was American, after all. Luke wasn’t, though. Because of his face it looked like he’d been fighting, fighting back against the government. The spot they took him to was landscaped and beautiful. He wondered if he was going to be shot by this Commander Hernández. It happened like that. Something mundane, like snapping a twig beneath your shoe and then crack. Instead, he was questioned for at least an hour. What had he been doing in the building, they’d asked. He’d become trapped, he said. He was part of the delegation and his papers had become lost, somewhere up there, in all that destruction. He needed them to believe him. Commander Hernández left him alone for a short time. Luke thought about running but he knew how that might look. He might end up with a bullet in his back after all. He was losing valuable time. Felisa could be anywhere.

  It was late when they let him go. He took a wide, circulatory route back towards La Merced. Exhausted, he tried to pick up the search for Felisa. He didn’t know where to start – he could be wandering all night. After a time, he realised he was walking home. She could have gone there. He was so stupid not to have thought of that. There was a chance, at least. Luke picked his way past smouldering buildings, rubble, and trams that had been stopped mid-route and torched. They were hissing now, crackling because it had started to rain. It looked like a twelve-pound bomb had fallen on Bogotá. Things were worse at the junction with Jiménez Avenue and Luke wondered if it had all started here. He’d almost forgotten about Gaitán. The Granada, where most of the delegates were staying, was intact, although it looked somehow depleted. Opposite, the Hotel Regina was burning strong – flames had engulfed the roof and by the morning, he knew there’d be nothing left. He passed the churches, de la Veracruz and San Francisco; these had also been spared. He had to keep moving. Felisa might be waiting for him at the apartment. She might think he was dead.

  When he eventually reached his building, it was pouring. The streets were empty on the way back; had it really only taken rainwater to drown the pueblo’s spirit? The lobby of the apartment block was deserted. Luke reached behind the desk where he knew the spare keys were kept. He found his and left the rest behind the counter. He needn’t have bothered; when he reached his apartment, the door was open and the frame split. He stepped inside and flicked the light. Someone was moving about in the back. Someone was in the bedroom. Moments later, Camilo walked into the room.

  ‘Christ, Camilo! Where have you been?’

  ‘Hiding from the curfew,’ Camilo said.

  ‘Curfew?’

  ‘The government’s will. Anyone found on the streets will be shot on sight, weapon or not. By order of Ospina.’

  ‘Even an Osorio?’

  ‘Even an Osorio.’ Camilo went over to the drinks cabinet. ‘May I?’

  ‘You already forced the door.’

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Camilo poured a large glass of whisky and handed it to Luke. ‘Here, you look terrible.’

  ‘I was detained. Questioned.’ Camilo didn’t look so bad. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Reporting, Luke.’ He raised his glass and drank.

  ‘But where were you yesterday, and the day before that?’

  Camilo shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Luke. Really? You want to ask how my week’s been, after this?’

  ‘I knew this was going to happen.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Karl told me.’

  ‘Draper?’ Camilo looked surprised.

  ‘He asked me to tell you, about Gaitán. He knew. I said I’d find you. I tried, but you weren’t at El Tiempo.’

  ‘I was out, covering the conference, you know this.’

  ‘No, Camilo, they’d never heard of you.’

  Camilo’s eyebrows raised. ‘My editor said that?’

  Luke’s head was starting to hurt again. ‘Well, no, it was the girl on reception.’

  ‘Reception? A piece of agency skirt?’

  ‘I guess. I don’t know.’ He put the whisky down. It wasn’t helping get things straight.

  ‘And who did Karl say was going to kill Gaitán?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  Camilo nodded. ‘That’s good.’ He picked up Luke’s glass and handed it back to him. ‘Did you know it was the police who supplied the people with weapons?’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘And the National Guard cut them to shreds.’

  Felisa. Sitting there he’d forgotten the most important thing. There was a good chance she was dead. The two men were silent and he wondered if Camilo was thinking it too. Luke finished his drink and reached for the bottle. He needed it now. If she was dead, he didn’t want to feel. He craved numbness. ‘And Karl saw it all coming. If I’d listened to him she’d be fine.’

  Camilo looked at him. ‘No, Luke. This was something else. They say the communists are to blame for Gaitán’s death, for the craziness out there.’

  ‘That’s a load
of shit.’

  ‘Really? Why do you say that, Luke?’

  He rubbed his eyes, including the one that throbbed. The pain felt good. What was Camilo saying? Yes, there had been communist supporters in the mob but he remembered them from the rally in Tres Esquinas. They weren’t organised enough for this. There weren’t enough of them. He felt sick.

  ‘I don’t know any more, Camilo. As you can see, a small group of your countrymen beat me up tonight.’

  ‘Christ, Luke. I didn’t even know where you were until you turned up here.’

  ‘Yes, and here you are.’

  ‘You and I don’t matter. This destruction has spread beyond the city. The other papers, we’ve been pooling the news all night. The nationals too.’ Camilo poured himself another drink and downed it in one. ‘The Liberals took control of Cali, they’ve torched the port in Buenaventura and the oil refinery is under siege, and that’s still going on. There are pockets of rebellion everywhere; the radio stations have had their part to play. Nacional was taken over by some students and some journalists took control of Nueva Granada, working with Guzmán. There’s a police station to the west that’s holding up pretty well too.’ He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. ‘The army’s mainly interested in the buildings surrounding the palace, everything else has been left for the rebels. It’s been a land grab, political or otherwise.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  Camilo’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m a journalist, aren’t I?’

  Luke took the cigarette Camilo offered him. ‘I saw the bodies.’

  ‘Mainly peasants,’ Camilo said dismissively. ‘There was a rumour about Gómez being killed but it wasn’t him. Bastards got his manor in Fontibón and his newspaper too. El Siglo is no more.’

  ‘And El Tiempo?’

  ‘Still standing, along with El Espectador. That’s where Jornada is printed, so.’

  Luke’s head spun. Camilo was trying to make him forget. Forget about Felisa. ‘Why are you here, Camilo, really? You’re press. You don’t need to hide.’

  ‘I was wondering when you were going to ask me that.’ Camilo rose. ‘I’ve found her, Luke.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She’s safe.’

  ‘You have to tell me where she is.’

  Camilo poured himself another drink.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Camilo!’

  ‘OK, Luke, I’ll tell you, but don’t overreact.’

  ‘Where’s Felisa? Where is she!’

  ‘All right, she’s at my uncle’s hacienda.’

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘She was found in police custody. She was already pretty beat up.’

  Luke buried his head in his hands.

  ‘It’s OK, Luke. She asked for me. The Osorio name holds weight, even now. Actually, especially now. A car was leaving the city with my uncle’s staff from the town house. She was picked up and taken with them.’

  ‘OK, that’s good.’ He rose. How would he get there? No cars, no buses. He could walk. He’d just leave, and they wouldn’t stop him. They couldn’t. ‘I need to go to her, I need to see for myself.’

  ‘She’s OK. Please, calm down. It’s the safest place for her.’

  ‘Camilo, please. I need to see her.’

  ‘You can’t. The curfew. There aren’t any cars. You can’t move unless you’re diplomatic.’

  ‘There has to be one, someone still working.’

  ‘No, Luke: listen.’

  Camilo was right. He couldn’t hear a single engine. From the street there was nothing. They’d be shot if they went outside.

  ‘But how did you get here?’

  ‘I’m a journalist. They let me through.’

  ‘You mean, you’re an Osorio.’

  Camilo shrugged. ‘Stay here, Luke. Recover. Recuperate and then in a few days’ time you can see her again. If she wants to see you then.’

  ‘You know I’ll try to go there, with or without your help.’

  ‘It’s out of my hands, Luke.’ Camilo moved towards the door. ‘Rest. This isn’t your fight.’

  After Camilo left, Luke went into the bathroom to assess the full extent of his injuries. He wanted to see what Camilo had seen. Looking in the mirror he saw his eyelid was red and sore and the skin around the socket blotchy. The throbbing to the back of his head had never left. He removed his soaked shirt and found his ribs had turned black. It didn’t matter, though, none of it. Felisa was alive. He went into the bedroom and found dry clothes. He needed a plan, a plan to get past the army checkpoint out of town. He noticed the dresser. The top drawer had been pulled out and replaced, but not fully. He went across and opened it, shifting the contents, searching for anything which should have been there but wasn’t now. It all looked fine, didn’t it? Perhaps it was his head that wasn’t, the concussion, lingering. Felisa, Felisa; how would he make it to the hacienda? It was miles away. Back in the living room he tried the wireless again. The same order to stay off the streets was repeated across each of the stations. Out of the window the road was completely deserted. The message had been delivered to most of the city, then. People were hiding. He heard a woman weeping and looked out of the window again. Nothing. He sat back down and tried to think. The door to the apartment was pushed gently open and Mrs Draper, Karl’s wife, walked in.

  ‘Mr Vosey?’ she sniffed. ‘Thank God, you’re still here. I knew there’d be one friend.’

  ‘Mrs Draper, I thought you’d left. Where’s Karl?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘Take a seat, please.’ Luke guided her forward. ‘How on earth did you get here?’

  ‘My Karl is very well connected,’ she sniffed. ‘That car out there.’

  ‘But the curfew.’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know much about that. The driver had no problems, besides, rules are for natives. If you don’t mind me asking, Mr Vosey, are you OK? Your face, I mean, it looks painful. Do you want an aspirin?’ She went into her bag.

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ he lied. ‘Where is Karl, Mrs Draper?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for a couple of days now. He has his girls, you know, and so I thought he was off with one of them, but then this happened and… and it was so frightening!’ She started crying.

  ‘Please, Mrs Draper. Did he tell you anything, anything at all?’

  ‘He said something big was coming. That I should be ready to go. I don’t suppose you have anything to drink?’

  Luke went to the kitchen and found a clean glass. He returned and poured her a drink.

  ‘I haven’t seen him. I thought you’d both left.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Something Karl mentioned about going to the US, to see your mother.’

  ‘My mother?’ She blew into her handkerchief. ‘Do you know, Mr Vosey, you’re very kind to say that. That nice Mr Osorio was too when he came around to the apartment. I know Karl’s run away with one of his girls.’

  ‘Gabriel Osorio came to see you?’

  ‘Yes, said if I needed anything I should come up to his place. You know, the one he’s got just out of town; anytime I want.’

  ‘To the hacienda?’

  ‘Yes, worth a fortune it is, too. Came with his nephew – the one who wrote that piece on you.’

  ‘Camilo?’

  ‘That’s his name, yes. Looks just like Osorio.’

  ‘I was under the impression they didn’t speak?’

  ‘Nonsense, everyone knows he adores the boy, and the boy him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve gone very pale, Mr Vosey.’

  Luke had to think. The day in Guatavita, when Camilo had watched him leave. There had been something in it… no, it went further back than that, the article, the invitations to join them… Camilo had always been there – hanging around. He’d thought it was for Felisa.

  ‘I think I know where Karl is,’ Luke said. ‘Is your driver still outside?’

  ‘You don’
t imagine I sent him away, do you?’

  When they had left the city behind, Luke told the driver to go faster. Felisa. He knew where she was. He knew where to find her. If Camilo hadn’t lied about that too. In the car he’d thought of something else. He knew what he hadn’t found in the drawer earlier after Camilo’s visit – the envelope containing a handful of old letters and, most importantly, his passport. It was missing.

  37

  Luke told the driver to pull up some distance from the hacienda. He’d seen the armed men posted on the gate.

  ‘Mrs Draper, I’d like you to go now. Don’t wait for us to come out.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we drive in?’ She had started crying again.

  ‘Let me speak to Karl alone. I’ll find him. We’ll stay here with Osorio until the morning, then we’ll have one of his men take us back into town.’

  ‘But why can’t I come?’

  ‘See those gates?’

  She nodded.

  ‘We don’t know for sure what’s on the other side.’

  ‘But you said Karl was!’

  The men were getting suspicious. A couple of them had left their post and were walking over.

  ‘You need to trust me now, Mrs Draper. Go to the next village, the next town. Don’t go back to the city centre.’ He turned to the driver. ‘Is there somewhere safe you can take her?’

  ‘We’ll go to Usaquén. The violence hasn’t touched it,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll send word to you tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, squeezing his hand.

  ‘Now go.’

  Luke got out of the car as the men reached it. The driver turned the vehicle and sped off. Luke watched until the rear lights were eventually extinguished by the night. He turned to the two men, meeting two faces that said they’d been here before. Perhaps not with him, but with others. Something they enjoyed was about to happen again.

  ‘Come with us,’ one of them said.

  He went willingly, thinking only of Felisa.

  ‘Something funny?’ he said to a third man leaning against the gate. He was chewing on the end of a piece of tobacco and spat into the earth at Luke’s feet.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, standing back as the gate was opened.