Antonio Hill - The Good Suicides

The brevity of the answer caused him a momentary pang of sadness. He kept his eyes fixed on the screen of the phone, annoyed with himself and these dregs of melancholy that seemed to seek any motive to overflow. No, he corrected himself, not any old motive.

He was going to leave the phone on the desk, like someone banishing the messenger who brings unwelcome news, when he remembered that he had his fortnightly session with his therapist the following day. He picked up the discarded phone and looked for the number among his contacts to cancel the visit, when suddenly it occurred to him that the kid might be able to help, not him, but in the case. He called, hoping he might still be at the practice and could spare him a few minutes. And this time, fickle law of averages, he got the answer he was seeking.

Not having him opposite seemed strange, which was logical: it was the first time he’d spoken to him on the phone. He didn’t know if he did sessions by telephone-or even better, on Skype, in this century where the virtual was gaining on an ever less tangible reality. Not one for preambles, Héctor got straight to the point.

“You want to talk to me about suicide, Inspector?”

“Yes, but not mine, don’t worry. This isn’t a subterfuge to reveal my hidden desires.”

On the other end of the line he could hear a suppressed chuckle.

“It never would have occurred to me to think you had the profile of a suicide, Inspector.”

“No, I suppose my aggression tends to erupt outward rather than inward. Now seriously, is there such a thing as a suicide profile?”

“Calling it a profile would be too strong. There are characteristics of personality that, combined with the right circumstances, could increase the risk of someone taking that step.”

“I’ll be honest with you.” He regretted it as soon as he said it, since the expression made out that he hadn’t been so at other times. “I’m investigating the possible suicides of three people whose only thing in common was working in the same company.”

If the psychologist had heard about the case, he gave no sign of it.

“And you wish to ask me if there is a possibility that it may be the work environment that is causing the suicides?”

It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to ask, but Héctor decided to let him speak. Then he would clarify what he wanted to know.

“It’s a very complex subject, Inspector. And it’s difficult to talk about it without citing theories or explaining experiments using terminology unintelligible to most people.”

“Try. I’ve become an expert after six months of therapy.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Well, before anything else let me tell you that suicide is considered a sin here, or an unnatural act, although this idea isn’t the norm everywhere. In other cultures it is a dignified exit: remember the philosophers of ancient Greece or, later on, the Japanese and their hara-kiri. It is Christianity which believes that life does not belong to us but to God, and that He is the only one capable of giving or taking it.

“To answer your question, this organization, be it company or group, which aids or indirectly causes suicide would have to confront the individual resistance of its members, owing to the survival instinct and some sociocultural norms that condemn the suicide. There have been cases of mass suicide in sects where the leader has great influence over the members. But in a modern company this would be unthinkable: workers have social lives, families.”

“But there have been cases-”

“Yes, of course. In the context of great stress, changing conditions, extreme work insecurity, worker anxiety increases. The employee suicides of which I’ve read clearly express that the cause of the act they are going to commit is at work.”

“A kind of posthumous accusation?”

“Exactly. I’ll simplify it so as not to go on too much. Think that the suicide commits this act maybe because he honestly believes he doesn’t want to live anymore, or because he’s trying to place his death on someone’s conscience. In the first case, it’s a coolheaded decision, reasonable from the subject’s point of view: a terminally ill person who doesn’t wish to be a burden to their loved ones. In the second, the aim is somewhat more perverse: imagine an adolescent who’s been left by his girlfriend; he kills himself and wants the whole world to know that she is to blame, so he leaves a note accusing her more or less overtly. Understand?”

“Of course. And if there’s no note? None at all?”

“That’s more unusual. People tend to explain themselves, to justify what they’re about to do … To exonerate some of blame and accuse others. Unless it’s a moment of desperation, a heated decision so passionate that, if the attempt fails, the suicide never repeats the act.”

“Does the lack of a note indicate a sudden decision?”

“In general terms, yes, Inspector, but in our world to generalize is to lie.”

Héctor nodded silently. Neither Gaspar, Sara nor Amanda had left a note. Maybe because they wanted to hide the cause from the world; or maybe because someone had decided for them.

“One more thing, Doctor,” he sometimes called him that, though he knew he wasn’t one, “perhaps the subjects don’t want to accuse anyone specific.”

“If the suicide leaves nothing written down, the guilt is even more diffuse: everyone around them might take it personally, whether it’s for not having foreseen it or for fear of having indirectly caused it.”

“So it’s even worse. More … inconsiderate.”

The psychologist laughed.

“Unlike in your world, there are no good guys and bad guys here, Inspector.” His voice became serious. “What you call considerate suicides would be those that minimize the guilt for those around them and attribute the blame to themselves in an obvious way. The sick person who decides to end their life and leaves that in writing, for example. Or-”

“Or?”

“Those who camouflage their suicide by means of an accident. They die by choice, but don’t want the people they love to feel guilty, so they crash the car. Their suicide is unproven and their loved ones can grieve without feeling remorse. That would be a good suicide, to use your terminology.”

The conversation was depressing him even more and Héctor had the urgent desire to hang up, go home, go running, anywhere he could breathe in life and not death.

“One more thing.” Héctor suddenly remembered the women’s association that appeared in Sara Mahler’s bank transactions. “Have you heard of the Hera Association, by any chance?”

“Yes, colleagues have given talks there. Why do you ask?”

“It came up in the course of an investigation. Can you tell me more about it?”

“It’s an association run by women for women, specializing in victims of sexual abuse and assault.”

Suddenly, all the unconnected information about Sara’s personal life began to make sense.

“Thank you very much. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Take care. And I hope to see you next week, Héctor. You have to tell me if you’ve done the task I set you.”

Héctor assured him it would never occur to him to disobey. A while later, perhaps to drive darker voices from his head, as he was considering the positive things in his life he wondered whether or not he could count on Lola.

The highway stretched out before them. A straight, solid, well-delineated space capable of providing a secure setting for a turbulent journey, shaken by a tide of uncertainties. Even the sky helped emphasize this insecurity with some dense clouds, slow as a funeral cortège, although from time to time they were distracted and allowed a tenuous ray of sunlight to slip through. Inside the car, Héctor and Lola had discussed the article and its consequences, they’d expressed their doubts about what they were going to find and in the end had lapsed into an elevator silence, polite and slightly challenging. One of those pauses that can be tolerated for only a limited time and in a static environment, with no potholes to prick consciences.