Antonio Skarmeta - The Days of the Rainbow

The journalists, swinging between ecstasy and disbelief, looked for the minister of the interior. But they didn’t find him.

Finally, Pinochet consented to talk to them. Wearing civilian clothes and overbright makeup, he delivered his verdict before dozens of cameramen from the national and international press. “One day, the Jews also had a plebiscite. They had to choose between Christ and Barabbas. And they chose Barabbas.”

And he left with a smile. “No more questions.”

At Bettini’s house, the glasses of white and red wine were followed by a bottle of champagne, and the champagne and the phone calls were followed by a shift change at the gray car, which remained in the same place since the day it was first parked there.

It was a constant and punctual presence. A massive stillness. Sometimes there was nobody in it. At times two men got in. Sometimes the same two men who were there the first day came back. Sometimes two different guys were there. They turned on the radio, listened to rock music, then shifted to cumbias, and one day they even played Mozart’s A Little Night Music very loud.

The car was never moved. It was always there. Permanently. Without the license plates.

The two men used to bring paper bags from the market on Irarrázabal Street. They’d peel oranges and throw the skin on the ground.

One smoked. The other didn’t.

The guys in the night shift didn’t smoke.

In the morning, a motorcyclist came with a thermos of coffee and sandwiches for them.

At five in the morning, Patricia came in bringing the international press wires. The Italian consul had gotten them for her. He came in with the girl, his teeth chiseled with toothpaste, his hair still wet from an early shower, a decoration on his lapel, and some Parmesan cheese and prosciutto.

He gave Patricia the honor of reading the wire from Le Monde . She got the meaning of the text in a few blinks and mentally translated it.

Relatives and friends had collapsed on the carpet and armchairs like exhausted warriors.

“ Le Monde : ‘There are few precedents to judge what has happened and is still happening in Chile. The most authoritarian and repressive regime in the history of the nation has become a magma of hesitation, impotence, and shock.’ ”

Patricia looked at her father and told him in a solemn tone, “Dad, now I want you to stand up.”

Adrián obeyed her, smacking the air, because he expected a joke. But Patricia was serious. He had never seen her so grave. So respectable. She seemed to have grown up in just a few hours. As if the feast, the wine, the tiredness, the excitement had made her become a grown woman, far beyond her eighteen years.

“And this is El País , from Spain, Dad: ‘Fifteen minutes were enough to put an end to fifteen years.’ ”

Bettini estimated that in the last few weeks there hadn’t been a single night he didn’t feel about to have a heart attack. Not now, please , he ordered his fucking heart. He swallowed saliva and, without even a smile, said to his audience, “ El País , from Spain! Se non è vero, è ben trovato ”

“MR. FERNÁNDEZ. What an honor, Minister!”

“ Former minister, Bettini. I’ve just gave my resignation, and I’m putting all my documents together to go home.”

“Life takes many turns, Dr. Fernández.”

“Sure. But don’t think that this is the end of the story. You were able to make sixteen cats and dogs agree to support one candidate, some Mr. No . But now you’ll have to make them agree on nominating one presidential candidate. They’ll rip each other’s eyes out.”

“In this campaign we learned how to work together.”

“Together? With duct tape and glue, Bettini. The real winner of this plebiscite is Pinochet, because the forty-something percent of the votes he got are for him alone. On the contrary, you’ll have to divide your fifty-something percent among sixteen parties. With his forty percent, my general can do whatever he likes.”

“Another coup d’état, like the one in 1973 against Allende?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think so, Minister.”

“ Former! ”

“I don’t think so, Former Minister. This time he can’t count on the armed forces, or the support of the United States. And there’s something else he had in 1973 that he doesn’t have now.”

“What is that, Bettini?”

“Someone to overthrow! Or will he be kind enough to overthrow himself?”

“My general will be remembered as a great democratic man. Tell me, what other ‘dictator’ called a plebiscite, and when he lost it, went home? Don’t rest on your laurels, my friend. This little country needs to be managed with authority, not with silly songs like, ‘It feels so good to say No.’ ”

“Why did you call me, Mr. Former Minister?”

“Ah, you’re right. With so much nonsense, I forgot to tell you. Look, Bettini. Take a look out the window. You’ll see a gray car without license plates …”

“Yes. I see it.”

“Well, they’re my boys.”

“Yes, it’s clear that they’re your boys.”

“How many are there?”

“Three, four … Perfect attendance. Gala day.”

“What are they doing?”

“They’re standing outside the car. One is smoking and the other ones are drinking water from plastic glasses. It’s boiling hot around here.”

“Well, please go and tell them they can leave. Tell them there was a change of plans.”

“Actually, I don’t have the slightest wish to leave home right now.”

“Don’t be afraid, Bettini. Tell them, ‘Coco orders you to clear out.’ ”

“Coco orders you to clear out.”

“ Ecco . And everything’s solved.”

“I really appreciate your generosity. May I ask you why you’re doing this?”

“When dinner is over, the dishes should be done. You scratch my back, and I scratch yours. We’ll be in touch, Bettini.”

FERNÁNDEZ HUNG UPthe phone as if he were throwing off a stone. On the contrary, Bettini put the receiver back on the hook extremely slowly. Like in a trance. Exorcising something.

He was home alone. Standing in front of the hallway mirror, he tucked his T-shirt inside his pants. It was the old T-shirt of the Rolling Stones with the drawing of the red tongue sticking out. Moistening his lips, he tied his basketball shoes. It took him an eternity to run the laces through the eyelets.

“Coco orders you to clear out,” he whispered. “How much longer will this nightmare last?”

He opened the door wide. The sun fell over his face, blinding him for a second. He held his right hand to his eyebrows, like a visor, and directed his gaze toward the men around the car on the other side of the street.

The one who was smoking threw the cigarette on the sidewalk and crushed it with his foot.

Another one put the plastic glass he was drinking from on the chassis.

The third man threw his cup on the sidewalk and then started to massage his right fist in the curve inside his left hand.

The last one kept drinking, almost indifferent.

“Out! Get out of here!” Bettini whispered, walking toward them.

And once he had them within reach, he stretched out his arm toward the horizon and emphatically told them, “Get out!”