The Discreet Hero (29 page)

As soon as the greetings were concluded they led him into the room next to the dining room. Through the large window one could see the garden filled with crotons, bougainvillea, geraniums, and floripondios. Rigoberto noticed that beside the table, where the cups, coffeepot, and a serving dish of cookies and pastries were arranged, were several packages, large and small boxes beautifully wrapped in fancy paper and ribbons. Were they gifts? Yes. Ismael and Armida had brought them for Rigoberto, Lucrecia, Fonchito, and even Justiniana in gratitude for the kindness they’d shown the bride and groom: shirts and silk pajamas for Rigoberto, blouses and shawls for Lucrecia, athletic clothes and sneakers for Fonchito, a dustcoat and sandals for Justiniana, in addition to sashes, belts, cuff links, datebooks, handmade notebooks, engravings, chocolates, art books, and an erotic drawing to hang in the bathroom in the privacy of one’s own home.

They looked rejuvenated, sure of themselves, happy, and so supremely peaceful that Rigoberto felt infected by the newlyweds’ serenity and good humor. Ismael must have been very sure of what he was doing, perfectly safe from the machinations of his children. Just as he’d predicted at that lunch at La Rosa Náutica, he was probably spending more than they were to undo their plots. He probably had everything under control. Just as well. Why was Rigoberto worrying, then? With Ismael in Lima, the trouble caused by the hyenas would be resolved, perhaps with a reconciliation if his ex-boss could resign himself to letting the fools have a little more money. All the traps that had overwhelmed him would be undone in a few days and he’d recover his secret life, his civilized space. “My sovereignty and my freedom,” he thought.

After coffee, Rigoberto listened to a few anecdotes of the couple’s travels through Italy. Armida, whose voice he barely remembered having heard before, had recovered the gift of speech. She expressed herself with assurance, few mistakes in syntax, and excellent humor. After a while she withdrew, “so that the two gentlemen can discuss important matters.” She explained that she’d never taken a siesta in her life, but now Ismael had taught her to lie down for fifteen minutes with her eyes closed after lunch, and in fact, in the evening she felt very well thanks to that short rest.

“Don’t worry about anything, my dear Rigoberto,” said Ismael, patting him on the back, as soon as they were alone. “Another cup of coffee? A glass of cognac?”

“I’m delighted to see you so happy and looking so well, Ismael,” Rigoberto answered, shaking his head. “I’m delighted to see both of you so well. The truth is, you and Armida are radiant. Clear proof that the marriage is going wonderfully. I’m very glad, naturally. But, but—”

“But those two devils are driving you crazy, I’m well aware of that,” Ismael finished the sentence, patting him on the back again, still smiling at him and at life. “Don’t worry, Rigoberto, listen to me. I’m here now and I’ll take care of everything. I know how to confront these problems and resolve them. A thousand pardons for all the trouble your generosity toward me has brought you. I’ll work on this matter all day tomorrow with Claudio Arnillas and the other lawyers in his firm. I’ll get the judgments and all these difficulties off your back. Now, sit down and listen. I have news that concerns you. Shall we have that cognac now, old man?”

He quickly poured two drinks and raised his glass. They toasted and wet their lips and tongues; the drink shone with bright red reflections at the bottom of the crystal and had an aroma reminiscent of oak casks. Rigoberto noticed that Ismael was watching him roguishly. A mischievous, mocking smile animated his wrinkled eyes. Did he have his denture adjusted on his honeymoon? It had moved around before, but now it seemed to rest very firmly on his gums.

“Rigoberto, I’ve sold all my shares in the company to Assicurazioni Generali, the best and biggest underwriter in Italy,” he exclaimed, spreading his arms and laughing out loud. “You’re very familiar with them, aren’t you? We’ve worked with them quite often. Their headquarters are in Trieste but they’re all over the world. They’ve wanted to expand into Peru for some time and I took advantage of the opportunity. An excellent deal. You see, my honeymoon wasn’t only a pleasure trip. It was for work too.”

He was enjoying himself, as amused and happy as a child opening presents from Santa Claus. Don Rigoberto hadn’t really taken in the news. He vaguely recalled reading in
The Economist
a few weeks ago that Assicurazioni Generali had plans to venture into South America.

“You’ve sold the company your father founded and where you’ve worked your whole life?” he finally asked, disconcerted. “To an Italian transnational? How long have you been negotiating with them, Ismael?”

“Just about six months,” his friend explained, slowly moving his glass of cognac back and forth. “It was a quick negotiation, there weren’t any complications. And, I repeat, a very good deal. I’ve made an excellent deal. Make yourself comfortable and listen. For obvious reasons, before it was successfully concluded, this had to be confidential. That was the reason for the audit I authorized them to make and that surprised you so much last year. Now you know what was behind it: They wanted to examine the state of the company with a magnifying glass. I wasn’t in charge of it and didn’t pay for it; Assicurazioni Generali did. Now that the transfer is a fact, I can tell you everything.”

Ismael Carrera spoke for close to an hour; Rigoberto interrupted him only a handful of times to request a few explanations. He listened to his friend, amazed at his memory, for without the slightest hesitation he was unfolding for him, as if they were the layers of a palimpsest, months of offers and counteroffers. Rigoberto was stunned. It seemed incredible that so delicate a negotiation could have been carried out so secretly that not even he, the general manager of the company, knew anything about it. The negotiators’ meetings had taken place in Lima, Trieste, New York, and Milan; those who took part were lawyers, principal shareholders, authorized personnel, advisers, and bankers from several countries, but practically all of Ismael Carreras’s Peruvian employees had been excluded, as were Miki and Escobita, of course. Those two, who’d received their inheritance in advance when Don Ismael removed them from the company, had already sold a good part of their shares, and only now did Rigoberto learn that the person who’d bought them through intermediaries was Ismael himself. The hyenas still held a small parcel of shares and would become minor (the smallest, in fact) partners in the Peruvian branch of Assicurazioni Generali. How would they react? A disdainful Ismael shrugged. “Badly, of course. And so what?” Let them holler. The sale had been made in compliance with all national and foreign regulations. The administrative entities of Italy, Peru, and the United States had given the transaction their approval. They’d paid all relevant taxes to the last penny and complied with every rule and law.

“What do you think, Rigoberto?” Ismael Carrera concluded his exposition. He opened his arms again like an actor greeting the audience and waiting for applause. “Am I still sharp, still acting like a businessman?”

Rigoberto nodded. He was disoriented and didn’t know what to think. His friend looked at him, smiling and pleased with himself.

“The truth is, you never cease to amaze me, Ismael,” he finally said. “You’re enjoying a second youth, I can see that. Has Armida rejuvenated you? I still can’t wrap my mind around your having let go so easily of the business your father created and that you built up, investing blood, sweat, and tears in it for half a century. You’ll think it’s absurd, but I feel sad, as if I’d lost something of mine. And you’re as happy as a drunken sailor.”

“It wasn’t all that easy,” Ismael corrected him, serious now. “I had plenty of doubts at first. It made me sad, too. But given the situation, it was the only solution. If I’d had different heirs—but then, why talk about depressing things. You and I know very well what would happen if my children had control of the company. They’d sink it in the blink of an eye. Best-case scenario, they’d sell it at a loss. In the hands of the Italians, it will continue to exist and prosper. You can collect your retirement without any kind of cuts and with a bonus besides, old man. It’s all arranged.”

It seemed to Rigoberto that his friend’s smile had become melancholy. Ismael sighed, and a shadow crossed his eyes.

“What are you going to do with so much money, Ismael?”

“Spend my final years calm and happy,” he replied immediately. “And I hope healthy too. Enjoying life a little, with my wife at my side. Better late than never, Rigoberto. You know better than anyone that until now I lived only to work.”

“Hedonism’s a good philosophy, Ismael,” Rigoberto agreed. “Aside from everything else, it’s mine, too. Until now I’ve been able to follow it only in part. But I hope to imitate you when the twins leave me in peace and Lucrecia and I can set off on the trip to Europe we organized. She was very disappointed when we had to cancel our plans because of your sons’ demands.”

“I’ve already told you, I’ll take care of that tomorrow. It’s at the top of my agenda, Rigoberto,” said Ismael, standing up. “I’ll call you after our meeting in Arnillas’s office. And let’s set a date to have lunch or dinner together, with Armida and Lucrecia.”

As he returned home, leaning on the steering wheel of his car, all kinds of ideas whirled around in Don Rigoberto’s head like the water in a fountain. How much money could Ismael have gotten from the sale of his shares? Many millions. A fortune, in any case. Even though Ismael’s company had been doing only so-so recently, it was a solid institution with a magnificent portfolio and a first-rate reputation in Peru and abroad. True, an octogenarian like Ismael could no longer keep up with managerial responsibilities. He must have put his capital into safe investments, debenture bonds, pension funds, businesses in the safest fiscal paradises: Lichtenstein, Guernsey, or Jersey, or perhaps Singapore or Dubai. The interest alone would allow him and Armida to live like royalty anywhere in the world. What would the twins do? Fight with the new owners? They were such idiots that this couldn’t be discounted. They’d be squashed like cockroaches. It couldn’t happen too soon. No, probably they’d try to nibble away at some of the money from the sale. Ismael probably had it safely tucked away. No doubt they’d resign themselves if their father softened and threw them a few crumbs to get them to stop fucking around. Then everything would settle down. If only it would happen soon. Then his plans for a joyful retirement rich in material, intellectual, and artistic pleasures could finally materialize.

But in his heart of hearts he couldn’t convince himself that everything would work out so well for Ismael. He was haunted by the suspicion that instead of being settled, matters would become even more complicated, and instead of escaping the legal and judicial tangle in which Miki and Escobita had caught him, he’d find himself even more thoroughly trapped until the end of his days. Or was that pessimism due to the abrupt reappearance of Edilberto Torres?

As soon as he reached his house in Barranco, he gave his wife a detailed account of the latest events. She shouldn’t worry about the sale of the company to an Italian insurer, because as far as the two of them were concerned, the transfer would probably help to resolve things if Ismael, along with the new owners, would agree to placate the twins with some money so they’d leave them alone. What made the greatest impression on Lucrecia was that Armida had returned from her honeymoon transformed into an elegant, sociable, and worldly lady. “I’ll call her to welcome her home and arrange that lunch or dinner very soon, my love. I’m dying to see her transformation into a respectable matron.”

Rigoberto went into his study and on the computer looked up everything he could about Assicurazioni Generali S.p.A. The largest insurer in Italy. He’d been in touch with the company and its subsidiaries on several occasions. Recently, it had expanded significantly into Eastern Europe, the Middle and Far East, and in a more limited way, Latin America, where it had centralized its operations in Panama. This was a good opportunity for the company to move into South America, using Peru as a springboard. The country was doing well, its laws were stable, and investments were growing.

He was still immersed in research when he heard Fonchito come home from school. He closed the computer and waited impatiently for his son to come in and say hello. When the boy entered the study and approached to kiss him, still with his Markham Academy backpack on his shoulders, Rigoberto decided to bring up the subject immediately.

“So it seems Edilberto Torres has appeared again,” he said sadly. “I thought we’d gotten rid of him forever, Fonchito.”

“So did I, Papa,” his son replied with disarming sincerity. He removed the backpack, placed it on the floor, and sat down facing his father’s desk. “We had a very brief conversation. Didn’t my stepmother tell you about it? Just until the jitney reached Miraflores. He got off at the Diagonal, near the park. Didn’t she tell you?”

“Of course she told me, but I’d like it if you told me too.” He noticed that Fonchito had ink stains on his fingers and that his tie was unknotted. “What did he say to you? What did you talk about?”

“The devil,” Fonchito said with a laugh. “Yes, yes, don’t laugh. It’s true, Papa. And this time he didn’t cry, fortunately. I told him you and my stepmother thought he was the devil incarnate.”

He spoke with such evident naturalness, there was something so fresh and authentic in him, Rigoberto thought, how could he not believe him.

“They still believe in the devil?” Edilberto was surprised. He spoke to him in a whisper. “It seems there aren’t many people in our day who believe in that gentleman. Have your parents told you why they have so low an opinion of me?”

“Because of how you appear and disappear so mysteriously, señor,” explained Fonchito, lowering his voice too, because the subject seemed to interest the other passengers on the jitney, who’d started to look at them sideways. “I shouldn’t be talking to you. I already told you I’ve been forbidden to.”

“You tell them I told you that they can forget their fears and rest easy,” Edilberto Torres assured him in a barely audible voice. “I’m not the devil or anything like it, just a normal, ordinary person like you and like them. And like all the people on this jitney. Besides, you’re wrong, I don’t appear and disappear in a miraculous way. Our meetings are the result of chance. Sheer coincidence.”