“Don’t speak badly of Armida, don’t make jokes about her,” said Lucrecia, putting a hand to her mouth. “She isn’t and never was what people believe.”
“Yes, yes, I know the conversation you had with her in Piura left you convinced,” Rigoberto said with a smile. “What if she told you a fairy tale, Lucrecia?”
“She told me the truth,” Lucrecia declared categorically. “I have complete confidence that she told me what happened, without adding or taking away anything. I have an infallible instinct for these things.”
“I don’t believe you. Was it really like that?”
“Really.” Armida lowered her eyes, a little intimidated. “He never looked at me or paid me a compliment. Not even one of those nice things employers sometimes say to their maids just to make conversation. I swear by everything holy, Señora Lucrecia.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to use the familiar tú with me, Armida?” Lucrecia reproached her. “It’s hard for me to believe what you’re saying is true. You really never noticed before that Ismael liked you, not even a little?”
“I swear by everything holy,” said Armida, kissing her fingers in the shape of a cross. “Never, not ever, and may God punish me forever if I’m lying. Never. Never. That’s why I was so shocked I almost fainted. ‘But what are you saying! Have you gone crazy, Don Ismael? Am I losing my mind? What’s going on here?’”
“Neither one of us is crazy, Armida,” Señor Carrera said, smiling, speaking to her with a kindness she’d never heard from him, but he didn’t go near her. “Of course you’ve heard what I said perfectly well. I’ll ask you again. Do you want to marry me? I’m very serious. I’m too old now to court you, to make you fall in love the old-fashioned way. I offer you my affection and respect. I’m sure love will come too, later. Mine for you and yours for me.”
“He told me he felt lonely, that he thought I was a good person, that I knew his habits, what he liked, what he disliked, and besides, he was sure I’d know how to take care of him. He made my head spin, Señora Lucrecia. I couldn’t believe he was saying what I was hearing. But that’s what happened, just like I’m telling it to you. Suddenly and without beating around the bush, just like that. That and only that is the truth. I swear.”
“You amaze me, Armida.” Lucrecia scrutinized her, a look of astonishment on her face. “But yes, after all why not. He simply told you the truth. He felt alone, he needed company, and you knew him better than anybody else. And did you accept right then and there?”
“You don’t need to answer me now, Armida,” he added, not taking a step toward her, not making the slightest move to touch her, take her hand, her arm. “Think about it. My proposal is very serious. We’ll get married and go to Europe for our honeymoon. I’ll try to make you happy. Think about it, please.”
“I had a fiancé, Señora Lucrecia. Panchito. A good person. He worked for the City of Lince, in the registry office. I had to break it off with him. The truth is, I didn’t have to think about it too long. It seemed like the story of Cinderella. Up to the last moment I wondered if Señor Carrera had been serious. But yes, yes, he was very serious, and now you see everything that’s happened since.”
“It makes me feel strange to ask you this, Armida,” said Lucrecia, lowering her voice a great deal. “But I can’t help myself, curiosity is killing me. Do you mean that before you got married there was nothing going on between you?”
Armida burst into laughter, raising her hands to her face.
“After I said yes, there was,” she said, blushing and laughing. “Of course there was. Señor Ismael was still a real man in spite of his age.”
Lucrecia started to laugh too.
“I don’t need you to tell me anything else, Armida,” she said hugging her. “Oh, how funny it is that things happened like this. What a shame he died.”
“I still don’t buy that the hyenas have lost their fangs,” said Rigoberto. “That they’ve become so tame.”
“I don’t believe that either. They’re not fighting because they’re probably plotting something awful,” replied Lucrecia. “Did Dr. Arnillas tell you what Armida’s arrangement with them is?”
Rigoberto shook his head.
“I didn’t ask him,” he answered, shrugging. “But there’s no doubt they surrendered. If not, they wouldn’t have withdrawn all their demands. She must have given them a good amount to subdue them like this. Or maybe not. Maybe that pair of idiots finally were convinced that if they continued fighting, they’d die old men without seeing a cent of the inheritance. The truth is, I don’t give a damn. I don’t want us to talk about those two villains for the next month, Lucrecia. During these four weeks let everything be clean, beautiful, pleasing, stimulating. The hyenas have no place in any of that.”
“I promise I won’t mention them again,” Lucrecia said with a laugh. “Just one last question. Do you know what happened to them?”
“They must have gone to Miami to spend the money they got out of Armida on one long binge, where else,” said Rigoberto. “Ah, but that’s right, they can’t go there because Miki was involved in that hit-and-run. Though maybe the statute of limitations is up on that. And now yes, the twins have vanished, disappeared, never existed. Let’s not talk about them again. Hello, Fonchito!”
The boy was already dressed for the trip, he even had his suit jacket on.
“How elegant, my God,” Doña Lucrecia welcomed him, giving him a kiss. “Your breakfast is all ready. I’ll leave you two, it’s getting late, I’d better hurry if you want to leave at nine sharp.”
“Are you looking forward to our trip?” Don Rigoberto asked his son when they were alone.
“Yes, a lot, Papa. I’ve heard you talk so much about Europe for as long as I can remember that I’ve dreamed about going there for years.”
“It’ll be a nice experience, you’ll see,” said Don Rigoberto. “I’ve planned everything very carefully so you’ll see the best things in old Europe and avoid everything ugly. In a sense, this trip will be my masterpiece. The one I didn’t paint, or compose, or write, Fonchito, but that you’ll live.”
“It’s never too late for that,” the boy replied. “You have plenty of time, you can do what you really like. You’re retired now and have all the freedom in the world.”
Another uncomfortable observation he didn’t know how to elude. He stood up, saying he was going to give his carry-on one final check.
Narciso appeared at nine on the dot, just as Don Rigoberto had asked. The station wagon he was driving, a late-model Toyota, was navy blue, and Ismael Carrera’s old driver had hung a colored picture of the Blessed Melchorita from the rearview mirror. Of course, they had to wait some time for Doña Lucrecia to come out. When she said goodbye to Justiniana it was with unending embraces and kisses, and Don Rigoberto saw with a start that their lips were brushing. But Fonchito and Narciso didn’t notice. When the station wagon drove down Quebrada de Armendáriz and took Costa Verde in the direction of the airport, Don Rigoberto asked Narciso how things were going in his new job at the insurance company.
“Terrific,” said Narciso, showing white teeth as he smiled from ear to ear. “I thought Señora Armida’s recommendation wouldn’t mean much to the new owners, but I was wrong. They’ve been treating me very well. The manager met me in person, can you imagine. A very perfumed Italian gentleman. But I can’t tell you how I felt when I saw him in the office that had been yours, Don Rigoberto.”
“Better him than Escobita or Miki, don’t you think?” Don Rigoberto guffawed.
“That’s right, no doubt about it. You bet!”
“And what’s your job, Narciso? The manager’s driver?”
“Mainly. When he doesn’t need me, I drive people from all over the company, I mean, the bosses.” He looked happy, sure of himself. “Sometimes he also sends me to customs, to the post office, to banks. Hard work, but I can’t complain, they pay me good money. And thanks to Señora Armida, now I have my own car. The truth is,
that’s something I never thought I’d have.”
“She gave you a nice present, Narciso,” remarked Doña Lucrecia. “Your station wagon is beautiful.”
“Armida always had a heart of gold,” the driver agreed. “I mean, Señora Armida.”
“It was the least she could do for you,” declared Don Rigoberto. “You behaved very well with her and Ismael. You agreed to be a witness to their marriage, knowing what you were exposing yourself to, and above all, you didn’t let yourself be bought or intimidated by the hyenas. It’s only right that she gave you this gift.”
“This station wagon isn’t a gift, it’s a gift and a half, señor.”
The Jorge Chávez Airport was crowded and the line at Iberia very long. But Rigoberto didn’t become impatient. He’d gone through so much anguish these last few months, what with police and judicial appointments, the blocking of his retirement, the headaches Fonchito had given them with Edilberto Torres, how could he care about waiting in a line for a quarter of an hour, half an hour, or however long it took, if it was all behind him and tomorrow afternoon he’d be in Madrid with his wife and son. Impulsively he put his arms over the shoulders of Lucrecia and Fonchito and announced, brimming over with enthusiasm, “Tomorrow night we’ll eat at the best and nicest restaurant in Madrid. Casa Lucio! Their ham and eggs with fried potatoes is an incomparable delicacy.”
“Eggs and fried potatoes, a delicacy, Papa?” Fonchito said mockingly.
“Go ahead and laugh, but I assure you that no matter how simple it may seem, at Casa Lucio they’ve turned the dish into a work of art, something exquisite that makes your mouth water.”
And at that very moment he saw, a few meters away, a curious couple he thought he knew. They couldn’t have been more mismatched or anomalous. She, a stout, tall woman, with very plump cheeks, submerged in a kind of unbleached tunic that hung down to her ankles, and wrapped in a bulky green sweater. But the strangest thing was the absurd, flat little hat and veil that gave her a cartoonish air. The man, on the other hand, slim, small, feeble-looking, seemed packed into a very tight pearl-gray suit and gaudy, bright blue vest. He too wore a hat, pulled down to the middle of his forehead. They had a provincial air, appeared lost and disconcerted in the midst of the crowd at the airport, and looked at everything with apprehension and suspicion. They seemed to have escaped from an expressionist work painted by Otto Dix or George Grosz of bizarre, mismatched people in 1920s Berlin.
“Ah, you’ve seen them too,” he heard Lucrecia say, indicating the couple. “It seems they’re also traveling to Spain. And in first class, imagine that!”
“I think I know them, though I don’t know from where,” said Rigoberto. “Who are they?”
“But my boy,” replied Lucrecia, “they’re the couple from Piura, how could you not recognize them.”
“Armida’s sister and brother-in-law, of course,” Rigoberto said, identifying them. “You’re right, they’re traveling to Spain too. What a coincidence.”
He felt a strange, incomprehensible uneasiness, a disquiet, as if running into this Piuran couple on the Iberia flight to Madrid might constitute a threat to the program of activities he’d planned so carefully for their European month. “How silly,” he thought. “What a persecution complex.” How could this odd-looking couple spoil their trip? He observed them for some time as they went through procedures at the Iberia counter and weighed the very large suitcase with thick straps around it that they declared as their luggage. They looked lost and frightened, as if this were the first time they’d ever taken a plane. When they finally understood the instructions of the Iberia attendant, they linked arms as if to defend themselves against anything unforeseen and walked toward customs. What were Felícito Yanaqué and his wife, Gertrudis, going to do in Spain? Ah, of course, they were going to forget the scandal they’d lived through in Piura, complete with abductions, adulteries, and whores. They were probably taking a tour, spending their life savings. It didn’t matter. These past few months he’d become too susceptible, too sensitive, almost paranoid. That couple couldn’t possibly harm their marvelous vacation in any way.
“Do you know, Rigoberto, I don’t know why but it makes me suspicious running into those two Piurans,” he heard Lucrecia say, and he shuddered. There was a certain anguish in his wife’s voice.
“Suspicious?” He dissembled. “What nonsense, Lucrecia, there’s no reason for that. The trip will be even better than our honeymoon, I promise you.”
When they finished checking in at the counter, they went up to the second level of the airport, where there was another long line, so the police could stamp their passports. And yet, when they finally got to the boarding lounge, they still had a long time to wait. Doña Lucrecia decided to take a look at the duty-free shops and Fonchito went with her. Since he detested shopping, Rigoberto said he’d wait for them in the café. He bought The Economist on the way and discovered that all the tables in the small restaurant were taken. He was about to sit at the entrance to the boarding lounge when he saw Señor Yanaqué and his wife at one of the tables. Very serious and very still, they had soft drinks and a plate of biscuits in front of them. Following a sudden impulse, Rigoberto approached them.
“I don’t know if you remember me,” he greeted them, extending his hand. “I was in your house in Piura a few months ago. What a surprise to find you here. So you’re going on a trip.”
The two Piurans had stood, at first surprised, then smiling. They shook hands effusively.
“What a surprise, Don Rigoberto, seeing you here. How could we not remember our secret plotting.”
“Have a seat, señor,” said Señora Gertrudis. “It would be our pleasure.”
“Well, all right, delighted,” Don Rigoberto thanked her. “My wife and son are looking at the shops. We’re traveling to Madrid.”
“To Madrid?” Felícito Yanaqué’s eyes opened wide. “So are we, what a coincidence.”
“What would you like to have, señor?” a very solicitous Señora Gertrudis asked.
She seemed changed, she’d become more talkative and pleasant and was smiling now. He remembered her, during his days in Piura, as always severe and incapable of uttering a word.
“An espresso cut with milk,” he told the waiter. “So you’re going to Madrid. We’ll be traveling companions.”
They sat, smiled, exchanged impressions about the flight—would the plane leave on time or would it be late—and Señora Gertrudis, whose voice Rigoberto was sure he’d never heard during their meetings in Piura, talked now without stopping. She hoped this plane wouldn’t pitch as much as the LAN plane that brought them from Piura the night before. It had bounced so much that tears came to her eyes because she thought they would crash. And she hoped Iberia wouldn’t lose their suitcase, because if it was lost, what would they wear there in Madrid, where they’d be for three days and three nights and where it seemed the weather was very cold.
“Fall is the best season of the year all over Europe,” Rigoberto reassured her. “And the prettiest, I promise you. It isn’t cold, it’s pleasantly cool. Are you just passing through Madrid?”
“In fact we’re going to Rome,” said Felícito Yanaqué. “But Armida insisted that we spend a few days in Madrid simply to see it.”
“My sister wanted us to go to Andalucía too,” said Gertrudis. “But that would mean being away a long time and Felícito has a lot of work in Piura with the company’s buses and jitneys. He’s reorganizing it from top to bottom.”
“Narihualá Transport is moving forward, though it always gives me some headaches,” Señor Yanaqué said, smiling. “My son Tiburcio has been taking over for me. He knows the business very well, he’s worked there since he was a boy. He’ll do a good job, I’m certain. But, you know, you have to be on top of everything yourself, because otherwise, things start to go wrong.”
“Armida invited us on this trip,” said Señora Gertrudis, a touch of pride in her voice. “She’s paying for everything, it’s so gene
rous. Fares, hotels, everything. And in Rome she’ll put us up in her house.”
“She’s been so nice we couldn’t turn her down over a thing like this,” explained Señor Yanaqué. “Imagine what this invitation must be costing her. A fortune! Armida says she’s very grateful for our putting her up. As if it was any trouble at all for us. More like a great honor.”
“Well, you were very good to her during those difficult days,” remarked Don Rigoberto. “You gave her affection, moral support; she needed to feel close to her family. Now she’s in a magnificent situation, so she’s done very well to invite you. You’ll love Rome, you’ll see.”
Señora Gertrudis got up to go to the ladies’ room. Felícito Yanaqué pointed at his wife and, lowering his voice, confessed to Don Rigoberto, “My wife is dying to see the pope. It’s the dream of her life, because Gertrudis is very caught up in religion. Armida promised to take her to St. Peter’s Square when the pope comes out on the balcony. And maybe she can manage to find her a place among the pilgrims the Holy Father gives an audience to on certain days. Seeing the pope and visiting the Vatican will be the greatest happiness of her life. She became very Catholic after we got married, you know. Before that she really wasn’t. That’s why I decided to accept this invitation. For her sake. She’s always been a very good woman. Very self-sacrificing at difficult times. If it hadn’t been for Gertrudis, I wouldn’t have made this trip. Do you know something? I’ve never taken a vacation before in my life. I don’t feel good if I’m not doing something. Because what I like is working.”
And suddenly, with no transition, Felícito Yanaqué began telling Don Rigoberto about his father. A sharecropper in Yapatera, a humble Chulucano with no education, no shoes, whose wife left him and who, breaking his back, brought up Felícito, making him study, learn a trade, so he could move up in the world. A man who was always rectitude personified.