Necropolis

by Santiago Gamboa

  This is where the story of Ramón Melo García really takes off, because with that money he stayed on in Panama, first one week and then another, until he felt safe. When, after three months, he finally decided to call his mother, it was his aunt who picked up the phone and gave him the bad news. She said, your mother died, or rather, she let herself die, being left alone like that, and people here saying the guerrillas had kidnapped you and that you’d died on the road. Who said that? I don’t know, Ramoncito, that was what people started saying. That Señor Dagoberto came around a few times to talk to your mother. He told her he was going to do what he could to get you back but that she had to help him, keep him informed. Oh, Aunt, don’t tell anyone about this conversation, do you swear? Yes, sweetie, I swear, but where are you? A long way away, Aunt, a very long way away, but don’t worry, I’ll be back.

  He preferred not to ask after Soraya, let alone Jacinto. The less he stirred things up, the better. He would have time to find out what had happened. Something had hardened inside him. He felt sorry about his mother but that was all. No tears came out. That was one more thing Dagoberto owed him. They had not seen the last of him.

  The director of the Balboa Bank helped him to obtain a residence permit, as he had decided to settle in Panama City and invest. He rented an apartment in Paitilla and looked for premises to set up an auto repair shop, which was his line of work. He found it in the same neighborhood and started setting it up. When he had everything ready, he sat down to wait and the first customer turned out to be a Colombian in a Pontiac. Ramón got down under the car and changed the brake pads and by the time the man had gone, his hands were shaking, the fear had come back, would they come all the way to Panama? did he have to go farther? But he stayed and worked hard, and before the year was out, he already had two shops in the city. He was good at his job, and very reliable. None of his customers could have imagined that he had a fortune in the bank, but his life was here, surrounded by screws and camshafts and carburetors. He didn’t want to have a girlfriend who would ask too many questions, so every Friday he would go to a bar called the Púrpuras, where they had a show, and pick up whichever girl he liked the best, making sure she was not a Colombian.

  He lived like this for more than four years, until one day he read in the newspapers that the paramilitaries in Colombia were demobilizing, that they were negotiating to hand over their arms and surrender to the authorities. He searched and searched but did not see any reference anywhere to Dagoberto or La Cascada, so he waited a little longer.

  By that time Ramón already had a chain of auto repair shops. Six in Panama City and three outside, on the highways. He invented a slogan: Drive slowly and travel safely, why not? He was the one who introduced into Panama the culture of having one’s car serviced before going on a journey. It is a small country, and people travel a lot by car, which was lucky for him. By now he had already doubled the inheritance from Father Cubillos and had bought a better apartment, in Bella Vista, which was more like La Cascada, even though it was very different, starting with the climate, but he got used to it. He’d also gotten used to the solitude, to not having any friends or girlfriends. In his dreams, he would be back in the cell, feeling the fear when he heard the footsteps coming closer, seeing Dagoberto and the paramilitaries who were always with him, saying, you’re going to die, scum, you look like a corpse already. Sometimes, out on the streets, he thought he recognized them. His hands would start sweating, his heart would start pounding, and he would forget where he was. But he was a man of the Plains and all that psychiatric stuff was not for him. So he finally summoned up courage and picked up a Colombian girl from the bar and asked her where she was from. I’m a country girl, from Pereira. And how old are you, sweetheart? 22, how about you? Me? I’m already old, and how did such a pretty girl end up in Panama? I came here for work, because there was no work in Pereira, and in Bogotá it’s very cold, and besides, they pay better here. But you’re Colombian too, aren’t you, darling? His jaw trembled, but he said, yes, I’m Colombian. Where from? Villavicencio. Oh, a man from the Plains? that’s why you ride me so well, ha, ha, don’t worry, just my sense of humor. And why did you come to Panama? To work. What kind of work? My kind of work, girl, don’t ask so many questions. No, don’t tell me, are you a trafficker? don’t worry, darling, I love traffickers. No, girl, I’m not, come on, I’ll get you a taxi. That was how things were when he went out with these girls, but this one, this country girl, was one he chose several times and in the end she became a friend and he would call her on her cell phone or pick her up from her apartment. One time, he took her to the beach. Her name was Daisy. Let’s go to the beach, but no questions, O.K.? O.K., darling, but you’re funny, you know? what’s with all the secrecy? did you kill somebody or what? why all this hiding? No, Daisy, I never killed anybody, how can you even think that? It’s just that you aren’t normal, with such a nice face and all that money and living alone the way you do . . . Where did you leave your wife? Look, sweetheart, I said no questions, why don’t you sing me a song instead, you have such a nice voice. Oh, you’re such a liar! but I feel good with you, you know, and that was how they spent their Sunday afternoons.

  Every day he read the news from Colombia: that the paramilitaries were going, that they were not going, that they had already gone, that they were still there in the mountains, that they were rearming in the cities, that everything was a lie, that they had handed over their arms, that they were being extradited, but he never found any mention of his story, so he decided on a strategy. He started letting his beard grow and cut his hair very short and dyed it. As he could not make himself any taller or shorter than he was, he decided to fatten up a bit; every day, even though it disgusted him, he ate two or even three McDonald’s burgers; at first they gave him diarrhea and made him vomit but in the end it worked and he started to develop a paunch. He put on glasses with flat lenses, and bought himself some casual clothes and some smart office clothes. For about four months he prepared his return journey to La Cascada. The time had come. He had to know what had happened.

  His friend, the director of the Balboa Bank, helped him to obtain Panamanian papers so that he could enter Colombia as a foreigner. The riskiest part of his plan was that he had decided to take Daisy with him, as a man on his own attracts more attention to himself. He said to her, look, sweetheart, you’re coming with me on a little trip to Colombia and I’ll pay you well, the only thing you have to do is be with me and keep quiet, we’re going to Villavicencio, do you know it? no? it’s nice there, I’ll put you in a really good hotel and you can spend your time in the swimming pool and go with me wherever I have to go, and the more you keep your mouth shut the more I pay you, O.K.? Daisy was really pleased and said, fantastic, I’m going to Colombia, I love my country, you are a trafficker, aren’t you? obviously you’re going there for that, but like I told you, don’t worry, darling, I won’t say a word, I grew up among those people, I’ll go with you and keep my mouth shut, I’m not stupid. It struck Ramón that it was better this way, with her thinking he was a drug trafficker, so he went along with her.

  They arrived at El Dorado airport in Bogotá and waited for the shuttle to Villavicencio. They landed just after seven at night and went straight to the Hotel del Llano. In order not to attract attention, he did not ask for a suite, just a really good room with a view of the swimming pool. Daisy told him they should go down to the bar to dance and he said, okay, let’s go and have an aguardiente, but we won’t stay too late because we have to go out early tomorrow.

  The next day he hired a car from the hotel, an Opel station wagon, and drove straight to Acacías, in the high Ariari. There was a good breeze and the smell of the Plains brought tears to his eyes. He held them back as his childhood passed in front of his eyes: those palms, those ceiba trees, that earth, and that air were his, or rather, he belonged to the water and the land and the trees and the grazing cattle. Daisy must have heard him breathing heavily but did not say anything. She kept her mo
uth shut. In Acacías, they had a bite to eat and Ramón kept looking around to see if he could spot anything strange. They drove farther into the Plains. They had lunch in Guaymaral and Ramón started to feel an itch in his neck, a tightness in his lungs, so much so that he left half the roast veal he had ordered. They carried on. The smell of the Ariari reached him as they turned off toward Cubarral, and he thought: I learned to swim in that river, and that was what saved me. Snapshots of that night came back to him and beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip. Very soon he caught sight of Cubarral, the church with its dome, the clouds behind it like cotton wings. He remembered Soraya and his stomach lurched. They came to the bridge over the Ariari and, with his T-shirt bathed in sweat, he saw the Rey de la Pachanga and, at the bend in the road behind it, the lights of the Llano Grande motel. Everything was the same as ever.

  At four in the afternoon, they reached La Cascada and went straight to the Parque Bolívar. Let’s have a beer, Daisy, and I don’t want you to look at anything except me. He had told her to dress like a tourist, in sweatshirt and tennis shoes. He was dressed in the same style, in T-shirt and jeans. They had the beer and Ramón, behind his semi-opaque glasses, sought inspiration in Father Cubillos. Here I am, Father, I need you more than ever now, help me to solve this difficult dilemma, that’s the only thing I want. After the beer, calmer now, he got up and walked to the internet café, La Maporita, but when he got there he saw that it was not called that anymore. Now it was called Café Hilton and had better computers and decent furniture. He turned, grabbed Daisy’s hand, and went in.

  A popular reggaeton tune was playing. Ramón asked for a computer and sat down. Daisy did not say a word for a second and only opened her mouth to say, darling, can I go on Face-book for a bit? There were three young girls working there but Soraya was nowhere to be seen. His fingers trembled as he tried to work the mouse. Daisy chatted for a while, then he paid and they left. He went back to the car and drove around the town. He passed his main repair shop, where he had had his office, and saw it open, and working. It did not look any better or worse than it had before. He slowed down a bit, hoping to catch sight of somebody, and there, at the far end, he thought he recognized Demetrio, one of his workers, but then a car came up behind him and hooted its horn and he had to drive on. He approached Jacinto’s house and did not see anything unusual, it was all closed up, as was Soraya’s. He could not do anything more for now, so he decided to go back to Villavicencio. It had been a bad tactic to show his face here like that, without a plan, and it was dangerous. He had to think.

  The next day, he had a look around the center of Villavi­cencio and suddenly, on the opposite sidewalk, he saw a sign that showed him the way: Delta Agency, private investigations, and a telephone number. He took out a ballpoint pen and wrote it down at the top of a bill. That was the solution! Come on, let’s go back to the hotel, girl, I just had a brainwave. Aren’t you going to take me shopping? there are some nice things here . . . Later, sweetheart, later, I have work to do now, let’s go, you can use the pool.

  They got back to the hotel and he called the number. When they answered, he said: hello, I’d like to know something about the service you offer. Well, if it’s for a matrimonial matter there’s one rate; if it’s a work-related problem another; if it’s a family thing or something like that, we look at it on a case by case basis, may I ask why you’re calling us? To ask if you take on work outside Villavicencio. Of course, boss, we’re globalized, we go from Puerto Gaitán to the Guaviare, tell me where we have to go? I need a little job done in La Cascada, is that possible? Say no more . . . what kind of case are we talking about? matrimonial? an affair of the heart? work-related? we also issue Facebook and Hotmail passwords, but they’re more expensive, are you interested? Not for now. I’ll send you a letter with the information and an advance. Then I’ll call you again. Sure, boss, and what’s your name? I’m the Poor Friend, remember that, the Poor Friend. O.K., boss, I hope when you say poor that’s just a metaphor, right? Ha, ha. I say that because if the case turns out to be complicated it’ll cost you. Don’t worry, it’s a metaphor, and what about you, detective? what’s your name? Oh yes, of course, I’m Marcos Ebenezer Giraldo, boss, at your service.

  He mailed him the details that afternoon and called him the next day. This is the Poor Friend, did you receive my package? No, my friend, nothing at all. I sent it by mail yesterday. Ah, no . . . That won’t arrive for another two or three days, the mail here is terrible! Never mind, we can wait, are you in a hurry? Only to help you, boss. Well, you’ll get the chance and I can assure you, if you’re discreet and do a good job you won’t be sorry. All right, boss, don’t worry, my motto is, our pleasure is in discretion. Or this one: our profession is an inside job. Seriously, friend, discretion is my middle name, I’m so professional they call me the invisible man, I make less noise than an Alka-Seltzer in a pot of yogurt, nobody even knows I’m there. Call me the day after tomorrow and I’ll let you know.

  He spent two more days at the hotel, going out very little, like a businessman on vacation with his girlfriend. Daisy was as good as her word, she was cautious and kept her promise not to speak or attract attention, even with that terrific body of hers and everything, she was discreet. Ramón was starting to feel nervous about being there, as he assumed that the paramilitaries, who knew everything, might easily discover his presence. After two days he called the detective again. Did you receive it? Yes, boss, over and out. Perfect. I have the names of the two people, the address of the auto repair shop that has to be investigated, and the money arrived, too, by a miracle nobody robbed the mailman. And is it enough? Of course, boss, it’s enough to start the investigation, no problems, if it turns out I need more I’ll submit it and then you pay me, all fully invoiced, obviously. And how long do you think these enquiries will take? Two weeks maximum, boss, and everything will be sorted and ready. Good, then I’ll call you again in two weeks. Sure, boss, write down my cell phone number, in case you have any questions.

  That day he went back to Panama, and to be honest, leaving the airport and driving to his house, he began to breathe more easily, and he felt free. His stay in the Plains had been an emotional experience, but it had revived the fear. He paid Daisy and thanked her. Without her, everything would have been more dangerous; he decided that, when he went back, he would take her again, as she gave him the perfect front. He tried to analyze his feelings and realized that what he had inside him was not pain, or anger, or even regret, but above all curiosity. His heart had become hardened. So much solitude and so many questions had led him to consider his misfortunes as if they had happened to someone else.

  Two weeks later he called the detective on Skype, which was good because the call could not be traced, and asked him about his report. It’s almost ready, my friend, I just need to copy a final piece of information that I already have, of course as I said it’s a first step, if you want to carry on we’ll have to do another contract, won’t we? Yes, of course, said Ramón. Good, my friend, now when can you come for the report? No, I don’t have time to collect it, can you do me a favor and scan it and send it to me at this address, write it down, poorfriend21@hotmail.com, and for anything else contact me that way. All right, my friend, do you mind if I ask a question? Ramón did not say either yes or no. Is it because of the girl that you’re doing all this? There followed a silence. Ah, I thought so, I’ll send someone to the corner right now to scan it and then I’ll send it to you, boss, glad to be of service.

  It was afternoon by the time the mail arrived from the detective with the document attached, and the photographs. Seeing all that, Ramón closed the shop, and sat down in the office with a bottle of rum. He drank five glasses, one after the other, before even daring to open the files. He left the photographs and started with the text, it would be easier to read first. There it all was:

  Soraya Mora has been married to Jacinto Gómez Estupiñán for three years and they have a daughter, Gloria Soraya, who is eighteen months old.
Soraya is a housewife and Jacinto is the owner of the restaurant Luna Roja, the bar El Feliz, and two auto repair shops, Su Motor, which he took over after his former partner Ramón Melo García was kidnapped and later killed by the FARC. Señor and Señora Gómez live in the exclusive residential community of El Paraíso, in the new part of La Cascada, and have a farm near Lejanías where they grow African palm and raise cattle.

  Señor Jacinto Gómez Estupiñán is divorced from Señora Araceli Ramos, to whom he pays seven hundred thousand pesos a month in alimony. At the divorce hearing, she accused him of adultery and physical violence. After the divorce, Señora Ramos went to live with her mother in Villavicencio, claiming to have been threatened with death if she stayed in La Cascada.

  Soraya Mora spends the day with her mother looking after the little girl, Gloria Soraya. In the morning, from nine to twelve, they go together to the kindergarten in the residential community where they live, then they have lunch and in the afternoon go shopping and visit the Häagen-Dazs ice cream parlor on Plaza de Bolívar or simply stay at home and cook, which is their hobby. The mother goes on Thursday afternoons to a choral group and Señora Soraya plays parqués with her friends from the gym on Fridays at the Escrúpulos tearooms.

  Jacinto Gómez Estupiñán leaves home at seven in the morning and goes to the restaurant, then to the market to supervise the purchases of meat for the day, the specialty of his establishment being fresh meat, straight from the farm. At noon he drops by the main branch of Su Motor, on Calle Acacias, and talks with his partner, Arnulfo Solano Arango. Then he has lunch at home with his wife and mother-in-law, but takes his siesta at the house of Señorita Fernanda Osorio Timoco, in the Antioquia district, a young woman of twenty-seven with whom Jacinto Gómez has a relationship of a sexual nature, and for whom he pays the rent on her house, which is 280,000 pesos. Señor Gómez has his account in the Banco Ganadero.