“I’m finished, finished! I have to get out of here, disappear.” His eyes wandered the room in search of something that wasn’t there. “None of us are safe . . .”
“Friedrich, calm down. What’s happened?”
“I saw her at the reception. The bitch didn’t take her eyes off me. At first I wondered if she was a prostitute, but her eyes were frightening, off putting. I got away from her for a moment, and when I turned around, she’d gone, like a ghost. The whore! She was a fucking ghost from the past . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“She had a tattoo, Walter. She was a fucking Jew. It took me a while to understand, and by then she’d gone. There are more and more of them coming each year, like a plague. They’re fleeing from Europe, and they help each other to hide in South America like cockroaches.”
“You were in Brazil?”
“Yes, here. In Florianópolis. I was in a hotel. I’d been invited to a reception—”
“You idiot! Have you forgotten your discipline, your oath? How could you have gone to a public event like that? How did you know her? Do you think she recognized you?”
“How should I know? She might have been on any of those wagons or trucks. Do you think I take the trouble to notice livestock? Who can tell? But she . . . those eyes . . .”
“You may have compromised all of us,” Stobert said as he paced, trying to come up with a plan while Friedrich stopped pitying himself.
“I need to warn the two comrades in town. We need to leave the province. Go north or to Sao Paulo maybe . . .”
“No, don’t warn anyone. I’m going to try to fix this. Wait here, and most important of all, don’t talk to anyone. If your idiocy gets back to Odessa, they might not be so generous.”
Four hours before their flight, Ari and Michelle met with Calvo, who’d asked them to give him as much time as possible for his investigation. He met them with his habitual warmth and was surprised by the subtle change of roles; it seemed as though Ari was now waiting for Michelle’s approval before they made their decisions. He held up some glasses of champagne to toast with.
“Ladies, it seems that this might be the last time I see you before you go. I hope that it won’t be long before we meet again and that it will be under better circumstances. I toast to your success. For my part, I have good and bad news. The bad news is related to your partner. We checked hotel reservations and the airports, but nothing came up. Maybe Suarez is traveling under a false name. But we did find a report by a car-rental company. It seems that he didn’t find it so easy to forge a credit card and had to rent a car under his real name. A few days ago they found the car in a river, and when they looked for him, they could find no record of his entry or exit from the country. The police washed their hands of it, saying that he must have duplicated his ID card, and the agency is in dispute with the insurance company because they refuse to pay for it. This wasn’t very difficult to find out: it appeared in the local press. It’s the kind of story people like—morbid and mysterious with the tang of a conspiracy. You just have to know a little Portuguese.”
“That’s bad news.”
“The worst. According to the press, he stayed in the town you mentioned, which is in what they call Europe Valley, very close to an old colony of German immigrants: Protestants or Lutherans or what have you.”
“Colônia Liberdade?”
“None other,” Calvo said, smiling smugly. “My boys checked it out, but they seem to be quite a discreet group. There’s no trace of them on the internet except for government records of title deeds and wills. It seems that they’re also mentioned in a book a journalist wrote about collaborators with the dictatorship forty years ago. Later on, a case was opened into the disappearance of several opposition figures, but it was then summarily closed, and there was a big scandal. In the end, people just forgot. But why not take a guess at the law firm that represents them? Smit and Betancourt. They don’t like people talking about them.”
Ari pursed her lips bitterly. “Suarez didn’t deserve to go that way.”
“I’m as sorry as you are, but I’m more worried about the two of you meeting a similar fate. My advice would be not to go to the town under any circumstances. For that, I’ve got you your hit man. People call him Caimão; I don’t know his real name. He’s originally from Joinville. We made contact with him through an escort and bodyguard agency. He organizes security for concerts and events, but they gave us a good account of his other activities. Unfortunately, I can’t offer you any direct guarantees because I don’t know him, but he’s the surest thing I can find. He’s well regarded; they say that he’s reliable, loyal to the person paying him, and fearless. He can get his hands on weapons, and he seems serious. If you’re interested, he knows that you’re going, the general nature of the job, and that you don’t speak Portuguese. It seems that he can speak English; he deals with a lot of musicians from overseas.”
Ari and Michelle were grateful for his help. Ari even gave him a brief hug. Once they’d gone, Calvo was filled with a vague sense of melancholy and wondered when it was he’d developed affection for these people. After all, they’d caused him nothing but trouble.
Stobert rode his bicycle around the small county capital, trying to get his thoughts in order. He kept coming up with plans, but they always fell apart before he could get anywhere. Brief moments of inspiration flashed in his mind, only to be snuffed out almost immediately. All of his ideas were either useless or misguided. That damned Friedrich had ruined his life. After twenty years living as a fugitive, Stobert had made a potential future for himself, and now it had been jeopardized by an idiotic mistake. He was consumed by frustration and hatred. How could he overcome this challenge? Could he find the Jewish woman and try to influence her? His methods of persuasion needed time, effort, and some degree of predisposition. He didn’t think it was possible. Suddenly he was feeling as anxious as he had in Argentina. Then he heard a whisper. He braked and looked around. He was alone. He was possessed by the same irrational panic with which he woke up every day and went on pedaling, afraid to look back, as though something real might materialize on the sidewalk. It was the first time his night terrors had intruded upon his waking hours.
At the police station he was unable to make himself understood in Portuguese, but when he mentioned Marcelo’s name, he was led up to an upper floor where he waited half an hour. When Marcelo came back and saw him sitting there, his face lit up. He had the German where he wanted him.
“I still don’t know Portuguese.”
“Better that way. It’s always a pleasure to practice my German.”
“You warned me about the Zionists. I’ve come to see you because I need your help.”
This made the chief of police sit up. “Have you had any contact with them? I make it a point of principle to get to know the Jewish communities under my jurisdiction.”
“I haven’t. An old comrade may have, and not in your jurisdiction but in Florianópolis, in a hotel. I’ve written down the name.”
“And how can I help you with that?”
“I wanted to consult with you. Would it be possible to find out if anyone has filed a false report? Libel against a citizen, making up falsehoods about his past?”
“To the police?”
“I’m also worried that they might have contacted organizations overseas.”
“That would require making an international call, and they’ll certainly have a record of it at the hotel. From the way you’re asking, I can tell that this is an urgent matter. Wait outside; I’ll make some inquiries.”
Stobert thanked him and waited in a damp room with dirty windows. He started to shiver. His anxiety grew as the cold crept through him. Then he found a hot plate in a rickety cupboard. Feeling even more afraid, he turned it on and looked around to make sure he was alone. The resistor shook and spluttered before it glowed red. Nobody could see him. His shivering grew more violent. Nobody was around. He put his palm on the burning surface.
Stobert went into the office, ignoring the question.
“I made my inquiries. The report you mention . . . could it have been made by a woman?”
“Yes, I believe that’s the case we’re talking about.”
“I spoke to the local police. You’re lucky that our network is so widespread. We talked about failed romances, the twisted revenge of women scorned. We agreed that racial issues only aggravate matters. I suggested that the woman’s malice might be accentuated by the resentment, avarice, and villainy of the Jews. A Semite looking to redeem her blood by mixing it with Aryan stock. Isn’t that the story you came to tell me about?”
Stobert maintained a prudent silence.
“Say it, Aspiazi, damn it. I’ve been waiting for a year. I know that you haven’t come to me for selfish reasons. I know that you’re helping someone else—and your altruism does you honor—but you must be honest if you wish to earn my trust.”
His wait for an answer spread like a cloud between them, a cloud that swept Stobert off firm ground, where Marcelo stood waiting with a scornful smile. Marcelo was the sole possessor of a light at the end of the tunnel. The only light that could guide him. But it would also expose him.
“The Jewish race is a cancer on the earth. They’re the origin of evil because they are governed by hatred. Their driver is envy, and their method is to copy superior races and steal their culture.”
Marcelo repressed a shiver and lit a cigarette. “I have friends in high places who will be very pleased to hear that we’ve come to an understanding. Friends who might be able to help us in the future. Friends whom you will help for the common good. It is true that a damned Jew has denounced a refugee, accusing him of being a war criminal.”
“Slander, of course.”
“We’re not here to judge him but her. What worries me is the fact that a plague like hers might spread. We have no record of her making any overseas contacts, but she requested that the report be sent on to the Israeli embassy. They’ve frozen that channel for the moment, but clearly the case will be investigated and more information uncovered.”
“What can be done about it?”
“There’s nothing we can do as officers of the law, but if the woman filing the report were to disappear, there’d be no reason to proceed further with the case. Of course, we must make sure that she disappears entirely.”
“And how do we make sure of that?”
“I have been informed in detail of the hotel where she’s staying, a luxury place that only the richest can afford. The lady is traveling alone and generally goes to dinner at the same place every night, at the same time. It’s a lonely walk of about a mile and a half around a deep gully. At dusk, the dew makes the loose stones slippery, and the path becomes dangerous. Several people have been lost there, careless tourists especially. The local government knows they need to put up railings, but for now there’s only a warning sign.”
“From this moment on, I pledge myself to you as a gentleman, just as you have pledged yourself to me.”
Andrés willingly drove Ari and Michelle to the airport, just as he had with Ethan. He said goodbye with unaccustomed emotion, upsetting the women a little. He told them that he loved them and supported them wholeheartedly; he’d never been so intimate with his sister before. He also thanked Ari for her generous support. They said goodbye to him with a wrench in their stomachs and gave him big hugs.
Since they’d boarded the plane to Brazil, Ari had noticed a different kind of fragility in Michelle. It was as though she needed to get away from her homeland to be herself again. Michelle asked for three glasses of wine to bolster her courage as she faced ghosts only she could see. Halfway through the flight, once she was drunk enough, she embarked upon a mumbled tale in a mixture of English and Spanish. At no point did she ever look at Ari.
“I was born into a very poor family. I know that when I say that to someone in the first world, they don’t understand. Our poverty is different. My dad was a bad person—that’s why Andrés escaped. Then my dad left, and my mom got together with my stepfather. They made Beto, and then he left too.” Michelle sighed and let a tear fall. “My mom may not have been a good mother, but she always let me go to school. I was pretty and got harassed a lot . . . other girls my age already had boyfriends and got pregnant, but I never went out with anyone. I wanted to study. I wanted to get away like Andrés did. He always helped me, and all I dreamed about was getting away. I was lucky that my mother let me study. Other mothers didn’t. I got good grades, better each time, and I wasn’t afraid of boys because I’d seen worse at home. That was why I concentrated on studying and dreaming of going to join Andrés one day, of living on the other side. I dreamed that one day I would be happy.”
Ari didn’t let the sympathy she was beginning to feel show.
“Then one day he appeared at the school gates. He had dark hair, but he looked European, which was where his family was from. He was very handsome, stunning, and he had a way about him. He spoke Spanish very well, almost like a native, but with a Brazilian accent. I thought he was romantic and mysterious, like a traveler who knew everything about life. He always wore designer clothes and a sports watch and carried a BlackBerry around with him. At the time that was what rich people used: I’d never seen one before. The girls said that he was the son of a diplomat, although we knew that couldn’t be true. But then again, who knew? I’d just turned seventeen, and I was either going to leave the country or find a job and pay my way through university; either option was fine. I don’t remember how I met him, whether someone introduced us or not, but he pursued me right from the start. My friends said it was because I was so pretty—others said it was because I was asking for it. Whatever the reason, he’d come to pick me up from school in his Lexus, in front of all my friends. He’d get out to open the door for me. He promised me that I was his only love and that I would have his love and heart forever. He said that he’d die if he couldn’t see me every day and . . .”
Michelle’s head was bowed, and she didn’t wipe away the tears that fell slowly onto her knees.
“I was seventeen, and he was twenty-five, at the least. I wore my school uniform because they were the only clothes I had. When he kissed me, he became the whole world. I didn’t want anything but him. He could take me where he liked, and I’d serve and bless him for the rest of my life. When I got pregnant, I was terrified that my mother would beat me to death, but he stood in front of her like a gentleman and told her that he’d take care of it. Then he gave her five hundred dollars ‘to get clothes for the christening.’ I felt terrible, but I told myself every day that I should be happy, that I had a guy who loved me even after I became pregnant. I’d seen my friends’ boyfriends run off at the first hint of trouble. But this was a real man who took responsibility and brought me gifts. But I still felt bad because I knew it was all my fault. I’d been stupid. He’d asked me to make love without protection because he said that condoms were for prostitutes, not for people in love. But I still could have gone on the pill. At school people started to say that I’d done it on purpose to trap my man. They applauded me for it. He took care of me, told me that I was his baby, said I was what he wanted most in the world, and made me all kinds of promises. He said that we’d get married . . . it was probably the happiest time of my life. But still I cried every night because I felt so sad and everyone called me a mistress and a gold digger. I asked him to marry me, and he said he would, but he wanted to have a special wedding so everyone could see me as the angel I was . . . he wanted me to be the most beautiful bride in the world, but I didn’t want to get married after the baby was born and especially not with a huge belly, which was already beginning to show . . . he just kept making promises . . . swearing to me that everything would be fine and he’d take care of everything and make me his queen. He took me to the best gynecologists to do the tests and tried to take me ou
t of school, but I didn’t want that. Then one day, at five months I think, I did a test that showed that it was definitely a girl, and he made the doctor say it a thousand times and show him on the ultrasound. He said that he’d pay what it took to make sure . . . he kept saying, ‘My love, my sweet love, my princess’ and how happy he was that it was a girl; a girl was what he’d wanted. And then he went off to pay the bill while I got dressed, and . . . it was one of the saddest experiences of my life. I sat down to wait for him, full of hope, waiting to hug him and especially for him to hug me and give me strength because I was feeling that it was all too much for me . . . but he never came back. That’s exactly how it happened. I went out into the hall and sat down to wait for him. I sat there for half an hour, calm at first but then getting more and more worried. I started to get embarrassed because the nurses kept passing by again and again, smiling at me with other couples, older women who looked at me . . . I was dying of shame and getting very worried because I was so confused, but I didn’t dare move just in case he came back . . . I didn’t even dare to go to the bathroom until eventually a nurse who’d passed me an hour ago came by and asked, ‘Are you waiting for someone?’ I wanted to die. I felt my face burning up and told her that I was waiting for my boyfriend: he’d gone to pay for the examination. She seemed confused but told me that she’d come with me to the cashier, and the cashier told me that the guy I was talking about had paid an hour ago and left. She’d seen him get into his car and leave . . . I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life . . . I didn’t have any money, just my ID card and my clothes . . . I didn’t know what to do, so I lied and told them that he’d gone to get something and must have forgotten about me but that he’d be coming back. They asked me if I’d like to wait in the waiting room—I’d be able to see him come back from there—but I said, ‘No, I’d rather go outside, but thank you.’ Then the nurse said that she’d go with me. She asked if I had any money . . . she gave me a bill, saying that it was just for while I waited, in case I needed something. I wanted a hole to swallow me up, but I said thank you and that I’d give it back when he came. She told me not to worry. But even then I didn’t go; I stayed on another two hours waiting in the parking lot outside, like an idiot, watching the cars come and go. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to think of every possible reason why he might have left, hoping that he’d come back, thinking hard, fantasizing. In the end I saw the nurse coming off her shift and hid behind a car so she wouldn’t see me. It was night, and the street was emptying out. When I saw her go home, I realized that he wasn’t coming back. The money the nurse had given me was enough for the bus back home.”
Shadows Across America Page 38
