Necropolis

by Santiago Gamboa

  Back in his cell, he thought about what he had just heard. It was all lies, Soraya couldn’t have had someone else, when would she have had the time? When he was in the shop they talked all the time, and then he went to La Maporita in the evenings. Impossible. If this was a TV soap opera, he thought, then Soraya would definitely have been making out with Jacinto, but this isn’t TV, a pity, he said to himself, because it means I’m going to be pushing daisies soon, but before that I want to know, I really want to know! There’s nothing sadder than dying without knowing.

  That night he went to Father Cubillos’s cell, but was unable to tell him anything because he found him feverish and delirious. The old man was seventy years old and seemed to have reached his limit. In that damp cell, his lungs must have been affected. Ramoncito, the Lord already has my service record in his hand and is looking through it now. He’s already taken the decision to free the two of us, yes: a while ago, as I was dozing, I seemed to hear Him, He came to see me and said, get ready, we’re going to get out of here, you and your neighbor, I’m going to free both of you, and then He showed me an image of Usiacurí; I think it was Usiacurí, but in reality it could have been any of those sad little towns in Colombia, the houses had been razed to the ground, the central square was a sea of ash and rubble, the church was like a burning torch, the general store had been turned to smoke, and He or somebody like Him was there, in a tunic, walking in the ruins of Usiacurí or Bellavista or even La Cascada, the name of the town doesn’t matter, He had His head covered and He was leading a group of friars who were praying in silence, walking toward a hill where there was a cross, the only one not yet burned, and they started climbing, treading on rubble and the charred bodies of peasants and children, and when they had almost reached the cross there was an explosion and bullets came flying out of the coffee plantations or the orange groves or somewhere, and they all fell, riddled with bullets, and there was nobody left, and then everything went black; and then I saw His hand, Ramoncito, saying to me, let’s go, I’m taking you out of here, and your neighbor too. You must both leave.

  He was delirious, and Ramón said, Father Cubillos, you’re leaving here for eternal life, how I envy you, but the priest looked at him and said, we’re both going, He told me how, come closer, bend your ear to me, and I’ll explain, He’s going to help us.

  After the explanation, the priest said: help me take out this piece of cloth that’s sewed into the cuffs of my pants, let’s see, can you find it? on it are the directions to a chapel on the outskirts of Barranquilla, the place is marked, and there’s a key, can you see it? Yes, father, here it is, a small key, yes, I have it. Then the priest said: take everything you see there, take out the case that’s there and throw away the key and take everything and go. You will find out what to do. What’s in that case is yours, He told me to tell you so you’d understand, do you see, this life is very confusing, Ramón.

  The old man was burning up with fever, and coughing so much he could barely speak. They said goodbye and Ramón went back to his cell, taking the piece of cloth with the map and the key. With Father Cubillos’s thread, he sewed it in his pants and started waiting. A couple of hours later he went back in the tunnel and, without moving the stone, heard voices saying, ugh, this guy kicked off a while ago, bring a bag and we’ll put him in it, and tonight Arnulfo’s men can take him and throw him in the river.

  Later, they came and asked him if he was ready to sign the deeds and he said, almost, when the time Dagoberto gave me is over, I’ll sign what you want, I’ve had it up to here with all this crap. One of the paramilitaries said to another: this corpse is getting skinny, what he needs is rice, we’ll give him rice! Then Ramón asked them, who did you kill in the kitchen? I noticed it was covered in blood. Nobody, they brought someone in who was already dead but we had to remove his scars, so that he couldn’t be identified. We’ll do the same for you if you behave yourself, Ramoncho, we’ll make sure your corpse looks nice and pretty, how about that?

  When he calculated that it was already dark, he got in the tunnel and crawled to the Father’s cell. They had put him in a waterproof black canvas bag with a zipper. He opened the bag, took out the priest and put him in the tunnel, pushed him with some difficulty all the way to his own cell, laid him down and covered him with the sheet, with his back to the door. Then he cut off a lock of white hair, went back to the Father’s cell with his things, closed up the tunnel, and got inside the bag. He left the ropes loosely knotted and within reach of his hand, and placed the lock of hair close to the zipper.

  Soon afterwards, the door opened and he felt them loading him, first onto a handcart, and then onto the bed of a truck. He was worried they would discover Father Cubillos’s body before too long, but as it was nighttime that would probably not happen until the next day. What river were they going to throw him in? Hopefully a deep one, otherwise the impact when he hit the bottom might kill him. But he was also thinking, is it true that Soraya was cheating on me? who ratted me out? was it Jacinto? Three hours later the truck stopped and he heard them say: right, in the water with him, let’s weigh it down with those bricks, we want this dummy to stay at the bottom. Shall we shoot when he falls in the water, chief? Don’t be so dumb, can’t you see we can’t make any noise? Just throw him in and let’s get out of here, I don’t like being around here too late, my friend’s been waiting for me at the Tinieblas for half an hour now.

  I’m in the Ariari, Ramón thought as he went in the water: the Tinieblas is the brothel in Puerto Lleras!

  As he fell, he felt the coldness of the water. He sank slowly. The bricks were heavy but two of the four came loose from the ropes as the bag fell. He had taken a deep breath, and he was a good swimmer, so he put his hand out, untied the knot, and the bricks sank to the bottom. The bag rose to the surface a hundred yards farther along the river, filled with air, and served as a life preserver to help him reach the bank.

  He stood up with his heart pounding and the adrenaline surging through his blood, and said to himself, what a good idea of God to get him out, maybe he would start believing in Him again. Now he had to get away quickly, because as soon as they realized they would be back. He walked and walked until he came to a shack that looked uninhabited. He looked through one of the windows and did not see anybody, so he entered cautiously; he found clothes, and a piece of bread. He changed and slowly ate, until he had calmed down. His heart stopped pounding and he went out again. He followed the path until he found a bigger one and then a road.

  He was in Puerto Lleras.

  At dawn he got in the undergrowth and started drying out what he had in the billfold: his Bancolombia card, a couple of cell phone recharging cards, his ID card, his driving license, his judicial certificate, he had all that. The only thing they had taken was his cell phone. They had never imagined he would escape so easily, that was why they had left everything in his pockets. He looked up and prayed a bit. For the soul of the priest who had helped him escape and for God, who had paid him back for his father’s death with this. Of course, he still had to get out of the area, but that now depended on his wits. He would have to find money, or steal a car, but he was not sure how he could do either, and he did not want to leave any trace, because they must have realized by now that he was gone. They could well be looking for him on the banks of the river: fortunately he had gotten rid of the bag, burying it in the undergrowth. But once again Father Cubillos performed a miracle for him, because as he walked, he came to a fence and saw that it was the airport of Puerto Lleras. He made up his mind to go in, he saw that a Cessna belonging to the Satena company was leaving for Villavicencio in forty minutes.

  He decided to take a risk. He went to the Banco Popular ATM, and put his card in, and it worked, so he took out a million pesos. With that he bought a ticket and then went to the bathroom to wait until it was time to board the plane, because it was possible that the paramilitaries might think to check the airport. Again he was in luck: he got on the plane and as it rose into the
air he felt a wave of tiredness come over him from all his aches and pains, but at the same time he realized that he was alive, and that he was not going to die as soon as he had thought.

  In Villavicencio, he did not even leave the airport but got on an Avianca flight to Barranquilla, via Bogotá, and by nightfall he was getting off at Ernesto Cortissoz Airport, beside the Caribbean, thanks to the help and inspiration of Father Cubillos, may God keep him at His right hand. He took a room in a hotel in the Abajo district. He got in the bathtub and let the water stream over his shoulders, head, and chest, and closed his eyes. He had the map and the key in his pants, and he thought: tomorrow I’m going to see what kind of gift the father left for me in that case.

  The next day he went out and walked to a shopping mall. He bought clothes, shoes, dark glasses, and a watch, and had a haircut. He went to Telecom and dialed Soraya’s number several times, but hung up when he heard her mother’s voice. Should he talk to Jacinto? call his shop? He did not trust anyone and if he dialed a cell phone they would know he was in Barranquilla, so it was better to wait. He called home and heard his mother’s voice, but decided not to talk, the paramilitaries were sure to question her and it was better if she knew nothing. He would call her or send for her later.

  The map on the piece of cloth was half erased, but he knew it by heart, so he went to look for the little chapel, which was in the same district, Abajo. He would have to figure out a way to get into the sacristy, which was where the hiding place was located. For the moment he went in and huddled on one of the benches. It was a simple chapel, with an altar at the front, two prayer rooms at the sides and two rows of benches. A young man was sweeping the corridor and three women were praying. He looked around and saw a half-open door on the right, between the two confessionals. He walked toward it, but just as he was a few feet away, somebody closed it. Never mind, he would come back the next day. He went back over the next four days, studying the chapel. He found out that there was a fairly young priest, a sacristan, three altar boys who came in the mornings, and a woman cleaner who lived at the back. The priest did not live in the sacristy but in a residence.

  He hatched a plan. It was quite simple: he would stay in the chapel after the noon service, get into the sacristy and go down to the cellar. This was what he did two days later. The door was locked, but he had a penknife and opened it without any difficulty. He ran down the stairs and came to a first room, which was a kind of prop room for the things used in the mass, and then a second, with a closet at the far end. Inside it was a smaller closet. He took out the key and opened it. The map said: below the closet, second tile. He stuck the penknife in at the side and saw that the tile was loose. He lifted it and saw a plastic bag with another one inside, then a third one, and finally, inside that one, a leather billfold. He put it in his belt, put the tile back in its place and closed the closet. On the way out he tried to conceal the fact that he had forced the lock, but it was impossible, because the wood was split. It was possible they would not realize, because they would not notice anything missing. He got back to the hotel with his heart pounding because of what he had done and had to lie on top of the bed for a while, before opening the billfold. He finally did so and found a couple of envelopes. In one of them was a sheet of paper that said:

  “Father cubillos I know you dont aprove the way I earn my living but I am very grateful to you, and that’s why I want to give you this. you brought me up and the little education I have you gave me and when I was young I got in trouble and you helped me to get out of prison. thank you father cubillos. I prefer not to go and see you because maybe you will pull me by the hair and we will fall out and thats why I am sending you this with my little sister ester. I am leaving you fifty bills of a hundred dollars and a key with a number. that number is the number of a safety depozit box in the banco central of panama, in panama city, where you will find everything you need any time you have a problem or want to help somebody. its the way I want to give back to you all I got from you. thank you, father cubillos, you were the father I never had. Edwin.”

  Ramón read the letter several times, then counted the money. There was five thousand dollars. Who was this Edwin? another para? a local drug dealer? It must have been something like that, although Father Cubillos had not gotten around to telling him. Almost certainly a para, well, with that five thousand dollars they were starting to pay him back for what they had taken from him. The next day he went to Bogotá and presented himself at the offices on Calle Cien, showed his ID card and asked for a passport. As he stood in line, he kept looking around. By the afternoon, he had his passport and he went to buy his ticket to Panama. He really wanted to call Soraya but he restrained himself, and what he did instead was say to a taxi driver, take me where the girls are, where are the girls here? Jacinto had been to Bogotá once and had told him that the brothels there were the best, that you could find women of all races, really amazing, gorgeous women, oh boy. The flight was not until the next day, so he wanted to go out for a few drinks anyway. The taxi driver looked at him in the mirror and said, how much do you want to pay? I want one that’s good, but not too expensive either. Right, boss, I know where. He took him to a place on Primero de Mayo called Luceros, he paid four hundred thousand pesos for a 22-year-old brunette and took her to the Paracaídas motel, near the airport. Everything was perfect. He could eat there, have a few glasses of aguardiente and enjoy the girl, who was really good. Jacinto was right, the girls in Bogotá were the best, even though this one was from Cali. That son of a bitch Jacinto, could it have been him? Better not to think about it.

  The next day he gave the girl a hundred dollars as a tip and at eleven in the morning he set off for the airport. He had a feeling he was being watched, that somebody was walking behind him, but it was pure paranoia. Who could have followed his trail if he hadn’t dared to speak to anybody? Then something occurred to him that got him really worried: if his mother had reported his disappearance, then there was a strong possibility that the agents of the Security Service would grab him when he tried to leave the country. He walked anxiously to immigration and got in line. When it was his turn, he went to the window and, with his heart skipping a beat, handed his passport to the official. Of course he was from the Plains, which meant he was good at keeping a cool head, so he looked the official in the eyes and said, I’m going on vacation, one week, no more. The man put his name in the computer and a shiver went through Ramón. He had heard that the Security Service people were in league with the paras. But once again Father Cubillos protected him, because the official handed him back his passport and said, have a nice trip, next. He got on the plane and as it taxied along the runway it struck him once again that the kidnapping and all that violence were taking him toward something new, and he remembered the words of the priest when he had said, a person cannot understand the actions of God, because when God does what He does, He is taking into account the totality of a life. It was the first time he had left Colombia and he felt a mixture of euphoria and fear. Would Panama be safe?

  In Panama City he took a taxi and as he only had a small case he went straight to the Banco Central. He looked at the avenue, the buildings, the cars, and the people. Just like Colombia, he thought, nothing special. The key had the number B-367. He went to the window marked Customer Service and when it was his turn he said, thank you, I need to see this box. One moment, somebody will go with you. A tall, sophisticated woman said to him, follow me, this way. They walked up and down stairs, past a reinforced door and then another and then an elevator to the second basement. B-367? this is it. She opened the cubicle for him and then left him alone and he took out an attaché case something like an airline pilot’s. He was stunned: brand new bundles of dollars. How much was there? A note on the bills, dated five years earlier, said: “Dear Father, by order of my client Señor Edwin I hereby deposit the sum of three million dollars. If you wish to open an account go to the Balboa Investment Bank and ask to speak with Señor Emilio Granada, who is in charg
e of offshore accounts. He will not ask you any awkward questions if you say you are a friend of Edwin’s.”

  He took the case and went out on the street. To his surprise, the Balboa Bank was just opposite, on a corner. This must be the financial district, he thought. Señor Emilio Granada opened a numbered account for him and issued him with a card for taking out cash and making payments, and said, were you very close to Don Edwin? Ramón did not know what to reply, and said, I’m close to a priest he was fond of. If that’s the case, said the banker, let me give you my condolences, maybe you did not know that Don Edwin passed away last year, four bullets in the back. He crossed some men, and you know how dangerous that can be.

  He still had about three thousand dollars left from what he had brought with him, so he did not make a withdrawal, but went to look for a hotel. He chose a Holiday Inn facing the beach, and that same night he sat looking at the ocean and telling himself, what a contradictory life this is, a few days ago I was dead and now I’m a millionaire, I’m here by the sea, I can do what I like . . . But I’m alone. Which of the two was it? or was it both of them? or neither? were they bugging my phone? That could have been it, those sons of bitches have their noses in everything.