Renaldo (7 page)

to Lonnie. He had found something much more important to him now than

rugby. That was just a game. Child’s play. There were far more relevant matters

taking place at the University of Buenos Aires in the spring of 1977.

One of them was the political awakening of many of the upper-middle-

class students to the anarchy of successive dictators and military juntas. Another

was the rape of the Argentine economy in favor of an ever-expanding military.

A third was the escalated suppression of leftist and liberal expressions. But

more than anything else, there was Celeste Lavalle.

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RENALDO

He had met her as his tutorial leader in a course dealing with the Argentine

foreign trade deficit. She was a graduate student from San Miguel de Tucumán,

a beautiful city situated in the northern foothills of the Andes Mountains. She

had completed her preliminary courses at the Tucumán University and had

come to Buenos Aires to research trade factors for her thesis.

Despite her small stature, standing barely five feet tall, she took control of

the tutorial group from the first day. Celeste Lavalle placed her cards squarely

on the table right from her opening address to the tutorial students. Her

passionate speech on the legacy that future Argentines would inherit if the

economy was not shifted away from military largess opened many eyes for the

first time.

“More butter, many less guns!” she had said that first class.

Lonnie listened to her in awe. Whether she spoke the truth or not, just

espousing such views was very risky anywhere in Argentina these days. You

never knew who your fellow students were, and the police had been known

to sneak plainclothes officers into any situation that might become a breeding

ground for dissident opinions. Student informers were frequently paid to provide

information on individuals, groups, or courses that were not sympathetic to the

junta’s right-wing doctrine.

Professors had disappeared from the campus without a trace. Certain vocal

students would suddenly have to drop out for ‘financial’ or ‘family’ reasons.

There was an undercurrent of suppression running throughout every facet of

university life. That made Celeste Lavalle’s opinions even more daring, and

Lonnie was amazed at the passion that those opinions evoked in this fiery, self-

assured woman.

But it was more than words and thoughts that stirred the big athlete. This

señorita had a beauty that Lonnie had seen in few women. Different, hard to

describe. Nothing like the multitude of mindless coeds that he had spent so

much time with over the past two years.

Celeste’s was more a natural beauty. Lonnie would come to say a ‘provincial

beauty,’ unlike the made-up girls of Buenos Aires. Her cropped black hair

and dark complexion were complemented by the saddest brown eyes that he

had ever seen. The student knew at once that those eyes held secrets, deep

mysterious secrets.

Celeste had made much of the fact that she had come from the provinces

and promised to give the Porteños more than just their usual navel gazing view

of the problems facing modern-day Argentina. Lonnie was certain after that

first tutorial that she would endeavor to do so in an outspoken, candid manner

. . . if she were not stopped by the authorities first!

Their relationship had started testily, with Lonnie often defending what

Celeste called the ‘Porteño Bourgeoisie’ attitude toward solving the problems

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JAMES McCREATH

of the Argentine people. It did not take her long to discover that Lonnie De

Seta came from a privileged background, and she often used Lonnie as her pet

example of how the ruling and advantaged classes were responsible for the

current economic and moral bankruptcy of the nation.

At first, the verbal sparing infuriated Lonnie, and had the tutor been a

man, he would have simply throttled him with his fists. After that, he would

either have sought out another course, or waited for a replacement tutor. But

these tactics could not be employed with Celeste Lavalle, and the more Lonnie

was forced to debate and listen, the more his understanding and admiration for

this ‘Tigress from Tucumán’ grew. He had never known any woman to have

such strong feelings about politics, and he would find himself captivated by

her as she spoke in their tutorials, wondering if she carried her passions as far

as the boudoir.

The Porteño would stay after class was over, often engaging in heated

debate, until one or the other of them would storm off in disgust. He was

obsessed by her spirit, and she knew it. Finally, in desperation to take their

relationship to another level, Lonnie asked his tutor if she would accompany

him to an underground lecture by one of the nation’s leading trade union

leaders, a man who happened to have a huge student and left-wing following.

She had refused at first, citing the awkward relationship between teacher

and pupil, but had finally succumbed from a combination of curiosity and sheer

frustration over his relentless pleadings.

The speaker, a thinly disguised Marxist from Rosario named Raphael

Squeo, had to be spirited in and out of Buenos Aires to avert arrest for a

number of outstanding warrants. These related to what the junta referred to

as ‘provocative activities and conspiring to commit insurrection against the

state.’

The lecture was held in the basement of one of the undergraduate

dormitories in University City. Heavily armed security teams were very much

in evidence, but what seemed incredible to Lonnie was the fact that they were

comprised of his fellow students. He knew many of these gun-toting scholars

personally. Had the police or military decided to raid the proceedings, the

outcome could have been a blood bath. He was also shocked at the passionate

response from the audience to the rhetoric of Señor Squeo.

Much of what the man proclaimed to be the only path to an enlightened

Argentina would have meant the downfall of the upper-middle classes. That

would include the family and the fortune of Lonfranco ‘Lonnie’ De Seta. He sat

in silence trying to take the pulse of the gathering. Lonnie knew that he was

not the only Porteño present that came from an established, well-to-do family.

He had seen many others, both young men and young women. The former

rugby player watched their enthusiasm and vocal encouragement peak as Squeo

skillfully built his ninety-minute speech to a crescendo.

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RENALDO

At the conclusion, everyone was standing and applauding, stomping their

feet and whistling. It seemed like a football pep rally, with Squeo carried from

the room on the shoulders of his supporters.

He preaches pure anarchy!
Lonnie thought to himself. It seemed to him that

the overall theme of Squeo’s lecture was that ‘Argentina must be ruled by the

will of its common people, with free elections. This must be achieved by any

means possible, even civil disobedience and violence!’

That could not be accomplished without even more retaliatory violence

on the part of generals who currently controlled the military, and therefore, the

country. It was a vicious circle that just seemed to perpetuate itself, recurring

every few years with a different cast of characters.

Lonnie was relieved to find no military police at the university that

evening as they walked to his car. The audience had been asked before the

lecture began to disperse as quickly as possible, so that the location of the event

could remain secret and secure for future use. The crowd seemed to be heeding

those wishes.

Once they were alone in his car, Lonnie finally sought out a reaction from

his learned companion. He was shocked at her diatribe.

“That man knows nothing about what is best for this country! He is a fool

and a coward. He has never killed anyone in the name of his revolution! All he

does is talk and line his pockets. No one asked him how much he is paid by

the unions to stir up unrest, or how much he takes under the table from the

junta to keep things peaceful. He is playing both sides against the middle, and

his bank account is the middle! We have had dealings with him in the past,

and I tell you, the man is a snake!” She sat back forcefully against the seat and

caught her breath. “And what must you think, mon petit bourgeoisie, about a

man that would take away your heritage, your fortune, and your family’s good

name? You can’t have me believe that you want these people running Argentina

the way that they aspire to. They are dreamers, men who do not act except in

speeches. Where I come from, we let our actions do the talking.”

It was true, of course. All of Argentina was aware of the destruction and

havoc that the Perónista guerrilla group, the Montoneros, had wrought, not

only in their home base of Tucumán Province, but also right in the heart of

Buenos Aires itself. Murders, kidnappings, extortions, and outright firefights

with the army had produced a death toll running into the thousands. It all

seemed so distant to Lonnie, unless, of course, a bomb exploded in Buenos

Aires or a local politician or general was abducted and murdered. Then, at best,

it was just a quickly forgotten news headline. But that attitude had changed

from the moment he met Celeste. She had succeeded in filling his head with

doubt. Doubt about his lifestyle, his family, his country, and also about his

prowess with women.

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JAMES McCREATH

He was certainly not used to the cool aloofness with which Celeste

deflected his advances. Other women, they were his for the taking. But not this

one. This one drove Lonnie to distraction!

He found himself laying awake at night thinking of political arguments

that would impress her in the next day’s tutorial. Even his mother had noticed

the change in him, proclaiming at the dinner table one night that “Lonfranco

has lost his appetite because he is in love.”

Following Squeo’s dramatic oration, the student had dropped his tutor

off at her apartment building with a formal handshake and a thank-you. But

something deep inside his being forced him to call out to her impetuously

before she disappeared inside.

“What do you want me to do?”

Celeste remained on the stoop of her building staring at him for several

seconds, then disappeared without saying a word. Lonnie slammed his fist into

the hood of his car.

“Damn, that woman is driving me out of my mind.”

No one could have been more surprised than he was when Celeste asked

him to have coffee with her after their next tutorial. They had sat and talked

for hours in a café near her apartment, and to Lonnie’s delight, she did not want

to talk politics. She wanted to know about his family and his background and

promised to keep the biting comments that she would often make in class out

of their conversation. The señorita seemed truly interested in him for a change,

and the soft night air along with several carafes of wine made for relaxed,

expressive dialogue. When it was time to go, she did not hesitate to ask him

back to her flat so that he could “borrow a copy of a book by her favorite left-

wing author,” as she so coyly put it.

It would be a seduction unlike any Lonnie had ever experienced. Celeste

set the mood and controlled the flow of events. With candles lit and soft guitar

music on the stereo, they smoked a marijuana joint that Lonnie had been

carrying, followed by a bowl of Nepalese hashish. Celeste revealed that the hash

had been a present from a student looking to better his grades.

Lonnie’s skin was on fire with pent-up lust. When Celeste brushed his

arm with her fingers while handing him the hash pipe, he thought that his

body would explode. She sensed his arousal and let her hand fall to his inner

thigh. Slowly she began to trace the outline of his quickly growing manhood

with her fingers.

She leaned forward and kissed his lips. Unbuttoning his shirt, she swiftly

ran her tongue down his chest until she was able place his nipple in her mouth

and bite it. When he did not shy away from the sweet pain, she continued to

playfully explore his hidden secrets.

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RENALDO

She orchestrated their coupling from start to finish, bringing Lonnie

to heights of ecstasy he hadn’t known existed. He was shocked that they fit

together so well, considering their disproportionate size. She seemed to meld to

him like a second skin.

Her passion knew no boundaries, and in this tutorial of the flesh, she

exposed him to new horizons for the first time. When they were spent, she did

not demand that he leave. Instead, she asked if he was hungry, then prepared a

huge feast of ‘vermicelli mixto,’ a pasta dish with pesto and tomato sauce. Fresh

green salad and hot bread were joined by a new bottle of Chianti. Lonnie was