Necropolis (28 page)

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 charge 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.

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 mouth 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.