Is he dead? Yes, Ma’am. You killed him? No, Ma’am, he killed himself. Do you realize what you have done?… You should have killed him… What? You must be a heretic, that’s why you don’t understand. Excuse me, what should I understand? You’ve condemned his soul. What? Suicides can’t enter heaven!.. I’m very sorry, Ma’am. You are not sorry and that’s obvious. Forgive me. Only God can forgive you.
The woman glares at him with fury, turns her back on him and walks resolutely toward the patrol car, where a policewoman is talking to the child. Marcelo walks up to Lascano.
This sure turned out like shit. What else do you think could have happened? You’re probably right. Our past always catches up with us. What are you going to do now? I’m tired, exhausted. All I want now is a bath and a bed.
Pereyra knows he’s not going to get any sleep tonight. They shake hands and say goodbye. Lascano walks to the corner. For some unimaginable reason, he turns and looks at Pereyra talking to a policeman, who nods and heads to the building. Marcelo goes up to the child, talks to him, then gives him his hand and they also begin to walk toward the door of the building. At that moment, the child turns around and looks at Lascano. His heart skips a beat. Those eyes! That combination of defiance and melancholy, yes, more than anything, it’s the look in his eyes. Could it be? He watches him disappear behind the door, holding Marcelo’s hand, and he feels beleaguered, undone. A taxi drives by, he stops it and he gets in. There’s a pack of Lucky Strikes on the dash. What the hell. Lascano asks the driver for a cigarette, which he gives him reluctantly. He lights it and leans back in the seat. Behind him, the corner where that tragedy took place begins to drift into the past tense.
Damn!
23
Several times during the long night, Lascano is woken by the same dream. He’s stark naked and walking down a narrow corridor of fog, which seems to go on forever. Suddenly, through the haze, there emerges the greyish outline of a human figure carrying a lance adorned with multicoloured precious stones. The faceless man points the lance at him and says: If you don’t do something with your life, I’ll take it away from you.
In the morning, he cuts himself near his lip while shaving; the blood spurts out. He lets it drip down his face. Contemplating himself in the mirror, he is reminded of a vampire in a B movie, the kind he’d see in the neighbourhood theatre when he was a child and when this life he is leading was still unimaginable.
He decides to go and pick up Miranda. But first he must see Pereyra to get him to expedite the order that would make Mole’s detention a formal arrest.
When he gets to Marcelo’s office, they tell him they don’t expect him until noon. He leaves word that he will be at the Usia, the cafe in front of the courthouse on Tucuman. He leaves the Palace of Justice, enters the cafe and starts reading the paper.
He’s about to finish when Marcelo arrives, sits down in front of him and orders a cafe cortado.
How was your night? It’s still not over, I haven’t slept a wink. You know what, Pereyra? What? I’ll wager a lot of money that boy is not the Giribaldis’ son. Why? I think he was stolen. Why? Didn’t you notice last night, he never even looked at his so-called mother? And what’s that supposed to mean? In a stressful situation, a kid’ll usually look at his parents, his way of finding out what’s going on. It’s natural. Well, this one didn’t. I didn’t notice. I did. And there’s something else. What? That boy looks a lot like some people I know whose grandson was taken at Coti Martinez. You really think that’s him? Hell, I don’t know what to think. Could just be wishful thinking that those people find him. Who are they? A family in Haedo, last name Napolitano. Tell them to call me and we’ll do a DNA test. Good. I wanted to talk to you about something else, about Miranda. Who? Miranda the Mole, the bank robber…
It takes Lascano a few minutes to explain the situation. They agree they’ll give the chief of the Haedo precinct credit for the arrest and that Lascano himself will be in charge of transferring him. The prosecutor tells him that he’ll look the other way as far as his illegal detention of Miranda goes, but warns him that’s the only irregularity he’ll let slide. Lascano agrees and congratulates himself for not mentioning anything about the reward. Nor does Marcelo think to ask him his reasons for detaining him; they’ve already established a bond, common cause as enforcers of the law. Marcelo lends him his car and tells the driver and a policeman from the Tribunales police station to accompany Lascano to pick up Miranda. They get in the car and leave. A movie showing an endless series of moments of other people’s lives passes by the car window.
In the meantime, Mole is smoking a cigarette and waiting calmly in his cell. A guard walks by. In the office next to him, Peloski, the officer in charge, comes on duty, a stack of papers under his arm. Miranda calls to the guard.
Hey, kid. What’s up? Do me and yourself a favour. What? When Roberti arrives, tell him Miranda the Mole is here and that it’s important. The super is going to be grateful to you. If I see him I’ll tell him. Thanks.
Mole watches him walk away down the hallway and smiles. Peloski has overheard part of the conversation. He stops the guard as he walks by.
Who were you talking to? The prisoner. There’s a prisoner? Maldonado brought him in yesterday afternoon. He spoke with Medina, then left him here and took off.
In a quick glance Peloski checks the log. Nobody’s been booked.
What did he tell you? That when I see Roberti I should let him know that Miranda the Mole is here. He told you he was Mole? Yeah, Mole. What else did he tell you? Nothing, that Roberti would thank me. Okay. Do me a favour, go to the armoury, see if Gomez is there and send him to me. At your service, sir. We are all at God’s service.
Going to and from the armoury won’t take less than fifteen minutes. Plenty of time for what Peloski is planning. When the spring hinge shuts the door, he goes around the counter and walks the few steps down the row of cells until he sees Mole sitting there, smoking peacefully. Mole looks up and nods. Peloski has no further doubt: that’s Miranda the Mole all right. He goes back to the counter, but first he opens the door and checks to make sure there’s nobody outside in the corridor. He picks up the telephone and dials a number.
Hello, Superintendent. Peloski here… Listen. We’ve netted a very interesting fish here at the station… He’s been prepped and is ready for the grill… I’d get here right away… I know, I know, but this one’s worth the trouble… Okay… No worries… Right… I’ll expect you… Make it quick.
Lascano gets out of the car and rings the doorbell. Beba opens it immediately and steps aside to let him in. When the mutt sees him, he dashes out like a wind-up dog and lies down in his basket.
Any news? Nothing much, Beba. Last night I was present at the arrest of an army major, the man who ran Coti Martinez. Oh. So? Well, it turned out pretty bad, because before we could do anything he grabbed a gun and shot himself. Why are you telling me this, Lascano? It’s just that this major and his wife live with a boy they say is their son. Fortunately, the boy wasn’t home when it happened, but he arrived a while later. And? I can’t be sure and I don’t want to raise any false hopes, Beba… But? But that boy looks a lot like you and Eva, though I might just be imagining things. I want to see him. Look, the case is in the hands of Marcelo Pereyra, a public prosecutor. I already told him about you and he’s expecting you to call him. Here’s the number. Thank you. You’ve got nothing to thank me for and I suggest you don’t get your hopes up. I don’t think you need to suffer any more than you already have. Let me be the judge of that. As you wish. May I ask you for something? What? A picture of Eva.
Beba walks into the back room and returns a few minutes later with an instant photograph: Eva in a bikini on a terrace with sun umbrellas above a beach. The shadow of the man who took it is falling over her lap. Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, Lascano stuffs the photograph in his pocket.
On an impulse that surprises Beba and himself, Lascano gives her a kiss on the cheek, turns on his heels and l
eaves the house. Just when he’s about to open the door of the car, he hears Beba calling out to him. He turns around.
Come here a minute.
Twenty minutes after Peloski’s call, Roberti enters the station. If he’d come a bit sooner, he would have crossed paths with the guard who was supposed to give him Mole’s message and whom Peloski had sent on a mission for the sole purpose of getting him out of the way. The officer smiles at the superintendent.
Who is it? Miranda the Mole. No kidding, who brought him in? Lascano, with Maldonado. Perro? The very same. I thought he bit the dust. He’s alive and kicking. Word in the force is that he’s dead. He’s working for himself. Did they book him? No, I’m telling you he’s ready for the grill. Go see for yourself. Don’t let anybody disturb us. Leave it to me, but afterwards, don’t forget your poor friends.
Peloski points his finger in the direction of the cells, as if this were necessary. Roberti takes a few quick strides down the hall. When he sees Mole he slows down, then stops. He picks up a bench that’s leaning against the wall and brings it up close to the bars of the cell where Mole is sitting peacefully and smoking.
Mole! How delightful to see you. You’ve got no idea how happy I am that you’ve come for a visit. How’re you feeling, Roberti, old friend? Very well, Mole, very well, and I’m quite sure I’m going to feel even better very shortly. There’s nothing like a man with faith. Let’s see, what shall we do: we come to some kind of understanding or I book you? What about Lascano, what do we do about him? Lascano is already taken care of. How? Perro isn’t with the force any more. He got involved with subversives. I thought they’d killed him, but it seems like he got away and now he’s slipped back. Just one more of the benefits of democracy. That means he nabbed me for nothing, the motherfucker. He screwed you big time.
Mole sits there for a moment staring off into space, his index and middle finger holding the cigarette. He tosses the butt to the floor and crushes it. He smiles.
What were you asking me? If we should make a deal or if I should book you?
Lascano stops in the middle of the living room, just a few feet away from the armchair where Eva’s father is sitting and staring at the television screen. Beba walks over to the wooden sideboard, opens a drawer and starts rifling through a pile of papers. For a quick instant, the man moves his blank eyes away from the TV and glues them on Lascano, who feels obligated to look at him and give him an equally blank smile. Beba closes the drawer, turns and hands Lascano a somewhat crinkled airmail envelope.
There you have it, Eva’s address; she talks about you in the letter… and about herself.
Lascano hesitates, afraid of what this letter might say, but he ends up taking it, glancing at it, then stuffing it in his pocket. He feels the need, the urgent need, to leave that house as quickly as possible
Thank you, Beba, but… Don’t say anything, Lascano. I wish you luck.
He nods, turns around and walks out. As he closes the door behind him he feels like he is about to faint. He inhales deeply, then exhales, then walks to his car. As the chauffeur drives him to the station he imagines what that family must have been like before it was destroyed by the death squad. Probably much like the family he always looked for, dreamt about, longed for. The one he kept believing he would find, but something always got in his way. The death of his parents, the accident that took Marisa away, Eva’s precipitous escape when those military bastards ambushed him. He hopes with all his heart that Beba finds her grandson. He hopes that child can live what remains of the childhood they stole from him, stop pretending he believes the lies of the adults around him, grab a cat by the tail, play hooky at school, play with matches, be loved, cuddled, scolded — without a horrendous secret always getting in the way. The car stopping abruptly in front of the station brings him back to the here and the now.
Lascano’s ride into the centre is a long, one-of-a-kind cursing session against that Goddamnmotherfucking-sonofabitchRoberti. He can’t believe he let Mole go. He must have paid him off, like he tried to do to him, but Roberti took him up on it and here Lascano is, once again, in deep shit. When he finishes cursing the superintendent, he starts on Pereyra. If he hadn’t delayed him this morning, Mole wouldn’t have got away. But things don’t work out like that; luck is a whore who is usually fucking someone else.
24
All afternoon and well into the night, couples get in their cars and drive to the Palermo forest to do whatever it is couples do in their cars. This custom, so deeply ingrained in the inhabitants of Buenos Aires, has led to the area being called Villa Carino — Tenderness Town. The local cops, paid off by the proprietors of the nearby bars, mind their own business. This is where Miranda the Mole has chosen to meet his wife, because this is where they used to come when they were first dating. Here he brought her proudly in his first stolen car. Here they made love for the first time.
Sitting in his one-hundred-per-cent-legal car, he listens to a cassette of Frank Sinatra while he waits for her. She must have taken the long way around, to shake off any possible tails. He trained her well. Yes, that must be why she’s late. He keeps looking in the rearview and side mirrors. He catches glimpses of what’s going on in the other cars: couples are drinking, kissing, fondling each other; here and there someone still needs convincing of what she’ll end up doing anyway; a blonde ducks, disappearing from sight. The glories of Villa Carino. A taxi stops on the corner. It’s her. He watches her pay, get her change, get out of the taxi and look around for a sign. Miranda switches his headlights on and off and she walks toward him. Her hips sways back and forth, silhouetted against the red brick wall. He watches as she approaches with quick steps, then she gets in the car, closes the door and without looking at him, drops her head. She’s crying.
What’s wrong, my Duchess? I can’t do it any more, Eduardo, I can’t. That’s what’s going on. But, why, Duchess? You want to know why? Of course I do, my love. I’m going to tell you why, but please, let me talk. Don’t interrupt me. Speak, tell me whatever you want. Okay.
Susana looks down, takes a handkerchief out of her purse and wipes her nose. She takes a deep breath. Miranda leans back against the door so he can see her better, then places his arm over the steering wheel.
You stood me up the other night at the pizzeria. I had a problem, I couldn’t make it. I told you not to interrupt me!
Duchess is speaking in a whisper, but it sounds like she’s shouting. Miranda bites his lips.
I’m worried to death. What are you worried about, Duchess? Everything, I’m worried about everything! Ever since you got out, I’ve been living in a state of panic. A few days ago there was a big commotion right outside the house, cops and television cameras. I went out to see what was going on. I thought you had come and they were there waiting for you. But it was something else. So, what about it? There was someone at the door, Lascano. Lascano? Yeah. He told me he’d arranged all that to stop them from kidnapping us to get the money you stole. Who was going to kidnap you? I don’t know, some cops. Lascano mentioned someone by the name of Flores. He told us we should leave the house because he said they’d definitely be back.
Susana is twisting the handkerchief in her hands, and a stifled groan escapes her lips. Miranda watches her, trying to muster his courage. She shoots him a look full of resentment.
I can’t even be in my own house any more! Where are you living? At my uncle’s. And Fernando? Fernando, too, I wouldn’t abandon my son!
Susana lets this reproach rip like the lash of a whip. Miranda receives it like the stab of a knife in his gut.
Calm down, Duchess, please. I don’t want to calm down! I’m furious and I want to be furious, don’t you understand? But that’s not the end of it. The other morning, when I went out shopping, I saw it. What? On the front page of the newspaper, at the stand on the corner. A full-page picture of three people lying in a pool of blood, and next to it was a picture of you and three other guys. I felt this blast of rage and sadness tearing through my ches
t… Carlos, the newspaper man, who’s been there ever since I was so big, he was watching me, spying on me, waiting to see my reaction. All I could do was stand there, paralysed, staring at the picture, wondering if it was you lying dead on the front page? I didn’t dare go and find out. Had my worst fears come true? Then Carlos, as if he knew what I was thinking, said it wasn’t you, that you’d escaped. Those words broke the spell. It was as if they woke me up. I looked at Carlos and I realized how he’d aged, and seeing him I realized that I had too. He looked at me sadly, with compassion, as if to say “What can we do?” It tore at my heart. I refused the paper he offered me. I didn’t want to know any details… All day every day we make little decisions, one after the other, we think that at some point it’s all going to come together, start to make some kind of sense. But these decisions keep piling up, that’s what our lives are made of, they make us who we are and determine what’s going to happen to us. In the end, we are what happens to us. And what’s happening to me is that I just want to go home and cry. And that’s what I do. I throw myself face down on the bed and curse my fate, and I cry, first with rage, howling furiously like a wild animal. Then comes the pain and the sadness. The house is quiet, and I keep asking myself why the hell I married you, why the hell do I keep waiting for you? Why? Then I realize that this time you weren’t the dead body on the first page of the newspaper. Not this time. I realize that maybe that’s what I’m waiting for, that it be you, and I don’t want to feel that, Eduardo. But that’s what I’ve become: a widow waiting for them to bring me the corpse, for my fate to finally play itself out, and all I want is for it to end, once and for all. And I don’t want that, Eduardo, not that. Forgive me, but I can’t do it any more. I want to make a new life for myself and I can’t wait any longer. Now again they’re hunting you down, and as usual they’ll find you and, if you’re lucky, you’ll go to prison. For how long this time? Five years, ten years, life? I’ve never loved… I will never love anybody like I’ve loved you, but I think I’ve earned the possibility of a tiny little piece of happiness in this life, and that’s what I want, Eduardo. And with you that won’t be possible. But, Duchess, you can’t leave me now. I’m not leaving you, Eduardo, you left me a long time ago and you didn’t even realize it.
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