by Jerold Last
We said goodnight. I called Gerardo and Andrea on the hotel phone and invited them to join us for dinner at 9 PM and suggested they might also want to invite Patricia Colletti and her husband.
Finally, we got to bed.
"Hey, Suzanne, did you hear about the toothless termite who walked into a bar and asked the customers a question about the bartender?"
"No, Roger. What did the toothless termite ask?"
"Is the bar tender here?"
Chapter14.Punta del Este
The next morning was another sunny day that promised to end up hot and humid. Suzanne tugged on her regular pair of Levis, which had not dried out perceptibly from yesterday night because of the high humidity.
"This wet jeans thing is getting old," she said, but clearly she was actually just as much into this investigation as I was and she was participating enthusiastically both as Suzanne and Porá-sy.
We ate a big breakfast and returned to our room. Back in the room we waited for Carlos' call that he was here to pick us up. He was prompt by Uruguayan standards, only 15 minutes later than our appointment. In this respect it appeared that his German heritage was the dominant component. Carlos was alone in the car, which was very promising, so we relaxed and got in. Carlos made a show of graciously opening the car's passenger door for Suzanne to help her into the car, touching her several times while he checked out whether her Levis were still wet enough for Porá-sy. He seemed satisfied as we arranged ourselves in the car and started out.
The car headed east out of town, exactly backtracking our route into downtown Montevideo from the airport. First, east several miles on the Rambla, then north on General Artigas Blvd. to Avenida Italia, east on Italia past the Franklin D. Roosevelt National Park and the eucalyptus forest, and on past the airport to route 10. Carlos continued driving east on the high-speed highway for about an hour, passing woods and beaches, bridges and water, to Piriapolis, a small city on the Rio de la Plata half an hour west of Punta del Este. From Montevideo to Piriapolis Carlos pointed out notable sites and beaches, entertaining us with small talk when not playing tourist guide. We seemed to be a carload of tourists having a pleasant day in the country, just like everyone else in Piriapolis. I stayed on full alert, knowing that Carlos was totally insane and worried that his mood could change instantaneously.
Piriapolis is a beach and resort city in Maldonado province situated near the eastern end of the Rio de la Plata. As we got closer to the Atlantic Ocean, which was now about 20 miles away, it was perceptibly cooler and less humid. In the summer Piriapolis is crowded with Montevideo residents fleeing the city's heat and humidity and chilling out on its many large beaches surrounding a protected bay. Piriapolis was the premier summer resort in Uruguay until Punta del Este became the "in" place for rich Portenos escaping from the heat and humidity of Buenos Aires. In addition to its beaches Piriapolis boasts the waterfront promenade called the Rambla de los Argentinos. On or near the Rambla are expensive hotels, gambling casinos, active nightlife, and several public parks. Carlos suggested that we stop and stretch our legs with a short walk on the Rambla to see the sights. I went on even higher alert just in case.
False alarm. We walked for half an hour, including a coffee break at a convenient latte cart on the Rambla of the Argentines. Carlos talked non-stop about the opulent lifestyle we were seeing and how he would be part of it in a few years. And how we too could be part of it. It became apparent that today was intended to be the big sales pitch by Carlos for Suzanne’s help in the coming elections. After completing a big circle back to the car the three of us hopped back onto route 10 for the rest of our ride to Punta del Este. I relaxed.
Less than half an hour later, we were in Punta del Este, where the Rio de la Plata meets the Atlantic Ocean. It was actually cool here, with a temperature of 70 degrees. Punta del Este is the playground for rich Argentines and jet setters from the northern hemisphere seeking summer in January. The wealthy of BA could just jump into their yachts and sail across the Rio de le Plata to get here. With Mercosur passports there is effectively no border.
The city has a population of about 7,000 year-round, which expands to 500,000 people in the Southern Hemisphere’s summer months (December-March). Everything is crowded. The big attraction is the nightlife, with dinner at 11 P.M., clubs and casinos open all night, luxury hotels and condos, and orgies on the beaches. The partygoers sleep in till noon, or later. In June, the town would be fast asleep on a 24/7 basis. We arrived in time for an early lunch and found a nice restaurant that still had a few empty tables. At Carlos’ suggestion we all ordered brotola, a local cod-like fish with delicate white meat, and shared a bottle of Viognier, a dry white wine, made by the Juanico winery in Canelones.
Carlos asked what we thought of Punta del Este. “It's like your Las Vegas, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps more like Atlantic City, the east coast version of Las Vegas,” I replied. What I meant was it was crowded with high-rise condos and had the "take the money and run" ambiance of Atlantic City. Suzanne seemed content to let me handle our half of chatting with Carlos.
“After lunch I’d like to show you the beaches here before we drive back to Montevideo,” Carlos suggested.
I tried to get down to business. “Have you been to Punta del Este often?”
“This is only my second visit here.”
“That’s interesting. What did you do when you were here before?”
"I was at a meeting at one of the finer hotels with the group you met last night. There was a little bit of time to walk around and explore the city, and I had a car, but we were very busy. We ended the meeting kind of abruptly so I didn't have any time to see the beaches on that trip."
"I can't imagine anything happening abruptly here in Punta del Este. It seems very laid back, at least during lunch."
"Bad things happen all the time. I had to leave Punta del Este two days before I planned to so I didn't have enough time to see the beaches. Maybe it's time to see those beaches now." And that ended the discussion.
We got back into the car and drove a mile or two to the trendy La Barra neighborhood, where we stopped and walked to a nearby beach called Montoya that catered to surfers. With the ocean this close, there were small but surf board-friendly waves. Beyond Montoya were Bikini and Manantiales, popular beaches with toned and tanned young bikini wearers and their friends. This was better girl watching than Zuma and Malibu Beaches in Los Angeles. A hot game of 6-versus-6 fulbito (mini-soccer) was underway to keep the males busy. The three of us watched for a while.
Carlos turned to Suzanne. "Doesn't that beautiful beach make you feel like a swim?"
Suzanne looked at me. I nodded. She walked out on the beach to the edge of the water, which was a lot calmer here than on the nearby surfer beach. She kept walking until she was waist deep, stood there for a couple of minutes looking at us, especially Carlos who was almost drooling, then dove into the curl of an oncoming wave and swam several strokes. As she emerged from the surf with her wet hair tumbling in waves past her shoulders, her wet t-shirt clung to her bra-less breasts with her nipples fully erect from the cold ocean water. As she walked back to join us Suzanne gave her t-shirt a quick tug to loosen it from her body. Carlos looked like he was about to faint from excitement.
"You're right Carlos. That was very refreshing. Thank you for the suggestion."
Carlos suggested we walk over to the nearby glitzy Avenida Gorlero, the Rodeo Drive of Punta del Este. He couldn't take his eyes off Suzanne and was clearly having a hard time not reaching out to touch her body. We saw lots of designer names on merchandise of different types, including hand-made woolen shawls and sweaters with the exclusive "Manos del Uruguay" ("Hands of Uruguay") label. I thought that Punta del Este needed a new label, "Manos del Carlos", as I watched him "help" Suzanne repeatedly with his hands on her back, her elbow, and her shoulder. When I saw his hand hovering over her butt I nearly blew the whole gig and had to forcibly remind myself to stay in character rather than beat
ing the crap out of him and leaving him laying flat on the pavement. On the next block we found The Hippie Market, presumably geared to the needs of the bargain seeker. Among the handmade jewelry, baskets, and other junk we found mate gourds for the mate sipper and for the souvenir hunter. The same gourds that cost 50 cents or less on the streets of Montevideo cost more than $10.00 each here, with plenty of customers at that price.
"What happened the last time you were here?" I asked Carlos pleasantly. His entire attention was still completely on Suzanne.
This time he answered me. "I recognized a girl who knew me a long time ago from Brazil and told the others. They said they would take care of things and sent me back to Montevideo. Last night I asked them what happened after I left. They said nothing happened and changed the subject. That's all I know. It's getting late if you want to be back in time for dinner. We should get started back."
The drive back to Montevideo was less chatty than the trip out. Carlos insisted that Suzanne sit in front with him. He had very little to say during the drive back, but was clearly fascinated with Suzanne and kept looking over at her. He delivered us to the front door of the hotel and said good-bye, and that he would be back in touch before we left Uruguay.
We went up to the room and closed the door.
"I really hate the feeling of being objectified by Carlos," said Suzanne. "I know he's crazier than a hoot owl, but I still can't stand the way he looks at me."
"I think we have time to un-objectify you before our dinner group arrives. I've been thinking of very slowly peeling those wet jeans off of you while I warm you up. Does that appeal?"
"Yes, it does."
And so, we did.
We were out of bed, showered, and dressed just about the right time to go downstairs to the lobby and wait for Gerardo, Andrea, and the Collettis.
Suzanne laughed and looked up at me.
"What's so funny?"
"I just realized that my research collaboration with Carlos de Silva isn't likely to work out. On the other hand, he's already mailed me my samples. I wonder if I'm obligated to include him as a co-author when we publish the study?"
She laughed again.
"Now what," I asked.
"You were staring lasciviously at me too after I got soaked at the beach."
"You know I wasn't objectifying you. You're a Goddess and you turn me on."
I was rescued in the nick of time by the arrival of Gerardo and Andrea, followed by Patricia and a man who I assumed to be Mr. Colletti and who I knew as Bernardo from last night's dinner. Whoops!
After introductions it was definite. Bernardo was indeed Mr. Colletti. Which made him the head of the Uruguayan Nazi Party. Suzanne and I were about to have dinner with Mussolini.
"Now that will be a story to tell our grandchildren one day," I thought.
My next thought was, "How ironic. There goes Suzanne's other good research collaboration shot to hell."
Bernardo didn't say anything other than how nice it was to meet his wife's new colleagues, so we assumed that we weren't supposed to spill the beans either.
Since Uruguayan cars do not hold more than four adults, with two of them scrunched up in the back, we walked several blocks towards the old city before we got to tonight's restaurant. We passed by the 155 year old Teatro Solis, a publically owned theater that looks like an elegant Greek Temple, and walked into the Plaza Independencia. This large park dominates the end of 18 de Julio Avenue, the major commercial street in downtown Montevideo. The east end of the plaza features the ruins of an ancient gateway to the old city. The north end houses a Radisson hotel, the south end the old government house. Pride of place goes to the 17-meter tall statue in the middle of the Plaza of Jose Gervasio Artigas, the George Washington of Uruguay, on his horse.
Dinner was surprising in several ways. The food was Italian and excellent. I had great squid and equally flavorful veal. Suzanne had antipasto and chicken. "I love it," was her summary of both. The wines, white and red, were excellent. The conversation wasn't boring shop talk. It was about each couple's life style. We talked about our life in Los Angeles. Gerardo and Andrea discussed their daily life in Montevideo. The Collettis, mainly Patricia, did the same.
Bernardo was completely charming. He asked me, "Do the two of you play tennis at all?"
I told him, "Neither Suzanne nor I play regularly, but we both know how."
"We belong to a very nice tennis club. You'll have to join us for doubles," invited Bernardo.
"Please do," added Patricia, "It would be so much fun."
"We don't have rackets or the right clothes," replied Suzanne.
"That's no problem. The club can supply whatever you need."
I had another of those internal laughs as I wondered to myself how Bernardo would respond to losing at doubles to an opponent who was half-Jewish. Or maybe she was entirely Jewish. Discretion won out over valor.
"We're heading home in a few days. There just won't be enough time. But thank you very much."
Bernardo elaborately excused himself to use the men's room. He clearly hinted that he wanted to talk to me privately so I joined him at the urinals. I hoped he noticed that I was circumcised and that seeing it would piss him off.
"Carlos told us that you and the others suggested that he leave Punta del Este a couple of days before the meeting a couple of weeks ago was over. Suzanne and I need to understand who’s in charge of your group and what’s real. Otherwise I don't know how seriously we should take Carlos' plans for us to get involved in Brazil and Paraguay."
"I'm impressed that you're careful and intelligent," replied Bernardo. "I'll be candid. In theory, all five of us are equals. However, some are more equal than others. Colorado, from Argentina, controls the largest and most wealthy organization with the strongest backing from Germans living in the region. That makes him significantly more powerful than the rest of us, and our nominal leader. Carlos lied to you. Pancho, Tomas, and I left Punta del Este early while Carlos and Colorado stayed behind to solve a problem that came up. And I think that's all you need to know."
As we washed hands at the sink Bernardo and I looked at each other in the mirror. I looked him in the eyes and believed that he told me the truth. I had a strong hunch that he knew that we weren't what we said we were, and that he wanted me to know that he wasn't involved in Maria Fajao's murder. He might actually be trying to help us.
“Hmmm, maybe all is not copacetic among the Nazi leadership in the Mercosur region,” said a tiny voice in my head. I've learned through the years to pay close attention to that tiny voice when it speaks to me. A couple of other things we had seen and heard over the last week clicked into place and suddenly I thought I understood a lot more about what was going on than I had before dinner.
Back at the table dessert and coffee were being served. The four-way conversation among the academics had apparently gone well in our absence. Bernardo and I rejoined the conversation. Eventually we all walked back to the hotel and said our good nights and perhaps our good byes.
When we got back to our room I called Eduardo and got his voice mail. I left a message that we should meet tomorrow morning. My next call to Martin gave the same result so I left a similar message.
"Thanks for keeping Bernardo away from the rest of us at dinner so we could talk a bit. Patricia assured me that her husband's political ideas have nothing to do with our scientific collaboration. She looks forward to several years of our working together," Suzanne told me with obvious pleasure.
"That's great," I said.
After we went to bed I asked Suzanne whether she told Patricia about her early work with flowers and plants from the ocean and her later studies with palm trees.
"I never worked with ocean plants or palm trees," she answered.
"For tonight's pun you did."
"OK. Why did I switch from ocean plants to palm trees?"
"Once you switched to the palm trees you could argue: With fronds like those, who needs anemones?"
&
nbsp; " Good night."
Chapter15.Denouement
Martin called at 7:30 the next morning to give me instructions where and when we could meet safely after breakfast. There was one big problem to solve. We didn't know if the Nazis were following us. If they were, we had to lose them before we met the cops. Anybody following us also had a big problem. It takes a lot of manpower to follow people in a crowded city like Montevideo without being spotted. You need at least two guys on foot to take turns tailing you if you're walking. You need two more in a car in case you take a taxi or bus then walk somewhere. That's four men. Our hotel had front and back doors that opened onto two different streets. Now it's eight men and two cars you need. In addition, there were good guys protecting us, who could spot anyone tailing us. Our job was to call Eduardo when we got close to the designated meeting place. His men would make sure nobody was following us before we got an all-clear signal to enter the restaurant.
