Santiago Gamboa - Night Prayers

Yes, I said. High-class prostitution.

I think Juana’s disappearance has more to do with that than with anything political, Tania went on. I didn’t know her that well either. Look, this is the telephone number of the agency. That’s all I know.

Now she was the one who was a little nervous.

Did you also work as an escort?

I’ll be honest with you, she said, after all, you and I know each other. At that time I was in financial difficulty, I’d just broken up with a real son of a bitch, a slacker, an alcoholic, a junkie, and I had a three-year-old child. I was on the fucking street, I didn’t know what to do. Your sister threw me a lifeline, it was legal, she introduced me to the former Miss Colombia and I started working and earning good money. Soon afterwards I met a Spanish executive with a good position who became my boyfriend and is still my boyfriend. He helped me to get out, but I owe it all to Juana. Call this number and tell them it’s from me. I’ll talk to them today to make sure they see you and help you, all right? And please, when you find her tell her I’m dying to see her.

I left with a strange mixture of emotions. I couldn’t believe that Juana had gotten herself involved in that world, but at the same time I was overcome with joy. She was alive, or might be. My intuition had been correct.

But after I’d taken a few steps, a shadow fell over me, bringing with it some terrible words, terrible because they had no answer: she would never have abandoned me! I couldn’t imagine a situation that would have stopped her getting in touch with me. Apart from death, of course. But I had a lead, and in such cases a lead is worth everything. The following day I would go and see this mysterious former Miss Colombia.

Juana always said: I’m working so that we can escape, so that we can get out of this wretched city and go somewhere where nobody will find us, so you must believe blindly in me.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Maybe desperation was part of it, and I just had to wait. But three years had passed.

The following day I called the telephone number, introduced myself as Tania’s friend, and a voice gave me an appointment for six in the evening. I left the university early, feeling nervous. It was on 78th, just below Eleventh. As I was walking to the bus stop, it struck me that on a day like this I would have liked to have a friend, someone I could tell the hopes and fears I felt. It was difficult always being alone. Although I wasn’t alone, I told myself: my sister is somewhere and I’m going to find her.

The building was in the process of being refurbished, although the workers appeared to be taking a break. On the first floor, with an entrance from the street, there was a drugstore that also sold stationery. I walked as far as the lobby and found a doorman dozing over an issue of El Espectador . I asked him about the modeling agency and he pointed out a plaque next to the entry phones: School of Modeling, third floor.

The elevator isn’t working, he added, grouchily. You’re going to have to use the stairs.

I walked up the three floors feeling a bit intimidated, filled with doubts, afraid of what I was about to hear. The door was opened by a woman who didn’t look like a model and who turned out to be the school secretary. She smiled and said, yes, yes, the director is waiting for you, sit here a moment, we’ll be with you shortly.

On the table there were copies of the magazine TV y Novelas with pages missing, and cards advertising a plastic surgery clinic selling various comprehensive beauty “combos” in a three-in-one offer: lips, breasts, and hips, or breasts, bottom, and thighs. The offer had expired the previous September.

The secretary came back and said, follow me, and she admitted me to a large office piled high with fashion magazines. A woman who looked familiar was sitting behind the desk. She was probably around fifty, maybe slightly less. You could see the effort she made to keep herself young, the gym and the operations, the diets and implants, the dyed hair.

When she smiled, her name almost came back to me. She gave me her hand and invited me to sit down, a soda? she said, I have Colombiana Light, which is really good. I said yes. Then we sat for a while in silence until she said: Tania tells me you’re looking for Juana and that you already know what she was doing with us. I nodded. Tania thinks you may be able to help me, I said. I took my folder from my backpack with the list of places where we had been looking and the missing persons report.

The former Miss Colombia let me read to the end, listening attentively, and then said, look, I’m going to tell you something, what happened to Juana has nothing to do with that, she hasn’t disappeared, and she certainly isn’t dead, let me explain. What we do here is absolutely confidential, we never give out details of what our models do, but in this case, because it’s such a delicate matter, I’m going to break the rules. I want you to know that it’s the girls themselves who ask that no information be given to family members or friends, real or supposed, let alone to clients. Those are the rules of the game. Oh, would you mind waiting a second, please, I forgot to take my pill.

She stood up and went into the adjoining bathroom. I started leafing through a magazine, trying to contain my emotions, Juana was alive! I didn’t care about the circumstances, any situation, however disastrous or degrading, was redeemable, my God, my heart was almost coming out of my chest, one of my arms started shaking, and I wanted the woman to take her time coming back.

Suddenly I heard a loud sniff from behind the bathroom door; five seconds later, a second one, even louder. Then the woman came back to her desk.

Sorry about that. Now then, before anything else I want to make it clear to you that what I’m going to tell you you mustn’t repeat anywhere, let alone in front of a judge or anything like that. The reason I’m telling you this is because I want to help you and your family, but in a confidential way, without it leaving these four walls, do you understand what I’m saying?

She looked me in the eyes. Her own eyes were beautiful. One of the few things in her body that didn’t appear altered. I told her she needn’t worry. This was a totally personal search. If Juana’s disappearance had nothing to do with politics there’d be no need for legal action. That seemed to reassure her.

Well, what I can tell you is this: she went to Japan to work. Three years ago.

Japan? I was stunned, incredulous. Japan? You mean she went there to…?

Yes, to work as an escort. She’s making tons of money. At that time I had a good contact, a Colombian woman who received them and put them in the best houses. Everything is very select there. I can tell you my associate was called Maribel, I don’t know her surname, and to tell the truth I haven’t heard from her in more than two years. I think she was detained by immigration, and I don’t know what happened, if they sent her back here or if she’s in prison over there. Apparently her papers weren’t in order. Since that time I haven’t heard from Juana. Look, I can give you this: a copy of your sister’s ticket and travel itinerary. She left from Quito, not from Bogotá. I never knew why and I didn’t ask. I’d already talked to her about the possibility of Japan, and one afternoon she called me up and said she was interested. She asked me to get her a ticket, leaving from Quito, and told me it was critical she didn’t give me any explanation. Here’s the photocopy.

From Quito to São Paulo. From there to Dubai. From there to Bangkok and then to Tokyo. I was puzzled. I didn’t know you could do that route. I asked, why such a long way around?