No Place for Heroes (25 page)

“He’s going to tell you himself,” said Ramón, but he never put the boy on. “Just calling to tell you that Mateo is well and to ask how you yourself are.”

“I’ve been through hell but I’m fine now that I have heard from you,” said Lorenza, and wished she could insist that he put Mateo on. But Guadalupe was standing beside her, stopwatch in hand, making peremptory signs not to go there and putting before her eyes a paper with writing in big letters, the passage that they had calculated might precipitate the trip: Today, a man came looking for me demanding that I pay the money from a check. Tell me what to do, Ramón, that man is going to kill me if I don’t pay the money back.

Lorenza read what was written on the paper, word for word, trying not to make it sound like a reproach, but a matter of great concern.

“It was the same for me with my notebook. You also wrote down what you had to tell Ramón over the phone,” Mateo said.

“You see, you’re not alone in trying to tame tigers with words on paper.”

“That’s good, to get in the tiger’s cage and hit him over the head with a notebook. But go on, Lolé, what did the tiger say?”

“He said, tell him you’ll pay him next week and don’t get all heated up about it, this has all been well thought out.”

“Well thought out?” repeated Mateo. “How about that, my dad, on top of everything, well thought out? That’s his thing, trying to head a heist and ending up with a hit on the head. Did he say ‘heated’? What is heated?”

“He said not to get heated up, not to worry about it. I looked at Guadalupe, indicating that, yes, we had touched some nerve.”

“I see,” said Mateo. “According to him, you would not have to worry about paying that money because you would no longer be in Colombia when the narco lost his shit. But I don’t know, Lorenza, I think that Ramón’s motives were a little more entangled. Was he going to bring you to Argentina so that the narco would not kill you, or was he taunting the narco so that he’d force you to flee to Argentina?”

“Whatever it was, I clasped on like a tick and told your father in my most forlorn voice: ‘But that man is demanding that he be paid right away, Ramón, don’t leave me alone in this—’”

“I’ll call back tomorrow,” he said, and hung up without waiting for an answer.

“Swear, swear that you’ll call me tomorrow,” she pleaded,
if only to the telephone because communication had already been cut.

She asked Guadalupe to leave her alone and began to weep like Mary Magdalene. Now you finally cry, enough to fill seas, praying, calling, cursing, crying, crying, crying, and choking on tears, burning her eyes with tears of salt, outside of any script and beyond any calculation, still stuck to the telephone as if to let it go were to let go of the three minutes and seven seconds of the Mateo she had recovered. After much weeping, she was finally able to fall asleep. She could get some sleep, because the prophecy of Haddad had begun to come true.

“And what were those two words I had learned?” asked Mateo.

“Ook, snu.”

“Ook, snu?”

“Look at the snow. But to find that out, I had to wait another three days.”

“G
ISELLA
S
ÁNCHEZ THOUGHT
he was a guerrilla fighter,” Mateo told Lorenza during one of the musical teas offered after five under the glass dome of L’Orangerie, at the Alvear Palace Hotel, amid potted ferns, large vases filled with roses, and a quartet that played Brahms, watering it down to background music, and waiters in white gloves, coming and
going as they deployed silverware, served finger sandwiches, warm scones, and mini gâteaux. Lorenza had dragged Mateo to this spot through the circuits of her nostalgia. She had stayed at the Alvear Palace as a girl and then as a teenager, when she visited Buenos Aires with her family.

“Who was a guerrilla?” she asked Mateo.

“Forcás, who else?”

“Forcás was not a guerrilla, who believes that?”

“I told you, Gisella Sánchez believes that.”

“But why do you say that?”

“Because she told me.”

“Who told you?”

“I told you, Gisella Sánchez, your Coronda neighbor. Today I went to talk to her.”

“What?”

“Today I went to talk to her.”

“What do you mean you went to talk to her?”

“Today. At lunchtime.”

“What? Yesterday you didn’t even let me ring the bell—”

“It’s better without you, Lorenza,” Mateo said, while searching among the tarts on the pâtisserie cart for one with no fruit. “I found out things. The paralyzed man was named Anselmo and has since died. I bet you didn’t know that.”

“And Gisella Sánchez?” she asked, still perplexed. She could not believe that Mateo, who only a few days ago had been paralyzed before the PlayStation, suddenly had decided to embark on a mission to track down his father. “Well,
kiddo, good! You don’t know how happy I am that you went … And Gisella, what did you find?”

“I was told she had remarried, but not another paralyzed man. This time it was a dentist. I found her at the florist, she still works there. I think she now owns the business. It’s called Flowers and Gifts.”

“And did you go that far, in what, a taxi?”

“Yes, a taxi.” Mateo asked the waiter to bring him milk instead of tea. “Lie, I took the subway.”

“How did you know where her flower shop was? I didn’t even know that.”

“I asked around. I got to the florist and a saleswoman thought I wanted to buy flowers. It was Gisella Sánchez.”

“How did you know?”

“I said I was the son of Forcás and was looking for my father, but she kept with the flowers and said if they were for my father she would suggest some white roses, and began to pull them out. I tried to explain that I did not want flowers, that I was looking for my father. Then she asked what Forcás, she knew no one by that name. She reacted differently when I explained that Forcás was his nickname, his real name is Ramón Iribarren and he lived in Coronda. I told her that I was his son, Mateo Iribarren. From then on, she understood everything I was talking about.”

“No more, what a great investigator, you’ve become a tiger, kiddo, and to think that yesterday you pretended ignorance. And how is she, describe her.”

“She is a señora with the face of a señora.”

“It must be her. But why did she think that Ramón was a guerrilla?”

“Because he listened to
rock argentino
, I guess. I explained that he had not been a guerrilla. I told her that he was a Trotskyite who was against the armed struggle and that during the dictatorship had been part of the underground but without weapons. It’s good, right, Lolé? Did I tell it right? She told me that from the very beginning she knew that he was involved in something because revolutionary music came from his room. That’s what she said. Then she suffocated me with kisses, and said, You, the son of Ramón, a spitting image.”

“Did she ask about me?”

“I told her that I had come alone to Buenos Aires, looking for my father. She said that she had not seen him in years, but she’d seen Uncle Miche. Uncle Miche lived for a while longer in Coronda, with Azucena. Did you know that, Lolé?”

“How?”

“After the Ford Truck for Sale incident. She remembered the story of the sign, that part was the same. But you don’t know half the story. When you saw the sign, Forcás and you went into hiding. So far the two versions match. What you don’t know is that Miche did not leave. Ramón didn’t tell you that. See? You know nothing, Lorenza. Not even that. You did not know what happened right there in the house of Forcás, but he knew that you had inherited a farm far away in another country.”

Gisella Sánchez told Mateo that one Saturday at noon, she was walking home from the florist when she saw at the
corner of Centenera and Guayaquil two guys who had seized Azucena, her neighbor, and were dragging her toward the house. Azucena looked very ill, pale, wilted, with blood dripping down her face and staining her shirt. Gisella Sánchez believed that it was two
cana
who had beaten her so that she would denounce the others, so she hurried to hang the sign on the door as she had agreed to do for Ramón.”

“That could be,” Lorenza told Mateo. “So we scrammed out of there and never came back. How could we?”

“Listen to what I’m saying, Mother: Miche returned. He continued living there. Those two guys were not
cana
, Lolé. They were just two ordinary types passing by, when they saw Azucena fall to the ground because she was an epileptic. They wanted to help, that was it. Two strangers. One put a handkerchief in her mouth so she did not swallow her tongue, and after the attack happened, she said she lived at 121 Coronda and they took her there. Gisella Sánchez had mentally created her own movie of the situation, believing that the men were
cana
and had beaten Azucena, so she got ahead of herself and put the sign up. When she realized her mistake it was too late; Forcás and you had seen it and had left. Miche arrived later, and there was no longer the sign up and he went in as usual. Inside he found Gisella Sánchez, who was caring for Azucena, who with the attack had fallen hard and had a wound on her forehead. That’s the thing, Lorenza, and thus they continued to live there. Miche and Azucena adopted the cats. Gisella Sánchez says that some time later, Miche was able to contact Ramón to tell him that it had been a false
alarm. They lived there until three years ago, do you see? And then moved to a place called Villa Gesell.”

“In Buenos Aires?”

“No, outside Buenos Aires on the coast, it seems.”

“Sounds nice, Villa Gesell.”

“Yes, Villa Gesell. Not only that, Lorenza, from time to time Ramón would visit the place in Coronda, and bring food to the cats. I bet that he never told you that.”

“It would have been after we broke up—”

“No, it was then. It was when you were pregnant, believing that Coronda had fallen and that you were on the run. Nothing had happened in Coronda and yet Ramón told you nothing.”

“Well, he didn’t really need to tell me, these were things I did not need to know—”

“Not even about the cats? Didn’t you ever ask what happened to the cats?”

“I asked, of course, I asked him a thousand times. The worst part of losing Coronda was that Abra and Cadabra had been abandoned. For the second time in their lives, too. Clothes and things come and go, but those cats. He told me a few weeks later that he had been able to rescue them and your grandparents had them in Polvaredas.”

“No, the cats remained in Coronda with Miche. The thing is, you don’t know a thing about Ramón, nothing.”

“But why would he hide such a thing from me, what would he gain by not telling me?”

“Maybe he didn’t gain anything, there were just a lot of
things he didn’t talk about. Or maybe the cats spent time with Miche in Coronda and then with my grandparents in Polvaredas. Who knows?”

“Besides, that doesn’t end the story of Abra and Cadabra, kiddo. I had to face a very dramatic situation because of them later.”

“Stop, stop. Guess what, Gisella Sánchez gave me Uncle Miche’s phone number at Villa Gesing.”

“Villa Gesell.”

“Villa Gesell. Uncle Miche lives there now. And I’m going to call him,” Mateo said, sounding confident. “I need to know. I have a lot of questions to ask him.”

Lorenza stared at Mateo, sensing that he was not the same as the previous day. They say it’s possible to hear how the grass grows, she thought, and you can also hear how a child grows.

“You know what, it’s not true that I went alone to Coronda and to the florist,” said Mateo, suddenly. “Lies.”

“You didn’t go?”

“Yes I did, but I was not alone.”

“Then who—”

“Andrea took me.”

“What Andrea.”

“Andrea Robles, daughter of
el negro
Robles. She had told me that she would help me find my father.”

“She picked you up at the hotel?”

“Yes. And we took the metro together to Caballito. She has been finding out a lot about her father on her own, and I
told her I wanted to do the same with mine. So today she helped me, to show me how.”

“And where is Andrea now? I would love to meet her. Do you want to invite her to have tea with us?”

“What are you thinking about, Mother, she’s an adult, she works. So I took her out at noon, when she was free. She’s back in her office now, and besides she wouldn’t like this place. The truth is, I don’t like it much.”

“I think that what you like is Andrea—”

“Don’t say that, I told you. She’s an adult. But she’s pretty, though. Her hair loose and earrings. Very pretty.”

“And Villa Gesell, where your uncle Miche lives, are you also going there with her?”

“No, what do you think? I’ll call him and if I find him, I’ll see him alone. As Andrea says, there are things you have to do alone.”