They came out around two on the afternoon. There was a moment when Andrés Felipe tried to switch on his BlackBerry but one of Don Fermín’s security guys approached nervously and whipped the phone out of his hand. We had lunch and then another helicopter arrived. Before saying goodbye Don Fermín took me to his study, closed the door, and said: I’m going to give you your gift, just as I promised. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a box wrapped in gold paper. Then he gave me a hug and said: take good care of that bastard and say hello to the chief for me. In the helicopter, on the way back, I opened the box and found a beautiful watch. It was perfect for me. When we landed in Bogotá, Andrés Felipe put me in a taxi and set off along the road. They were waiting for him at the Palace. I understood everything but said nothing.
I see I haven’t told you anything about my friends at the faculty, Consul. One of them was Jaime, an Aesculapian priest who had special permission from the Curia not to study at the Xavierian but at the Nationaclass="underline" a strange-looking guy, who looked more Norwegian or Hungarian, or even Russian. Yellow beard and hair, and very white, sensitive skin. He lived with his community in an area near Usme, with a Dutch priest. Actually it was a home for street kids and he was studying sociology because he wanted to understand what he should do to change the world. He was from Santander. A good person, very committed. He said that if Christ were alive today, that was where he would be. He hated the little chapels in the north of the city where rich people had their weddings. He said he could happily shoot those who celebrated Mass in those neighborhoods, without his hand even shaking, although obviously not all rich people were the same, there were shades of gray, and even some rich people who were good. The real sons of bitches, according to him, were the priests who ministered to the rich and were all opportunists and liars.
Other friends of mine were Tamara, José, and Carlos Mario. All three from Cali, very together, or rather, good students. They liked having fun and sometimes I went with them to prepare work or exams, because in the end, when it was over, we always went dancing at Café y Libro or Son Salomé. They liked salsa, as did I, and also rock in Spanish. With them I went to concerts by ChocQuibTown and Aterciopelados and Side-stepper. They were all on the left but they hated FARC and ELN. We wanted a change, simply to aspire to something different. The guerrillas were corrupted by the money from drug trafficking and kidnappings, and because of their passive attitude of hunkering down in the regions and becoming like local chieftains. The university was an open space. Sometimes FARC or ELN people came and held parades in the Plaza del Che, but it was nothing, nobody paid any attention. Anyway, that was my group, we’d come out of class and throw ourselves on the lawn to talk, to have a nap in the sun, to talk about movies or books or our lives, or politics, of course, it was all completely ordinary, commonplace, we were young students at a public university.
To me it seemed incredible that anybody could think the National belonged to the guerrillas, when from inside the truth was quite different. Most of the students were middle-class or working-class, that’s what everybody thought was strange. That the poor should have somewhere to study, that the best university in the country should be for them. That’s why they want to see it closed down and the land used for something profitable, like a shopping mall, with a theme park and a hotel attached, that’s what some people want, and that’s why they dream of seeing it closed down and its students in mass graves. It makes them angry that poor people should have opportunities, that there are good teachers and a high budget, their mouths water thinking of those millions that could be used on contracts or on buying guns and helicopters to defend the Fatherland, but which are actually spent on books and on equipping laboratories, no, the rich don’t like that because, to them, sending their children to university, at Los Andes or abroad, costs them a lot, and that’s why they feel defrauded, what’s this about giving the best to the poor? what’s the big deal, then, in being rich? They say their taxes keep the country going, but you know that isn’t true. Those who keep the country going are the poor and the middle class, who really do pay taxes. That’s why Colombia is a poor and middle-class country. Anyway, Consul, why should I tell you what you already know?
I went around with my group of friends, and in addition there were Brigitte and Lady, who had helped me get involved in that life. Once I met them in one of the open areas in Fine Arts and they asked me about the friends I’d made in the bar, and I told them, very good, excellent contact, thanks, I didn’t want to tell them that I was already flying higher, and why, and at that point I got another call from the former Miss Colombia, asking me to her office.
I have something very good for you, she said, not for now, but I’d like you to think it over and let me know, and I said, why all the mystery? I told her I’d really liked Señor Alfredo, that I’d go back whenever he called me, but the former Miss Colombia said, what I’m offering you is much better, it means getting on a plane and going to Japan to work for six months, a year maximum; you’ll be in a beautiful residence, with everything thrown in: lodging, food, light and heating, everything. You’ll be working with Japanese people, who are timid, clean, and very polite, and in a year you’ll be able to earn several hundred thousand dollars, clear, they pay high-class women like you very well there, it’s a great opportunity that I don’t offer everyone, anyway, think it over for a few days and call me, as soon as you decide you can go, we have a free place.
I walked out, lost in thought. Japan? a hundred thousand dollars? That’s what I’d been hoping to get to take Manuel away, but it wasn’t going to be easy to justify such a long time to my parents; I’d have to tell them I’d won a scholarship or something like that, it was complicated, too many lies and false papers. The thing sounded good but scared me a little. It had its pros and cons. I thought I’d be able to see how life was in Japan and later fetch Manuel so that he could study Japanese and learn to make films, like Kitano and Kurosawa and Ozu, there are bound to be good universities there, I told myself, but the problem was always the same, how to explain to him what I was doing? Just thinking about it made me dizzy, as if I was having to strip off and open my legs in the middle of a square, while everyone looked at me coldly and menacingly, no, to him I was virtue, I couldn’t show him my other side, even though the goal was to save him, or to save the two of us. That was why when he started studying philosophy at the National I stopped him from meeting my friends, it made me nervous to think that for any reason he could meet Lady or Brigitte and find out, it made me panic. How could I be with him in Japan without telling him? It was difficult, but a good opportunity. I would keep it in mind and see if anything happened that would help me decide, or if anything better came along. And there was also the other thing: the promise I made myself and which, in a way, I made to Monsieur Echenoz. His memory was still very much alive inside me.