The Return (6 page)

“Do you remember ’73?”

“That’s what I was thinking of.”

“That’s when we killed them all.”

“Maybe you should go easy on the gas, at least while you explain what
you mean.”

“There’s not a lot to explain.
Plenty to cry over, but not to
explain.”

“But since it’s a long trip, we might as well talk.
Who did we kill in
’73?”

“The real men we had in this country.”

“No need to exaggerate, compadre.
Anyway, we went first; don’t forget
we were prisoners too.”

“But only for three days.”

“But those were the first three days, and honestly I was scared
shitless.”

“Some were never released, like Inspector Tovar, Hick Tovar, remember
him?
He had guts, that guy.”

“Didn’t they drown him on Quiriquina Island?”

“That’s what we told his widow, but the real story never came
out.”

“That’s what I can’t stand sometimes.”

“No point getting cut up about it.”

“The dead turn up in my dreams, and I get them mixed up with the ones
who are neither dead nor alive.”

“How do you mean neither dead nor alive?”

“I mean the people who’ve changed, who’ve grown up, like us, for
instance.”

“Now I get you—we’re not children any more, if that’s what you
mean.”

“And sometimes I feel like I’m never going to wake up, like I’ve gone
and fucked it up for good.”

“You just worry too much, compadre.”

“And sometimes it makes me so angry I have to find someone to blame,
you know what I’m like, those mornings when I turn up in a rotten mood, looking
for someone to blame, but I can’t find anyone, or I find the wrong person, which
is worse, and then I go to pieces.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“And I blame Chile, and call it a country of faggots and killers.”

“And why are the faggots to blame, can you tell me
that?”

“Well, they’re not, but everyone’s fair game.”

“I can’t agree with you there; life’s hard enough as it is.”

“Then I think this country went to hell years ago, and the reason
we’re here, those of us who stayed, is to have nightmares, just because someone
had to stay and face up to them.”

“Watch it, there’s a hill coming up.
Don’t look at me, I’m not arguing
with you—watch where you’re going.”

“And that’s when I think there are no men left in this country.
It’s
like a revelation.
There are no men left, just sleepwalkers.”

“And what about the women?”

“You can be thick sometimes, compadre; I’m talking about the human
condition, in general, and that includes women.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Well, I was perfectly clear.”

“So you’re saying there are no men in Chile and no women who are men
either.”

“Not exactly, but almost.”

“I think the women of Chile deserve a bit more
respect.”

“Who’s disrespecting Chilean women?”

“You are, compadre, for a start.”

“But how could I disrespect Chilean women?
They’re the only women I
know.”

“That’s what you say, but it’s lip-service, isn’t it?”

“How come you’re so touchy all of a sudden?”

“I’m not touchy.”

“You know, I kind of feel like stopping and smashing your face
in.”

“We’ll have to see about that.”

“Jesus, what a beautiful night.”

“Don’t beautiful night me.
What’s the night got to do with
anything?”

“It must be because of the full moon.”

“Don’t talk in riddles.
I’m Chilean, remember, I don’t believe in
beating around the bush.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.
We’re all Chileans here and all we ever do
is beat around one great big fucking nightmare of a bush.”

“You’re a pessimist, that’s what you are.”

“What do you expect?”

“Even in the darkest hours there is a light that shines.
I think it
was Pezoa who said that.”

“Pezoa Veliz.”

“Even in the blackest moments a little hope remains.”

“Hope has gone to shit.”

“Hope is the only thing that doesn’t go to shit.”

“Pezoa Veliz.
You know what I just remembered?”

“And how am I supposed to know that, compadre?”

“When we started in Criminal Investigations.”

“At the station in Concepción?”

“At the station in Calle del Temple.”

“All I remember about that station is the whores.”

“I never fucked them.”

“How can you say that, compadre?”

“I mean at the start, the first months; later on it was different, I
started picking up bad habits.”

“Anyway it was free, and when you fuck a whore and don’t pay, it’s
like you’re not fucking a whore.”

“A whore is always a whore.”

“Sometimes I think you don’t like women.”

“What do you mean I don’t like women?”

“It’s the way you talk about them, with contempt.”

“That’s because, in my experience, when you get mixed up with whores
it always goes sour.”

“Come on, nothing in the world is sweeter.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s why we used to rape them.”

“Are you talking about the station in Calle del Temple?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Come on, we didn’t rape them, that was an exchange of favors.
It was
a way of killing time.
The next morning they went off perfectly happy after
giving us a bit of relief.
Don’t you remember?”

“I remember lots of things.”

“The interrogations were worse.
I never volunteered.”

“But you’d have done it if you’d been asked.”

“I don’t know what I would have done.”

“You remember our classmate from high school who was a prisoner?”

“Of course I do, what was his name?”

“I was the one who realized he was there, though I still hadn’t seen
him myself.
You’d seen him, but you didn’t recognize him.”

“We were twenty years old, compadre, and we hadn’t seen the guy for at
least five years.
Arturo I think he was called.
He didn’t recognize me
either.”

“Yeah, Arturo.
He left Chile when he was fifteen and came back when he
was twenty.”

“Bad timing, eh?”

“Good too, in a way, though, ending up at our station, of all the
places he could have been taken .
.
.”

“Well, that’s all ancient history now, we’re all living in peace
now.”

“As soon as I saw his name on the list of political prisoners, I knew
it was him.
It’s not a very common name.”

“Watch where you’re going; we can swap if you like.”

“And the first thing I thought was, It’s our old classmate Arturo,
crazy Arturo, who went to Mexico when he was fifteen.”

“Well, I reckon he was happy to find us there too.”

“Of course he was happy!
When you saw him he was incommunicado and the
other prisoners had to feed him.”

“He really was happy.”

“It’s like I’m seeing it now.”

“But you weren’t even there.”

“No, but you told me.
You said, You’re Arturo Belano, aren’t you, from
Los Angeles, Bio-Bio.
And he replied, Yes sir, I am.”

“That’s funny, I’d forgotten that.”

“And then you said, Don’t you remember me, Arturo?
Don’t you know who
I am, asshole?
And he looked at you as if he was thinking, Now it’s my turn to
get tortured or What does this son of a bitch want with me?”

“There was fear in his eyes, it’s true.”

“And he said, No, sir, I’ve got no idea, but he’d already started to
look at you differently, peering through the fecal waters of the past, as the
poet might say.”

“There was fear in his eyes, that’s all.”

“And then you said, It’s me, asshole, your classmate from high school
in Los Angeles, five years ago.
Don’t you recognize me?
Arancibia!
And it was
like he was making a huge effort, because five years is a long time and a lot of
things had
happened to him since he’d left Chile, plus what was happening
now he’d come back, and he just couldn’t place you, he could remember the faces
of fifteen-year-olds, not twenty-year-olds, and anyway you
were never one of his close friends.”

“He was friends with everyone, but he used to hang out with the tough
kids.”

“You were never one of his close friends.”

“I would’ve liked to be, though, I have to admit.”

“And then he said, Arancibia, yeah, of course, Arancibia, and this is
the funny bit, isn’t it?”

“It depends.
My partner wasn’t amused at all.”

“He grabbed you by the shoulders and gave you a thump in the chest
that sent you flying back at least three yards.”

“A yard and a half, just like the old days.”

“And your partner jumped on him, of course, thinking the poor jerk had
gone crazy.”

“Or was trying to escape.
We were so cocky back then we didn’t take
our guns off to do the roll call.”

“In other words, your partner thought he was after your gun, so he
jumped on him.”

“And he would have laid into him, but I said he was a friend.”

“And then you started slapping Belano on the back and said relax and
told him what a good time we were having.”

“I only told him about the whores; Jesus, we were
green.”

“You said, I get to screw a whore in the cells every
night.”

“No, I said we organized raids and then fucked until the sun came up,
but only when we were on duty, of course.”

“And he must have said, Fantastic, Arancibia, fantastic, glad to see
you’re keeping up the good work.”

“Something like that; watch this curve.”

“And you said to him, What are you doing here, Belano?
Didn’t you go
to live in Mexico?
And he told you he’d come back, and, of course, he said he
was as innocent as the next man in the street.”

“He asked me to do him a favor and let him make a phone call.”

“And you let him use the phone.”

“The same afternoon.”

“And you told him about me.”

“I said: Contreras is here, too.
And he thought you were a
prisoner.”

“Shut up in a cell, screaming at three in the morning, like Chubby
Martinazzo.”

“Who was Martinazzo?
I can’t remember now.”

“We had him there for a while.
Belano would have heard him yelling
every night, unless he was a heavy sleeper.”

“But I said, No, compadre, Contreras is a detective too, and I
whispered in his ear: But he’s left-wing, don’t go telling.”

“That was bad; you shouldn’t have said that.”

“I wasn’t going to hang you out to dry.”

“And what did Belano say?”

“He looked like he didn’t believe me.
He looked like he didn’t know
who the hell Contreras was.
He looked like he thought this fucking cop is going
to take me to the slaughterhouse.”

“Though he was a trusting sort of kid.”

“Everyone’s trusting at fifteen.”

“I didn’t even trust my own mother.”

“What do you mean you didn’t trust your own mother?
You can’t fool
your mother.”

“Exactly, that’s why.”

“And then I said to him: You’ll see Contreras this morning, when they
take you to the john, watch out for him, he’ll give you a signal.
And Belano
said OK, but he wanted me to set up the phone call.
That was all he cared
about.”

“So he could get someone to bring him food.”

“Anyway, he was happy when I left him.
Sometimes I think if we’d met
in the street he mightn’t even have said hello.
It’s a funny world.”

“He wouldn’t have recognized you.
You weren’t one of his friends at
high school.”

“Neither were you.”

“But he did recognize me.
When they took them out around eleven, all
the political prisoners in single file, I went over near the corridor that led
to the bathroom and gave him a nod.
He was the youngest of the prisoners and he
wasn’t looking too good.”