Carlos Gamerro - An Open Secret

“The master builder was from Elordi remember?” Mati addresses his brother. “Used to work for Titín and had a fight with his cousin I think it was. Killed him with a Bic to the jugular. That’s accuracy for you. When he got out he’d developed an attachment for the town and wanted to stay but there was no work.”

“He had to pay the architect though. Couldn’t find anything to arrest him for,” cracks Guido.

“And the materials I should think,” I butt in. “I mean if it was going to be such a luxury home …”

“It was even going to have a pool, the first in town. We’ve got several now though, now we’ve lost the lagoon … Too bad you didn’t come in summer ’cause otherwise …” starts Mati and stops, studying the ground plan possibly with a professional eye.

Now that I was seeing it I remembered it clearly — the cement floors cracked apart by weeds and undergrowth, the walls shrouded in hanging gardens of campanulas. As teenagers we’d played one last rubble war here, which was cut short when Guido sent a brick flying into his brother’s forehead and we all ended up at the little ward with Doña Isadora giving him first aid. I look at Mati in astonishment, then at Guido. Has it taken me twenty years to realise my great childhood friend wasn’t Mati but his younger brother?

“So why did they leave?” I ask. “The Neris, I mean.”

“Actually I can’t really remember but I think the Ezcurra affair had something to do with it didn’t it Guido?” Mati asks his brother, who he seems to get on much better with outside the family circle. “Ezcurra had something to do with it I’m sure.”

“HERE IT IS SIR …” Nene Larrieu will remark, plonking the stained cup down on the table, “… an ex-presso for an ex-con.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of that joke Nene?” Haroldo Cuesta, the ex-con in question, will reply to him the day he made his way over to the bar at Licho’s invitation, and then to me, “I was in the jailhouse from January sixty-six to June seventy-seven, I’ll never forget. Then I was sent to Coronda for another year and eight months. Nothing political. Rustling.” He will explain: “Got to eat. So yeah I got to know the headquarters from the inside back in old Hog Neri’s day.”

“Is that what they used to call him?” I’ll ask.

“He liked to throw his weight around,” the ex-con will expand. “Not just anybody mind. Never laid a finger on any of us; we weren’t worth the trouble. He only dished it out to the hard nuts, the heavyweights, the ones who stood up to him … Getting smacked around by Hog Neri was a mark of distinction, a blessing from the bishop. ‘I moved all the way down here because I was told this town had real men in it,’ he’d say. ‘So let’s see where that good ol’ Malihuel grit is shall we?’ I think deep down he liked it when you stood up to him. He showed you more respect after that. As I said, the man was naive.”

“Naive? Why naive?”

“’Cause he thought we felt the same way. The badge wasn’t enough, no, he wanted us to respect him as a man too. Always had something to prove did old Hog.”

“AN UPRIGHT MAN, a decent man,” will be Dr Alexander’s diagnosis when I visit him. “The day he left town he wore the same suit he was wearing when he came. How many people can you say that about? Superintendent Neri was an exemplary human being. Ehhhm, where’s this going to be published? Ah. No, because I’d been told …”

“DIDN’T NOTICE THE SUIT. Couldn’t take my eyes off the Torino Grand Routier he’d picked up in Fuguet. Brother what a set of wheels!” Iturraspe will remark when I tell him the story.

CITING ASSORTED FATIGUES, they’ve retired for the night — Vicente, Mati’s grandfather and Mati’s wife, who, having lashed her husband with several withering looks, has taken the children to sleep at the house next door. Toying with the last threads of our flagging after-dinner chit-chat, that leaves Don Ángel, the dutiful Mati, the rather livelier Guido and Leticia, Celia, who’s toiling in the kitchen and resurfaces every now and then to offer another round of coffee, and myself.

“He had Don Manuel breathing down his neck for a whole year Superintendent Neri did. What he was asking him to do was straightforward enough — drag Ezcurra out of his house kicking and screaming and put a bullet in him there and then for all the world to see. He’d have settled for less earlier. But now the military were in power Don Manuel wanted to have his cake and eat it. All that waiting had whetted his appetite.”

“Withdrawal symptoms,” I remark. “Happens to the best.”

“So I reckon he dealt with them direct,” Don Ángel goes on, “when he saw the police chief playing hard to get. He had his contacts Don Manuel did that’s for sure. And that’s where things got complicated see. We’re not talking about just any old spade either mind you. An Ezcurra no less, one of the Ezcurras of Rosario, and an Alvarado on his mother’s side. Right here in town. If the Super did what Rosas Paz asked him the whole town would be down on him like a ton of bricks. And if he didn’t the military would run him out of town, and what was the use of that, ’cause Greco wasn’t going to turn his nose up at the chance.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Oh didn’t I tell you? Greco’s … Neri’s boy he was. Subsuperintendent Greco, he stepped into Neri’s shoes as chief when he retired. He ended up sticking his oar in too.”

“BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE,” confirms Don León, sprawling in his bar chair, and lights his 43/70 after offering them round, while everyone gathered around him nods almost imperceptibly. “He was a few months off retirement and thought he’d make it through by passing the buck, but he didn’t. He’d decided to stay on in Malihuel as well. And I’ll tell you something else. Just between ourselves I’ll tell you something as lots of folk don’t know — he intended to stand for mayor when your dear grandfather’s term was up, ’cause by then he was having health problems that’d force him into early retirement if I remember right. Had the slogan sorted out and all, the Super had, told me in private he did—‘Firm hand, clean hands’. Not bad at all eh? But Rosas Paz set the cat amongst the pigeons. They were ruining his prospects as mayor before he’d even got started. And there was something else — there’d been pressure to move the headquarters and the courts to Toro Mocho for years. Think where we’d be now — no government offices, no island beach resort … Because my place for now … You lot’d be the only ones left eh Guido?”

“The whole town hanging by a thread of spaghetti”—Iturraspe steps in in Guido’s stead.

“So in a way Neri was thinking of the common good as well,” Don León pursues his dissertation. “I’m not justifying him, just explaining the circumstances, because as an outsider and twenty years after the event it’s easy to judge, but you had to be here to really understand. The Super himself told me it’s just the kind of excuse they’re looking for, saying no is like handing the headquarters to Toro Mocho on a platter, and if the headquarters goes the rest goes too. Malihuel can afford to lose one of its citizens but not one of its main sources of gainful employment. Maybe looking at it like that there’s a positive side to it right? It was a price that had to be paid. Ezcurra was a sacrifice for the good of all.”

ONE NIGHT OVER A FEW WHISKIES Guido and I stop up late talking, mulling over football matches in the church field, summers at the lagoon, games of hide-and-seek at siesta time in the empty factory … He goes quiet at one point, looks me in the eye for barely the time it takes to blink, then fixes his gaze on his glass so intently it looks as if he’s speaking to it: “I never told anybody,” he begins, “maybe that’s why I can remember it all so clearly. I’d found the best place to hide, somewhere none of you lot would dare come looking for me, and I’d just got settled behind the stairs to the mezzanine when the door opened and in came Grandpa followed by this big guy. Only after they closed the door did I see it was the Superintendent. I huddled down afraid they’d hear my heart beating, you know how Grandpa’d get if he found me in his office. From my hiding place I could see his face in the lamplight — set lips, frowning eyebrows, clasped hands resting on the glass of his desk, and the other’s back, the triple roll of his neck against the edge of his suit, a hairy hand clutching a collection of pasta samples that he pretended to study while he waited for Grandpa to start talking. I told you to come at this time Superintendent, he said eventually with a gulp, so we won’t be disturbed. I hope you don’t mind the dark, we’ll be cooler in here. How can I help you? It’s a delicate matter, Neri began, choosing his words carefully, and fell silent again. I knew Grandpa’s face so well, I could see how hard he was trying to hide his concern. What is it pray tell, he said to him. One of the lads from the factory’s got himself into trouble. If it’s a matter of a few pesos to bail him out … The back of the Super’s neck said it wasn’t. He paused before saying Don Genaro, please. Can you see me coming all the way over here over something like that? To collect a few pennies? Please, Don Genaro. Over one of your workers? Actually I find it less upsetting that you take me for a bent cop than a lightweight, and Grandpa goes What then? Come on, spill the beans Superintendent. Listen Don Genaro, Neri said to him, you know the score. The Province’s new police chief is an artillery colonel, a hard man, what more can I say? And I saw Grandpa’s moustache quivering with the effort to control himself and a dark circle appeared around each eye. It’s about my boys, he eventually stumbled out. What did you come to tell me? That one of my boys is in trouble with the military? They’re family men all three of them, they’ve never been involved in politics or anything of the sort, they haven’t the time with all the work they’ve got on. What’s there to explain? They aren’t even students, there’s only one of them’s finished high school, and the Superintendent goes Settle down Don Genaro, it isn’t about your boys. Who is it about then? My wife? Grandpa burst out laughing in relief and sat there with his mouth open, smiling. Let’s get down to brass tacks Superintendent. Tell me what you’re here for. Don Genaro I wanted to ask you about the Ezcurra boy, you know him, Señora Delia’s son, the Superintendent said to him and Grandpa goes That’s why you woke me up from my siesta? To talk about Ezcurra? I don’t know what kind of a mess he’s got himself into now but I’ve never had anything to do with him. I used to have dealings with the father true enough but never with the son. Nor did my boys thank goodness. They’re up and working when he’s on his way to bed. Ezcurra’s grandfather used to sell us flour but that must be more than forty years ago. So? That’s exactly what I’ve come to talk to you about, the Superintendent said to him. You, sir, are one of the distinguished citizens of Malihuel, your family’s been here since last century, your factory feeds many a family … Indeed, and we own half the town too, Grandpa interrupted him. You’ve probably heard, what they don’t say is that we earned it all by hard graft. Don’t tell me my family history Superintendent, I’m afraid I know it better than you do. Where does Ezcurra come into all this? And the Superintendent says, As you’ve just pointed out he’s from an old-time Malihuel family as well. And before I take a decision I thought it wise to talk to people whose opinion might tilt the scales if it comes to it. However, I will have to ask you to act with the utmost discretion on this matter. What we say mustn’t go beyond these four walls,” Guido says the Superintendent said, and his eyes widen as if he’s still hiding behind the stairs, spying on the broad shoulders of the deliberately spoken policeman and his grandfather’s growing confusion through the gap between the wooden steps. “I’d have nothing to tell even if I felt like it Superintendent,” continues Guido in his grandfather’s words. “Was it Ezcurra asked you to come and talk to me? If there’s one thing everyone knows about me it’s that I don’t like beating about the bush. If he’s got something to ask me why doesn’t he come in person? Please, said Neri, raising both palms towards Grandpa, if there’s anyone who mustn’t find out it it’s him. Not even Don Manuel can find out, and Grandpa goes Oh Jesus you should’ve said so in the first place. Listen, you know what I think about the quarrel between those two? I don’t give a tinker’s is what I think. They can kill each other for all I care. Ezcurra senior was a serious hard-working man who had some bad luck that’s all, but his son’s a loose cannon. Spent all the money his grandfather left him, conned half the town, and then to cap it all he went for Don Manuel quite unprovoked. Now he’s in trouble. Well if he’s in trouble he had it coming. And all I’ve got to say about Don Manuel is he’ll be calling the shots in Malihuel the day the cows get the vote. If the people in this town spent half the time working as they do sticking their noses into other people’s business we’d be up there with Toro Mocho or Fuguet instead of being where we are, off the map, if it weren’t for my factory and your headquarters, he said without pausing and fell silent. So I have a free hand do I? the Superintendent asked. Grandpa stared hard at him for a good while before answering if you ask me … Listen Superintendent, I won’t get in your way. If you get in mine, if it’s about my boys or my employees then we’ll stop and talk. Otherwise what Ezcurra, Don Manuel and you want to do with your lives is your own business. When they left,” Guido tells me, “I came out of my hiding place and went back to find you lot, you were all still looking for me. I reckon it must have been the last time we played hide-and-seek in the factory. We were getting too old for it.”