Juan Gabriel Vásquez - Reputations

‘She’s not a girl,’ said Mallarino.

‘She doesn’t know, that’s the problem. She was never told.’

‘She doesn’t remember.’

‘And you want to help her.’

‘Help her to remember.’

‘Help her to find out,’ said Valencia as if he were spitting out a caramel he was choking on. ‘Because if she doesn’t know, then neither do you.’

Something resembling relief: that’s what Mallarino felt. Perhaps because someone else, and not him, had said what he didn’t dare say. Because if she doesn’t know, then neither do you : was it not incredible, and also fascinating, that they were talking about the past? What was not known now — now that Rodrigo Valencia mentioned it — was something that in the past had been known, about which there had been certainty at some point, and so certain had Mallarino been that he’d gone as far as to draw a cartoon about it. Was what appeared in the press not true, beyond all doubt or uncertainty? Was a page in the newspaper not the supreme proof that something had happened? Mallarino imagined the past as a watery creature with imprecise contours, a sort of deceitful, dishonest amoeba that can’t be investigated, for, looking for it again under the microscope, we find that it’s not there, and we suspect that it’s gone, and we soon realize that it has changed shape and is now impossible to recognize. Because if she doesn’t know, then neither do you. In such a way that the certainties acquired at some moment in the past could in time stop being certainties: something could happen, a fortuitous or deliberate event, and suddenly all evidence is invalidated, the truth ceases to be true, the seen ceases to have been seen and the occurrence to have occurred: all lost their place in time and space; were devoured and passed on to another world, or to another dimension of our world, a dimension we didn’t know. But where was it? Where did the past go when it changed? In which folds of our world were they hiding, cowardly and ashamed, the events that had been unable to remain, to keep being true in spite of the wear and tear of time, to win their place in human history? Because if she doesn’t know, then neither do you. But the problem with Samanta Leal wasn’t that she didn’t know, but that she didn’t remember: that memory, her childhood memory, had suffered certain distortions, certain — how to put it — interferences . It was a question of restoring it: for this, and for no other reason, they needed to speak with Cuéllar’s widow, ask her a couple of simple questions, get a couple of simple answers from her.

‘It’s not for me,’ said Mallarino. ‘It’s for her. I want to help her.’

‘But have you thought this through, Javier?’ asked Valencia.

‘There’s not much to think through.’

‘Have you thought about the consequences? Don’t tell me there won’t be any consequences. Don’t tell me you haven’t imagined them. Let’s see, let me see: the girl remembers nothing?’

‘She’s not a girl. And no, she doesn’t remember anything.’

‘I see. For her it’s as if nothing had happened.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Except that it did happen, Javier.’

Mallarino said nothing.

‘It did happen,’ said Valencia, ‘and we all saw it.’

What strange arrogance moved, like the undertow near the shore, beneath those apparently simple words, so vague, so everyday. The arrogance was to simulate or even to covet those certainties, as if Valencia could now not only be sure of what he himself saw, but what others saw, others who, twenty-eight years later, were absent or gone or in any case silent. The memory of others: how much he would gladly pay at this moment for a ticket to that spectacle! There, thought Mallarino, lay the origin of our dissatisfaction and our sadness: in the impossibility of sharing memory with others.

‘But that doesn’t matter,’ said Mallarino. ‘At least, that doesn’t matter to me. It’s her. The poor thing has a right to know.’

‘Oh, it’s just for her.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you.’

‘Just for her, yeah,’ said Valencia. ‘What do you take me for, an idiot?’

Mallarino said nothing.

‘You think I don’t realize?’ said Valencia. ‘Well, I do realize. I see perfectly well. What might happen now if nothing happened that night. What could change for you. And I understand, believe me, I understand your worry, at least in principle.’

‘I’m not worried.’

‘I think you are. Because if nothing happened, and you did that drawing. . Of course, of course I understand. But can I tell you something? We were all there. And can I tell you something else? The last thing you want to do is to start asking questions. You’re not guilty of anything, Javier — ’

‘But who’s talking about guilt?’ Mallarino cut him off. ‘I’m not talking about guilt, nobody’s talking about guilt. I’ll tell you one more time, Rodrigo: it’s not for me. It’s for her.’

Silence. A moment later, when Valencia spoke, it was as if his voice had fallen to the floor: a stepped-on, worn-out, used-up voice.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘And so the idea is to find the widow.’

‘Yes.’

‘And speak to her, ask her.’

‘Yes.’

‘But how stupid,’ Valencia said wearily. ‘That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.’

‘I don’t see why,’ said Mallarino. ‘We just — ’

‘What idiots,’ said Valencia.

‘Hey, just a minute.’

‘What an idiot you are. I won’t say anything about her, I don’t know what’s in her head. But you’re an idiot. And what are you going to do, if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘I don’t know what we’re going to do. But that’s something — ’

‘You’re going to knock on her door and she’s going to invite you in, how are you, how’s it going, and is she going to offer you a coffee? Or is the girl going to introduce herself: pleased to meet you, señora, I’d like to know what it was your husband did to me. Is that it?’

‘Go to hell, Valencia.’

‘No, that’s not it, is it? That’s not it. She’s the least of it, Javier, what matters least to you is what happened to her. You want to confirm that you didn’t make a mistake, isn’t that it? You want to be convinced. It’s idiotic, Javier, think it through, you have to see. We were all there. All of us, we were all there: are you going to cast doubt on what happened, when all of us were there? But let’s suppose it didn’t, suppose that didn’t happen. Tell me, what do you want to change? It can’t be changed now, Javier, that’s all done and finished. Cuéllar jumped from the fifth storey of a building: nothing more irreversible than that. And can I tell you something? No one’s missing him. We haven’t missed him in all these years. We’re better off without him. More than that: we’ve all forgotten him. He’s forgotten. The country forgot him. Even his party forgot him. Back then they were ashamed of him, Javier, you think anyone’s interested in his name appearing in the newspapers again? He was a despicable guy, that Cuéllar. You on the other hand are important: you’re important to the newspaper and important to the country. This country is a jungle, Javier. We count on a few people to help us get to the other side, safe and sound, without being devoured by savage beasts. And the beasts are everywhere. You look up and you realize. Everywhere, Javier. And they’re disguised, they’re where you least expect them. Let’s say you were mistaken. Let’s say we were mistaken. In any case, the guy was despicable. He’d demonstrated it a thousand times, he would have demonstrated it a thousand more. Now you’re going to turn him into a martyr, even if only for his widow? You’re going to go and confess that you did that drawing without really having seen, without being really sure. Very well. And then what? Can you imagine what the beasts could do with that? Can you imagine what will happen when the beasts realize they can cut your head off? And for something that happened so long ago, besides. Do you think they’re going to spare you? Well, they’re not. They’re going to cut off your head, the beasts of this beastly country are going to cut your head off. Everyone who hates you, who hates us, all the fanatics are going to go for the jugular. When they realize that you have doubts, that you’re not sure any more, they’re going to be all over you. No one can afford doubt these days, Javier. This is not a world for doubters. You have to look tough, because if not, you’ll get killed. You want to stand in front of them, take off your bulletproof vest and tell them to fire. And they’re going to fire, believe me. They’re going to shoot you. What good is that, Javier? Tell me, explain it to me, explain the utility of this whole ridiculous thing, because I can’t see any, I swear by my fucking mother I can’t see it. I don’t know what good this is going to do and I need you to tell me. Clearly, without any stupid metaphors, without any nonsense. Tell me, tell me in two words what good it’s going to do?’