I told you that we never found out exactly when she disappeared, because she had gotten us used to her being away for long periods, and this was just the latest one; only when too much time had passed without her coming back did I decide to call her on her cell phone, and not getting any reply or any e-mail message, I realized that something was wrong. So I said to Father, do you know when Juana is coming back? And he looked worried and said, I was just about to ask you the same question, son, I don’t have any idea, how come you don’t know? That’s how it all started. That’s when we reported her missing and began the round of police stations, prisons, and hospitals.
Sometime later Mother said something that stayed in everybody’s heads, but which nobody dared to repeat. She said it to Father when he had come back from one of his fruitless visits to some hospital or courthouse.
Oh, Alberto, maybe she ended up with FARC.
She said it, and Father immediately put his hand over her mouth, a gesture that was meant to be strong but in fact was merely desperate.
Never say that again, Bertha. Ever.
Then he took out his handkerchief and dried his eyes.
I sought out her classmates, the friends who had known her. It was a long and difficult process, since I didn’t even know their names. It’s incredible how little we know of the people we love. Little by little, I tracked down some of them, but nobody knew anything. They told me vague things, that she had gone on a journey, that she was doing fieldwork. None of them thought it possible that she had gotten involved with the guerrillas, who were very discredited in the university. I said that one night to Father and he moved his head, as if to dismiss the thought, and said, I knew, I knew that, but thanks anyway, Manuel.
Father ended up lodging an official registration of her disappearance with the help of the NGO Caritas. From that day on, he devoted himself to studying disappearances in Colombia in the hope of finding some clue, some lead that would show him the path to follow. He also devoted himself to aguardiente for a while, but the pain from his ulcer soon put a stop to that. He and Mother didn’t talk much, at least not in front of me.
The worst thing about such situations is that life goes on.
A year passed, then another year. Father aged about ten years and Mother started taking control of things at home. The bank, knowing what had happened and seeing what bad shape he was in, told him he could take early retirement, and he thought about it seriously. But he preferred to carry on working. At home, the memory of Juana was just too strong and too sad.
I finished my philosophy degree and started a doctorate, and that’s when I studied aesthetics with Gustavo Chirolla. It was the best course I ever took. But although Gustavo was fond of me I never dared to talk to him about anything personal or try to be his friend. My fellow students were on friendly terms with him, they even went to his house, he was very open, a great guy. I was dying to do that but I never dared. I don’t know why, Consul. What had happened with Juana made me feel distant, and also guilty, very guilty. Because of everything I had lost, I wasn’t like the others. Without her, life wasn’t worthwhile. Mine, at least. I decided to wait a little while to see if a miracle would happen.
With time, the suffering turned into something secret, a little fire that united my father and me, even though we almost never mentioned it. I knew that it was there, nothing more.
But early one morning, I was woken by some kind of light, and I sat up in bed.
Juana was alive.
I could feel her presence, as if a wind filled with words had burst into the room, and in that magma, in that invisible net, there was her voice. I heard it. It was a voice surrounded by many voices, cries surrounded by many cries. I heard it. She was alive and I had to start looking for her again. Almost three years had passed.
Of course, I didn’t say anything to Father.
I decided to begin with Tania, the woman who’d initiated me into sex, and with whom I hadn’t spoken since. It took me two weeks to find her, but in the end I did. She wasn’t studying anymore, she never completed her course in systems engineering, and was now working in the IT department of the El Tiempo publishing group. On my way there, I remembered her Spanish boyfriend. The newspaper had been bought by Spaniards and I put two and two together. In the course of looking for her, I’d discovered that her real name wasn’t Tania but María Claudia. Tania was her student name, a very common name in her generation, I suppose because of Che Guevara’s girlfriend.
She received me in an office with a view of the hills, and I told her what had happened. Every now and again we heard the planes taking off from the runways of the airport. To persuade her to help me, I showed her the list of offices that we had scoured in the search for my sister, the civil and legal actions I’d started with my father. She was touched by all that, and decided to speak out.
Listen, I liked Juana very much, she helped me in lots of things and was always great to me. You can’t even imagine what I owe her. That’s why I’m going to start by telling you something you may not like, but it’s important that you know.
I looked at her nervously, swallowed, and said, tell me, please, whatever it is.
Juana was working for a former Miss Colombia who ran a modeling agency, she said, and after clearing her throat added: but it was more than just modeling, what the girls did was go out with men who had money. It was actually an escort agency, you know what that means?
Yes, I said. High-class prostitution.
I think Juana’s disappearance has more to do with that than with anything political, Tania went on. I didn’t know her that well either. Look, this is the telephone number of the agency. That’s all I know.
Now she was the one who was a little nervous.
Did you also work as an escort?
I’ll be honest with you, she said, after all, you and I know each other. At that time I was in financial difficulty, I’d just broken up with a real son of a bitch, a slacker, an alcoholic, a junkie, and I had a three-year-old child. I was on the fucking street, I didn’t know what to do. Your sister threw me a lifeline, it was legal, she introduced me to the former Miss Colombia and I started working and earning good money. Soon afterwards I met a Spanish executive with a good position who became my boyfriend and is still my boyfriend. He helped me to get out, but I owe it all to Juana. Call this number and tell them it’s from me. I’ll talk to them today to make sure they see you and help you, all right? And please, when you find her tell her I’m dying to see her.
I left with a strange mixture of emotions. I couldn’t believe that Juana had gotten herself involved in that world, but at the same time I was overcome with joy. She was alive, or might be. My intuition had been correct.
But after I’d taken a few steps, a shadow fell over me, bringing with it some terrible words, terrible because they had no answer: she would never have abandoned me! I couldn’t imagine a situation that would have stopped her getting in touch with me. Apart from death, of course. But I had a lead, and in such cases a lead is worth everything. The following day I would go and see this mysterious former Miss Colombia.
Juana always said: I’m working so that we can escape, so that we can get out of this wretched city and go somewhere where nobody will find us, so you must believe blindly in me.
There was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Maybe desperation was part of it, and I just had to wait. But three years had passed.
The following day I called the telephone number, introduced myself as Tania’s friend, and a voice gave me an appointment for six in the evening. I left the university early, feeling nervous. It was on 78th, just below Eleventh. As I was walking to the bus stop, it struck me that on a day like this I would have liked to have a friend, someone I could tell the hopes and fears I felt. It was difficult always being alone. Although I wasn’t alone, I told myself: my sister is somewhere and I’m going to find her.