Juan Vásquez - The Informers

She was crying. "Don't be mean," she said. "You know full well I didn't make any of it up."

"No, the truth is I don't know. The only thing I know is that my dad's dead and you're dragging his name through the mud all over Bogota. And I want to know why."

"Because he left me in the worst way. Because he took advantage of me."

"Please, don't be trite. My dad's incapable of taking advantage of anybody. He was incapable."

"Well, that's what you think; it's not for me to tell you any different. But no one ever left you, you can see that for miles. I know what happened in Medellin, I know what he made me believe. He made me think he was coming back and he didn't come back, he told me to wait for him and left me there waiting, I know all that, and that was from the start, he planned all that, he needed my support and he thought: Well, she can come with me and once we get there and she's no use to me anymore, I'll leave her there. He made me believe-"

"What did he make you believe?"

"That we were going away together. That we were a couple and we were spending Christmas together."

"And didn't you go away together?"

"No, we went so he could take care of a little business. And once I'd completed my function I turned into a nuisance."

"They're two separate things."

"What are?"

"One: asking for help. Two: wanting to be helped."

"Oh no, don't give me that crap. All men-"

"Where are your parents, Angelina?"

"What?"

"Where is your family?"

"No, just a moment. That's out of bounds, watch it."

"How long has it been since you spoke to your brother? Years, right? And wouldn't you like to speak to him again, have someone who reminded you of your parents? Of course you would, but you don't because you've been estranged for a long time, and now it's hard to get close again. You'd like to, but it's difficult. Getting close to people is always difficult. People who are distant are frightening, it's completely normal. But you know what? It would be easier if someone helped you, like if I went with you to Cartagena."

"Santa Marta."

"If I went with you to Santa Marta and sat and had something to drink while you went and met your brother and talked out what you need to discuss. If things went well, there I'd be for you to tell me. If they went badly, if your brother told you to go to hell and said he didn't want anything to do with you, to go back where you came from, there I'd be. And we could go to the hotel, or wherever, and we'd lie down and watch television, if that helped you, or we'd get drunk, or screw all night, whatever. But there is another possibility: after going to see him, you decided for other reasons you didn't want to come back. That's something else, it wouldn't be a reason for me to go around slandering you afterward. Get the message or shall I explain it more clearly?"

"I don't want to see my brother."

"Don't be an idiot. It's an example, an analogy."

"It might be what you say. But all the same, I don't want to see him."

"That's not what we're talking about. Oh please, what an idiot. We're talking about my dad."

"I have no interest in seeing my brother. Maybe he did, but I don't."

Silence.

"OK," I said. "How do you know he's not interested?"

"No, I don't know, I imagine."

"Why do you imagine that?"

"He didn't come to my parents' funeral. What else does that prove?"

"Don't cry, Angelina."

"I'm not crying now, don't mess with my life, OK? And if I feel like crying, what's it to you? Leave me alone or I'm hanging up right now, let me be-"

"Can I tell you something odd?"

"Or I'll slam the phone down."

"I went to give blood. The day of that bomb, when they blew up Los Tres Elefantes."

Silence.

"What blood type are you?" she said after a while.

"O positive."

Another silence.

Then: "Like my dad. Did you really donate blood that day?"

"Yes, I went with a friend who's a doctor," I said. "The person who would have operated on my dad if Social Security didn't exist. He forced me to go. I didn't want to."

"Where did you go?"

"Most of the wounded were at the Santa Fe and the Shaio. The clinics closest to the store, and the best equipped, I imagine. I went to the Santa Fe."

"Where do you give blood in the Santa Fe?"

"On the second floor. Or the third. Up some stairs, in any case."

"And what's the place like?"

"Are you testing me?"

"Tell me what the clinic's like."

"It's a big room with coffee-colored sofas, I think, and there are little windows," I said. "You talk to a nurse, then they send you in."

"To the back on the left?"

"No, Angelina, to the back on the right. There are cubicles, lots of people giving blood at the same time. They make you sit in very high chairs."

"Those high chairs," Angelina said. "You gave blood. Gabriel never told me."

"I'm sure he didn't know. He didn't follow my life that closely."

"Amazing," she said. "I remember when Gabriel asked me about my parents and I told him, I got upset, he said so many nice things. He talked to me a lot that day, he even told me about his wife's illness, but he never told me this. How amazing, I'm amazed."

"It's not such a big deal. Everyone in this city has given blood."

"But it's the connection, you know what I mean? It's amazing, I swear. I don't know what my dad's cause of death was, I didn't want to know whether it was a blow, or. . but if you. ."

"Take it easy. Don't talk about that if you don't want to."

"My mum was A positive. That's more difficult."

"Did you get along well?"

"Average. Fine, I think. But not too close. They were there and I was here."

"I guess people grow apart."

"Yes, that's right. And the one time they come to visit me, they get hit by a drug lord's bomb. What rotten luck, man, I must be jinxed."

"No, not really. Sooner or later it hits us all, and sorry for saying such stupid things. Are you happy here?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter, there're bombs in Medellin, too, bombs wherever a person goes, Gabriel." And then laughing: "Like the moon."

"But if they were alive, wouldn't you consider going back to Medellin?"

"I've been here for quite a few years now, I'm used to it. Moving is no fun, it's awful. I don't know about you, but people who are always moving don't seem trustworthy, like. . like untrustworthy, that's the only word, I can't put it any better. To go away from where you were born isn't normal, is it? And going away twice from where a person's from, or leaving your own country, you know? Going to a country where they speak something else, I don't know, it's for strange people; rootless people can do bad things."

"Yes. My father thought the same way. Can I ask you a question?"

"Another one?"

"How did you end up getting mixed up with my dad?"

Silence.

"Why? You don't think I'm good enough?"

"No, that's not what I meant, Angelina. It's just that. ."

"He was such an intelligent, cultured person, no? And I'm a masseuse."

"Masseuse?"

"When my boyfriend wanted to insult me he used to say that: 'I don't know what I did to end up with a fucking masseuse. ' Sure, it's my own fault, because a true professional doesn't get involved with patients."

"I asked you a question."

"I don't know, your dad was just another patient, it's not like I get involved with all my patients. Things like that happen before you notice, you know? Suddenly, Gabriel crossed the line, and I told him no, that no one gets involved in my life, and he didn't listen to me. But he was the patient and I put up with the things he said to me."

"Why? Why didn't you leave, if it bothered you so much, why didn't you get a replacement?"

"Because the therapy hadn't finished. It's not for me to say, I know, but I take my work seriously, you know? And I'm good at my job because I like it. All I want is to help people move again, there's nothing simpler. Well, that's what he was, any old patient, one of so many, a block of time in my schedule-I have a schedule with all my visits-he was one more. I had no intention of letting him into my life, I swear, I'd been hurt too much by men, not that I'm so experienced either, don't get me wrong. You want to know why I opened the door to him and not to another."