“What are you talking about?”
“Considering your age you should be past seeing men in secret. Don’t you agree?”
Luisa didn’t reply.
“The jacket hanging up in your lobby is the one Alberto was wearing when I met him in the bar. Have a nice siesta, Luisa. You don’t mind me calling you Luisa, do you?”
* * *
“What on earth were you doing?” Marisa asked when Andrew joined her in the courtyard.
“I did explain before we left your place, but you don’t pay any attention to what I say. Are you working tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Tell your boss you won’t be able to. Just say you’re ill. One more lie won’t make any difference.”
“And why wouldn’t I be going to work?”
“I promised you yesterday that we’d finish what we’d started together, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Can you tell me where there’s a gas station? I need to fill up the car.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“San Andrés de Giles.”
* * *
They reached the edge of the village in two hours’ time. Andrew pulled over to ask a passerby where the police station was, then set off in the direction he’d been given.
“Why are we going to the cops?” Marisa inquired.
“You aren’t. Just stay in the car and wait for me.”
Andrew walked in and asked if he could speak to a detective. The officer at the front desk replied that the only detective had already gone home. Andrew grabbed a notepad from the counter and scribbled down his cell phone number and hotel address.
“Last night I drove past the scene of an accident that claimed a life, over near Gahan. I drove two injured people to the hospital. I don’t have much else to say, but if you need a statement, here’s how to get in touch with me.”
“I know about it,” the officer said, getting up from his chair. “The doctor we spoke to said you’d left without leaving your contact details.”
“I waited in the car park for quite some time, but I had to get to an important meeting in Buenos Aires, so I decided I’d come back as soon as I could. And I have, as you can see.”
The officer offered to take his statement which he could give to the detective. He sat down at a typewriter and tapped out what Andrew had to say. Nine lines and not a word more. Andrew signed the piece of paper, humbly accepted the officer’s congratulations for saving two lives, and went back out to the car.
“Would you mind telling me what you’ve been doing in the police station all this time?” Marisa asked.
“I’ve removed one of Ortiz’s pieces from the chessboard. I’ll explain later. Right now we need to get over to the hospital as fast as possible.”
* * *
“How are the accident victims that were brought in last night doing?” Andrew asked. “We wanted to check in on them before we head back to Buenos Aires.”
“You’ve come back!” said the doctor, seeing Marisa with Andrew in the lobby. “We couldn’t find you last night, so I thought you must be guilty of something and had run off.”
“We couldn’t wait, and you didn’t give us a sense of when they’d be out of surgery,” Andrew said.
“How could I have known?”
“That’s what we thought, and we weren’t about to spend the night in the car park. We’ve just been to the police station and given a statement.”
“Whom did you speak to?”
“An Officer Guartez. Nice guy with a deep voice and big glasses.”
The doctor nodded. The description matched Guartez, one of only three policemen in the village.
“They were lucky—very lucky—that you drove past at the right time. The patient with the worst injuries was transferred to the capital early this morning. We’re a very small hospital and not equipped to deal with such serious cases. Mr. Ortega only had a deep wound, broken bones and muscle laceration. We’ve operated on him. He’s resting in a room down the hall. Would you like to see him?”
“I don’t want to tire him out unnecessarily,” Andrew answered.
“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to have the chance to thank his rescuers. I’ve got to go and do my rounds. You can find your own way: it’s just down there at the end of the corridor. But don’t stay too long—he does need to get his strength back.”
The doctor said goodbye and informed the nurse on duty that they could go and see the patient.
When they got to the room, Andrew drew the curtain closed around Ortiz’s bed, even though the neighboring bed was empty.
Ortiz was asleep. Marisa shook his shoulder.
“You again!” he said, opening his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” Andrew asked.
“Better since they gave me some painkillers. What do you want from me now?”
“To give you a second chance.”
“And what second chance might that be?”
“You’ve been admitted under the name of Ortega, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That’s the name on my papers,” the ex-major replied, looking down.
“You could leave here under the same name and return home as normal.”
“Until you publish your article?”
“I’d like to make a deal with you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Answer my questions honestly, and I’ll just tell Major Ortiz’s story without revealing his new identity.”
“What proof do I have that you’ll keep your promise?”
“I can only offer you my word.”
Ortiz stared at Andrew for a long time.
“What about her? Will she be capable of holding her tongue?”
“Yes. As capable as she was of holding a gun to your head last night. I don’t think she wants me to expose you. Her future depends on it, doesn’t it?”
Ortiz said nothing, his face fraught with tension. His gaze came to rest on the IV bag sending fluid into his veins.
“All right, then,” he whispered.
“What were the circumstances in which you adopted María Luz?”
The question hit a nerve. Ortiz turned to Andrew and didn’t take his eyes off him again.
“When I was discharged, Febres wanted to make sure I wouldn’t talk. He took me to a secret orphanage. Most of the children were babies only a few weeks old. He ordered me to choose one, explaining it’d be the best way for me to regain a sense of reality. He told me that I, too, had helped save this innocent soul by flying the plane from which her parents had been thrown into the sea.”
“And had you flown it?”
“I had no idea. No more than he did. I wasn’t the only one piloting those flights, as you can imagine. But it was a possibility. I was a newlywed back then. María Luz was the oldest baby there. I told myself it would be easier having a two-year-old.”
“But she was a stolen child!” Marisa protested. “And your wife agreed to take part in this monstrous act?”
“My wife knew nothing about it. Right up to her death, she believed what I’d told her: that María Luz was the child of soldiers killed by the Montoneros, and that it was our duty to help her. Febres gave us a birth certificate in her name. I explained to my wife that it’d be easier for María Luz to live her life to the fullest if she knew nothing about the tragedy which left her an innocent victim. We loved her as if we’d given birth to her ourselves. María Luz was twelve when my wife died, and she cried for her like any girl who had just lost her mother. I brought her up on my own. I worked like a maniac so I could pay for her to study languages and arts at the university. I gave her everything she wanted.”
“I can’t listen to this,” Marisa objected, jumping up.
Andrew shot her a furious look and she sat down again, straddling her chair with her b
ack to Ortiz.
“Does María Luz still live in Dumesnil?” Andrew asked.
“No, she left a long time ago. The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo found her when she was twenty. She used to spend her weekends in Buenos Aires. She was a political activist and she never missed an opportunity to go to demonstrations for what she called ‘social progress,’ all the budding trade unionists she’d met at college had put those ideas into her head. Quite the opposite of the education we’d given her.”
“Yet in line with her real parents’ ideals,” Marisa interrupted. “It wasn’t your blood flowing through her veins. It seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“So you think leftism is hereditary? Perhaps. Plenty of other defects are passed on that way,” Ortiz jeered.
“I don’t know about ‘leftism,’ as you call it so contemptuously. But humanity—very likely!”
Ortiz turned to Andrew.
“If she interrupts one more time, I won’t tell you another thing.”
At that, Marisa exited the curtain, giving Major Ortiz the finger as she went.
“The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo spotted María Luz during one of the many demonstrations she went on. It took them several months to actually approach her. When my daughter discovered the truth, she asked to change her name. She left the house the same day, without saying a word, without even looking at me.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Did you try to find her?”
“I went to Buenos Aires whenever there was a march. I would walk up and down, scouring the parade of people in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. I did, once. I went up to her and begged her to spare me a moment so we could talk. She refused. All I could see in her eyes was hatred. I was scared she’d denounce me, but she didn’t. After she got her degree, she left the country, and I never heard anything about her again. You can write your article, Mr. Stilman, but I hope you’ll keep your word. I’m not asking that for myself, but for my other daughter. She only knows that her sister was adopted.”
Andrew put his pen and notebook away. He stood up and left without saying goodbye to Ortiz.
Marisa was waiting for him behind the curtain, scowling.
* * *
“Don’t tell me that bastard’s getting off just like that!” Marisa yelled, climbing into the car.
“I’m a man of my word.”
“You’re as bad as him!”
Andrew looked at her, a smile playing on his lips. He started the engine and steered the car onto the road.
“You’re very sexy when you’re angry,” he said, putting his hand on Marisa’s knee.
“Don’t touch me,” she replied, pushing it away.
“I pledged not to reveal his identity in my article, but I didn’t promise anything else, as far as I know.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s nothing stopping me from printing a photo to illustrate my article! If somebody recognizes Ortega in Ortiz’s face, that’s not my problem. Direct me to that photographer friend of yours who developed your film. Let’s hope it isn’t grainy. I really don’t want to have to come back here tomorrow.”
Marisa looked at Andrew, took his hand and put it back on her thigh.
* * *
It was a beautiful day. A few wispy clouds streaked across the azure sky above Buenos Aires. Andrew spent his last few hours in Argentina visiting the city. Marisa showed him around La Recoleta cemetery. Andrew looked in amazement at the mausoleums containing coffins laid out on shelves, not buried beneath the ground.
“That’s how it is here,” Marisa said. “People spend a fortune on getting their final dwelling place built. A roof, four walls, an iron gate to let the light in. Eventually the entire family ends up reunited here for all eternity. I’d certainly prefer to watch the sun rise,” she added, “than rot at the bottom of a hole. I also find it a cheerful idea that people can still call on you in your ‘home.’”
“You’re right,” Andrew said, suddenly consumed by the dark thoughts he’d almost completely pushed from his mind since he’d arrived in Argentina.
“We’ve got time; we’re still young.”
“Yes . . . At least you’ve got time,” Andrew sighed. “Can we go now? Let’s go somewhere more lively, please.”
“I’ll take you to my neighborhood,” Marisa said. “It’s full of life and color, and there is music playing on every street corner. I couldn’t live anyplace else.”
“I think we’ve finally found something in common!”
She took him to dinner in a little restaurant in Palermo. The owner seemed to know her well. Although lots of other customers were waiting in line for a table, Andrew and Marisa were the first to be seated.
They continued their evening in a jazz club, where Marisa swayed her hips rhythmically on the dance floor. She tried several times to drag Andrew onto it with her, but he preferred to stay put on his stool, leaning on the bar as he watched her dance.
At around one in the morning, they went for a stroll through the still-bustling narrow streets.
“When are you going to publish your article?”
“In a few weeks.”
“When it comes out, Alberto will identify Ortega from the photo of Ortiz. He’ll press charges. He’s determined to. I’m sure he’s been hoping to do it for a long time.”
“Other witness statements will be needed in order to expose him.”
“Don’t worry—Luisa and her network will do what’s necessary. Ortiz will answer for his crimes in a court of law.”
“She’s a hell of a woman, your aunt.”
“You were right about Alberto and her, you know. They meet on a bench in the Plaza de Mayo once a week. They sit next to each other for an hour, often barely exchanging a word. Then each leaves in a different direction.”
“Why do they do that?”
“Because they need to meet, to be the parents of a son whose memory they want to keep alive. There’s no grave for them to go and meditate by.”
“Do you think they’ll live together as husband and wife again?”
“No. What they’ve been through was too much.”
Marisa remained silent for a few seconds, then added: “Luisa really likes you, you know.”
“I hadn’t realized.”
“I had. She thinks you’re attractive, and she’s a woman with good taste.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, then,” Andrew said, smiling.
“I’ve left a small gift for you in your things.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll find out when you get to New York. Don’t open it before then, though. Promise me. It’s a surprise.”
“I promise.”
“My place is only a short walk away,” she told him. “Come on, follow me.”
Andrew accompanied Marisa to the foot of her apartment building, stopping at the door.
“Don’t you want to come up?”
“No, I don’t want to come up.”
“Don’t you like me anymore?”
“That’s just it—I like you a bit too much. It was different in the car—it wasn’t part of the plan. We were in a dangerous situation. I said to myself that life was short and I had to live for the moment . . . Actually, I said nothing of the sort. I just wanted you, and— ”
“And now you think that life will be long, and you feel guilty you cheated on your fiancée.”
“I don’t know whether life will be long, Marisa. But yes, I do feel guilty.”
“You’re a better guy than I thought, Andrew Stilman. Go back to her. What happened in the car doesn’t count. I don’t love you, you don’t love me—it was just sex. Good sex, but nothing else.”
Andrew leaned over and kissed her on the
cheek.
“It makes you look old when you do that,” she said. “Now get out of here before I have my wicked way with you right here on the sidewalk!” Andrew turned to go. “Wait. Can I ask you one last question? When I collected your notebooks from the hotel, I saw you’d written What if I could replay my life? on the first page of one of them. What did you mean by that?”
“It’s a long story . . . Goodbye, Marisa.”
“Goodbye, Andrew Stilman. I don’t think we’ll ever see each other again and I wish you a wonderful life. I’ll always have fond memories of you.”
Andrew walked away without turning back. At the intersection, he jumped into a taxi.
Marisa ran up the stairs, opened her apartment door and let fall the tears she’d been holding back.
21.
The plane landed at JFK late in the afternoon. Andrew had fallen asleep immediately after takeoff and only woke up when the wheels touched the ground again.
To his surprise, he found Valerie waiting for him behind the sliding doors once he’d gone through customs. She wrapped her arms around him and told him how much she’d missed him.
“I almost got into a fight with Simon because he wanted to come and pick you up!”
“I’m happy you won,” Andrew replied, kissing her.
“I have to say you hardly ever called me.”
“I was working night and day. It wasn’t easy.”
“But you finished your investigation?”
“Yes.”
“So it was worth me pining for you all this time.”
“You moped around the whole time?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I’ve never worked so hard before in my life. I’ve been coming home in the evenings and literally collapsing into bed—I couldn’t even gather the energy to eat dinner. I missed you terribly.”
“It was about time I came back, then. I missed you too,” Andrew said, leading her to the taxi stand.
* * *