Miranda (13 page)

That he worried made me curious. I would not have reminded him of his seatbelt. Perhaps then he would slam his face even harder and disappear once and for all.

“Those people don’t have the resources to cover their basic needs, Eliezer. They need clothing, food, water, medicine, a roof, a bed...” The words were taking me to the brink of hysteria.

Eliezer made another gesture with his hands, this time for me to be silent.

“I know, International, but gifting them money will not solve their problems.”

I kept silent just as he had asked, until I managed to calm down so as to not fill the silence with profanity.

“This must be a joke...”

“Have I ever joked around with you?”

Damn him. He was truly serious.

“You’ve never experienced hardships, have you?” I was attempting to speak in a calm tone, with serenity. I would say
too
calm for this situation.

Eliezer did not respond. He was busy fiddling with the cell phone.

“Do you know why so many misfortunes happen in poor countries? So that people like you, who have so much money that they don’t even know what to do with, have fun giving it away to those who most need it.”

I managed to get his attention.

He put his cell in its case and turned his head in my direction.

“I have another theory but I warn you that you won’t like it.”

“Surprise me.”

The conversation was getting interesting. It was the first time we spoke of something somewhat unrelated to work matters.

Eliezer reclined halfway between the back of the seat and the inside of the door of the van.

“Let’s say God was flushing the toilet.”

“What... the... hell?”

My jaw fell limp. My mouth was left open in a giant ‘O’.

Definitely, the only thing Eliezer shared with Norman was a surname… and the eyes… and the cheekbones… and the hair.

“But what kind of contrarian beast am I encountering?”

“Close your mouth and don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He furrowed his eyebrow, enjoying his words and my reaction.

I warned him:

“You should be careful about where you make those type of comments. The media could annihilate you.”

“And you think I care?”

Naughty boy. He shrugged his shoulders with indifference. Although on second thought, a child would not have been capable of formulating such theory. My grey matter, still stunned, made my head move unconsciously from side to side, a sign of my refusal to believe what I had heard.

“Tell me what you think, Wise.”

“About?”

He smiled. He made that smile which didn’t fit his personality.

“About what I just told you.”

“About the God and toilet theory?” I bit my lips trying not to return the insensitivity or the smile. “You really want to know what I think?”

“I asked for a reason, don’t you think?”

“Later, don’t say I didn’t warn you, Clausell.” I got comfortable in the seat and I mimicked his posture, preparing myself to launch a grenade. “With all due respect, that according to Norman, I owe you, even though I don’t agree, I think your opinion is insensitive and repugnant.”

“Interesting, Wise, very interesting.” He stroked his beard. “Then according to you and your words, I’m insensitive and repugnant.”

I didn’t respond.
Even if you want to spit it directly into his face, you can’t tell your boss that, Miranda.

Eliezer gave a chuckle and continued the conversation.

“You’re very easy to crack, Miranda. You don’t have to tell me what you think. I know it. But before you die thinking that way, allow me to tell you some things that support my theory.”

I whispered through my teeth.

“I’m all ears...”

“What does a poor person have, Wise?” He asked and I hesitated in responding because I was trying to figure out the path he wanted to take.

“What do you mean, what does a poor person, have? Normally, the poor have nothing.”

“You are wrong, Wise. There’s a saying:
the poor live off hope
.”

I crossed my arms.

“Well, then let’s say that a poor person has hope.”

He moved forward, not towards the front seat but towards me, with that peculiar smile on his lips, suddenly very interested in talking to me.

“If all a poor person has is hope, since that is merely an abstraction, at the end of the day, he has nothing.” He paused, moved forward, took a cup from the cup holder, and drank the liquid someone had poured. That ordinary action gave him an air of vulnerability to me. “A poor person just has luck, or the bad luck in this case, of being alive. Life is the only thing that can be taken away from him. On the other hand, a rich person has everything. If his bitch of a life is taken from him, well it’s taken and that’s that. Another rich person is born.” He looked me in the eyes, and although that word “bitch” was echoing in my mind, he didn’t seem to be ashamed of having unnecessarily used profanity. “The rich are punished differently,” he concluded.

He had to be joking. And yet, there was something in his words that made some sense.

“What do you think, Wise?”

“That either way, you shouldn’t express yourself that way.”

“And of my theory?”

I sighed.

“I’ll admit that it was the other side of the coin that I had not seen before.” Internally, I was battling myself:
How can you lend merit to such drivel?

“Do you realize that, Wise? Little by little, we are coming to understand each other.” He smiled again his victorious smile.

I laughed. It would be impossible for us to come to understand each other.

“According to your theory, Clausell, how are the rich punished more painfully?”

He was pensive before responding, lost in the blackness of the leather of the seat in front of him.

“The rich are thrown into the toilet but we aren’t flushed. We are left wallowing in….”

“Scheiße?” I completed the sentence.

His eyes gave a sudden leap, an act that made me realize how much I had surprised him.

“That’s right, Wise, in
Scheiße
¹
. That’s where we stay. Now tell me, who does God treat better?”

I did not say anything more. I remained unmoved in the perdition of his gaze until he looked uncomfortable and remembered his high-tech tools. He went from the iPhone to the iPad nonstop, without looking at me again.

To my surprise, that same night, he invited me to dinner. It was not a formal invitation, of course, but a necessary one to review some very important bidding documents for El Salvador.

We went to the Italian restaurant inside the hotel. He ordered an Angus steak with a salad. I chose a plate of carbs, which would help me control my anxiety of being so close to that despicable being for so long.

“Do you agree with what we reviewed?” I asked because I needed his backing to finalize the offer.

“What makes you think you’ll get that business?”

How I hated when he answered me with questions!

“We have worked for years on this...” Eliezer interrupted me.

“That doesn’t guarantee anything, Wise.”

“We developed the proper relationships and delivered the proper message at precisely the right moment,” I defended myself while chewing on a piece of bread.

“How would you feel if you were to win those eighty million?”

I looked at him perplexed.
And since when does he care what I feel?
I studied his eyes, analyzed his gestures.
Let’s see who lowers his guard this time.
He did.

“What’s wrong, Wise?” he asked tactlessly. Although, in any case, it would be difficult for him to even attempt to sound subtle. His voice was too harsh and abrasive.

“What’s up with you, Clausell?” The wine was beginning to liberate me with words.

“What’s up with me with what?” He took a piece of steak to his mouth. The steak would release juices on the plate every time he cut into it. That simple gesture of taking food to his mouth repeated itself in my mind over and over again. Who knows why?

“Do you always answer with questions or only when you feel threatened?”

Of course, he launched another question.

“Have you been told that you are quite irritating, annoying and inopportune,
wise-ass
?”

“No, this is the first time.” I paused. “Nobody has had the ability to irritate me, or of making me annoying, let alone inopportune or a
wise-ass
.”

I directed my attention to the pasta.
God! How delicious!
And then...

“Oh! What was that?”

I dropped the fork on the plate and the people at the surrounding tables turned when they heard the irritating sound. I didn’t care. My finger was pointing at his face. He frowned and inspected his torso as if trying to understand what I was referring to, why I had been so surprised.

“What?” He moved in a strange way… like was putting himself on guard.

“Was that a smile for a joke of mine, perhaps?”

Yes, that was a smile for me, not against me, and it had just made another appearance. He relaxed his posture. The way his eyes lit up as his face began to show conflicting expressions made me uncomfortable.
Why do I celebrate Eliezer’s smiles?
I knew it wasn’t proper, but even so, I remarked: “The stingy and insensitive grump has genuine smiles, and he shares them!”

Eliezer took a sip of wine.

“Wise, did you just call me stingy?”

“And grumpy and insensitive.”

He smiled again and
that
smile was indecipherable.

“You better have your credit card with you, Wise.”

It was with that comment that the long awaited moment had finally arrived when we both lowered our guns.

Gladly, I would pay for a lifetime, if only you never erased that beautiful smile on your face, if only I would never had to go back to those early days when our meetings were clashes.

The metering needle of the incessant tension between us had been lowered. I paid, yes, but he ordered another bottle of wine, which cost five hundred dollars. At least he would be the one to approve that expense report.

Security was a very serious subject for Eliezer, although I felt very confident in Panama. Against Eliezer’s wishes, I rented a car and I drove to the meetings that were left. I don’t know what he was complaining about if he had arrived safely to all his destinations.
What kind of life did he lead in Europe?

The scheduled meetings included the Minister of Health, the directors of Social Security, and my great friend Dr. Luis Bartolome, whom I had met thanks to my job at Medika, and who, in contrast with other people of influence, had earned my respect and admiration from the beginning.

Curing and helping others was his vocation as well as what flowed through his veins. Passion for medicine was his mission. As one of the best emergency physicians in his country, he dedicated his services to the public sector. A few years ago, he presented a social project to me to take medical services to the needy communities at the far reaches of the city. I remember that when he spoke to me of the proposal, I thought he was joking.
It involved establishing a primary care site in a remote town with no roads where the death rate was very high because it was impossible to cross the river to get to a hospital
. I still could not understand how situations like that could exist in the twenty-first century. Without thinking twice, I joined with him on that project. I focused my goals on his. Over time, our friendship so blossomed, that on several occasions, during the carnival season, I spent the night with him and his family on a ranch just outside the city.

The visit to Panama also had another purpose: attending the carnival. In Latin America, those carnivals are just tributes to the saints they honor. Lasting up to five days, they paralyze the countries. People from all social classes participate, they mix, becoming one and indistinguishable. That year, besides the promises I had made to my friend during previous months, I had to attend because he had also promised to introduce me to a medical colleague who, according to him, was a perfect match for me. I had accepted the invitation: not because of the prospect, but because of my friend and his wonderful family with whom I always felt at home, like I did with Norman.

“Will you arrive in town or do you need a ride?” asked Luis who was in the back seat.

Eliezer, unaware of my plans and ignorant of the reason for Luis’s questions, looked at me from the corner of his eye and raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t worry, I’ll drive to town,” I answered. I looked at Eliezer, who raised his eyebrows even more. “Tonight the carnival begins–the big event.” When I looked at him, he smiled a smile of disapproval and annoyance.

“Would you honor us with your presence, Mr. Clausell?” It seemed that, in addition to extending a cordial invitation, Luis wanted to ruin my plans.

“Thank you, but we have a flight to take.”

The use of the plural indicated that Eliezer had the nerve of deciding and speaking for me.

“I’m going,” I said, looking in the rearview mirror while correcting him. I resumed looking at Eliezer. “Later I’ll return on a commercial flight… that is if my boss approves a couple of vacation days for me.”