Carlos Gamerro - An Open Secret

This is as far as we can go then with the description of a typical summer’s day in Malihuel twenty years ago, peppered with the appearances of the figure of Darío Ezcurra, which the keen observer will have been able to spot amidst the anonymous swarming of his fellow townsmen. It is as well not to overlook those instants because, though they may seem habitual, they are nevertheless precious. Tomorrow the observer who wants to trace Darío Ezcurra’s trail from noon to dawn, in the complex weave of Malihuel’s inhabitants’, will search in vain.

“I WAS IN THE FORCE che but it ain’t the same thing as being a cop though. It’s common knowledge my old man was the one as got me into the force, I couldn’t kick up a fuss about it could I. You’re from Buenos Aires, maybe you don’t know what it’s like here. A son follows in his father’s footsteps, part out of obedience, part out of need. If he don’t like it he’s got to leave. If the father’s got a business the son inherits it, if he’s got a farm the land, if he’s got a council job he tries to get his son a job there. Correct me if I’m wrong Don Guido.”

“You aren’t,” he replies laconically.

“That was my case. They give up a lot for me and sent me to the Virasoro Academy, a policeman’s salary’s barely enough to get by on as I’m sure you know and there were eight of us, my five sisters and me the only boy, I couldn’t very well refuse. A policeman all his life my old man was and proud of it. You wore the badge with honour in them days, not like nowadays when people see a cop and think ‘criminal’, and they ain’t far wrong, let’s face it the only difference between a thief and a cop these days is the uniform. I expected something different when I signed up, thought they’d all be like my old man. Never forget his face I won’t the first day he saw me dressed in blue, chest bursting with the pride of … But anyway, that’s not what you called me here for is it. To tell you about my life. Ask me whatever you like, I might be able to give you something useful.”

We’re sitting at our usual table in Los Tocayos. Nene Larrieu’s already poured the first round of drinks: vermouth for Iturraspe and Licho, gin on the rocks for Guido, Argentinian Scotch for me and Legui caña for Carmen Sayago, the elusive ex-policeman who’s finally deigned to grace us with his presence and is willing and able to talk. He doesn’t look too intimidating; just the opposite in fact — a squat Indian-looking type with submissive manners and shifty eyes, uncombably tangled hair, dressed in a brown pullover with stripy sleeves and trousers washed to some colour beyond the spectrum, who, with a timid, caried smile, asks: “They’re on you ain’t they Don? ’Cause me like, if I can’t land the odd odd job I can’t afford to eat. If I’d of carried on in the police I’d of made sergeant by now at least, not a fortune but enough to make ends meet. Still I don’t regret my decision. When Greco got promoted to chief I knew my days in the force was numbered. One of the old guard Superintendent Neri was — good fellas like my old man, who could never adapt. Had Greco under his wing, grooming him to take his place. That’s what usually happens, ’specially when the retiring Superintendent’s thinking of staying in the area — puts his man in the headquarters and stays a part of things … But of course while Greco was going yes sir no sir three bags full sir he was looking for somewhere to stick the knife in, lots of games of chess with that whatsisface but if you play chess with a cheat …”

He finishes his glass instead of the sentence, smacks his lips and puts it down with an insinuating thwack. Nene Larrieu arches his eyebrows and I give him the go-ahead. Sayago gazes with glee at the honey-coloured liquor filling his glass and running thickly over the edge into the saucer beneath.

“Ah, that’s better, my soul’s returned to my body. Shivering all day long I been, just couldn’t get warm.”

“There’s a lot of flu about,” opines Licho, sipping his vermouth.

“And I’ve got the best remedy here,” replies Sayago, putting his lips to the brimming glass to take a sip. “Where was I?”

“Greco. Neri,” supplies Iturraspe.

“Right. Everything Superintendent Neri did Greco undid. Gang of thugs, that’s what he turned the county police into. Didn’t give a toss about law and order Greco didn’t, or guerrillas for that matter, the only thing he was interested in was lining his pockets. Mortgaged his old folks’ house to pay for his promotion and his assignment can you believe? Everything in his headquarters was arranged with money. Kept a pad of accounts on his desk he did — so much from bookies, so much from tarts, so much from dealers, so much from truck-hijackers, which in this area—”

“They call us the Bermuda Triangle around these parts,” Guido interrupts. “We once had a whole truckful of merchandise vanish into thin air. Driver and all.”

“Oh, no wonder we had spaghetti at headquarters two months running. Only joking Don Guido, no need to look at me like that. As I was telling you Don, Greco ended up buying one of them pocket calculators that’d just come out — big square one with little red numbers I remember it was — at it all day he was with his little gadget. Only thing that mattered to him about the police stations in the area was that they came up with the readies between the first and the fifth, he’d pocket his share and send the rest to the big pricks in Rosario, and not so much as a thank you to the men on the beat who sweat and stick their necks out to get it for him. Got land all over the area Greco has, and several nightclubs, and a security firm in Toro Mocho, but if an ex-policeman who’s risked his life for him goes and asks him for a job you think he gets any help? Treated like a dog he is. A man who doesn’t know what loyalty is can’t be a policeman I say but that’s how it is — so I left. Wasn’t going to sully the uniform my old man give me you can be sure of that. Ah well, can’t complain. Short but all the sweeter for it innit,” he innovates, tilting his glass for some time so that the last drop oozes thickly down from the bottom, and then excuses himself to go to the bathroom dragging his feet, his upper body in advance of his hips in the convex bulge of the chronic alcoholic.

“What did they kick him out for che ?” I ask the others out of no particular interest.

“Used to pocket the pay-offs,” Licho declares. “And someone went and tipped off Greco. Can you imagine. They gave him his marching orders and a real going-over. Split his head open apparently, serious it was. He says he started hitting the bottle after that, and it must be true ’cause he ain’t stopped since has he.”

“Didn’t want to know him any more,” Iturraspe adds meditatively, “his old man didn’t after he was dismissed. Kicked him out of the house and from then on every time their paths crossed — several times a day in a town like this — he’d look the other way. Moved to Casilda when he retired, with his wife and single daughters; Carmen and the two married daughters stayed here. It’s thanks to them he’s still alive. Che it’s bloody cold in here isn’t it. If you can’t turn the burner or the gas fire up Nene, why don’t you set fire to a couple of chairs? We’re freezing our arses off in here.”

“THINGS REALLY STARTED warming up around then I can tell you, the heat was vicious and didn’t let up even at night and what between that and the waiting everybody was worn out and bad-tempered, waking up before dawn in the hope of some cool air or the news that it was all over. Lots of people didn’t care how by that stage, you know like when a loved one’s suffering and there’s no hope left and the only thing you ask is for the suffering to stop once and for all. And now with the weekend approaching there was also the eagerly awaited Friday show, none other than Sandro in person was going to perform there you know where yes at the island hotel and then the scaremongers some saying that he’s not coming and others that he is but the storm’ll keep him away. And most people thought don’t know why but they were all convinced the Ezcurra business would be put off till the next weekend, as if it’d be suspended because of rain, it got mixed up in their minds with the show,” El Turquito Majul had told me the afternoon we did some circuits together in the gym — I haven’t felt like returning since.