“The only thing he remembers these days is Syria,” he replies, helping me to stow the weights I’m groaning under.
“KNOW WHAT THE FUNNIEST THING IS?” Carmen Sayago, the reformed ex-police officer will ask the day my promise to buy him some drinks clinches his decision to visit our table in Los Tocayos. “The Ezcurra lad came to us of his own accord. Someone must’ve tipped him off and he went right up to the Superintendent there and then. Ended up shouting at each other they did; there was — must still be — a window in the door to the chief ’s office, it’s always open in summer and you can hear everything through it. The second Ezcurra stepped inside he squared up to the Superintendent he Did I hear you’ve been asking about me around town? If there’s something you want to check on about me why don’t you come and ask me to my face? I’ve got nothing to hide and if the law has a score to settle with me I want to know about it he rattles off and the Superintendent when he can get a word in edgeways says to him a bit sad like The law’s got nothing to do with it lad, things have changed around here too. Or don’t you know what’s going on everywhere? And Ezcurra goes You can’t compare, those are communists and guerrillas. I’m one of the most influential figures in the town, not some spade who you can push around. You mess with me and you’ll end up with the whole town against you I give you my word and the Super goes Let’s see if I can talk some sense into you lad, there’s a time to defend your honour and another to save your sorry ass and I reckon you’re mixing them up but it wasn’t any use and I don’t know if you ever met Ezcurra but there was nobody could hold a candle to him for pig-headedness, even on his way out he turns round and I was born here he says to him, my mother was born here and my grandfather too. We built this town from nothing and now you, who breeze in through one door and out through another, you’re playing the big boss? Keep on messing with me and you’ll be the one who ends up leaving! Screamed at him he did in front of everybody and though the Super tried to laugh it off afterwards saying What a fucking joke and shaking his head this one’s as much chance of saving himself as a headless chicken, but if you ask me he never forgave him for that one. But in a way he was right, don’t you reckon Chief? I don’t mean it was right what they did to the Ezcurra lad but he was sort of asking for it. Going and squaring up to the chief of police like that right in headquarters just when the other one held his life in the balance and was making up his mind.”
“And wasn’t that going to get him into trouble?” I’ll intervene when the ex-corporal pauses to practise an avid piece of cunnilingus on his upturned glass of caña.
“They wasted him didn’t they? Ain’t that enough?”
“Neri I mean. He practically alerted him to the fact.”
“See Licho? Ain’t that what I’ve always been telling you?” Then back at me, “The Super wanted to save him if you ask me. If he’d skedaddled to Buenos Aires or Rosario or even Alcorta he’d’ve been out of our jurisdiction and we couldn’t’ve laid a finger on him. If the military or provincial headquarters found out Neri was going to be in a right fucking pickle, but there you are. He was up a what’s it called a cul-de-sac but he was even willing to run that risk long as it gave the lad a chance. But it’s no use with some people right Don? There’s no way to make them understand,” Carmen Sayago will say with a broad grin, which given his lack of teeth looks heroic at least. “’Nother round Maestro?”
“Nene,” I’ll bark. “Keep an eye out for my friend’s throat over here, don’t let it get dry will you.”
THE GATHERING AT LOS TOCAYOS BAR has stretched into the small hours, as we await the ex-policeman, who always ends up standing us up. Guido left a while ago to answer the call of his occupied bed; Don León Benoit and the bar’s landlord muttered their vague farewells and retreated too, one to the catacombs of the premises, the other to the biting cold of the street. That leaves Iturraspe, who’s got nothing better to do, Licho, living in hope of scoring another drink; Nene rock-steady as ever at the counter, and myself. Then one of the doors onto the main street opens — enter a fat man with long curls and a moon face as white as an unbaked pie crust, his eyes and mouth looking for all the world like the slits in the dough. We’re introduced, Bartolo someone-or-other, currently employed at the Tuttolomondo factory, pasta-nests department, and once he’s drawn up a chair they put him in the picture. “Sayago,” he laughs hoarsely with a triple shudder of his double chin, “good thing he didn’t show up, he’s on my blacklist he is, one of these fine days I’m going to cut him into little pieces. Fancied my ladyfriend he did and chucked me in the can to get me out of the way, the royal sonofabitch, came looking for me at the Sucundún on my birthday, ’cause we was drunk according to them but it was ’cause once I was eighteen they didn’t have to report to the juvenile judge. Couldn’t wait another day he couldn’t so I copped a beating with sticks and boots, lovely present, and to cap it all he locked me up with the vice cons he did who didn’t fuck me by this much,” he says bending his index finger inside his thumb to illustrate. “That’s an easy one”—he answers Nene’s question—“eighteenth of December nineteen seventy-eight. I’ll never forget it as long as I live, nor’ll he, since he stopped being a cop I lay him out flat once a year, out of principle. I’m told he takes a detour all the way round the block just to avoid going past the factory door. Anyway I got off lightly all in all, I mean look what happened to Ezcurra. You related or something?” he asks me and I say, “No.” “Friend of Guido’s,” Iturraspe explains, and Gordo Bartolo says, “Oh right”—pat on the shoulder—“if you’re a friend of the little boss’s say no more. Oh so you’re the one who’s going to make the movie”—he looks at Licho, then at me to seek confirmation—“if you need someone to play the lead look no further. The Ezcurra business you mean? Well not much, just what anybody knows, they locked me up in Greco’s day and that all happened before. What was him before Greco called? He had to be taken down a peg or two for sure but they went over the top. A good hiding would have done I say, no need to go that far. They showed no mercy did Rosas Paz and Echezarreta, took full advantage of the fact they had a free hand.”
“Who?” I take a moment to ask, long enough to register Nene, Iturraspe and Licho’s panic-stricken exchange of glances.
“The Rosas Pazes were the biggest ranchers in the area, not any more, and the Echezarretas—”
“I know who Echezarreta is,” I interrupt sharply. “What I want to know is what … why you said he … that Rosas Paz and he …” I’ve suddenly developed a stutter as my arse rises off the seat of its own accord.
El Gordo realises something’s wrong, the eyes of his acquaintances confirm it but can’t explain what. With a shrug of his shoulders, as if to say too late to turn back the clock, he waits for me to sit back down before he answers:
“Couldn’t abide Ezcurra Echezarreta. That’s common knowledge isn’t it?” he asks his table companions. “I don’t know if it was the other one’s idea or his, but when Neri came up with that plebiscite on Ezcurra our beloved mayor was one of the most enthusiastic defenders of the yes vote. And if you don’t believe me ask Sacamata what he went to buy from him a few days later. Champagne. The mayor sent out for a box of champagne. What were they celebrating? Wasn’t Christmas or New Year or anybody’s birthday. Find who drank those six bottles of champagne and you’ll find who killed Ezcurra, or who wanted him dead at least.”
“AND WHAT ELSE was he going to tell me?” I answer in exasperation. “He knows I’m his grandson. What else was he going to say? Yes, I sold him the champagne, a box of Chandon Extra Brut seventy-seven?” We’ve just left Don Alfredo Sacamata’s general stores-cum-minimarket, we walk down the sidewalk under the cowering, indecisive sun, nodding to the greetings of acquaintances, most directed at Guido but a few by now evidently at me as well.