Colombiano

  143

  ON SUNDAY, THE sixth day of Buitre’s captivity, Mamá called early and asked me to go with her to the ten o’clock Mass at Llorona.

  I was still upset after seeing the photo of Camila, and told her I was busy.

  ‘Then meet me afterwards. Surely you can spare fifteen minutes for your old mother?’ she insisted.

  Later, as I waited on the church steps, I surveyed the town and looked up the hill, admiring our restored finca. After the elections it would be safe enough for Mamá to start living there again. My birthday was in ten days and that would be my present to myself – seeing her happily restored to our home.

  At the end of Mass Mamá emerged from the church with Uncle Leo. She was holding a bunch of sunflowers.

  ‘I promised to lay these for Eleonora,’ she said, hugging me with less than her usual warmth. Clearly, something was bothering her. ‘Her sons were so good to me, taking me in again like that after the trouble that was stirred up recently. Will you accompany me?’

  Leo waited in the truck while Mamá and I walked arm in arm through the cemetery without speaking. Mamá placed the flowers at the base of Humberto Díaz’s gilded tombstone.

  ‘I’m sorry you were in danger again, even for a few weeks,’ I said. ‘I know it was because of me.’

  ‘It wasn’t because of you.’

  ‘You don’t blame me?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘I blame myself. Maybe if I’d helped bury my husband, like you said. Maybe if I’d insisted Leo bring Papá’s body here to the cemetery. Maybe if I hadn’t snapped at you for what you said to Zorrillo, you wouldn’t have left and you wouldn’t be doing this.’

  ‘Doing what? We’ve banished the Guerrilla. Since that last attack, we’ve driven them back across the river. Llorona is at peace.’

  ‘It’s not the town I’m worried about. It’s you, Pedrito. I’m afraid for you.’ Mamá paused. ‘You were so brave the day Mario died. I couldn’t see it at the time, but afterwards I was so proud of you. You did everything a son could possibly do. Everything a man should do. You looked after me. And you saved this town. But what you’re doing now …’ She hesitated. ‘Is it true you’re holding a prisoner? An innocent boy?’

  I was shocked. My own men were loyal; they wouldn’t have told her. No one could have seen Ernesto on the base. The only person who knew, and who Mamá was in regular contact with, was Javier Díaz. Unless …

  ‘You’ve been speaking to Camila!’

  Mamá flushed. ‘She phoned yesterday from Bogotá. She misses you, Pedro. But she’s a strong girl and she’s not coming back.’

  ‘Then why is she even calling you?’ I said angrily.

  ‘So it is true. Is that why they shot you and did this to your cheek?’

  I didn’t answer, but a mother knows her son’s face better than her own.

  ‘Pedro, how could you? Your father would be so ashamed.’

  Her words were like a stab to my heart. ‘He’s the brother of one of the men who killed Papá. That blond one! The one who held me down!’

  ‘I don’t care who he is. Release that boy now! If you don’t, you’re no son of mine. Call me when you decide to do what’s right,’ she said. Then she turned her back. ‘But not before.’

  144

  MAMÁ DEPARTED IN Uncle Leo’s truck, leaving me tangled in a net of shame. One minute I’d been happy, contemplating the prospect of returning to our finca. The next Mamá was claiming I’d disgraced Papá’s values and telling me I was no longer her son. All because I had Ernesto.

  The reason I still had Ernesto was simple: Buitre refused to open his mouth and enunciate one single name. If he’d revealed the identity of Caraquemada’s girlfriend six days earlier, his brother would be free by now.

  I’d already decided I wanted this over. Well, now it had to be. I wanted Buitre and Ernesto out of my life forever. Buitre’s grave was already dug; he was merely teetering on its edge.

  I leaped into the pick-up, slammed the accelerator flat and sped in a blind fury towards the base. The engine’s roar was merely a buzz, drowned out by my deafening anger. The passing vegetation was a green blur against the sharp focus of my rage.

  I hurtled through the gate and skidded to halt by the farmhouse.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Palillo as I stormed inside.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I grabbed a crowbar from the tool cupboard in the downstairs hall. ‘I’ll show you what’s wrong. Just watch!’

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid!’ Palillo chased after me as I clomped awkwardly up the stairs. The pain shooting through my foot at every step, far from crippling me, only spurred me on.

  I dismissed a startled Coca-Cola from guard duty, turned the key in Buitre’s door, opened the gate and burst into the room.

  Buitre was asleep on the floor, his hands cuffed behind him. I kicked him awake using my hard plastic boot. Then I prised open the shutters with the crowbar, flooding the darkened room with sunlight. Shielding his eyes, Buitre squinted at me with surprise and sudden fear.

  I stooped over him and, gripping both ends of the crowbar, hooked it under his chin. Buitre cried out in pain as I pulled upwards, yanking him to his knees and dragging him backwards to the window.

  ‘Take your last look at the sky,’ I said. ‘I’m done with your games. You’ll attack a base and murder nine men. You’ll let your own compañeros die. You’ll kidnap and torture a fourteen-year-old kid. All supposedly to save Ernesto. But when it truly comes down to it, you’re willing to gamble with your brother’s life if you think there’s a chance it will save your own. Well, there isn’t. Today you die. I’ll give you and Ernesto ten minutes to say your goodbyes.’

  I released one hand from the crowbar, and when Buitre collapsed to the floor I swung it down hard, belting his thigh.

  ‘Finally!’ said Palillo as I slammed the door.

  ‘Transfer Ernesto into Buitre’s cell,’ I told him. ‘Then leave. You said you wanted this obsession of mine to end. Well, it ends here today, one way or another.’

  I found Rafael in the kitchen scrubbing pots. Since the day of his betrayal, I’d assigned him permanently to kitchen duties and barely spoken to him. He now looked up uncertainly, spying the Smith & Wesson in my hand.

  ‘You gave me Buitre,’ I said. ‘Now I’m giving him back to you. You wanted to make him understand suffering. Time to make him suffer.’

  Rafael’s uneasiness vanished and his eyes glinted. ‘With pleasure, comando. But why the change of strategy?’

  ‘You’re not here to ask questions!’ I snapped. ‘You’re here to obey my orders. Come up to Buitre’s cell in ten minutes. Ernesto is with him.’ I unclipped the magazine, emptied it of bullets then reinserted it. ‘I need the name of Caraquemada’s girlfriend. I don’t care what you have to do to Buitre to get it, but under no circumstances is Ernesto to be harmed. Is that clear?’ I handed him the pistol.

  ‘Completely, comando.’

  I returned to Buitre’s cell and stood quietly at the door, looking through the eyehole. Buitre was now sitting by the window with his back against the wall. Ernesto had his arms around his brother and their foreheads were touching. They were murmuring, so I could only hear snippets of what they said.

  ‘I thought when I joined … but it’s only brought you and Mamá more misery,’ Buitre was saying. ‘Once I was in … couldn’t get out … would have killed all three of us … could only protect you from afar.’

  ‘We missed you … we never stopped loving you,’ Ernesto replied. ‘We wanted you home. Couldn’t you have …?’

  ‘Impossible. Maybe another year or two … enough money for all three of us to escape the country … but then this happened. The only good thing I ever did was buy that house. You wouldn’t believe the terrible things they made me do … I’ve made a mess of my life.’

  ‘You were only thirteen. They tricked you. It’s not right. It’s not fair.’

  ‘Fair!’ Buitre said loudly. I could now hear his
every word. ‘You think fairness has anything to do with it? Since when has life ever been fair? But it’s not too late for you. When I die, promise me you’ll finish your apprenticeship. Promise me you’ll look after Mamá.’

  ‘No!’ said Ernesto. ‘I won’t let you die. I’m not leaving you here.’

  ‘You don’t have a choice. Those men out there are killers!’

  I was so deeply immersed in their sorrowful farewell that I didn’t realise Rafael had come up behind me until he gently tapped my shoulder.

  ‘I’m ready, comando,’ he whispered.

  I had tears in my eyes, but I pushed them back and swallowed the knot in my throat. After seeing what I’d seen, after hearing what I’d just heard, I should have stopped it there. But I didn’t. I handed Rafael the keys.

  When Rafael opened the door and entered with the pistol behind his back, at first the brothers didn’t look up. The door clicked closed and I felt a shiver down my spine.

  ‘Hola,’ said Rafael. ‘It’s been a long while, hermano.’

  Buitre looked up in shock then scrambled to his knees. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I came to say goodbye.’ Rafael pulled out the pistol, tapping its barrel against his palm. ‘Your ten minutes are up. Admittedly not a lot of time. Although far longer than you gave me to farewell Beatriz.’ He tossed a pair of handcuffs to Ernesto. ‘Put these on.’

  Buitre leaped to his feet and stood in front of Ernesto, shielding him with his body. ‘My brother has nothing to do with this.’

  Rafael clicked his tongue then grabbed the chain linked to Buitre’s ankle with both hands and wrenched it, pulling Buitre off his feet. He dragged him, thrashing, across the floor, shortened the chain and tethered it to the wall.

  ‘You were almost right, hermano. This was between you and me. It could have been,’ he said, now cuffing Ernesto himself, pulling him backwards against his chest and pressing the pistol under his chin. ‘If only you hadn’t also involved someone innocent.’

  ‘I’m sorry!’ cried Buitre, regaining his feet and stepping forward only to be jerked back by the chain. ‘Beatriz was going to give us away to Caraquemada. He’d have killed me, you and my family. Don’t do this,’ he pleaded, his voice breaking. ‘Ernesto doesn’t deserve to die.’

  ‘No one deserves to die, and yet … everyone does. The only question is when. There’s a grave out there already dug. Whether it ends up containing one body – or two – is entirely up to you.’

  ‘Where’s Pedro?’ demanded Ernesto, glancing at the door. ‘Pedro’s a good person. He wouldn’t allow this.’

  Hearing Ernesto defend me was a knife in my heart.

  ‘Pedro is a good person,’ said Rafael calmly. ‘He would have let you both go free at the river. I stopped that happening. You’re both here because of me. But Pedro’s patience has run out. He wants the girl’s name.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ said Ernesto, tears running down his cheeks. ‘Pedro would never harm me.’ He twisted out of Rafael’s grasp, ran to the door and kicked at it furiously, crying out, ‘Pedro! Pedro, help us!’

  I stepped aside, pressing myself against the wall so he couldn’t see me. I heard scuffling inside and looked again through the peephole. Rafael had a hold of Ernesto once more, but he only screamed louder. ‘Pedro! Please come quickly. Please, anyone who can hear me. Rafael’s in here. He has a gun!’

  Through the open window everyone in the camp would have heard those cries. Palillo. Piolín. Ñoño. And little Iván. I imagined them gathering on the grass below, then searching the camp frantically, looking for me, thinking I was the only one who could stop this. When all the while I was right outside the door, allowing it to happen.

  ‘Pedro’s not going to save you,’ said Rafael. He held up my Smith & Wesson and raised his eyebrows. ‘Who do you think gave me this pistol? But Pedro’s soft. That’s why he sent me to do his dirty work.’

  I bristled at the jab. I knew Rafael was acting, but he’d said it with such conviction. Besides, the last part was completely true. I was the one doing this, although I was pretending it wasn’t me.

  ‘This is it, hermano,’ said Rafael. ‘Beatriz had no choice. But you do. So, do you love your brother or not?’

  Buitre hesitated; withholding the girl’s name was the only thing keeping him alive. Once he gave it, he was dead.

  ‘I’m going to count to three,’ said Rafael. ‘And as I count, I want you to think about what you did to Beatriz. Our baby would be six months old right now. We would have been happy.’

  He grabbed Ernesto’s shoulder, forced him to his knees and pressed the pistol against his forehead. When Ernesto began sobbing, Rafael laughed and wiggled his finger on the trigger. ‘Oooone … One is for Beatriz.’

  Witnessing Ernesto’s terror was excruciating. Rafael had promised no physical harm, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t violent – emotionally violent. I placed my hand on the doorknob.

  Ernesto didn’t deserve this, but Buitre did. And I could also see the effect it was having on him. Only a minute more and he would surely cave and say the girl’s name.

  Buitre strained against his chain, thrashing wildly, trying to reach Ernesto and kicking out with his free leg. Then, defeated, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. ‘Please don’t do this! I’m begging you … Please!’

  ‘Do you love your brother or not?’ Rafael shouted. ‘I said, one!’

  Ernesto began hyperventilating.

  In the next instant I realised Rafael wasn’t acting; he had snapped completely. Crack! went the pistol beside Ernesto’s ear. Even in the corridor the gunshot was deafening.

  ‘Stop!’ I yelled, ripping open the door. ‘That pistol wasn’t loaded.’

  Rafael pointed it at me. ‘I loaded it,’ he said. ‘Stay out of this, Pedro. It’s between me and him.’

  I pushed at the iron gate then realised with horror that it was locked. I could only stand there, watching, gripping the bars and shaking.

  ‘Two is for our unborn baby. Twoooooo.’ Rafael fired a second time next to Ernesto’s left ear.

  Rafael turned to Buitre and smiled. ‘And three is for me. Thr—’

  ‘Stop! Stop! I’ll tell you.’ Buitre collapsed back onto his heels, sobbing. ‘Tita! That’s her working name.’ The words flooded out of him quickly between desperate gasps. ‘Her real name is Ofelia Vanegas. Her number is on a folded slip of paper in a slit in the sole of my left boot.’

  Rafael ripped off Buitre’s boot and gleefully plucked out the paper. ‘Got it!’

  ‘You win,’ said Buitre, looking up at me. ‘Both of you win. You got what you wanted. I deserve it. Let Ernesto go and then kill me.’

  Rafael unlocked the gate, keeping the pistol trained on Buitre.

  ‘Get up on your knees,’ he ordered.

  Buitre raised himself up. ‘Pedro.’ He sniffed. ‘I don’t want this sick son of a bitch to do it. I want you to. But not in front of Ernesto. Let him go. Then please make it quick.’

  ‘Go downstairs and wait,’ I said to Ernesto, uncuffing him. He was pale and shaking as he left, looking over his shoulder at his brother.

  Rafael placed the pistol in my hand. I pointed it at Buitre and raised it. I hesitated. I lowered it. I raised it again.

  Rafael winked at me. He seemed to think I, too, was acting in order to protract Buitre’s suffering, and he was revelling in it. When I flicked the safety on, he realised I wasn’t.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he offered.

  But I couldn’t let him do it either. I couldn’t explain why. I just couldn’t.

  ‘Not yet,’ I said, gesturing Rafael out of the cell and closing the door behind us.

  It was noon when I emerged into the fresh air and the open ground surrounding the farmhouse. I could breathe properly again. It was like any other ordinary day in the camp. Birds twittered in the jacaranda tree. Mona was serving lunch. But something had changed within me. Stepping from the dark farmhouse with the midday sun above me, it felt as though I’d
escaped from the depths of midnight only to find myself under a blazing spotlight.

  Everyone was gathered around Ernesto, comforting him. He was shaking and sobbing so much he could barely speak. Piolín looked at me in disgust.

  ‘Fetch Ernesto’s clothes,’ I told Ñoño.

  ‘Shouldn’t you first verify the girl’s name?’ said Rafael.

  ‘No. Ernesto’s going home.’

  While Ernesto changed I rang Buitrago and passed on every detail Buitre had revealed about the girl. Whether the name and number were authentic, and whether or not they would lead me to Caraquemada, hardly seemed to matter. What I’d done was wrong. Purely and simply wrong.

  Those were Camila’s words, and I now knew she was right. Holding Ernesto hostage had been wicked from the very beginning. And I’d compounded my original wrong by continuing to keep him once I had his brother, to use him as a tool to torment Buitre.

  Even my promise not to harm Ernesto I’d broken. He’d been psychologically terrorised and almost killed. True, I hadn’t known Rafael was so deranged or that he’d go much further than I’d imagined. But I’d given him the pistol and I’d ordered him into that room. I’d preyed upon the love between two brothers; I’d trespassed and defiled a bond no less sacred than my own bond with Papá.

  It took witnessing them both breaking down completely to finally snap me from my self-justification. I’d facilitated this, I’d allowed it to happen, and in doing so I’d turned into the monster Camila had accused me of being.

  The troop gathered to farewell Ernesto. He was dressed in the same overalls he’d been wearing on the day of his capture. There was no danger he’d tell authorities. Rafael’s final threat had made sure of that.

  ‘Not a word to anyone,’ he warned Ernesto. ‘We’ll be watching you.’

  Ernesto patted Iván’s puppies and hugged Ñoño before turning to the others. ‘Look after each other.’

  ‘Shall I drive him to the bus terminal?’ offered Coca-Cola.