Carlos Gamerro - An Open Secret

“Hullo Don Alfio, remember me?” Guido shouts at the figure that staggers smiling towards us.

“Matías? Is that you?” he asks, his voice tremulous with emotion. Was this the man, I ask myself, who was the terror of schoolchildren, who personally combed the streets hunched over the wheel of his Citroën 3CV in search of truants? “I drop in at least once a year but it’s no use, he always gets me mixed up with my brother, the model student, who’s never been to see him,” Guido tells me without bothering to whisper in my ear.

“No Don Alfio. It’s Guido his brother, remember me?”

“Of course I’ve forgotten”—he gives himself away—“I never forget a single one of my old students, every year when Matías comes I ask about you. You used to put me through the mill in your day,” he says, then fastens his eyes magnified by the lenses on me. “And you are … Peralta?”

The inside of the house I find pleasanter, and it isn’t hard to see why — on a yellowing plastic imitation-lace tablecloth at an optimum distance from a gas fire that hisses emphatically and keeps the kettle on for maté, shine the beloved and eminently caressable forms of a state-of-the-art computer. Throughout Don Alfio’s account I’ll cast the longing glances of a castaway in its direction.

“They came to look for me,” he explains, his eyes opening wide like a child’s. “Dr Alexander, Mendonca the pharmacist, Casarico, Don León, the Banco Nación manager what was his name … Moneta, yes, thank you, you see what old age does to you, there was a time when I could reel off all the classes from fifty-three on, student by student … and Don Julián Echezarreta of course, the mayor, leading them. We’re going to talk to the chief of police, they told me, about this Ezcurra boy. We can’t sit around with our arms folded with what’s going on. Well what can I say?”—he answers a question from Guido—“I was a little alarmed, they’d already killed a nephew of mine in Rosario, but well Ezcurra had been a student of mine as you all had and besides I thought if such important people from town are going there must be some reason for it so I went along. I can’t quite remember, Thursday or Friday it must’ve been, what I am sure about is that classes hadn’t started yet because otherwise I couldn’t have made it at that time. Somebody’d asked for an appointment beforehand, I don’t know who. Neri was waiting in his office with his feet on the desk, that much I can remember, I mean how rude, and his gun too, feigning indifference; if he was trying to put the fear of God in us he succeeded with me. He didn’t even invite us to sit down, there were two or three chairs on our side and they stood there a waste of space till the end of the meeting. Up till then we’d been full of resolve, marching along like a platoon under that ferocious sun, who does this Neri fellow think he is, he’d have to listen to us now, us Malihuenses aren’t the sort to get pushed around, some of us may even’ve cast a glance at the statue of Comandante Pedernera in the middle of the square to give us strength before going into the gloomy headquarters, well I don’t know if you’ve been told about the Comandante …” he says and I tell him I have. “So far so good,” he goes on, “but once we went into Neri’s office our momentum evaporated, nobody dared to start, a lot of clearing of throats and shuffling of shoes and nudging till the Superintendent decided he’d had enough fun and spoke. Gentlemen … How can I help you? To what do I owe the honour of this visit? he said and the mayor summoned his courage and says Listen Superintendent, we’ve come on behalf of the community to bring to your attention the need to do something about this situation we’re all so concerned about, or words to that effect, and Neri, his eyes twinkling with amusement, And what situation would we be talking about, Don Julián, who getting bolder said The one you’ve been consulting us about constantly over the last week, we sincerely hope in good faith, which is why we’re here, and the Superintendent as if it were just dawning on him said Ahh … so that’s it, you’ve come about Ezcurra, you should’ve said, and he frowned — What about Ezcurra? What have you come to tell me? You want me to leave things the way they are? No can do. A decision has to be made and time is of the essence, he snapped at us. The atmosphere was quite suffocating with all of us crammed in there,” Don Alfio recalls, “and the ceiling fan barely moving the air and there was me having to stand on tiptoe to see over people’s heads, the mayor of all people standing there gulping, Superintendent, I think we can stop beating about the bush, all of us here are figures of some standing in the community and as such we’ve more than once been obliged to take difficult decisions”—Don Alfio repeats what he remembers of my grandfather’s words—“but the idea is not to burden people with problems who’ve got quite enough of their own, rather to solve them for them. Can you imagine if I bothered you every time I had to dismiss a member of staff? Or if Don Alfio were to ask us one by one for permission to expel a student?” And then Don Alfio says, “At that everyone turned round to look at me but as I couldn’t think of anything to say, Casarico or Dr Alexander intervened I can’t remember which, Superintendent, they said, what our mayor’s trying to tell you is that we don’t approve of all this discussion. Shouldn’t we be more discreet? There was no need to consult us in the first place, we fully trust your judgement, but now things have got this far let’s hope they don’t go any further. What are you up to, do you want the whole town to find out?” Don Alfio recalls and adds, “and I still didn’t catch on. The mayor took up the baton and went on, Superintendent we’ve specifically come to ask you to put a stop to the whole affair and Neri says Fine, I get the picture. But who’s going to take responsibility where the military authorities are concerned. You? Because I can’t see Don Manuel Rosas Paz taking it lying down. Unless of course you risk talking to him yourselves. That’s not a bad idea eh? What do you think? You have a word with him and I promise I’ll talk to the authorities. Deal? It didn’t sound like a bad idea to me what the Superintendent was saying,” says Don Alfio, “but in the faces I could see I discovered not relief but panic. I don’t think we’re seeing eye to eye Superintendent, the mayor stammered and only then,” says Don Alfio, “did the penny drop. Had I realised, I’d never have been party to it, but I was already there and it was too late to turn back,” he stammers, the growing trembling of his jaw and hands perhaps illustrating his disquiet at the time. “I believe, I want to believe that at that moment they all wanted the earth to swallow them up but it was too late to turn back and Mendonca the pharmacist said Listen Superintendent, this may be a small town but we’re aware of what’s going on in this country. Malihuel isn’t an island, danger lurks here too. Are we going to put our heads in the sand and be grateful that only the neighbouring towns have been affected for the time being? And what do we do when they come for us? It’ll be too late. We can’t take things lying down. We can’t afford to miss the train of history yet again. You know better than anyone Superintendent how much pressure there is to move all the public offices — including your own — to Toro Mocho or Fuguet. A lot of people say this town is dead, and if they take away our status as the administrative centre of the county it’ll be dead and buried. Think about it Superintendent. It isn’t much they’re asking of us when you come down to it, just adding our grain of sand. And the Superintendent had to fight to keep a straight face and then, all innocence, he says to us Oh good heavens. You’ve come to ask me to kill him then. You should’ve said. Fine. How do we do it? He sprang it on us and this time it was Dr Alexander with his customary sangfroid who pulled the chestnuts out of the fire. We’ll leave that up to you Superintendent. I think I speak for everyone when I say that from now on the less we know about the matter the better. The Superintendent must’ve decided he’d had enough fun for one day and after thanking us sarcastically for our civic-mindedness he said goodbye and shook hands with us one by one,” says Don Alfio and looks in shock at his fragile right hand as if it still bore the traces of the offending imprint. “On our way out,” he adds, “we quickly dispersed by some tacit agreement, in case anyone should spot us. I don’t remember saying goodbye to anyone.”