Good day. Good day. I’m Superintendent Lascano. Are you Mr Pérez Lastra? The very same. This is my wife, Lara. Nice to meet you. How can I be of help? I’m conducting an investigation into an associate of yours and need to ask you a few questions. Ask away. Elías Biterman. Biterman? Yes, of course, I know Biterman. What’s your relationship with him? Commercial. He cashes cheques for me or lends me modest sums. Do you owe him much money? I believe I do owe him a little, yes. When was the last time you saw him? Is the Yid in trouble? Answer my question please. I don’t know, it would be about a week ago. Where did you meet him? In a café on Florida. Do you remember which one? The Richmond. What was the purpose of the meeting? To sort out the payments I owe him. How much do you owe him? Well, I don’t have the figures with me. Approximately. I don’t know, a million, more or less. And what arrangements did you come to? In the end, none at all. It was left that he was going to send me the bill with an invoice through his brother, Horacio, but he never did. So I see. Can you tell me where you were on Tuesday night? Tuesday? We ate at home, isn’t that right dear? Err yeah. Yes, we went to bed early. How did you injure your head? I fell off my horse out in the country. Do you have a car? Yes. A Falcon Rural 74. What colour? Grey. Where is it? Here, in the club car park. Do you want to see it? That won’t be necessary. What blood group are you? O negative. Would you mind telling me what this is all about? Biterman was murdered. What? Like you heard. You don’t think that… I don’t think anything yet. I’m talking to all his debtors. I see. Well, that’s everything. I may have to speak to you again. Good day, sir, sorry to disturb you. …Good day.

  Lascano stands up and performs a little bow before leaving.

  And what shit have you got yourself mixed up in now, darling? Nothing, it seems that someone I know has been killed. I heard that bit, was it you? But how can you even think such a thing? On Tuesday I got back at seven in the morning and you weren’t home. I’ve already explained that to you. Yes, you explained it to me, but you just lied about it to the police.

  25

  It’s a clear morning. Giribaldi sits impatiently at the wheel of his car. He’s wondering what’s taking Maisabé so long, given that she said she was ready to leave when he went to get the car from the garage. Finally she appears, carrying the baby as if she’s concealing a secret. Giribaldi opens the back door. He looks in the rear-view mirror and sees that her face is strained, and she’s been crying. What is up with her? He decides to go the bottom way. He takes 9 de Julio, turns onto Diagonal Norte and continues down towards Casa de Gobierno. A group of mothers-of-the-disappeared are congregated in Plaza de Mayo, doing circuits around the pyramid-shaped monument, wearing white handkerchiefs on their heads.

  Maisabé fixes her eyes on these silent women, as the car skirts around them on Hipólito Yrigoyen. The traffic lights on Defensa halt their progress. They come to a stop, right across from the women. One of them stops her march and stares at Maisabé, who feels like she’s been discovered. The woman walks towards the car with a hard look on her face. Fear grips hold of Maisabé’s throat, her muscles tense and she doesn’t realize she’s squeezing the child too tightly. The baby starts crying. Giribaldi asks what the matter is. A horn sounds behind them, the lights change, he slips into first and pulls away. Maisabé looks around and sees the mother by the cordon now, greeting and embracing another woman. Maisabé begins to tremble and weep.

  Can you please tell me what on earth you’re crying for? No reason, Leonardo, it’s nothing, just leave me be.

  They carry on along Leandro Alem heading north, with no option but to join the typically chaotic morning traffic. Giribaldi comes to a stop outside The Horse café, under the train tracks, on the corner of Avenida Juan B. Justo and Libertador. He leaves his wife and child to wait in the car and goes into the café, where Amancio sits at a table, anxiously stirring his coffee. A weak and contemptible being, always preoccupied with his wife, a whore no matter how many barrels to her name. Always begging, always drowning in a glass of water, although in his case it would have to be a glass of whisky. It’s always the same with civilians, more doubt than strength of will. Giribaldi approaches Amancio’s table but remains standing, the better to emphasize his stature, his superiority. Amancio offers up what he believes to be his best smile.

  Giri, it looks like this thing’s gone from bad to worse. Now what? A policeman came to see me. He asked me loads of questions about Biterman. Lascano? That’s him. You stupid fool. Last time you told me his name was Lezama and I had to bust my arse finding out who it really was. I said Lezama? Yes. Sorry, I was mistaken. You’re always mistaken. What you now have to get into your head is that you’ve got yourself involved in a game with the big boys, where errors are paid for dearly. You’re right, and I’m sorry. Stop saying sorry all the time, won’t you? What did Lascano want? It’s the same guy who went to see Horacio. No shit! What did you tell him? Nothing, but he asked me hundreds of questions. The guy suspects something. How did he get to you? How do I know? Would Horacio have told him? I don’t know, maybe. Does he know anything about me? Who? Horacio, who else? Not a thing. You sure? Come on, do you take me for a complete fool? Well, the truth is that you are a bit of a fool.

  Giribaldi looks up and sees Maisabé standing by the car, clutching the baby, rocking it nervously as it waves its hands about and bawls. Amancio assumes himself responsible for the look of anger that spreads over Giribaldi’s face.

  Right. I’ve got to go and see this priest you recommended, see if he can cure Maisabé of the craziness she’s got with the kid. And what about me, what shall I do? You grab that little whore of yours, lock up your house and head out to the country, and you do it right now, and you stay there until I tell you otherwise. And whatever happens, keep your trap shut. If they nab you, let me know straight away. Tell them that for security reasons you have to inform Major Giribaldi. Is that clear? Crystal.

  26

  Waiting in the sacristy, Maisabé rocks the baby frantically, not realizing it’s fallen asleep. Giribaldi kills time looking at the depictions of suffering hanging on the wall. The Sacred Heart, wrapped in its crown of thorns, drips blood on the world. To one side, Saint Sebastian, pierced with arrows, endures martyrdom with a bit of a poof’s expression on his face. Next to him, Saint George, ferocious, skewers the dragon, which writhes on the ground at the horse’s feet. Father Roberto opens the door. He’s young, wears jeans and a T-shirt and could easily pass for an engineering or economics student. He has a wide, childish smile and a deliberate, somewhat affected manner. He speaks gently.

  Major, what a pleasure, and you must be Maisabé. And the little one, what’s he called? His name’s Aníbal, Father. No need to call me father, my name’s Roberto. As you wish. Now what is it that’s bothering you?

  Roberto notices that Maisabé seems apprehensive in the presence of Giribaldi, who looks like he’s keeping watch over a dangerous prisoner.

  Major, you wouldn’t be offended if I asked for a moment alone with your wife? What? No, no, of course not, I’ll wait outside. Many thanks…

  The Major wavers a second and then leaves, as if going to do his penance.

  OK, now tell me, Maisabé, what’s troubling you? I don’t know if you know, Father… sorry, Roberto, but this child is actually… No need to explain, I know all about it. But tell me, what’s the matter with you, it doesn’t seem like you’ve taken to motherhood so well. I think I’m going crazy. But why? The child hates me. But how can this little angel hate you? He looks at me in a certain way… In what way? As if he’s accusing me of what happened to his mother, of having stolen him from her. But no, you’re confusing things, Maisabé, that’s all in your imagination. When a child is born it’s common for mothers to get a bit flustered. Now you may not have given birth to this child, but you wanted to so much that I think something similar is happening to you. You think so? It seems that way. The other night I became convinced that I was living in sin for having stolen him. You’ve not stolen anything, Maisabé, you have saved this child. Yes, but the mother… The mother was not capable of protecting him and got herself mixed up in things she shouldn’t have. You’re not to blame for what happened to her. She’s the only one to blame, she ought to have thought better of it before getting mixed up in what she did. But doesn’t a person live in sin if they keep stolen goods?

  The priest puts his hand over her head then gently takes hold of her chin.

  Maisabé!… that’s for things, not for people. Think about it a little, what would have become of this poor angel if it had grown up in a subversive household? You have to realize that God intervened to put this child in your hands. Divine Providence was moved to pity the child’s destiny and give him a Christian home, where he’ll be raised with true values. You and your husband represent those values, and that’s why you’re here.

  Ashamed of what she’s about to say, Maisabé bows her head. Roberto’s hand lingers on her neck.

  Father, the other night I thought about killing him, so as to return him to his mother. Well, I understand you feeling remorse, which shows that you’re a good person. Sometimes our best intentions lead us down the wrong path, but you’ve seen the light and the sin of evil thought is forgiven. Really Father?… Roberto. Of course, Maisabé, come with me…

  He directs her towards a prayer bench, where they both kneel. He hands her an image of the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception surrounded by cherubs, hand in the air, eyes looking up to the sky, with her burgeoning belly. He reaches an arm around Maisabé’s shoulders and places his other hand, fist clenched, against his breast.

  Recite with me the Prayer for Lost Children.

  Embraced by Roberto, babe in arms and staring determinedly at the image, Maisabé softly repeats the priest’s words.

  Oh Lord! with all that you see, watch over this lost child, that has been found.

  Oh Lord! with all that you are able, help all children find the path to You.

  Oh Lord! may Your infinite piety protect this child.

  With your merciful hand, like Moses, lead him through stormy waters.

  Give him a pure life, full of You, and for Your great glory.

  In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

  Aníbal, Maisabé, I bless you in the name of God. Go now in peace.

  Giribaldi can’t believe his eyes when he sees Maisabé come out of the sacristy, closely followed by Roberto. She seems like she’s walking on air, her whole face has changed, become illuminated, serene and harmonious. Her hands hold the little one with loving tenderness and, when she passes Giribaldi’s side, she gives him a soft smile, as if from another world. Giribaldi feels, and holds back, a strong urge to cry, which immediately turns to a sense of terror.

  Will Maisabé ever return from this other world or is she stuck there for ever?

  27

  Lascano drops in at the police mechanics workshop and picks up his car. He’s been told to present himself before his superior at ten. He plunges into the city’s traffic.

  His boss is known as Blue Dollar, because even a complete fool can tell how false he is. Lascano wonders what his boss wants. Perro knows he’ll have to be very careful. Rumour has it that Blue Dollar sent several policemen into a trap from which no one came out alive. They say that’s how he gets people off his back, especially those who stick their nose into his business. Blue Dollar runs a kickback racket linked to the allocation of police jurisdictions. If a superintendent wants to be in charge of a particular police station, he has to pay a price for the keys. Different jurisdictions naturally have different prices. The First is the most valued and sought after. Given its downtown location, it’s the one that brings in the most profitable business. It’s got everything: bars, nightclubs, whores, traffickers, homosexuals, bankers, businessmen; everyone has something to hide, something they need, something to disguise. All this means a licence to print money. Lascano has always steered clear of the system, never shown any interest in getting involved, which suits him fine, but makes those that are embroiled very suspicious.

  Near Congreso, Lascano checks his watch and sees he’s right on time. At three minutes to ten he enters police headquarters via the Moreno entrance. He skirts around the courtyard of palm trees, heads up to the second floor and, at ten on the dot, knocks on Blue Dollar’s door. The boss has company, someone Lascano immediately sees is military, and an acidic bubble bursts in his stomach.

  Good morning, sir. Good morning Lascano, allow me to introduce Major Giribaldi. Pleased to meet you. So you’re the famous Perro Lascano. Famous? Everyone knows you. That’s not much good in my line of work, I prefer to go about my business unnoticed. I bet you do. Well, Lascano, the Major here has something he needs to talk to you about, so if you’ll forgive me, I’ve a matter to attend to. I’ll leave you two here to chat in peace. Whatever you say. Thanks Jorge.

  Lascano’s boss puts on his cap and the tailored jacket of his uniform and leaves the office. Giribaldi takes his seat behind the desk.

  So, what are you up to Lascano? The same as ever, working. What are you working on? A homicide. Biterman. How did you know? I know a lot of things. So I see. You picked up three bodies down by the racetrack. That’s right. You took them to the mortuary. Correct. Well, for your information, those bodies were three subversives who did battle with my men. I didn’t know that, but one of the bodies caught my attention, Biterman, who was a lot older than the others. Do you think all subversives are twenty years old? No, I’ve heard that some are fifteen, some twelve, some even as young as one. Are you trying to be funny? Not in the least. I’m just telling you what I know. What else do you know? That Biterman was killed somewhere else and planted with the others. And what’s that to you? I’m a policeman. And if you’re such a keen policeman, why didn’t you investigate the other two bodies? Because I’m not allowed to, as you well know. But at least one of them will get justice. Don’t break my balls with talk of justice. In these times, we can’t afford to be fooling around. I’m telling you that you can’t investigate Biterman either. Understood? Is that an order? It’s an order…

  The military man studies the policeman in silence, his fists tightly clenched on the desk. He lets out a sigh and reclines in his seat.

  You see, Lascano, you’re an estimable guy, a smart cop. But there are some things you just don’t seem to get. Like what? Oh never mind, I’m not going to start explaining now. Just stop messing around with this case and forget about this piece of shit Jew. You’ve a lot more to lose than to gain from it. Really? Look, I’ll make you an offer. Come and work for me. I’ll improve your rank and salary. But first take a nice long holiday with that girlfriend you’ve got kept at home. I’d prefer to stick where I am. Not accepting what I’m offering you would be very stupid, and I don’t think you’re stupid. So stop messing about, Lascano, and do as you’re told. It’ll suit you. I’ll have to think about it. You think about it… but not for too long. You wouldn’t happen to be a lefty, would you? A lefty? No, I try to abide by rights in everything I do. That sort of sarcasm is going to be your downfall one day. I want an answer by tomorrow. Tell Jorge and I’ll contact you. All right, anything else? You can go. Thanks, good day.

  Perro doesn’t wait around for the lift, descending the stairs at full pelt. The bubble in his stomach turns into a fireball. He fears he’s going to be picked up at the very door to police headquarters. He strides out to the street corner, jumps in his car and pulls away. Two blocks on, he puts his flashing light on the roof and crosses the city like a demon, without stopping at a single traffic light, snaking through the crazy morning traffic and not even lighting a single cigarette the whole journey. When he gets home, he parks any old place, without even wasting time on locking the door. He bursts into the apartment like a whirlwind.

  At that same moment, two men, one tall and well-built, with a good beer belly, the other short, grey-haired and skinny, enter the Bitermans’ building. They get to the fourth floor just as Horacio comes out of his door carrying a suitcase. They address him by his name and when he replies that yes, it’s him, Grey pulls out a pistol and puts a bullet in his head. Horacio’s shoes are left where he was standing, but he goes on a brief flight, ending when his head smashes into the wall and his body spills to the floor, eyes open. A torrent of blood immediately starts to pour out of him. When the echoes of the gunshot die out, Beer Belly catches the sound of the neighbour shutting the spyhole. Grey motions with his head. Belly goes over to the neighbour’s door, takes out his gun and cocks it. He rings the bell. The peephole shutter slides open and the neighbour’s voice asks who’s there. Belly puts the barrel of his gun into the little window and pulls the trigger. On the other side, the sound of the neighbour’s body falling to the floor is heard. When Belly turns around, Grey is already waiting in the lift. Belly catches him up and they leave.

  Lascano slams the door, making Eva jump out of her skin.

  Ehh, what’s going on? Girl, I’ve no time to explain. We have to leave right away. Where to? I’ll explain later. Get a bag together with our things. Essentials only. Don’t forget documents. But what’s happened? Just trust me. I’ll explain later. There’s no time now. We have to leave right now. OK.

 

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