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Authors: Michael Ridpath
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you."
I tried to hide my surprise. "Thank you very much."
"Good," she said, and was gone.
I sat and watched evening descend upon the beach. Then I grabbed a few reals and joined the evening promenade along the Avenida Atlantica.
The meetings with the rating agencies on Friday went well. They seemed to be satisfied that everything himg together. The only slight worry was that we didn't hear from the WDF. So during a break for lunch Isabel called them, and discovered that Jack Langton was out all day and would call back on Monday.
On Saturday morning I called Pedro Hattori on the off chance he was at the office. He was. My Argentine Discounts were down a point following an unsubstantiated nmnor of a general strike the following week. Pedro told me not to worry, there was nothing in it. But I did.
I spent the morning exploring Rio. It was an extraordinary city, physically the most beautiful I had ever seen. It was an absurd mix of sea, beach, forest, and mountain, all four in such close proximity that it seemed impossible to fit a city in among them. Everywhere I went there seemed to be a beach in front of me and a mountain behind. The buildings themselves were nothing special—anything old in Rio was run-down and shabby—^but even the starkest modem building was overwhelmed by the natural beauty surrounding it.
I returned to the hotel at one o'clock to meet Isabel. We jumped into a taxi to Ipanema, where her father lived. Ipanema beach was subtly different from Co-pacabana. The apartment buildings seemed newer and better kept, and the beachgoers were different, more relaxed. Phone booths like giant motorcycle helmets in yellow and orange sprouted up in clusters every hundred yards or so. In most of them girls in shorts and bikini tops laughed and chatted. On my walk the other night along Copacabana the girls had looked like hookers; here they looked like middle-class schoolgirls fixing up the day's entertainment on the beach. Ipanema had sun, sea, sand, and money.
But at the far end of the beach I could see a jumble of little square boxes clinging to the edge of a mountain, looking at any moment as if they would tumble into the sea below. They were packed tightly together, no line was quite straight, no building quite complete. Afavela.
"It's extraordinary to see the two so close together," I said. "The rich and the poor. It's almost obscene."
"It is obscene," replied Isabel.
We pulled up a side street and stopped outside some iron gates adorned with a small video camera and an electronic combination lock. Above us rose a sand-colored apartment building. The gates whirred and
THE MARKET MAKER 65 j
opened, and the taxi drove us up to the black smoked- ;
^^ We waited into a cool lobby, and a uniformed door 1
man greeted Isabel with a grin. A boy also in umform |
ushered us into a wood-paneled elevator, and we headed ,
up to the fifteenth floor. The doors opened mto a .
''^'Sel'" a deep voice cried. A tall middle-aged man \ with a shght stoop stood waiting for us. He opened out :
his arn\s. '
"Papa!," she said, and gave him a hug. ,
Isabel's father had her long Roman nose, which on : him was distii^guished. He peered at me over half- :
moon glasses. t j i j ■
"I'm Luis. Welcome." He shook my hand and smiled ,
He was very tall. Even with the stoop 1 had to look up a ,
him, and I'm six-foot-three. His hair was still black^u^ ^
was thinning. He had a good-humored face, wnnkled
by sun and laughter. "Come in, come m. ■
He led us into a large Uving room. The furniture was :
low, and either of dark wood or cane. Colorful paintmgs <
covered the walls in large canvases. The sun stream^ j
in from big windows that looked out onto a balcony Be ^
vond that stretched the shimmering blue sea. j
Suddenly there was a clattering sound followed by ,
heavy thumping from the hallway behind us Isabel. .
screamed a hoarse voice, and a large black woman ;
wearing a dark uniform and an apron charged mto the
I tried to hide my surprise. "Thank you very much."
"Good," she said, and was gone.
I sat and watched evening descend upon the beach. Then I grabbed a few reals and joined the evening promenade along the Avenida Atlantica.
The meetings with the rating agencies on Friday went well. They seemed to be satisfied that everything himg together. The only slight worry was that we didn't hear from the WDF. So during a break for lunch Isabel called them, and discovered that Jack Langton was out all day and would call back on Monday.
On Saturday morning I called Pedro Hattori on the off chance he was at the office. He was. My Argentine Discounts were down a point following an unsubstantiated nmnor of a general strike the following week. Pedro told me not to worry, there was nothing in it. But I did.
I spent the morning exploring Rio. It was an extraordinary city, physically the most beautiful I had ever seen. It was an absurd mix of sea, beach, forest, and mountain, all four in such close proximity that it seemed impossible to fit a city in among them. Everywhere I went there seemed to be a beach in front of me and a mountain behind. The buildings themselves were nothing special—anything old in Rio was run-down and shabby—^but even the starkest modem building was overwhelmed by the natural beauty surrounding it.
I returned to the hotel at one o'clock to meet Isabel. We jumped into a taxi to Ipanema, where her father lived. Ipanema beach was subtly different from Co-pacabana. The apartment buildings seemed newer and better kept, and the beachgoers were different, more relaxed. Phone booths like giant motorcycle helmets in yellow and orange sprouted up in clusters every hundred yards or so. In most of them girls in shorts and bikini tops laughed and chatted. On my walk the other night along Copacabana the girls had looked like hookers; here they looked like middle-class schoolgirls fixing up the day's entertainment on the beach. Ipanema had sun, sea, sand, and money.
But at the far end of the beach I could see a jumble of little square boxes clinging to the edge of a mountain, looking at any moment as if they would tumble into the sea below. They were packed tightly together, no line was quite straight, no building quite complete. Afavela.
"It's extraordinary to see the two so close together," I said. "The rich and the poor. It's almost obscene."
"It is obscene," replied Isabel.
We pulled up a side street and stopped outside some iron gates adorned with a small video camera and an electronic combination lock. Above us rose a sand-colored apartment building. The gates whirred and
THE MARKET MAKER 65 j
opened, and the taxi drove us up to the black smoked- ;
^^ We waited into a cool lobby, and a uniformed door 1
man greeted Isabel with a grin. A boy also in umform |
ushered us into a wood-paneled elevator, and we headed ,
up to the fifteenth floor. The doors opened mto a .
''^'Sel'" a deep voice cried. A tall middle-aged man \ with a shght stoop stood waiting for us. He opened out :
his arn\s. '
"Papa!," she said, and gave him a hug. ,
Isabel's father had her long Roman nose, which on : him was distii^guished. He peered at me over half- :
moon glasses. t j i j ■
"I'm Luis. Welcome." He shook my hand and smiled ,
He was very tall. Even with the stoop 1 had to look up a ,
him, and I'm six-foot-three. His hair was still black^u^ ^
was thinning. He had a good-humored face, wnnkled
by sun and laughter. "Come in, come m. ■
He led us into a large Uving room. The furniture was :
low, and either of dark wood or cane. Colorful paintmgs <
covered the walls in large canvases. The sun stream^ j
in from big windows that looked out onto a balcony Be ^
vond that stretched the shimmering blue sea. j
Suddenly there was a clattering sound followed by ,
heavy thumping from the hallway behind us Isabel. .
screamed a hoarse voice, and a large black woman ;
wearing a dark uniform and an apron charged mto the
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