Disappeared

by Colin Falconer

  “I had a hangover.”

  “How will you get through university if you spend every night in a bar? Do you want a degree in the cumbia?”

  “Maybe. What course do I have to take to get one?”

  They talked about university for a while, and rugby, and then the conversation turned, as it always did, to women. “I am seeing this woman again tonight,” Julio said and he held up his hand and shook it as if it was scalded, to let Reuben know that this was special.

  “Where are you taking her?”

  “I don't know. I'm broke.”

  Reuben reached into his wallet, slid a handful of notes across the table. “Have a good time.”

  Julio hesitated for only a moment before he picked up the money. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He should have felt bad. Reuben was always bailing him out of his financial crises. But he was a spoiled little rich boy. He could afford it.

  ***

  For two weeks Julio courted Carmen attentively. He took her to the raucous student dives on Reconquista and the fancy all-night tango clubs of San Telmo, living beyond his means, borrowing from friends - mainly Reuben. Without appearing too interested he learned more about Gabriella; it was not difficult because Carmen liked to chatter. She told him that Gabriella worked in the office of an insurance company on Florida. He also learned that Carmen and Gabriella had gone to school together and, like Carmen herself, Gabriella had come to the capital from the poorer suburbs of Córdobes, hoping to find a better life. Her parents were both dead. She had a brother in Avellanada, who was married and worked at a big meat packing plant in Boca. Her only real friend in the city was Carmen.

  “We are just the same, me and her,” Carmen said. “We're both alone. My family don't care about me, and Gabriella's parents are both dead.”

  Several times when he arrived at Carmen's apartment to pick her up for a date, Gabriella was there. He ignored her.

  One night, when they were out drinking in one of Julio's hangouts on Reconquista, Carmen confronted him. “You don't seem very interested when I talk about Gabriella.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I'm not.”

  “Really? Most men don't see me if I walk into a room with her.”

  Julio ran his fingers through her hair. “I've gone out with a lot of beautiful girls. They are all so vain. It is what is inside a woman that is important to me now.”

  He surprised himself with how sincere he made it sound. It was a lie but it was the lie that Carmen had wanted to hear, and so she made herself believe it.

  Chapter 4

  ONE NIGHT, WHEN she left the bank on San Martín, Julio was waiting for her on the footpath.

  Her face lit into a smile and she threw her arms around his neck. Julio ached. He did not enjoy his deceptions, had never thought of himself as cruel. But men were slaves to their desires. It was passion. What was he to do?

  “Carmellita, I cannot take you to dinner tonight.”

  The smile fell away. “But you promised!'

  “I have a tutorial this evening. It is your fault. I spend so much time thinking about you I have fallen behind with my studies.”

  “So when will I see you?”

  “It's all right. I have a better idea.”

  “A better idea?”

  “Why don't you come back to my place? We can spend some time together right now.”

  Carmen understood the nature of the invitation. She readily agreed.

  ***

  Julio's apartment was in a rundown six storey block, built in the first drive of expansion under Perón. The sink in the bathroom was stained brown with rust from the pipes and the kitchen window looked onto the concrete wall of another apartment block. There was a table, a poster of Che Guevara and two chairs, one with a broken leg. The bed was a mattress thrown on the floor.

  Julio did not give Carmen time to reflect on the circumstances of his student life. As soon as they were through the door he pressed her against the wall and put his lips against her neck. “Carmellita,” he growled, “I am on fire for you.”

  He was afraid she might after all turn out to be a good Catholic girl with provincial morals. But she did not disappoint him. She ripped at the buttons of his shirt. “Fuck me,” she whispered in his ear. “I wanted you to fuck me every way you can think of.”

  Even Julio, who had once been an altar boy in the family church, was shocked.

  ***

  The rumble of a passing bus shook the apartment, the commentary of a televised football match drifted from a window in a neighbouring apartment. Julio rose naked from the bed, showered, shaved and splashed some cologne onto his face. He came back into the bedroom and chose a new pair of jeans and a crisp white cotton shirt. He might have a cheap flat but his clothes were immaculate and hung precisely in the ancient armoire.

  Carmen lay under a sheet on the crumpled mess of the bed. She had been a far more energetic lover than he had imagined. With her talent he could imagine her with the gauchos on the pampa, breaking in horses.

  “You go to a lot of trouble for your tutor.”

  “I shall only be gone a couple of hours. There's food in the refrigerator and you can watch the TV.” He knelt beside the bed. “When I come back I will have time to make love to you properly.”

  “I thought you did a great job the first time.” She kissed him and tried to pull him down beside her but he just laughed and pulled away.

  “Do you have a telephone?”

  “How can a poor student like me afford a telephone?”

  “I should let Gabriella know where I am.”

  “What is she, your mother?” He blew a kiss from the door. “Keep it warm for me.”

  ***

  Gabriella opened the apartment door. She had just a bath towel wrapped around her. Julio stared at the beaded droplets of water on her skin, immediately aroused by the scent of her, wet hair and mousse de bain. “Julio,” she said in a tone she might have used for an idiot little brother. She put one hand on the door, another to the knot of the towel at her breast.

  “Is Carmen here? We have a date.”

  “She's not home yet.”

  For a moment he was afraid that she might close the door in him but then she shrugged and moved aside. “You'd better come in and wait.”

  Chapter 5

  JULIO HAD NO PLAN beyond a vague notion that once he had her alone he could overwhelm her with declarations of love. He had even told himself she would be secretly impressed by the trouble he had taken to seduce her. But now he was here he just felt sullied and vulnerable.

  “Do you want some coffee while you're waiting? The kitchen's over there.”

  She went into the bathroom, leaving him standing there. He stared after her, she hadn't closed the door properly and he saw a glimpse of brown skin in the margin between the door and the lintel. He heard the shower curtain being pulled across the cubicle as Gabriella resumed her shower.

  This was not how he had imagined it at all. He had thought she would make him coffee, that they would talk for a while and he would charm her, win her over. He had not believed she would walk out of the room and ignore him, that she would treat him like ... like Carmen's boyfriend.

  He looked around. The apartment was a mess; there were cups with lipstick stains on the rims left in the sink, fashion magazines spilled on the sofa. The view from the window was much the same as his own, taking in the air conditioning ducts and anonymous windows of another block of flats.

  He wandered into the bedrooms. He recognised Carmen's room, one of her dresses was thrown across her unmade bed. Gabriella's might never have been slept in, it looked like a studio set from a stage play. The bed had been made with precision. He listened for the sound of running water and, satisfied that he was safe from discovery, opened the wardrobe, ran a hand along her clothes, found the red silk dress Gabriella had worn that first night in Reconquista. He breathed in the scent of her.

  There were no posters of soap opera stars or rock singers as some young women h
ad on their walls; no photographs of boyfriends on her bedside table. All he found was a black and white portrait of two people dressed in the fashion of the forties or fifties, her parents he supposed. There was a romantic paperback novel on her bedside table. He found no other clues to her secrets.

  He heard her turn off the shower and he walked back into the living room. The bathroom door was still ajar. She was blow drying her hair in the fogged basin mirror. The towel was very short.

  He was angry now; angry with her for tormenting him, for being so unforgettable, but most of all angry with himself for his conceit. He had thought he was being clever and now he saw he was only arrogant and foolish. He thought about walking out, making his final statement on the whole affair in a slamming of the door. Instead he stood by the window, paralysed with rage and desire and humiliation.

  He could still see her, through the crack in the bathroom door, leaning towards the misted mirror, wiping away the condensation, putting on her lipstick. He made up his mind. He crossed the room and kicked the bathroom door open.

  Gabriella spun around. “What are you doing?”

  “You're driving me crazy. For two weeks I haven't thought about anything except you. I haven't slept because of you. I can't work or think or do anything because of you. The only reason I asked your friend to have a drink with me was because I wanted to be closer to you!'

  She just stood there, droplets of moisture like diamond chips on her elegantly sculptured shoulders.

  “I love you.”

  “Get out.”

  He just stared at her.

  “You're despicable. Carmen's my friend!' She reached out to close the door. As she did, the towel slipped off and fell around her ankles on the floor.

  He should have walked out right then. He would curse himself for his weakness later, many times, particularly in that hot and petrol-tainted darkness as he was dying. But at that moment only a robot, only a eunuch, could have walked away.

  He drank her in. Her dark nipples were erect.

  “Get out,” she said. If she had screamed, if she had been less proud, perhaps he would have obeyed. Perhaps. But she just stood there, panting; was it excitement or fear? Either would do.

  He pulled her towards him, kicking the bathroom door shut behind him.

  Chapter 6

  HE GRABBED HER BY the hair and kissed her, hard. She tried to push him away.

  He forced her down onto the bathroom tiles, fumbling with his jeans. He forced himself inside her. She was still trying to push him off, so he grabbed her wrists and held them above her head.

  She screamed so he tried to kiss her to smother the sound. She bit his lip and he yelped and pulled away.

  “You're hurting me!'

  He could not help himself. She was too beautiful and he wanted her so badly. There was a shuddering moment of relief and pleasure, reached too soon. He gasped aloud, wondered afterwards if he had withdrawn in time.

  When she knew he had finished she stopped struggling and lay still beneath him on the cold, wet floor. Julio felt cheated somehow. Cheated and somehow ridiculous.

  At once he regretted what he had done. In his mind he began conducting his defence. But what defence was there? Carmen knew the truth, he could not pretend that what had happened had not been coldly planned. He had made himself not only a brute, but a fool. He had tried to play the role of seducer and instead he had raped her to get what he wanted.

  “I'm sorry,” he said.

  He let go of her and rolled onto his side, feeling the sweat freeze on the cold tiles. He could not look at her. “I'm sorry,” he repeated. He could not think this through. He was too appalled at what he had just done. He could go to prison for this.

  He got up. Gabriella did not move. There was a splash of semen on her belly and between her legs, leaking onto the tile.

  He zipped up his jeans. There were long strands of her hair entwined in his fingers. “I'm sorry,” he said a third time, as if that would somehow make everything all right.

  He didn't know what to do. He walked out, closing the apartment door softly behind him. He was suddenly a stranger to himself and he did not like the real Julio hiding behind the masquerade.

  ***

  When he got back to his apartment Carmen was still in bed, thumbing through one of his Eduardo Mallea novels, the table lamp he used for reading propped beside the mattress. “How was your tuition?”

  “Fine. I learned a lot.”

  He went straight into the bathroom and closed the door. It was a mess. Carmen had used the shower, left the mat sopping on the floor, used his soap and shampoo and neglected to replace the caps. Now she expected him to make love to her, he supposed. He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes.

  Would Gabriella go to the police? Well, what if she did? They wouldn't believe her. She didn't have money so she'd be lucky if she didn't get raped again, by the cops.

  When he opened his eyes again, there was a man he hardly knew watching him from the mirror. The stranger looked like he had been in a fight; his lip was swollen and bleeding and there were scratches on the backs of his arms from Gabriella's nails. He sniffed. He reeked of sex, of her juices and his. He couldn't go back to bed like this.

  I'm not a rapist, he told himself. How is a man supposed to control his passions when he is alone with a naked and beautiful woman? It was her fault for leaving the door open like that. She was begging for it. Somehow he found himself wanting her again, and wondering how he could yet retrieve the situation to his own benefit.

  “What are you doing, Julio?” Carmen called through the bathroom door.

  “I need a shower. My tutor smokes a pipe. I stink of tobacco.” He peeled off his clothes, stepped into the ancient bath and turned on the taps. There was a dribble of hot water from the overhead pipe. Julio soaped himself clean.

  He stepped shivering from the shower and searched for a dry towel. Carmen had soaked them all. A typical provincial! They had no more manners than a pig. Because one was poor, one should not give up the basic dignities.

  He put on a threadbare dressing gown and walked, still dripping, into the bedroom. He had rehearsed a story for her, how he had fallen on the university steps and cut his lip. But Carmen had already turned off the light, so there would be no interrogation tonight. She lay in a pool of shadow with her head resting on her elbow. He smelled cheap perfume.

  “You've been gone such a long time. I've been working up an appetite.”

  “I promised you dinner. There is a restaurant just round the corner.”

  “It's not that kind of hunger. I want to eat you.”

  Another man might have found some excuse. But Julio would not have her think she was too much woman for him. Desperate and exhausted as he was, Carmen would have to be satisfied.

  And so the stranger lay down beside her and imitated lust. It was a physical chore, and there was little pleasure in it; if anything it was unpleasant and chafing. Each time she shuddered and moaned he smiled in the dark. Finally, he forced himself on to his own spent finish.

  This is the last time, he promised himself. I cannot do this to her, or to myself, any more. A man must have some dignity.

  ***

  Carmen lay on her side, asleep. Julio got up and went softly into the bathroom and slipped on his jeans and his shirt. He found some spare change in his pockets and tiptoed out of the apartment, closing the door gently behind him. There was a phone over the street in the restaurant.

  He dialled Gabriella's number.

  Chapter 7

  HE LOOKED AT HIS WATCH. Almost midnight. He heard gunfire in the distance, the second shot overlapping the echo of the first. It happened almost every night now, rebels fighting it out with the police somewhere on the outskirts of the city.

  The phone answered on the fourth ring. She hadn't been asleep, then.

  “Gabriella?”

  She did not answer.

  “Gabriella, please, I'm sorry for what happened. I have to see you.
I have to talk to you.” He had to shout over the chatter of noise in the restaurant. The place was packed. Most porteños did not eat until at least ten o'clock.

  Another silence. He thought she was going to hang up on him. Perhaps the police were there already, listening.

  “Tomorrow,” she whispered down the line. “In the café Doergo. Ten thirty. Don't tell Carmen.”

  And she put down the phone.

  ***

  It was an unseasonally warm morning and the tall wooden framed windows had been left open onto the street. Ceiling fans stirred the air, and a few students sat around at the tables reading or writing or just gazing at the street, the Quilmes ashtrays overflowing with cigarette ash and empty sugar packets. Over the years patrons had scrawled their initials into the wooden tables, or into the bar itself. Dusty bottles lined the glass shelves around the walls, beneath the posters of Gardel and Marilyn Monroe and Chaplin.

  Gabriella was already there. Her hair was tied in a scarf, she was wearing dark glasses and a blue suit with a hem below the knee. Julio took a moment to recognise her. This was her day incarnation, he realised, a different Gabriella to the one he saw at night.

  She had an espresso and was slowly stirring in a spoonful of sugar.

  He sat down and ordered a café con leche. They sat there for a long time, like complete strangers, not speaking.

  “I came to say I was sorry.”

  “You're sorry you raped me?”

  He looked away. “Of course.”

  “I see. You're frightened I'm going to go to the police.”

  “If you were going to call the police you would have done it by now.” She didn't answer. The spoon moved relentlessly in her cup. He leaned across the table. “I never meant to do it. I lost control. I meant what I said. I'm in love with you.”