Four armed men leave the building, a frightened couple in tow. He gropes the air like a blind man. She’s shoved into the back seat of the second car. They let him loose in front of the first car. A man who seems to be in charge of the operation barks an order at him: Get in. The guy probes the air nervously with his hands, then one of his captors pushes him so that he bangs into the car door. They all laugh. Amancio is surprised to learn there are blind subversives, but, well, you never do know. Eventually, they stuff the blind man into the back of the car and force him to the floor. The armed men jump in and the two Falcons drive off. Before the cars reach the next corner, the lights have been taken off the roofs.

  Amancio walks up to the Bitermans’ block and opens the door with the key that Horacio gave him. A smell of food fills the landing. Something fried that Amancio finds disgusting. The rhythmic sound made by the lift as it climbs, bum bum, seems to keep time with Amancio’s heartbeat, which is getting faster and faster. He can feel every systolic beat pounding in his neck and brow. His vision is blurred, a combination of the alcohol he drank to give him courage and the fury that lingers from his row with Lara and her departure. He knows he’s not in the best state to do what he’s planning to do, that he’s a little unsteady. He breathes quickly and loudly to get some air in his lungs.

  As he gets out on the fourth floor, he doesn’t notice that he’s being spied on by the neighbour through the peephole. The shutter closes as soon as he goes into Biterman’s office.

  The moneylender is sitting at the desk revising his accounts, when he suddenly becomes aware of Amancio’s presence, gun in hand. Not looking the least unsettled, he peers at him from above his reading glasses.

  What are you doing here, how did you get in? That doesn’t matter. I’ve come to cancel my debts. Hand over the cheques. OK. Stay calm. I’ve got them here. Don’t try anything clever. Put your right hand on your left shoulder then slowly open the drawer with your left hand. You want the cheques and I’m going to give them to you. Come on then, let’s have them.

  Without taking his eyes off Amancio for a second, Biterman gradually opens the drawer. Amancio feels like his face is on fire. He can’t see what’s in the drawer. He moves up on to his tiptoes to try to make sure the Jew doesn’t have a gun in there. Biterman realizes that in doing so, Amancio is no longer pointing the gun at him and he decides to take advantage of the situation. The beast breaks loose and lets forth a savage roar that has Amancio rooted to the spot. With a fierce swipe, Biterman sends the nine millimetre crashing out of Amancio’s hand. He heaves the desk over, sending papers flying in a rain of giant confetti, and throws himself on top of Amancio with all his strength and weight, knocking him to the floor. Amancio tries to resist, but he lands with his legs all twisted underneath him and Biterman disables him further by yanking his arm behind his back like a lever. Biterman’s enormous buffalo head spits with fury, inches from Amancio’s face. Amancio tries to wriggle free with desperate movements that do nothing but provoke a slight smile from Biterman. Amancio feels like a crushed ant. His legs start to cramp.

  Did you really think that you, you toffee-nosed prick, could frighten me with a gun? I’m going to ram it up your arse, then you’ll learn. All right. All right? You pathetic fool. Hooray Henry. You can thank your lucky stars I’m a businessman. If I kill you, I won’t get paid.

  Suddenly Biterman pummels Amancio’s ears hard with both fists, stunning him. Biterman grabs the gun, jumps up and kicks him in the ribs. Amancio gasps like a fish out of water

  And I have to tell you that this little incident has not only doubled your debt, but made the deadline expire. So here’s what we’re going to do. Tomorrow, nice and early, you’re going to call the notary and take him the deeds to La Rencorosa. From now on, it’s mine. But Biterman… Mr Biterman to you. Come on, stop fucking around. Does it look like I’m fucking around to you? No. Good. You’d better be damned sure I’m not.

  Biterman looks at Amancio as if contemplating an insect and allows him to get his breath back. Amidst much coughing, Amancio finally manages to raise himself off the floor and sit up straight. From where Biterman is standing, he can kick or punch Amancio at will, should he try anything. Amancio is completely flustered by the transformation he has brought about in the Jew. Biterman has the glowing eyes of a wild animal and his mouth is somehow contorted into a strange smile, which emphasizes very white teeth and two sharp canines. Although Biterman now speaks and acts with his usual serenity, his muscles remain taut and imply violence. Completely intimidated, Amancio nervously watches Biterman’s giant feet and hands while rubbing his own cracked ribs. When Biterman bends down to pick something up off the floor, Amancio’s whole being flinches. Biterman cuts the emphatic figure of a boxer towering over his floored opponent, knocked-out, no way back.

  No need to be so jumpy, I just wanted to pass you these papers to sign. Make yourself comfortable and add your signature, at the side of this page and at the bottom of this one. But they’re blank? What if I refuse? You leave here feet first. Where am I signing? There and there… good. Give me them… Happy now? Can I go? One more thing. How did you get in? … Come on idiot. Can’t you see I’ve got your life in my hands? Answer. How did you get in? Horacio. The other little maggot. I thought as much.

  Biterman grabs Amancio by the lapels and pulls him to his feet. A shove sends Amancio crashing into the wall, producing a deep wound on the temple, which gushes blood into his eye. Biterman spins him around like a doll and throws him out of the room. Amancio, utterly dazed, departs with comical dance steps. Another push sends him flying towards the door, making him slump to the floor. Biterman pulls the door open hard, striking Amancio once again. He then grabs Amancio by the seat of his trousers and hurls him out, face first, into the corridor wall, plaster crumbling down and sticking to the blood on his forehead. Standing tall and dominant, Biterman takes the magazine from the gun and puts it in his pocket. He then carefully wipes the pistol down with a handkerchief. His experience has taught him to loathe guns, and his wisdom to stay clear of them. When he finishes rubbing off all traces of himself, he slings the weapon at Amancio’s head. Amancio anticipates this and blocks the throw with his hands. The nine millimetre bounces down between his legs.

  Have it back little boy, go and play Cowboys and Indians.

  The slam of the door echoes down the corridor. Amancio feels the pain of every blow as he struggles to his feet. Fear starts to change to fury. He thinks of everything that will happen next. He has lost La Rencorosa and in a few days time, when his other creditors find out, and they will find out, the floodgates will open and lawsuits will pour down upon him. He pictures Lara, waving goodbye as he’s carted off in handcuffs. He takes a step; the after-effect of the twisted leg brings an acute flash of pain. He leans against the wall, plaster dusting his tattered blue jacket with a layer of grey. He feels like crying and screaming. He looks for a tissue in his pocket to stem the flow of blood from his face. His hand comes across the leftover bullet. He picks up the gun and slots the cartridge straight into the chamber. Then he takes off his jacket and wraps it around the gun. He moves forward a step, and gives two hard knocks on the door. He hears footsteps approaching. He steps back, supports himself against the wall and holds the gun up in front of him, draped in the coat. The door swings open, the Jew’s imposing figure filling its frame. Amancio closes his eyes tight and pulls the trigger. Biterman stares at his stomach in disbelief. Then he looks up, leaps forward and grabs Amancio by the neck. Amancio feels Biterman’s hands turn to pliers as they cut off his air supply. He punches Biterman in the sides but the pressure on his throat doesn’t let up. His strength starts to desert him and he feels a sense of resignation. Suddenly, Biterman’s eyes open extremely wide and a line of blood trickles out of his half-open mouth. A stupefied look transforms his face, his hands relax, his head drops forward onto Amancio’s chest and his breath starts to choke. He lets out a deep, harsh sound, his muscles slacken, his body makes a few spasmodic kicks and then he falls, dragging Amancio down with him. Smothered by Biterman’s inert body, Amancio tries to get his breath back. He fights himself free from the dead man and staggers to his feet. The lights suddenly come on in the hallway and, as he pants heavily, Amancio hears the lift heading for the ground floor. He grabs hold of Biterman by the legs, drags him inside the apartment, closes the door and slumps into a chair. There he remains for he doesn’t know how long, staring at the body, trying to recover, sharp pains attacking him all over.

  When he’s feeling a bit more composed, he gets up and goes into the bathroom. His face is covered in cuts and bruises. The moneylender’s fingers have marked his neck. He turns on the tap and splashes his face over and over again. With a towel, he cleans the blood that continues to flow from his eyebrow. He puts pressure on the wound and then goes back into the other room to reassure himself that Biterman is definitely dead. He sits down again. He thinks, thinks what do I do now? A solution occurs to him. He goes back into the bathroom and tidies himself up as best he can. He leaves the flat.

  The cold night air allows him to regain a degree of self-control, what little he has left. He’s shaking all over. He quickly breathes in and out several times. He walks a short distance, then sits down on the steps of the next building to allow himself time to recuperate.

  A white Mercedes 1518 is parked across the street, outside the building where the blind man and the woman were brought out. Two pieces of brown paper, torn apart by someone’s teeth, are pasted on its doors, crudely covering the navy insignia. Various conscripts come in and out carrying furniture, a fridge, a television, cases, a range of domestic appliances, and they put everything in the back of the truck, supervised by an arrogant blond captain. Amancio starts to feel more like himself, gets to his feet, crosses the road, enters a café and goes over to the pay phone. The Spanish owner, mechanically wiping the bar with a dish cloth, calls over to him.

  Don’t waste your time. I asked them to fix it three months ago and I’m still waiting. You can use this one here if you leave some coins for the call. Thanks a lot.

  The barman places the telephone on the bar and thinks this guy has obviously just taken a beating. But as it’s got nothing to do with him, in a deliberate show of discretion, he goes over to rub down the tables, as if they really needed doing.

  Hi, Giri… Amancio… Nothing… Very bad… The Yid wasn’t such a chicken… I had to… Yes… What shall I do?… Fucking hell, I need your help… Can you drop by here?… In a bar, on the corner where Irigoyen meets Pichincha… Yeah, near the square… Get going. I’ll wait for you… OK.

  Amancio finds a table by the window from where he can keep an eye on Biterman’s block and the coming and going of the conscripts loading the lorry. Now they’re carrying pictures, rugs, pots and pans. He orders a Bols, which the Spaniard serves up to the brim of a small sturdy glass. Amancio downs it in one and orders another. The nasty spirit warms his gullet and gradually he stops shaking. The pains become more localized, less general, and a splitting headache sets upon him, which he thinks he might dull with a third gin. Other than the marine removal men, the street is empty. With some satisfaction, he thinks about how Biterman’s body will have already begun to decompose, filling up with worms until he disappears. Making him disappear, this is the problem Amancio now faces. He could just leave him there and let Horacio deal with the mess in the morning, after all… But he doesn’t trust him. As soon as the police put any pressure on, Horacio would no doubt tell them everything, act the innocent and dump the whole load on Amancio. On the other hand, if there is no corpse, there’s no proof of the crime and no conviction, even if a trail does lead to Amancio. Yes, the Jew has to disappear. And now that he’s dead, Amancio has solved the problem of the cheques. Come to think of it, he has to go back and get the cheques, and the blank pieces of paper he was made to sign. He feels about in his pockets in sudden panic and sighs in relief that he still has the keys. Giribaldi knows what to do with dead bodies.

  Meanwhile, now on his fourth gin, a warm drowsiness comes over him. Gretschen pops into his head, a girl who already had a prize pair of tits at the age of fourteen. Horse rides on their uncle and auntie’s ranch out at Tapalqué. His cousin galloping along the cattle tracks, her boobs bouncing up and down in front of his twelve-year-old eyes. Lying in the clover, she would let him touch them and kiss her with closed lips and say they were a secret couple, because if cousins have children then they turn out defective, so no one must know. At night around the dining table, the day’s sun still warm on their skin, they would exchange naughty looks and, later on, once the sheets warmed up, Amancio would take hold of his sex with thumb and forefinger and masturbate slowly imagining that Gretschen, in the next room, was doing the same thinking of him. And then, with veritable joy, he would release the millions of children they would never have into the piece of toilet paper he’d brought in from the bathroom.

  He gives a sudden start. Giri, in military fatigues, is knocking on the window. Amancio signals for him to come in. The military man sits down in front of him, orders a hot chocolate and looks out at the navy lorry.

  Looks like someone’s moving house. Looks that way.

  Giribaldi notices the injuries on Amancio’s face.

  What happened? When he saw the weapon he went mental and jumped on top of me. These Jews, they get cheekier by the day. You don’t say. What shall I do? Look, right now I can’t help you because I’ve got a job on myself. And so? Let me think. Are you in your car? It’s around the corner. Good. Load up the stiff and take it for a drive for a while. You know the road that goes alongside the Riachuelo? The one we used to take to the racetrack? Exactly. Right, we’ll be transferring some extremists there later on. You’ll find a little corrugated iron hut, half falling down. Next to it is a dirt track. Head down it, into the scrubland. You’ll see some leftists who’ve been dumped there. Leave your Jew with them. And then what? Go home. I’ll take care of making them all disappear. You can’t imagine how grateful I am. What are friends for? Look, I’ve got to go. Be careful, don’t let anybody see you. This lot seems to be finishing up. As soon as they’re gone, load up the Yid and take him for a spin. Then at around seven dump him where I said. Consider it done. And be careful, yeah? Don’t worry about it. Make sure you do worry about it though. You owe me one. I sure do. Bye then, old buddy. He really made you mad, the Yid, then? Lend me something to pay for this would you? I have to lend you cash as well? C’mon, give me a break. Here you go, now you owe me two.

  All dapper in his immaculate uniform, Giribaldi jumps in his car and ploughs away. The soldiers finish loading the truck. Amancio asks for the bill, pays and leaves. A gust of wind whips at him as he crosses the road and he shivers as he enters the building where Biterman lies dead.

  Amancio’s a little repulsed by the idea that he’ll have to touch a dead body. He tugs the curtain down and laboriously wraps the corpse in it, then uses the curtain ties to fasten up the package. He sits down. The fabric starts to stain with blood. He gets up. He goes out into the corridor. He presses the button on the Otis elevator. When the lift arrives, Amancio opens the door. He goes back. With great effort, he drags the body to the lift and then, also with much difficulty, manages to get it inside. He closes the door and starts the descent. He thinks he sees Biterman move. He thinks he hears a whine. Terrified, he starts kicking the bundle where he supposes the head is. He reaches the ground floor. He gets out of the lift. He closes the interior grill. With one hand he holds down the latch to make the lift think the door is closed. He puts his other hand through the bars of the grill and presses a button in the lift. He pulls his hand back quickly and watches the lift go up, then lets go of the door latch with the other hand. The lift halts between two floors. With the butt of his gun he shifts the lever that blocks the door when the lift is on another floor, and doesn’t realise he’s damaged the breech. He closes the lift door and goes out into the street.

  Amancio realizes he’s started shaking again and he tells himself it’s because of the physical effort of moving the carcass. He walks to the corner. Turns. Gets in his car, puts it into reverse, his foot slips off the clutch, the car jumps back and bashes into the truck parked behind. He gets out. He’s put a dent in his rear door and broken one of the brake lights. He gets back behind the wheel, pulls off, drives around the block and parks. He gets out. Goes in.

  He pulls open the lift door. With one hand he holds down the door latch and with the other he presses the button to call the lift. The lift descends. It arrives. He opens the grill. He hears a noise in the street. He climbs into the lift. He closes the door and holds the handle tight so that it can’t be opened. The sound of footsteps. Somebody, a resident, tries to open the door, bangs on it. Finally the stranger heads for the staircase, grumbling. Amancio pokes his head out, listens until the sound of footsteps fades away. He heads over to the entrance and jams the door open with a clothes peg. He goes out onto the pavement; the neighbourhood is deserted. He opens the boot of his Rural. He carries the corpse out and puts it in the back, the effort of which produces a sharp pain in his chest, a moment of panic as he feels like his heart is going to explode. He takes the tarpaulin he uses to cover the car in the country in winter and drapes it over the bundle. He goes back to the building, removes the peg, the door swings shut with a thump. He gets into the car, starts up and pulls away.

  Amancio’s heartbeat thunders in his ears. He’s sweating, he sees himself wild-eyed in the mirror. He winds the window down. The winter air hits him full in the face. He hits a pothole that squeezes the shock absorbers to the limit. The steering wheel conveys the city’s neglect. He pulls out onto Entre Ríos, driving slowly down the middle of the street. He inhales deeply, counts to ten, lets the air out, does it again, and again. The cheques, the cheques. Bloody hell, I forgot the cheques!

 

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