Thursday Night Widows (25 page)

They walk. They skate. They spy. Romina and Juani are on their night rounds. They carry torches, as they have since they were little; it's one of the few things that still amuse them at seventeen. They choose a house, a tree, a window. And they spy on it. They don't get as many surprises as they did at the start. Usually they are confirming what they already know. They know that Dorita Llambías's husband is sleeping with Nane Pérez Ayerra. They saw them on the night of the club's anniversary party. In her bed. All the adults were dancing in the function room, apart from them. After a while they got dressed and went off in their respective jeeps, doubtless to join the others. They know that Carla Masotta cries at night and that Gustavo throws glass bottles and plates against the wall when he's angry. They know that it is a
lie that the youngest Elizondo boy broke his arm falling out of a tree. They were watching the night that – after crying and crying because his parents had locked him in his room – he opened his window, removed the netting and started to walk on the tiled roof. He took barely three steps before falling. They also see people who sleep peacefully. Family mealtimes that appear to be cordial. Children on the computer or watching television. But none of this detains them: it's not what they're looking for. Because they don't believe in these scenes. Or they believe in them, but they don't understand them. There are nights when it is enough to spy on one house alone, and others on which they go from tree to tree without finding what they are seeking. Romina and Juani don't know what they are looking for, but they do know that, at some given moment, as they watch from a branch through a window, the game ends: it's enough for one night and there is no need to see any more.

They walk. Music is coming from Willy Quevedo's house. He must be awake, too. His bedroom light is switched off, but the room is lit by a glow. Doubtless from his computer screen. He must be in a chat room. Romina wants to stay and watch him; she likes Willy and she still often thinks of him, in spite of what he did. He got off with Natalia Berardi while he was meant to be going out with her. But Juani takes her on somewhere else. They go round the first corner. They climb another tree. Malena Gómez's dad is putting hairpins in his hair before going to bed. Romina sees him through the window of his en-suite bathroom. And a hairnet. To start with, Juani doesn't believe his eyes. But they zoom in with the camera that Romina steals from her father on the nights when they “do the rounds”. Malena's dad
goes into the bathroom and has a pee, with the window open and the light switched on. Wearing hairpins and a hairnet.

In Cascade Heights no one worries about what the neighbours may see. The neighbours are very far away, in some distant place behind the trees. Who would ever imagine there was someone spying on them from behind the oak in their very own garden?

They took turns teeing off with their one woods at the ninth hole. A week earlier, Alfredo Insúa had invited El Tano to a round of golf. And El Tano had accepted. It was not a sport he liked much nor one in which he could shine, as he did at tennis – but Insúa was the kind of partner that no one who values good contacts would dare to snub. He had long ago recovered from that episode of the plate of shit left for him by his last wife and was happy to parade the new one around on weekends. “Just a quick nine holes, Tano,” he had said, “because I have to be in the office by mid-morning.” More than one person would have envied him this opportunity to spend a couple of hours chatting with the boss of a finance company. But El Tano was curious to know what Alfredo Insúa could need from him. They were not friends, merely acquaintances, although he had been at nearly all Alfredo's birthday parties, and vice versa. But it was a known fact that an invitation from Insúa always implied a return favour, even when the invited party had no idea of what he was giving in exchange. At any rate, they had already played eight holes and, apart
from talking about the economy or finance in general, no subject had been raised from which either one could profit in any way.

El Tano's ball bounced off the top of a tree and came to rest halfway between the tee and Alfredo's ball. They had about a hundred yards to cover before it was El Tano's turn to play again. Each one grabbed his trolley and they walked on. This time they did talk about business. Perhaps Alfredo had been waiting for this precise moment: to be a stroke ahead.

“How are things at Troost, Tano?” El Tano was no longer bothered much by the question. A year had gone by since his dismissal, and he had worked on a serviceable reply.

“Fine, I suppose…”

“Why ‘suppose'?”

“I'm outside the company now; I work with them but I'm not exclusive to them any more.”

“Really? I had no idea…” He sounded surprised, but it was hard to believe that Alfredo Insúa knew nothing about his severance. The “market” is small and The Cascade even smaller. “But the company's doing OK? Or did you leave because the Dutch aren't managing the risk well?”

“No, I left because I was sick of it…” Alfredo stopped a moment to remove a stick that had got caught in the wheels of the trolley he used to transport his state-of-the-art Callaway graphite clubs.

“I completely understand. Do you know how often I ask myself what I'm doing, working twenty hours a day in the centre of town? Especially when you see this other world,” he said and his gaze swept across the golf course in front of him.

They came to El Tano's ball. It wasn't an easy ball, positioned behind a line of trees. He would have to hit it right over them if he did not want to risk it getting stuck in the lower boughs. Chattering parrots emphasized the silence of the course. He selected a club, rehearsed his swing, lost his gaze among the distant tree tops, took up his stance once more, rehearsed again – and only then did he strike. The ball glided upwards, over the tops of the Eucalyptus trees, then fell two yards from Alfredo's ball, but behind it, so that it was his turn to hit again. “Nice shot, Tano,” said Alfredo, walking towards the balls.

El Tano, following him, played down the shot: “It almost makes up for the last one.”

“And what are you doing now?” asked Alfredo, when there was only one hole left to play.

“Things have worked out really well: I'm still linked to them and I lend a hand with consultancy. It's fine, relaxed, good money. I couldn't be playing golf on a Wednesday at this time of day if I was still working the way I used to.”

“Whereas any minute now my mobile will ring and I'll have to dash off. Even if it means taking a pay cut, Tano, at our age quality of life is priceless…”

They came to El Tano's ball. They stopped – El Tano beside his ball, and Alfredo waited two yards behind. El Tano took his shot. Alfredo came forwards and played his ball. They both landed on the green but, at this distance, it was impossible to see which one was closer to the hole. Once more, they walked on together. Alfredo was wearing golf shoes with spikes that dug into the turf with every step. “How strange that they let you come out with spikes. I thought they were still banned on this course.”

“They are. But, as my old man used to say, ‘It's easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission'. Although, if I'm honest, I don't much like asking for either of those things, Tanito.” A hare ran in front of them, apparently in flight, then vanished somewhere beyond the lagoon. “Hey, but are the Troost people doing all right?” Alfredo pressed on.

“Very well, as always. Why are you so interested?”

“Because I'm doing something with them – strictly speaking not with them but with their policies. I'm viaticating life insurance.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Buying insurance policies at a discount. You give people the money upfront and become the beneficiary of their policy. It's a very simple piece of paperwork. You can do it in a couple of minutes. We only do it with policies from reliable insurance companies and Troost has always been one of the best. But of course we've seen so many giants tumble that we're immune to shock, right Tanito?”

“And when do you get paid?” El Tano asked.

“Whenever any life insurance policy is cashed in – when the guy snuffs it.”

Alfredo's phone rang; he stopped for a minute, gave two or three instructions and then rang off. “And the good thing about this system is that the person who takes out the policy gets to enjoy the money, not the relatives. It started with the whole AIDS business, with those guys whose treatment was hoovering up all their money… so, if they had a policy that predated their illness and it was clear that there was no ticket back – know what I mean? – you gave them the money, the guy could enjoy whatever time he had remaining and later you claimed the insurance.”

“I never knew about this.”

“And the financial markets are like that, things change quick as a flash, you have to be constantly looking out for new ways of doing stuff. When you know how to look, you can always find a new gap in the market.”

“One door closes and another one opens.”

“That's it, Tanito, you have to be alert and be the first to strike whenever possible. Viatication is one of those nice round business propositions: if it's properly evaluated, it's risk-free. Much better than discounting mortgages. You take on the policy at eighty per cent and start making money straight away. Just think that it often yields twenty per cent profit within the year, a bloody fantastic rate, and in dollars, Tano.”

“Impressive.”

“Pretty darn impressive.”

“And do you only do this with people who have AIDS?”

“Far from it. That sector's gone off a bit now because of the new drugs which end up extending the lives of those guys. I mean, for what? The poor bastards are going to die anyway. But the time-span is lengthened and that makes it much harder to fix a profitable rate. It's a complicated market – you can mess up big time. These days, we're offering a better rate for other sorts of catastrophe.”

“Such as?”

“Other illnesses… the kind that no one wants to mention… I don't know – lung cancer, acute liver failure, brain tumours… I'm not all that sure; that part of the business unnerves me a bit. We have medical assessors who study the case and write up a report… I'm better on numbers, Tanito…”

They arrived at the green. Alfredo crouched down to study the direction of the slope. He examined the drop from different angles. El Tano watched him, feeling no need to crouch down: he trusted his partner's judgement. Alfredo took out his putter and walked towards the ball. “Hey, Tano, do you happen to have a list of Troost clients? Because if you can bring us policies for discounting, I can arrange a percentage for you. In this business, the obstacle to growth is that it isn't possible to offer it on a massive scale, do you see? People are shocked to start with. It's the same with plots in private cemeteries – at the beginning it seemed creepy, and now everyone wants one…”

“I don't have a list, but I do have a good memory – and a plot in the Memorial Cemetery.”

Alfredo laughed at the joke. “Well, just let me know, if you're interested. You could easily handle this product and, in any case, we'd give you a little training course; since it's a sensitive area, it's important to know which words to use when you're selling it, you know? We train with neurolinguistic professionals who can give you exactly the right words. Just let me know.”

“I'll let you know.”

Alfredo gave the ball a tap: the distance required no more. His ball passed alongside El Tano's and fell into the cup. A bogey: sufficient to make him feel better than average. Sufficient to see off El Tano's chances of beating him. He went up to the hole and took out his little ball. El Tano got out his putter and squared up to his own ball in the knowledge that he had already lost. He relaxed his knees, stretched his neck this way and that, lightly realigned himself. He was about to swing when suddenly he asked: “Hey, do you remember whose Troost policies you discounted?”

“No, but I wrote them down in my diary – I can tell you later.” El Tano putted and his ball also went in, but it was not enough for him: he had dropped a shot among the tree tops. His rival had beaten him by one stroke.

They had a drink together in the bar before going home. Alfredo looked in his diary for the details of the Troost policies. “One of them was for a Margarita Lapisarreta… And the other Oliver Candileu.”

“I know Oliver well, he's the ex-husband of a woman who works at Troost.”

“This is confidential, mind Tano, remember the subject is… delicate.”

“What's Oliver got?”

“A very good policy, underwritten in London, with a three-thousand-dollar premium, but with a very punitive early-withdrawal clause – they were taking almost half his cash.” Alfredo put money to pay for both their drinks down on the table and stood up.

“But what's he got? What's he dying of?”

“I don't remember, but it must be something pretty devastating, because he went off with eighty-three per cent, if you can believe it… The highest discount we've given to date. Is this upsetting for you? Is he a friend?”

“No, not really a friend.”

Alfredo lifted his golf bag onto his shoulder. “You'll let me know, then?”

“I'll let you know.” He clapped him on the shoulder and went. El Tano stayed a little longer in the bar, gazing into the immaculate green of the golf course, wondering why they would have called it “viatication”.

Ernesto wants Romina to study law. Next year, when she's finished secondary school. But she hasn't applied yet. If she can't make her mind up, he threatens to make it up for her. And Romina has made up her mind, but he doesn't want to listen. She does not want to study next year: she wants to take a year off. In spite of Romina having explained this, today Ernesto's secretary has sent her all the papers “with Doctor Andrade's instruction that they be completed by this afternoon at the latest, OK?”