“I’ve never heard his sermons,” Fonchito explained. “But yes, he seemed very intelligent. Experienced in life and especially in religion.”
“You ought to hear him when he speaks from the pulpit,” advised Edilberto Torres. “Especially now that you’re interested in spiritual matters. He’s eloquent, elegant, and his words are full of wisdom. He must be one of the last good orators the Church has. Because sacred oratory, so important in the past, entered its decadence a long time ago.”
“But he doesn’t know you, señor,” Fonchito dared to say. “I spoke about you to Father O’Donovan, and he didn’t even know who you were.”
“For him I’m just another face among the faithful in his church,” replied Edilberto Torres, very calmly. “A face lost among many others. How good that you’re interested in religion now, Fonchito. I’ve heard that you’re part of a group that meets once a week to read the Bible. Do you enjoy doing that?”
“You’re lying to me, darling,” Señora Lucrecia reprimanded him lovingly, trying to conceal her surprise. “He couldn’t have said that to you. It isn’t possible for Señor Torres to know about your study group.”
“He even knew that last week we finished reading Genesis and began Exodus.” Now the boy’s face was very worried. He too seemed disturbed. “He even knew that detail, I swear. It surprised me so much I told him it did, Stepmother.”
“There’s no reason for you to be surprised, Fonchito,” Edilberto Torres replied with a smile. “I think very highly of you, and I’m interested in knowing how things are going for you in school, in your family, in life. That’s why I do my best to find out what you’re doing and whom you see. It’s an expression of affection for you, nothing more. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. Do you know that saying?”
“He’ll hear from me when he gets home from school,” said Don Rigoberto, suddenly enraged. “Fonchito can’t keep toying with us this way. I’m sick and tired of his trying to make us swallow so many lies.”
In a bad mood, he went to the bathroom and washed his face with cold water. He sensed something unsettling, had a premonition of new unpleasantness. He’d never believed that human destiny was written, that life was a script that human beings acted in without knowing it, but ever since Ismael’s ill-fated marriage and the alleged appearances of Edilberto Torres, he’d had the feeling he’d glimpsed predestination. Could his days be a sequence predetermined by a supernatural power, as the Calvinists believed? The worst thing on that ominous Tuesday was that the family’s headaches had only just begun.
They sat down at the table. Rigoberto and Lucrecia were silent; they wore funereal faces, and reluctantly picked at a salad, totally without appetite. Then Justiniana burst into the dining room without knocking.
“You’re wanted on the phone, señor.” She was very excited, her eyes sparkling as they did on important occasions. “It’s Señor Ismael Carrera, no less!”
Rigoberto jumped up. Almost stumbling, he went to take the call in his study.
“Ismael?” he asked eagerly. “Is that you, Ismael? Where are you calling from?”
“From here, Lima, where else,” his friend and former boss replied in the same unconcerned, jovial tone he’d used in his last call. “We arrived last night and are impatient to see you both, Rigoberto. But since you and I have so much to talk about, why don’t just the two of us get together right away. Have you had lunch? All right, then come and have coffee with me. Yes, right now, I’ll expect you here at my house.”
“I’ll be right there.” Rigoberto said goodbye like an automaton. “What a day, what a day.”
He didn’t taste another mouthful and rushed out, promising Lucrecia he’d come back immediately and tell her all about his conversation with Ismael. The arrival of his friend, the source of all the conflicts in which he found himself entangled with the twins, made him forget about his interview with the investigating magistrate and the reappearance of Edilberto Torres on a Lima–Chorrillos jitney.
The silly old man and his brand-new wife had finally returned from their honeymoon. Had he been kept up to date by Claudio Arnillas about all the problems the hyenas’ persecution was causing him? He’d speak to Ismael frankly, tell him enough was enough, that ever since he’d agreed to be his witness, his life had turned into a judicial and police nightmare, that he had to do something immediately to make his sons stop their harassment.
But when he reached the neocolonial mansion in San Isidro, almost squashed by the buildings around it, Ismael and Armida received him with so many demonstrations of friendship that his intention to speak clearly and forcefully collapsed. He marveled at how serene, happy, and elegant the couple looked. Ismael was in casual clothes, a silk ascot around his neck, and sandals that must have felt like gloves on his feet; his leather jacket matched the soft-collared shirt, from which rose his smiling face, recently shaved and scented with a delicate anise fragrance. Even more extraordinary was the transformation in Armida. She seemed to have recently emerged from the hands of expert hairdressers, makeup artists, and manicurists. Her formerly black tresses were now chestnut, and a charming wave had replaced her straight hair. She wore a light print dress, with a lilac shawl over her shoulders, and medium-heeled shoes of the same color. Everything about her, her cared-for hands, the pale red nails, her earrings, her fine gold chain, the brooch on her chest, even her confident manner—she greeted Rigoberto, offering her cheek for him to kiss—was that of a lady who’d spent her life among well-mannered, rich, worldly people and was devoted to caring for her body and wardrobe. To the naked eye, there was no trace left in her of the former domestic employee. Had she dedicated the months of her European honeymoon to receiving lessons in deportment?
As soon as the greetings were concluded they led him into the room next to the dining room. Through the large window one could see the garden filled with crotons, bougainvillea, geraniums, and floripondios. Rigoberto noticed that beside the table, where the cups, coffeepot, and a serving dish of cookies and pastries were arranged, were several packages, large and small boxes beautifully wrapped in fancy paper and ribbons. Were they gifts? Yes. Ismael and Armida had brought them for Rigoberto, Lucrecia, Fonchito, and even Justiniana in gratitude for the kindness they’d shown the bride and groom: shirts and silk pajamas for Rigoberto, blouses and shawls for Lucrecia, athletic clothes and sneakers for Fonchito, a dustcoat and sandals for Justiniana, in addition to sashes, belts, cuff links, datebooks, handmade notebooks, engravings, chocolates, art books, and an erotic drawing to hang in the bathroom in the privacy of one’s own home.
They looked rejuvenated, sure of themselves, happy, and so supremely peaceful that Rigoberto felt infected by the newlyweds’ serenity and good humor. Ismael must have been very sure of what he was doing, perfectly safe from the machinations of his children. Just as he’d predicted at that lunch at La Rosa Náutica, he was probably spending more than they were to undo their plots. He probably had everything under control. Just as well. Why was Rigoberto worrying, then? With Ismael in Lima, the trouble caused by the hyenas would be resolved, perhaps with a reconciliation if his ex-boss could resign himself to letting the fools have a little more money. All the traps that had overwhelmed him would be undone in a few days and he’d recover his secret life, his civilized space. “My sovereignty and my freedom,” he thought.
After coffee, Rigoberto listened to a few anecdotes of the couple’s travels through Italy. Armida, whose voice he barely remembered having heard before, had recovered the gift of speech. She expressed herself with assurance, few mistakes in syntax, and excellent humor. After a while she withdrew, “so that the two gentlemen can discuss important matters.” She explained that she’d never taken a siesta in her life, but now Ismael had taught her to lie down for fifteen minutes with her eyes closed after lunch, and in fact, in the evening she felt very well thanks to that short rest.
“Don’t worry about anything, my dear Rigoberto,” said Ismael, patting him on the back, as soon as t
hey were alone. “Another cup of coffee? A glass of cognac?”
“I’m delighted to see you so happy and looking so well, Ismael,” Rigoberto answered, shaking his head. “I’m delighted to see both of you so well. The truth is, you and Armida are radiant. Clear proof that the marriage is going wonderfully. I’m very glad, naturally. But, but—”
“But those two devils are driving you crazy, I’m well aware of that,” Ismael finished the sentence, patting him on the back again, still smiling at him and at life. “Don’t worry, Rigoberto, listen to me. I’m here now and I’ll take care of everything. I know how to confront these problems and resolve them. A thousand pardons for all the trouble your generosity toward me has brought you. I’ll work on this matter all day tomorrow with Claudio Arnillas and the other lawyers in his firm. I’ll get the judgments and all these difficulties off your back. Now, sit down and listen. I have news that concerns you. Shall we have that cognac now, old man?”
He quickly poured two drinks and raised his glass. They toasted and wet their lips and tongues; the drink shone with bright red reflections at the bottom of the crystal and had an aroma reminiscent of oak casks. Rigoberto noticed that Ismael was watching him roguishly. A mischievous, mocking smile animated his wrinkled eyes. Did he have his denture adjusted on his honeymoon? It had moved around before, but now it seemed to rest very firmly on his gums.
“Rigoberto, I’ve sold all my shares in the company to Assicurazioni Generali, the best and biggest underwriter in Italy,” he exclaimed, spreading his arms and laughing out loud. “You’re very familiar with them, aren’t you? We’ve worked with them quite often. Their headquarters are in Trieste but they’re all over the world. They’ve wanted to expand into Peru for some time and I took advantage of the opportunity. An excellent deal. You see, my honeymoon wasn’t only a pleasure trip. It was for work too.”
He was enjoying himself, as amused and happy as a child opening presents from Santa Claus. Don Rigoberto hadn’t really taken in the news. He vaguely recalled reading in The Economist a few weeks ago that Assicurazioni Generali had plans to venture into South America.
“You’ve sold the company your father founded and where you’ve worked your whole life?” he finally asked, disconcerted. “To an Italian transnational? How long have you been negotiating with them, Ismael?”
“Just about six months,” his friend explained, slowly moving his glass of cognac back and forth. “It was a quick negotiation, there weren’t any complications. And, I repeat, a very good deal. I’ve made an excellent deal. Make yourself comfortable and listen. For obvious reasons, before it was successfully concluded, this had to be confidential. That was the reason for the audit I authorized them to make and that surprised you so much last year. Now you know what was behind it: They wanted to examine the state of the company with a magnifying glass. I wasn’t in charge of it and didn’t pay for it; Assicurazioni Generali did. Now that the transfer is a fact, I can tell you everything.”
Ismael Carrera spoke for close to an hour; Rigoberto interrupted him only a handful of times to request a few explanations. He listened to his friend, amazed at his memory, for without the slightest hesitation he was unfolding for him, as if they were the layers of a palimpsest, months of offers and counteroffers. Rigoberto was stunned. It seemed incredible that so delicate a negotiation could have been carried out so secretly that not even he, the general manager of the company, knew anything about it. The negotiators’ meetings had taken place in Lima, Trieste, New York, and Milan; those who took part were lawyers, principal shareholders, authorized personnel, advisers, and bankers from several countries, but practically all of Ismael Carreras’s Peruvian employees had been excluded, as were Miki and Escobita, of course. Those two, who’d received their inheritance in advance when Don Ismael removed them from the company, had already sold a good part of their shares, and only now did Rigoberto learn that the person who’d bought them through intermediaries was Ismael himself. The hyenas still held a small parcel of shares and would become minor (the smallest, in fact) partners in the Peruvian branch of Assicurazioni Generali. How would they react? A disdainful Ismael shrugged. “Badly, of course. And so what?” Let them holler. The sale had been made in compliance with all national and foreign regulations. The administrative entities of Italy, Peru, and the United States had given the transaction their approval. They’d paid all relevant taxes to the last penny and complied with every rule and law.
“What do you think, Rigoberto?” Ismael Carrera concluded his exposition. He opened his arms again like an actor greeting the audience and waiting for applause. “Am I still sharp, still acting like a businessman?”
Rigoberto nodded. He was disoriented and didn’t know what to think. His friend looked at him, smiling and pleased with himself.
“The truth is, you never cease to amaze me, Ismael,” he finally said. “You’re enjoying a second youth, I can see that. Has Armida rejuvenated you? I still can’t wrap my mind around your having let go so easily of the business your father created and that you built up, investing blood, sweat, and tears in it for half a century. You’ll think it’s absurd, but I feel sad, as if I’d lost something of mine. And you’re as happy as a drunken sailor.”
“It wasn’t all that easy,” Ismael corrected him, serious now. “I had plenty of doubts at first. It made me sad, too. But given the situation, it was the only solution. If I’d had different heirs—but then, why talk about depressing things. You and I know very well what would happen if my children had control of the company. They’d sink it in the blink of an eye. Best-case scenario, they’d sell it at a loss. In the hands of the Italians, it will continue to exist and prosper. You can collect your retirement without any kind of cuts and with a bonus besides, old man. It’s all arranged.”
It seemed to Rigoberto that his friend’s smile had become melancholy. Ismael sighed, and a shadow crossed his eyes.
“What are you going to do with so much money, Ismael?”
“Spend my final years calm and happy,” he replied immediately. “And I hope healthy too. Enjoying life a little, with my wife at my side. Better late than never, Rigoberto. You know better than anyone that until now I lived only to work.”
“Hedonism’s a good philosophy, Ismael,” Rigoberto agreed. “Aside from everything else, it’s mine, too. Until now I’ve been able to follow it only in part. But I hope to imitate you when the twins leave me in peace and Lucrecia and I can set off on the trip to Europe we organized. She was very disappointed when we had to cancel our plans because of your sons’ demands.”
“I’ve already told you, I’ll take care of that tomorrow. It’s at the top of my agenda, Rigoberto,” said Ismael, standing up. “I’ll call you after our meeting in Arnillas’s office. And let’s set a date to have lunch or dinner together, with Armida and Lucrecia.”
As he returned home, leaning on the steering wheel of his car, all kinds of ideas whirled around in Don Rigoberto’s head like the water in a fountain. How much money could Ismael have gotten from the sale of his shares? Many millions. A fortune, in any case. Even though Ismael’s company had been doing only so-so recently, it was a solid institution with a magnificent portfolio and a first-rate reputation in Peru and abroad. True, an octogenarian like Ismael could no longer keep up with managerial responsibilities. He must have put his capital into safe investments, debenture bonds, pension funds, businesses in the safest fiscal paradises: Lichtenstein, Guernsey, or Jersey, or perhaps Singapore or Dubai. The interest alone would allow him and Armida to live like royalty anywhere in the world. What would the twins do? Fight with the new owners? They were such idiots that this couldn’t be discounted. They’d be squashed like cockroaches. It couldn’t happen too soon. No, probably they’d try to nibble away at some of the money from the sale. Ismael probably had it safely tucked away. No doubt they’d resign themselves if their father softened and threw them a few crumbs to get them to stop fucking around. Then everything would settle down. If only it would happen soo
n. Then his plans for a joyful retirement rich in material, intellectual, and artistic pleasures could finally materialize.
But in his heart of hearts he couldn’t convince himself that everything would work out so well for Ismael. He was haunted by the suspicion that instead of being settled, matters would become even more complicated, and instead of escaping the legal and judicial tangle in which Miki and Escobita had caught him, he’d find himself even more thoroughly trapped until the end of his days. Or was that pessimism due to the abrupt reappearance of Edilberto Torres?
As soon as he reached his house in Barranco, he gave his wife a detailed account of the latest events. She shouldn’t worry about the sale of the company to an Italian insurer, because as far as the two of them were concerned, the transfer would probably help to resolve things if Ismael, along with the new owners, would agree to placate the twins with some money so they’d leave them alone. What made the greatest impression on Lucrecia was that Armida had returned from her honeymoon transformed into an elegant, sociable, and worldly lady. “I’ll call her to welcome her home and arrange that lunch or dinner very soon, my love. I’m dying to see her transformation into a respectable matron.”
Rigoberto went into his study and on the computer looked up everything he could about Assicurazioni Generali S.p.A. The largest insurer in Italy. He’d been in touch with the company and its subsidiaries on several occasions. Recently, it had expanded significantly into Eastern Europe, the Middle and Far East, and in a more limited way, Latin America, where it had centralized its operations in Panama. This was a good opportunity for the company to move into South America, using Peru as a springboard. The country was doing well, its laws were stable, and investments were growing.
He was still immersed in research when he heard Fonchito come home from school. He closed the computer and waited impatiently for his son to come in and say hello. When the boy entered the study and approached to kiss him, still with his Markham Academy backpack on his shoulders, Rigoberto decided to bring up the subject immediately.