But in his heart of hearts he couldn’t convince himself that everything would work out so well for Ismael. He was haunted by the suspicion that instead of being settled, matters would become even more complicated, and instead of escaping the legal and judicial tangle in which Miki and Escobita had caught him, he’d find himself even more thoroughly trapped until the end of his days. Or was that pessimism due to the abrupt reappearance of Edilberto Torres?
As soon as he reached his house in Barranco, he gave his wife a detailed account of the latest events. She shouldn’t worry about the sale of the company to an Italian insurer, because as far as the two of them were concerned, the transfer would probably help to resolve things if Ismael, along with the new owners, would agree to placate the twins with some money so they’d leave them alone. What made the greatest impression on Lucrecia was that Armida had returned from her honeymoon transformed into an elegant, sociable, and worldly lady. “I’ll call her to welcome her home and arrange that lunch or dinner very soon, my love. I’m dying to see her transformation into a respectable matron.”
Rigoberto went into his study and on the computer looked up everything he could about Assicurazioni Generali S.p.A. The largest insurer in Italy. He’d been in touch with the company and its subsidiaries on several occasions. Recently, it had expanded significantly into Eastern Europe, the Middle and Far East, and in a more limited way, Latin America, where it had centralized its operations in Panama. This was a good opportunity for the company to move into South America, using Peru as a springboard. The country was doing well, its laws were stable, and investments were growing.
He was still immersed in research when he heard Fonchito come home from school. He closed the computer and waited impatiently for his son to come in and say hello. When the boy entered the study and approached to kiss him, still with his Markham Academy backpack on his shoulders, Rigoberto decided to bring up the subject immediately.
“So it seems Edilberto Torres has appeared again,” he said sadly. “I thought we’d gotten rid of him forever, Fonchito.”
“So did I, Papa,” his son replied with disarming sincerity. He removed the backpack, placed it on the floor, and sat down facing his father’s desk. “We had a very brief conversation. Didn’t my stepmother tell you about it? Just until the jitney reached Miraflores. He got off at the Diagonal, near the park. Didn’t she tell you?”
“Of course she told me, but I’d like it if you told me too.” He noticed that Fonchito had ink stains on his fingers and that his tie was unknotted. “What did he say to you? What did you talk about?”
“The devil,” Fonchito said with a laugh. “Yes, yes, don’t laugh. It’s true, Papa. And this time he didn’t cry, fortunately. I told him you and my stepmother thought he was the devil incarnate.”
He spoke with such evident naturalness, there was something so fresh and authentic in him, Rigoberto thought, how could he not believe him.
“They still believe in the devil?” Edilberto was surprised. He spoke to him in a whisper. “It seems there aren’t many people in our day who believe in that gentleman. Have your parents told you why they have so low an opinion of me?”
“Because of how you appear and disappear so mysteriously, señor,” explained Fonchito, lowering his voice too, because the subject seemed to interest the other passengers on the jitney, who’d started to look at them sideways. “I shouldn’t be talking to you. I already told you I’ve been forbidden to.”
“You tell them I told you that they can forget their fears and rest easy,” Edilberto Torres assured him in a barely audible voice. “I’m not the devil or anything like it, just a normal, ordinary person like you and like them. And like all the people on this jitney. Besides, you’re wrong, I don’t appear and disappear in a miraculous way. Our meetings are the result of chance. Sheer coincidence.”
“I’m going to speak to you frankly, Fonchito.” Rigoberto continued looking into the boy’s eyes for a long time, and he looked back without blinking. “I want to believe you. I know you’re not a liar and never have been. I know very well you’ve always told me the truth, even when it might have gone against your own interests. But in this case, I mean, the damned case of Edilberto Torres—”
“Why ‘damned,’ Papa?” Fonchito interrupted. “What has that man done to you to make you use such a terrible word about him?”
“What has he done to me?” Don Rigoberto exclaimed. “He’s made me doubt my son for the first time in my life, made me incapable of believing you’re still telling the truth. Do you understand, Fonchito? It’s a fact. Each time I hear you telling me about your meetings with Edilberto Torres, no matter how hard I try I can’t believe that what you’re saying is true. I’m not reprimanding you, try to understand. What’s happening to me now because of you makes me sad, it depresses me very much. Wait, wait, let me finish. I’m not saying that you want to lie to me or deceive me. I know you’d never do that. No, at least not in a deliberate, intentional way. But I’m begging you to think a moment about what I’m going to say, with all the love I feel for you. Reflect on it. Isn’t it possible that what you’re telling me and Lucrecia about Edilberto Torres is only a fantasy, a kind of waking dream, Fonchito? These kinds of things happen to people sometimes.”
He stopped speaking because he saw that his son had turned pale. His face had become filled with an invincible sadness. Rigoberto regretted speaking.
“You mean I’ve gone crazy and see visions, things that don’t exist. Is that what you’re telling me, Papa?”
“I didn’t say you were crazy, of course not,” Rigoberto apologized. “I didn’t even think it. But Fonchito, it isn’t impossible that this individual is an obsession, a fixed idea, a waking nightmare. Don’t look at me so incredulously. It could be true, trust me. I’m going to tell you why. In real life, in the world we live in, it’s impossible for a person to appear this way, suddenly, in the most unlikely places — on the soccer field at school, in the bathroom of a discotheque, on a Lima — Chorrillos jitney. And for that person to know everything about you, your family, what you do and don’t do. It just isn’t possible, do you see?”
“What will I do if you don’t believe me, Papa,” said the boy, crestfallen. “I don’t want to make you sad either. But how can I agree with you that I’m hallucinating when I’m certain that Señor Torres is flesh and blood and not a phantom. Maybe the best thing would be for me not to tell you about him anymore.”
“No, no, Fonchito, I want you always to tell me about these meetings,” Rigoberto insisted. “Though it’s hard for me to accept what you’re saying about him, I’m sure you believe you’re telling me the truth. You can be certain about that. If you’re lying to me, you’re doing it without meaning to or realizing it. Well, you must have homework to do, don’t you? Go ahead then, if you want to. We’ll talk more later.”
Fonchito picked up his backpack from the floor and took a couple of steps toward the study door. But before opening it, as if he’d just remembered something, he turned to his father.
“You dislike him so much, yet Señor Torres thinks very highly of you, Papa.”
“Why do you say that, Fonchito?”
“Because I think I know your papa has problems with the police, with the law, you must know about it already,” said Edilberto Torres in farewell, after he’d already signaled the driver that he was getting off at the next stop. “It’s obvious to me that Rigoberto is an irreproachable man and I’m sure what’s happening to him is very unjust. If I can do anything for him, I’d be delighted to lend a hand. Tell him that for me, Fonchito.”