reply.
Distracted, Flora, who is black, looks away. “Oh that one.”
“So perhaps you have things you’d like to sell? Underwear? Blue jeans?” Eva plucks at my jeans.
“I just have soap.” I hand them a few bars, which I keep in my bag. They hold them and sniff. “You can keep these,” I say, and for the moment they seem content. Flora tucks hers between her breasts. Suddenly there is a flurry of activity. A tour group from Germany has just arrived and María, Eva, and Flora stand up to excuse themselves. “Duty calls,” María says, giving me a wave of her hand, containing a bar of apricot soap. Her hips move as she heads to the counter, where a tired German traveler is just checking in.
Major Lorenzo crosses her path, but his eyes do not settle on her at all. Instead he scans the room, and when he spots me he waves. As he approaches with his aide trailing behindhim, the staff and guests all look my way. Enrique cannot miss this; neither can the prostitutes as they now move toward the bar. I receive significant stares, then everyone turns away.
“So,” he says, “how are you? Have you found everything you need?”
His asking is a formality but I assure him that everything is fine. Pulling back an extra chair, I invite Major Lorenzo to join me for drink, but with a wave of his hand he refuses. He does not say it, but, of course, this could be misinterpreted; it could be perceived as a bribe.
“At least sit with me,” I say, because I feel comfortable at this table.
“No,” he says, his voice firm. “I prefer to wait for you in the lobby.”
When I finish my coffee, I join him. He rises as he sees me coming, extending his hand. He wants to know if everything is all right. If there is anything he can do to make my stay more comfortable. I am certain that under other circumstances he would invite me out for coffee, perhaps to his house to meet his wife. He is trim and fit and tells me he bicycles each day. Not because he has to, he assures me, not because he cannot get gasoline for his car, but because he wants to stay fit. He pounds his chest and it is tight as a drum.
The two men who accompany him are also fit, but they are much younger so it is less impressive. They are also more frightening behind their reflector shades with guns strapped to their hips. Major Lorenzo doesn’t wear a weapon. He doesn’t wear reflector shades. “So,” he says, “we are trying to move forward. To get you back as soon as we can.”
“Yes, I suppose that would be best.”
“There are, however, some delays. Technicalities that hopefully we will clear up soon.” I ponder pressing him,asking him once again for the reason I am here. Yet I think it is better if I don’t push him. He has been so considerate of my needs, providing me with a room with a view. He does not wish to disturb my coffee. He has been so kind, really, and yet I have this sense that I would not want to cross him, that it might not be the right thing to do.
“So,” he says, “have you spoken with your daughter?” His daughter is sixteen, he tells me, and she wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up. “Do you have a picture?” he asks. Fumbling in our wallets, we produce pictures of our children, both apologizing that the photos are old. His daughter has crooked teeth, which Major Lorenzo says already have braces and that she is taller than he. Then he gazes at my snapshot of Jessica. Like Isabel, he says that she looks just like me, which isn’t true so I know that he is being polite. And this makes me wonder if there isn’t something that he too wants from me. A confession or the whereabouts of the disappeared. But the truth is, and perhaps Isabel has seen to this, I have no idea what happened to her. I have no idea where she is.
Though it is only five o’clock in the afternoon, I find I am suddenly tired after he leaves. There is nothing really that I want to do, and I seem to have no energy for anything anyway. It is as if I
Distracted, Flora, who is black, looks away. “Oh that one.”
“So perhaps you have things you’d like to sell? Underwear? Blue jeans?” Eva plucks at my jeans.
“I just have soap.” I hand them a few bars, which I keep in my bag. They hold them and sniff. “You can keep these,” I say, and for the moment they seem content. Flora tucks hers between her breasts. Suddenly there is a flurry of activity. A tour group from Germany has just arrived and María, Eva, and Flora stand up to excuse themselves. “Duty calls,” María says, giving me a wave of her hand, containing a bar of apricot soap. Her hips move as she heads to the counter, where a tired German traveler is just checking in.
Major Lorenzo crosses her path, but his eyes do not settle on her at all. Instead he scans the room, and when he spots me he waves. As he approaches with his aide trailing behindhim, the staff and guests all look my way. Enrique cannot miss this; neither can the prostitutes as they now move toward the bar. I receive significant stares, then everyone turns away.
“So,” he says, “how are you? Have you found everything you need?”
His asking is a formality but I assure him that everything is fine. Pulling back an extra chair, I invite Major Lorenzo to join me for drink, but with a wave of his hand he refuses. He does not say it, but, of course, this could be misinterpreted; it could be perceived as a bribe.
“At least sit with me,” I say, because I feel comfortable at this table.
“No,” he says, his voice firm. “I prefer to wait for you in the lobby.”
When I finish my coffee, I join him. He rises as he sees me coming, extending his hand. He wants to know if everything is all right. If there is anything he can do to make my stay more comfortable. I am certain that under other circumstances he would invite me out for coffee, perhaps to his house to meet his wife. He is trim and fit and tells me he bicycles each day. Not because he has to, he assures me, not because he cannot get gasoline for his car, but because he wants to stay fit. He pounds his chest and it is tight as a drum.
The two men who accompany him are also fit, but they are much younger so it is less impressive. They are also more frightening behind their reflector shades with guns strapped to their hips. Major Lorenzo doesn’t wear a weapon. He doesn’t wear reflector shades. “So,” he says, “we are trying to move forward. To get you back as soon as we can.”
“Yes, I suppose that would be best.”
“There are, however, some delays. Technicalities that hopefully we will clear up soon.” I ponder pressing him,asking him once again for the reason I am here. Yet I think it is better if I don’t push him. He has been so considerate of my needs, providing me with a room with a view. He does not wish to disturb my coffee. He has been so kind, really, and yet I have this sense that I would not want to cross him, that it might not be the right thing to do.
“So,” he says, “have you spoken with your daughter?” His daughter is sixteen, he tells me, and she wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up. “Do you have a picture?” he asks. Fumbling in our wallets, we produce pictures of our children, both apologizing that the photos are old. His daughter has crooked teeth, which Major Lorenzo says already have braces and that she is taller than he. Then he gazes at my snapshot of Jessica. Like Isabel, he says that she looks just like me, which isn’t true so I know that he is being polite. And this makes me wonder if there isn’t something that he too wants from me. A confession or the whereabouts of the disappeared. But the truth is, and perhaps Isabel has seen to this, I have no idea what happened to her. I have no idea where she is.
Though it is only five o’clock in the afternoon, I find I am suddenly tired after he leaves. There is nothing really that I want to do, and I seem to have no energy for anything anyway. It is as if I
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