Patricio Pron - My Fathers' Ghost is Climbing in the Rain

A quick glance at these figures reveals that most of the town’s inhabitants — many of them involved in the search for the missing man, as the local press states — believed at the time that he was going to be found alive, and that the root of his disappearance was a crime of passion. But who would commit a crime of passion against a common worker in a provincial club, some sort of Faulknerian simpleton whose presence had gone unnoticed by everyone except a small circle, who was tolerated the same way a dust storm or a mountain is tolerated, with indifferent resignation?

By the way, if the aforementioned percentages are added up the result is 99.99 percent. The remaining 0.01, which is missing or simply represents an error in the survey, seems to occupy the place of the disappeared man: he is there as that which cannot be said, that which cannot even be named. The writers of the survey left out some possible explanations for the disappearance that we can briefly mention here, even though they’re admittedly improbable — he won the lottery, he is in France or Australia, he was abducted by aliens, et cetera — which prove that not even reality can be absolutely reduced to a statistic.

Ten days without Burdisso: Alberto José Burdisso lived alone in his house on Calle Corrientes, number 400 of the city of El Trébol. His domicile is some four blocks from the Club Trebolense, where [ sic ] he frequented mornings and afternoons from Monday to Saturday for many years to carry out his work tasks. He was a simple, popular character and friendly with those around him. He barely had any family, except for some relative who lives in the rural area of the city with whom he had no relationship. […] On Monday June 2nd, when he didn’t show up for work, his coworkers at the Club missed him and that afternoon they called the police and mentioned his absence. That very evening, when his friends went to his house, they found his bicycle left on the patio and beside it, his loyal dog, who followed him wherever he went. […] The city’s firemen completed spiral searches from his domicile outward. Every rural road, every abandoned, dilapidated house and uninabited [ sic ] home as well as the sewer and irrigation ditches. There were four or five days of desperate searching. They went as far as Las Bandurrias, Bouquet, Pueblo Casas, María Susana and Los Cardos. […] Meanwhile, 10 days have now passed since his disappearance. Associated but not minor facts: it could be noted that “Burdi” came into some money three years ago […] of which he had nothing left; he lived off a salary that the club religiously paid him on the last working day of each month (coincidencelly [ sic ] he was paid the Friday before he disappeared); he was a person who kept “temporary company” and not much more.

Nobody knows anything. Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything. In the city everybody whispers about it, as if they were afraid of something, without knowing what. If they let things like this happen, tomorrow the same thing could happen to any of us.

Commissioner Bauducco declared: “I don’t feel pressure from local residents because these things happen and we are working hard to try to resolve [the case]. […] We have new witness statements and new leads to follow. There may or may not be news in the coming hours. […] I invite people to come forward with any information that they will be welcome [ sic ]. There have been no arrests because there is no crime, in principle. It is clear that, in the case of the person arriving deceased, it would no longer be a missing person’s case and we would work on other theories.”

Later Bauducco said: “In the Burdisso home no signs of violence were found, nor any signs that he was planning a trip. The door was closed and there are other teensy details.”

El Trébol Digital , June 11, 2008

In this article, for the first time it becomes clear that the Burdisso case has been transformed from a police matter — pathetic, yes, confused, yes, but also pretty juvenile — into some sort of vague threat that affects society at large. “Nobody knows anything. Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything. In the city everybody whispers about it, as if they were afraid of something,” writes the article’s anonymous author. And yet the author never specifies what this fear is, if it’s the disappearance or whatever is behind it, an accident or a murder, perhaps related to the money, although supposedly there wasn’t any left. And why did a Faulknerian idiot receive all that money? I wondered. And what were those “teensy details” mentioned by the police officer? At this point the missing man himself ceased to be a cause for concern among the town’s inhabitants and, in his place, what emerged was a collective fear, the fear of a recurrence and the fear of losing the almost proverbial tranquillity of El Trébol. At this point, to put it another way, the inevitable shift occurred from individual victim to collective victim, as witnessed by the following article, published on June 12 in the same local newspaper as the previous ones:

The friends of Alberto Burdisso, the citizen mysteriously disappeared 11 days ago, organized a march to the Plaza San Martín to call for the resolution of the case that is, at this point in the days [ sic ], a complete mystery to all Trebolenses. The rally is set for five in the afternoon and a large gathering is expected. On Wednesday morning, Mabel Burga pointed out on Radio El Trébol: “Those who feel it’s important to stand up for Alberto and for safety in El Trébol should go.”

Then, in my father’s folder, there was a map folded in four; it was a map of the region of El Trébol, marked with a yellow highlighter and two pens, one with red ink and the other blue. Entire areas had been highlighted. The blue pen followed the itinerary of the policemen in charge of the investigation. The red pen marked the search itinerary of someone else, who had mainly opted for places where the police hadn’t looked, thickets on the outskirts of town and a nearby brook. There were some illegible notes written in a cramped, hasty hand on the edges of the map. That handwriting — I can still recognize it — was my father’s. The map was crumpled and had traces of mud on the upper right corner, which made me think that my father had used it out in the field, during a search.

A headline on June 13, from El Trébol Digital: “Now They Search for Burdisso with Dogs.”

That same day, the regional press showed interest in the case for the first time; in my father’s file there was a photocopy of an article published in the newspaper La Capital de *osario with the title “El Trébol Marches for the Recovery of Local Man.” Someone, I suppose my father, had underlined the main thrust of the article, which is the following:

“No to impunity and yes to life” is the slogan of this march that will demand that the disappearance investigation be carried to its final conclusion. […] In his home, police personnel found the lights on, with signs of a struggle and some belongings apparently missing. […] On Tuesday one of the city’s banking institutions brought the local police Burdisso’s debit card, which had been held by an ATM, although there was no video footage that would help identify who had tried to use it. In addition, it has emerged that the card was retained by the ATM on Saturday May 31 around midday; which is to say, 24 hours before his disappearance. […] It is known that the money didn’t last long and that with part of it he bought a house with one of the women whose company he kept. He also bought cars and it has been stated that, after receiving this sum, he was linked with “loose living” people, leading him to squander it […].