Rafael Yglesias - Dr. Neruda's Cure for Evil

“Listen, Rafe, we’re at the apartment.” Julie’s voice made a nervous whoosh in my ear. She was rattled, although she tried to sound valiant. “There were detectives waiting for us when we got here—”

The phone was taken from her and I heard a smooth, almost amused, male voice say, “Rafael? My name is Gunther. Your uncle hired me. We’ve got your cousin and her friend here. They’re fine. Nothing’s going to happen to them. But they’re gonna stay here with us until you come out. If you leave the building and the campus, you’ll find your uncle in a car right across the street from the gate. Once you’re with him, we’ll let Julie and her girlfriend go. I’ll put your cousin back on for a second.”

Julie’s trembling voice returned. “You have to come out, Rafe. You’re a minor. They can use this against us.”

Gus was next to me, smoking a cigar, wearing sunglasses, lounging in the dean’s chair. “What’s up, man?” he asked, seeing the stricken look on my face.

Someone turned up the volume on a transistor radio to hear a Stones song and I had to shout, “It’s Julie. My uncle’s outside. He’s got detectives holding Julie!”

This public announcement brought the attention of the student leaders. Once they understood who my uncle was, they were furious. Gus took the phone. He told Julie to run from the detectives. She explained that wasn’t possible. “We’ll call back,” he said.

“I’m going out,” I announced. I couldn’t allow my final day on earth to be another betrayal of people’s dreams, no matter how hopeless.

Most of the radicals were against that, black and white. Some thought it was a distraction. They argued back and forth. The majority didn’t believe my uncle would dare to continue to hold Julie and Sandy if they exposed him to the press.

“They’ll say it’s no different than what we’re doing,” I said and the whole room looked at me as if they had just noticed my existence. I had offered nothing to any of the discussions so far. I was happy to be a child among them, sharing their risks without fussing. I continued, “It’s my decision. I don’t want to fuck up what you’re doing.”

“That’s cool,” one the blacks said.

Gus called Julie to insist the detectives let them go before I walked out to Uncle. Predictably, they refused until I left the building. Julie told Gus not to worry, that they had no legal way of keeping her and Sandy and, without the threat of doing something about my “kidnapping,” she would be fearless.

Billy MacFarland, whom I had known for only five hours, accompanied me down the stairs and hugged me before I went out. “Tell the truth about us,” he said. He had confessed in the closet while we shared a joint, that he was sure this confrontation would end only with their deaths.

“Remember me,” came into my head and, foolishly, but ardently, I said it to him.

On the street there were lots of people milling about, mostly supporters, and only one police car, although it was unmarked, parked behind my uncle’s limousine. The door was opened by his driver and I ducked into its dark interior. The leather seat didn’t give in to my body. I seemed to float on it.

“Don’t lie,” he said. “Did you go there to see if Julie was okay or join those hoodlums?”

“I went to join them,” I said.

He shifted in the seat, turning all the way to face me. “Why?” he said.

“Why not?” I said.

He slapped me. The blow was unrestrained, with none of my father’s embarrassment at losing control. My head hit the backrest and I let it remain there, sullenly. While the sting on my cheeks faded, I thought — nothing he does can hurt me anymore.

“Don’t talk to me like that. I don’t deserve that tone from you.” The car was on the move, carrying me away from the island of revolt, back to Uncle’s sleek city. “Do you know what Dr. Halston said to me?”

I shook my head, unconcerned. My secrets didn’t have to be kept anymore.

“He said this was a good sign.” Uncle made a noise. “The world’s crazy.”

“Did you let Julie and Sandy go?”

“That’s none of your business. You’re a child, do you understand? You’re a minor. You’re my ward. You don’t have anything to say about where you go and what you do. They think they understand the world. What a joke. They’re gonna get their heads broken and it’ll do them good.”

We were sweeping through Central Park, crossing to the East Side. I shifted to the door, pulled the handle, and it swung open. The black road moved like a swift river. I crouched on the car floor and hung my right foot out over its blurred surface. I shouted, “Let them go!”

“Sir,” The driver called.

On my haunches, I shifted my left foot closer, inches from diving off.

Uncle was still in his seat.

“Sir …?” The driver slowed.

“Don’t stop,” Bernie said in a calm tone.

“Let them go!” I was screaming. I realized I sounded demented, although I felt fine. I felt good, in a way.

The river resumed being pavement when the limousine braked.

“Don’t slow down,” Bernie said to the driver in a casual tone.

The road became swirling black again. “I’ll do it!” I screeched. I think I was crying.

Bernie leaned forward and shouted, “For what? For two stupid girls? You’re worth a thousand of them.” He was almost face-to-face with me. “I was ready to give you the world! The whole fucking world.” In the odd light of the limousine, created by a band of floor bulbs and strobed by the rapid passing of the park’s street lamps, Uncle’s head was hideous and bloated, bigger than me, bigger than the car. “Everything else is just crap! There’s you!” He poked me, hard, on my forehead. “And nothing else! Just you! Nothing else!”

I couldn’t jump. I stayed halfway in, halfway out. Uncle settled back in his seat and looked out the window on his side. Eventually, we slowed down and stopped at a red light on the east side of the park.

The driver got out. He looked at me. “Could you put your foot inside, sir?” he asked.

I did.

“I’m locking the doors from the panel,” the driver said to Uncle. “Let me know when you want me to give you control.”

He shut my door.

I slumped onto the car floor, leaning against the seat. “I hate you,” I said without much energy or conviction.

“Who cares,” Uncle said with a similar lack of passion.

We stopped at his city apartment for twenty minutes. I was left in the locked car with the driver. Uncle went up, presumably to talk to Tracy, and returned with a suitcase. We drove to the Great Neck apartment in silence. It was almost three in the morning when we arrived.

“You’ll stay here tomorrow,” Uncle said, leading me to my room. “I’m going to see Halston in the morning. Obviously, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Uncle looked at my bed thoughtfully. “I should have known. Years ago.” Uncle left, saying, “Don’t even think of sneaking out.”

I opened the window. The air was mild, scented, alive. I tuned to WINS, the volume low, and listened to its hysterical, disapproving account of my friends in Hamilton Hall. There was no news. There would be soon, I knew, knew better than the grown-up world did. The whites would leave Hamilton and take over the other buildings, one by one, until the whole campus was shut down. I was sure, in my heart, they would be defeated, driven mad like my mother, cast out like my father, but I would not betray them. I would end my weakness, my greed, and my lying fantasies.

I took off my clothes and swallowed the whole bottle of pills. Across my body the spring air was delicious, a caress. The radio’s voice was ugly and strained. I couldn’t be a part of either the world’s fragile beauty or its persistent terror. And so, Rafael Neruda, traitor and coward, was put to death.