The Discreet Hero (17 page)

“Well, that wasn’t much of a favor you did for your dear friend.” Escobita was angry again; his face turned red, as if he’d suffered sudden sunstroke; his dark eyes were flashing. “The old man didn’t know what he was doing. He’s been senile for some time: For some time he hasn’t known where he is, or who he is, and least of all what he was doing when he let himself be bamboozled by that damn worthless
chola
who he wanted to get his rocks off with, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

“Get his rocks off with?” Don Rigoberto thought. “That must be the ugliest expression in the Spanish language. A thorny, reeking phrase.”

“Do you believe that, if he was in full possession of his faculties, my papa, who was always a gentleman, would marry a servant who, to make matters even worse, must be forty years younger than he is?” Miki backed up his brother, opening his mouth wide and displaying his large teeth.

“Do you believe that?” Now Escobita’s eyes were red and his voice was breaking. “It’s not possible, you’re intelligent and well educated, don’t kid yourself or try to kid us. Because not you and not anybody else can pull the wool over our eyes.”

“If I’d believed that Ismael was not in full possession of his faculties, I wouldn’t have agreed to be his witness, nephew. Please let me speak. I understand that you’re very concerned. It’s to be expected, of course. But you should try to accept the facts as they are. It’s not what you think. Ismael’s marriage surprised me a great deal too. As it surprised everyone, naturally. But Ismael knew very well what he was doing, of that I’m certain. He decided to get married with complete lucidity and absolute knowledge of what he was about to do, and of what the consequences would be.”

As he spoke he saw indignation and hatred intensify on the twins’ faces.

“I’m assuming you wouldn’t dare repeat the bullshit you’re saying now in front of a judge.”

Escobita got up from his seat, in a rage, and took a step toward him. Now he wasn’t red but ashen and trembling.

Don Rigoberto didn’t move from his chair. He expected to be shaken and perhaps hit, but Escobita controlled himself, turned, and sat down again. His round face was covered with perspiration. “The threats have come. Will punches be next?”

“If you wanted to scare me, you’ve succeeded, Escobita,” he acknowledged, as calmly as before. “You’ve both succeeded, I should say. Do you want to know the truth? I’m dying of fear, nephews. You’re both young, strong, impulsive, and with credentials that would strike terror in the heart of the cleverest man. I know them very well because, as you recall, I’ve often helped you out of the situations and difficulties you’ve gotten yourselves into since you were very young. Like the time you raped that girl in Pucusana, remember? I even recall her name: Floralisa Roca. That was her name. And naturally I haven’t forgotten either that I had to take fifty thousand dollars to her parents so you two wouldn’t go to prison because of the charming thing you’d done. I know very well that if you wanted to, you could make mincemeat out of me. That’s perfectly clear.”

Disconcerted, the twins looked at each other, grew serious, tried to smile, but without success, became exasperated.

“Don’t take it like that,” Miki said at last, taking his little finger out of his mouth and patting him on the arm. “We’re all gentlemen here, uncle.”

“We’d never lay a hand on you,” Escobita declared in alarm. “We love you, uncle, even though you don’t believe it. In spite of how badly you’ve behaved with us by signing that filthy paper.”

“Let me finish,” Rigoberto said, pacifying them, moving his hands. “In spite of my fear, if the judge asks me to testify, I’ll tell him the truth. That Ismael made the decision to marry knowing perfectly well what he was doing. That he isn’t doddering, or demented, and didn’t let himself be bamboozled by Armida or anyone else. Because your father is still more alert than the two of you put together. That’s the absolute truth, nephew.”

Another dense, thorny silence fell in the room. Outside, the clouds had turned black, and in the distance, on the ocean’s horizon, there were electric shafts that might have been a ship’s reflectors or the lightning bolts of a storm. Rigoberto felt the tumult in his chest. The twins were still ashen and looked at him in a way, he told himself, that meant they were making a great effort not to attack him and beat him to a pulp. “You did me no favor at all when you got me involved in this, Ismael,” he thought.

Escobita was the first to speak. He lowered his voice, as if he were going to tell Rigoberto a secret, and stared into his eyes with a look that flashed with contempt.

“Did my papa pay you for this? How much did he pay you, uncle, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The question took Rigoberto so much by surprise that he was left openmouthed.

“Don’t take the question the wrong way,” said Miki, trying to smooth things over, lowering his voice as well and gesturing to pacify him. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed, everybody has his needs. Escobita asked you this since, if it’s a question of money, we’re also prepared to reward you. Because, to tell the truth, we need you, uncle.”

“We need you to go before the judge and state that you signed as a witness under pressure and threats,” Escobita explained. “If you and Narciso testify to that, everything will move much faster and the marriage will be annulled one two three. Obviously we’re prepared to compensate you, uncle. And generously.”

“Services are paid for and we know very well what kind of world we live in,” Miki added. “With absolute discretion, of course.”

“Besides, you’ll be doing my papa a great favor, uncle. The poor man must be desperate now, not knowing how to escape the trap he fell into in a moment of weakness. We’ll get him out of the mess and in the end he’ll thank us, you’ll see.”

Rigoberto listened, not blinking or moving, petrified in his seat, as if lost in wise reflection. The twins waited anxiously for his answer. The silence lasted close to a minute. In the distance the knife grinder’s penny whistle sounded faintly from time to time.

“I’m going to ask the two of you to leave this house and never set foot in here again,” Don Rigoberto said at last, with the same serenity he had maintained throughout. “The truth is you’re worse than I thought, boys. And if there’s anyone who knows you well it’s me, ever since you were in short pants.”

“You’re offending us,” said Miki. “Don’t make a mistake, uncle. We respect your gray hairs, but only so far.”

“We won’t let this stand,” declared Escobita, banging the table. “You have everything to lose, just so you know. Even your retirement is on the table.”

“Don’t forget who’s going to own the company as soon as the crazy old coot kicks the bucket,” Miki threatened.

“I asked you to leave,” said Rigoberto, standing and pointing at the door. “And above all, don’t show up here again. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Do you think you’re going to throw us out of your house just like that, you lousy hustler?” said Escobita, standing as well and clenching his fists.

“Shut up,” his brother cut him off, holding him by the arm. “Things can’t degenerate into a fight. Apologize to Uncle Rigoberto for insulting him, Escobita.”

“It’s not necessary. It’s enough if the two of you leave and don’t come back,” said Rigoberto.

“He’s the one who’s offended us, Miki. He’s throwing us out of his house like two mangy dogs. Or maybe you didn’t hear him.”

“Apologize, damn it,” ordered Miki, getting to his feet as well. “Right now. Beg his pardon.”

“All right.” Escobita gave in, trembling like a leaf. “I beg your pardon for what I said to you, uncle.”

“You’re forgiven,” Rigoberto agreed. “This conversation is over. Thank you for your visit, boys. Goodbye.”

“We’ll talk again when we’re calmer,” said Miki in farewell. “I’m sorry it ended this way, Uncle Rigoberto. We wanted to reach a friendly understanding with you. In view of your inflexibility, we’ll have to take this to court.”

“This won’t end well for you, and I tell you that from the heart because you’ll be sorry,” said Escobita. “So you’d better think it over.”

“Let’s go, brother, and just shut up.” Miki took his brother’s arm and dragged him to the front door.

As soon as the twins left the house, Rigoberto saw Lucrecia and Justiniana come into the room, alarmed expressions on their faces. The maid held a rolling pin like a deadly weapon.

“We heard everything,” said Lucrecia, grasping her husband’s arm. “If they’d done anything, we were ready to burst in and attack those hyenas.”

“Ah, is that what the rolling pin’s for?” Rigoberto asked, and Justiniana nodded, very seriously, swinging her improvised cudgel in the air.

“I had the poker from the fireplace in my hand,” said Lucrecia. “We would have scratched out those hoodlums’ eyes, I swear it, love.”

“I behaved rather well, didn’t I?” Rigoberto threw out his chest. “I didn’t let that pair of morons intimidate me for a moment.”

“You behaved like a great man,” said Lucrecia. “And this time, at least, intelligence defeated brute force.”

“Like a real man, señor,” Justiniana echoed Lucrecia.

“Not a word about any of this to Fonchito,” Rigoberto ordered. “The boy has enough headaches already.”

The women agreed and suddenly, at the same time, all three burst into laughter.

IX

Six days after
El Tiempo
published Don Felícito Yanaqué’s second notice (anonymous, unlike his first), the kidnappers still hadn’t given any signs of life. And Sergeant Lituma and Captain Silva, in spite of all their efforts, had found no trace of Mabel. The kidnapping hadn’t yet reached the press, and Captain Silva said this kind of miracle couldn’t last; given the interest that the case of the owner of Narihualá Transport had awakened all over Piura, it was impossible for an event this important not to soon be front-page news in the papers and all over radio and television. Any day now, everything would become public knowledge, and Colonel Rascachucha would have another extraordinary temper tantrum complete with violent shouting, cursing, and foot-stamping.

Lituma knew his boss well enough to know how upset the chief was, even though he didn’t talk about it, simulated certainty, and continued to make his usual cynical, vulgar comments. No doubt he was wondering, as Lituma was, whether the spider gang hadn’t gone too far and Don Felícito’s mistress, that cute little brunette, wasn’t dead and buried in some garbage dump on the outskirts of town. Each time they met with the trucker, who was being consumed by this misfortune, the sergeant and captain were affected by the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands, and how his voice would break off in the middle of a phrase; he’d sit there dazed and mute, looking in terror at nothing, his watery eyes subject to fits of frantic blinking. “He could have a heart attack at any time and we’d have a stiff on our hands,” Lituma thought fearfully. His boss was smoking twice as many cigarettes as usual, clenching the butts between his teeth and biting them, something he did only in times of extreme stress.

“What do we do if Señora Mabel doesn’t show up, Captain? I’m telling you, this mess keeps me awake every night.”

“We kill ourselves, Lituma,” said the chief, trying to joke. “We’ll play Russian roulette and leave this world with our balls intact, like Seminario in your bet. But she’ll show up, don’t be so pessimistic. They know from the notice in
El Tiempo
, or they think they know, that they’ve finally broken Yanaqué. Now they’re making him suffer a little more just to clinch the deal. That isn’t what really worries me, Lituma. Do you know what does? That Don Felícito will lose his head and suddenly decide to publish another notice, do an about-face and ruin our plan.”

It hadn’t been easy to convince him. It had taken the captain several hours to make him give in, presenting every possible argument for his taking the notice to
El Tiempo
that same day. He spoke to him first in the police station and then in El Pie Ajeno, a bar he and Lituma had to all but drag him to. They watched him drink half a dozen carob-bean cocktails, one after the other, even though, as he repeated several times, he never drank. Alcohol wasn’t good for him, it upset his stomach and gave him diarrhea. But now it was different. He’d suffered a terrible blow, the most painful of his life, and alcohol would control his longing to have another crying fit.

“I beg you to believe me, Don Felícito,” said the chief, making a show of his patience. “Understand, I’m not asking you to surrender to the gang. I’d never think of advising you to pay the extortion they’re demanding.”

“That’s something I’d never do,” the trucker repeated, shaking and adamant. “Even if they kill Mabel and I had to kill myself so I wouldn’t have to live with that remorse on my conscience.”

“I’m only asking you to pretend, that’s all. Make them think you accept their conditions,” the captain insisted. “You won’t have to cough up a penny for them, I swear on my mother. And on Josefita, that gorgeous woman. We need them to release the girl, that will put us right on their trail. I know what I’m talking about, believe me. This is my profession and I know for a fact how these shits act. Don’t be stubborn, Don Felícito.”

“I’m not doing this out of stubbornness, Captain.” The trucker had calmed down and now his expression was tragicomic because a lock of hair had fallen over his forehead and covered part of his right eye; he didn’t seem to notice. “I’m really fond of Mabel, I love her. It breaks my heart that someone like her, who has nothing to do with this, is the victim of those greedy, vicious criminals. But I can’t give them the satisfaction. Understand, Captain, it’s not for my own sake. I can’t insult my father’s memory.”

He was silent for a while, staring into his empty cocktail glass, and Lituma thought he’d begin to whimper again. But he didn’t. Instead, with his head down, not looking at them, as if speaking not to them but to himself, the small man in his close-fitting, ash-colored jacket and vest began to recall his father. Blue flies buzzed in circles around their heads, and in the distance they could hear a heated argument between two men over a traffic accident. Felícito spoke in a hesitant way, searching for the words that would give the story he was telling proper weight and allowing himself at times to be overcome by emotion. Lituma and Captain Silva soon realized that the tenant farmer Aliño Yanaqué, from the Hacienda Yapatera, in Chulucanas, was the person Felícito had loved most in his life. And not only because the same blood ran in their veins but because thanks to his father, he’d been able to lift himself out of poverty, or rather, out of the wretchedness in which he was born and spent his childhood—a wretchedness they couldn’t even imagine—to become a businessman, the owner of a large fleet of cars, trucks, and buses, an accredited transport company that made his humble family name shine. He’d earned people’s respect; those who knew him also knew he was trustworthy and honorable. He’d been able to give his children a good education, a decent life, a profession, and would leave them Narihualá Transport, a business both customers and competitors thought well of. All this was due more to the sacrifices of Aliño Yanaqué than to his own efforts. He’d been not only his father but also his mother and his family, because Felícito had never known the woman who brought him into the world or any other relative. He didn’t even know why he’d been born in Yapatera, a village of blacks and mulattoes where the Yanaqués, being Europeans, that is
cholos
, seemed like foreigners. They led an isolated life, because the dark-skinned people of Yapatera didn’t make friends with Aliño and his son. Either because they had no family or because his father didn’t want Felícito to know who his aunts and uncles and cousins were or where they could be found, they’d always lived alone. He didn’t remember it, he was very young when it happened, but he knew that soon after he was born his mother ran off, who knows where or with whom. She never came back. For as long as he could remember his father had worked like a mule, on the tiny farm the boss gave him and on the boss’s hacienda, with no Sundays or holidays off, every day of the week and every month of the year. Aliño Yanaqué spent everything he earned, which wasn’t much, so that Felícito could eat, go to school, have shoes and clothes, notebooks and pencils. Sometimes he gave him a toy for Christmas or a coin so he could buy a lollipop or taffy. He wasn’t one of those fathers always kissing and spoiling their children. He was frugal, austere, and never gave him a kiss or a hug or told him jokes to make him laugh. But he deprived himself of everything so his son wouldn’t be an illiterate tenant farmer when he grew up. Back then Yapatera didn’t even have a school. Felícito had to go from his house to the public school in Chulucanas, five kilometers each way, and he didn’t always find a kindly driver who’d let him climb into his truck and save him the walk. He didn’t recall ever missing a single day of school. He always got good grades. Since his father couldn’t read, he had to read his report card to him, and it made Felícito happy to see Aliño proud as a peacock when he heard the teachers praise his son. Since there was no room in the only secondary school in Chulucanas, they had to move to Piura so that Felícito could continue his education. To Aliño’s great joy, Felícito was accepted to School Unit San Miguel of Piura, the most prestigious national secondary school in the city. Following his father’s instructions, Felícito hid from his classmates and teachers the fact that Aliño earned his living loading and unloading merchandise in the Central Market, near the slaughterhouse, and at night picked up garbage in municipal trucks. All that effort so his son could study and grow up to be something more than a tenant farmer or a porter or a garbage collector. The advice Aliño gave before he died, “Never let anybody walk all over you, my son,” had been the motto of his life. And Felícito wasn’t going to let those goddamn son of a bitch thieves, arsonists, and kidnappers walk all over him now.