Manuel Rivas - All Is Silence

Brinco came out of the bathroom and went to his side of the bed, in the half-shadows. He lay down in his clothes, face up.

Everything registered a mute silence. In a move that was in fact defensive, Cora went over to him, naked, not touching him, but curling up into a ball.

‘The sea brought you as well, didn’t it?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t know…’

‘The key!’

‘He’s got it,’ said Carburo meekly. With this woman he only knew how to obey.

‘The other key!’

All the wind piled up for years on the landing, like grass pressed inside a silo, was exploding. The nightmare was bursting inside her eyes and she flung open the door.

Brinco and Cora lay on the bed, both naked. Hearing the door creak meant sticking his hand under the pillow, in search of his weapon.

But he soon saw it was Leda.

Leda carrying something in her hand. One of those leather-bound bibles with a zip. Leda opened the bible and shook free the dollar bills that floated down on top of the bare bodies.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘I’m buying her. She’s mine. She’s free!’ shouted Leda.

She grabbed Cora’s arm and forced her to stand up. In the middle of all this uproar, Cora glanced at the sea, the ashen paste, the oily fringe of foam. As for the rest, scraps of evanescent mist.

Leda grabbed her shoulders. Shook her about. Talked to her violently of freedom. Freedom which for Cora had a double meaning. Was always used as a threat. She’d crossed borders, as a mule, with condoms stuffed full of money inside her vagina or her digestive tract. On the verge of exploding. Why not try to buy off this policeman? The way he looked at her was very like this woman shaking her. You don’t know whether what they want is to set you free or hold on tighter. It was better not to try. The border policeman was in on the loop. Luckily she caught the gesture he made, the axial connection with the guy waiting at the checkpoint.

‘You’re free, understand? I don’t want to see you round here ever again! Take that money and leave.’

Leda released the girl and from the doorway shouted at Víctor, who was getting dressed in an appearance of calm. Patience. The storm would soon pass.

‘As for you, you bastard, go to the football pitch.’

She’d disappeared down the landing, swallowed up by eternal waves of curtain, when he finally registered what she’d said.

‘What’s that, Leda? Wait!’

There were ambulances and police cars parked at the main entrance to the football pitch, so he turned at the crossroads in A de Meus, took the left fork along the coast as far as the mirador in Corveiro.

From there he could see the pitch. What under his presidency had been renamed the stadium the day they inaugurated the covered stand with its directors’ box. From afar, it looked like a table-football table whose players had detached themselves from the metal bars and taken on a life of their own. In fact he didn’t want to see. He grabbed the binoculars not to get closer, but to have something between his eyes and the other.

Chelín was hanging from the crossbar.

THEY STOPPED TO have lunch at África’s place. A small bar and shop on the corner between the coastal road and the track leading to the refrigerated warehouse. As soon as they entered the bar, even before she served the coffee, África signalled to Brinco to approach the counter. ‘Some clients of yours arrived early. A jeep went up the track.’

‘The same two as always?’ asked Brinco ironically.

‘No. They weren’t guards, nor were they from around here.’

Brinco was grateful for the information. And knew how to pay for it. Inverno was driving the Land Rover and they were accompanied by Chumbo sitting in the back. When they reached the bend overlooking Cons, before they could see the warehouse built on reclaimed marshland, Brinco ordered Inverno to stop. Told Chumbo to get out.

‘Go and check out the scenery.’

Chumbo didn’t ask any questions. Just disappeared down a track between bushes, in the direction of the rocks.

When he was driving, Brinco liked to go slowly so he could enjoy the sight of the wall with the company’s name and emblem. A swordfish and narwhal. Underneath were the intertwined initials ‘B&L Frozen Foods’. This time Inverno also drove slowly, but Brinco’s attention was centred on the yard in front of the warehouse, which was devoid of vehicles. They must have left, he thought. The old woman can’t have realised they’ve gone back.

Víctor got out of the jeep and jangled the keys like a rattle. Suddenly he stopped playing around and stared at Inverno. ‘The dogs? Why aren’t the dogs barking?’

They left them loose inside the warehouse. They’d always bark excitedly and whine behind the doors. They recognised the sound of the Land Rover’s engine from afar.

He whistled. Called out to them: ‘Sil! Neil!’

This was the involuntary signal. The doors opened and out walked two stocky men holding cocked pistols equipped with silencers. Inverno had held back. As a precaution. He’d also grabbed hold of his weapon. But from the right of the warehouse, from behind a fuel tank, came another guy, aiming a sawn-off shotgun.

They were skilled and highly trained. An office job to get back the two-thirds that was owing.

Brinco had miscalculated the payment period. He’d thought he had more time. But just as he was sending a message, the office had taken the initiative.

They pushed them inside. The guy with the shotgun stayed downstairs in the warehouse, aiming at Inverno after tying him up. The two dogs, a German shepherd and a Dobermann, lay dead. Little blood for so much silence.

The other two went upstairs with Brinco, one behind and the other in front. He dialled the number he was told to.

‘Hello? Milton here.’

The person talking deliberately emphasised his name. He didn’t want the other man blurting out his real name. The one buzzing about inside Víctor Rumbo’s head.

‘Milton, this is no way to behave.’

One of his assailants, standing behind him, suddenly began to strangle him with a kind of thin wire. He felt the wire penetrating his skin. Making a furrow. Feeling the pain, he instinctively tried to resist. He banged with his elbows, gasping for breath, but the assailant opposite him stuck the barrel of his gun against Brinco’s forehead. The other loosened the wire. And the one with the gun told him to pick up the receiver again.

‘Ah, music, sweet music. Compliments of the house. The best material for tuning. They’re doing their job. They’re professionals. You’re a professional. That’s how it’s done.’

Brinco passed his free hand over his neck. The sensation that an invisible cord was still pressing into it. The digital stain of blood.

‘Listen, Milton. We had a problem with a partner. The guy who was supposed to make the payment was trustworthy. This has never happened before. He lost his head.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. That’s what they’ve been complaining about. They don’t want it happening again. We deal with serious people, not kids.’

‘He lost control of the situation. Hanged himself yesterday. You can check this out if you like.’

‘Don’t come to me with videos. It’s a very sad story. Don’t air it any more. Cover up the hole and leave it. You can do that now, can’t you?’

‘Yes, of course I can… He hanged himself, that’s all. I think it was my fault. I pushed him too far…’

‘The world is a valley of tears. Why walk about with a tombstone around your neck? I’m going to hang up. This is a public phone. Grow up a bit!’

Brinco glanced at the wall clock.

‘You’re right, Milton. There’s no point drowning in a cup of water. I’ll give these gentlemen the treatment they deserve.’