Andean Express (12 page)

“In the Tabarís,” said Alderete. “Not here.”

“Don't get worked up, Don Alde, you might get sick,” said Anita.

“Speaking of the Tabarís, the Marquis and his good-for-nothing pals invited me to play a round of poker after dinner.”

“You're going to play with those people who don't like you?” asked Anita.

“They like me . . . they'd like to see me screwed,” answered Alderete.

“Please,” said Doña Clara. “No swearing.”

“I want that pimp Tréllez to play. I suspect a little plot. But I'll skin them alive, just as I once did to that clown Ruiz.”

“Don't talk about people that way,” said Gulietta.

“Ruiz is and always will be a bum.”

They savored the dessert, a chocolate mousse with flourishes of whipped cream, the chef's special recipe. Despite the altitude, Alderete was still able to exercise his imagination. “That Durbin guy is there. He's a fourth-class Irishman. He works for the railway and he's traveling with the hag he has for a wife.”

“Where is she?” asked Doña Clara.

“In their cabin. She never goes out; she spends all her time reading the Bible.”

“And that Russian, Petko. Isn't he the banker for the Jews in La Paz?” asked Anita.

“A fine group,” commented Gulietta. “They're all fond of you.”

Alderete nodded. “When you climb to the top like me, it's not surprising that a lot of people get envious.”

“They're good people. You'll see—after the first drink you'll be friends,” said Anita.

“The wine has whetted my appetite. I'll eat them alive.”

They had coffee and an after-dinner drink. Anita thanked them and headed for the Marquis's table.

“That old madam isn't good company for you, darling,” said Alderete.

Gulietta gulped several times. Her eyes were burning and her neck was starting to hurt. “She's very well-mannered. I don't see anything bad in her.”

“When I say she's bad company, it's because I know her. And I don't like you disagreeing with me. It's becoming an obsession of yours.”

“We're just having a conversation,” said Doña Clara.

Alderete began listening to the endless chatter coming from the table of his soon-to-be opponents.

Anita had found a space to sit at the adjacent table with the Franciscan and the woman with the dog.

“That priest reminds me of an agitator I met in Catavi,” said Alderete. “I'm really tired,” said Gulietta. “If you find me asleep, please don't wake me up.”

“What?”

“The altitude. We're approaching 16,000 feet.”

“I know.”

Gulietta and her mother exchanged conspiratorial glances.

“I feel dizzy,” said Gulietta.

“Let's go to bed,” said Doña Clara. Her expression was similar to that of a Versailles aristocrat on her way to the guillotine.

“I'm going to fetch the whiskey and my cards.” He escorted them to Doña Clara's cabin. Gulietta went inside with her mother.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” said Alderete.

“It's early.”

“Didn't you say you were tired?”

“Please stop watching over me as if you're my stepfather.”

Alderete found the whiskey but not the cards. He was certain that he had brought them; he never went anywhere without his cards. They were his good luck charm. He turned the cabin upside down searching for them, but not a trace.

That Solares idiot didn't put them in my suitcase,
he thought.
I'll just have to play with Ruiz's cards. If he marked them, it'll be easy to tell.

Ricardo was lying in wait at his table. He planned to see Gulietta while Alderete was playing cards. No woman had ever turned him on like this before. He couldn't think about anything but her; it was impossible to get her out of his mind. He couldn't stop imagining her fondling him.

Ricardo approached Father Moreno, who was now talking with Carla Marlene. Underneath the table, the contortionist was tickling one of his calves. As the train neared the border, the union leader seemed to be losing his fear of being recognized and his movements became looser and more playful.

“I want to ask you another favor,” said Ricardo.

“Let me guess.”

“What time are you thinking of going to bed?”

“When the card game is over.”

“Sure?”

“Would you doubt the word of a poor follower of Saint Francis, Carla Marlene?” asked Moreno, looking at her.

The contortionist held out her hand to Ricardo.

“This young man caught us,” said Moreno.

“Oh really?”

“He saw everything.”

Carla Marlene let out a mischievous laugh. “Everything?”

“Well,” said Ricardo, “I saw some and imagined the rest.”

“We're a couple,” explained Carla Marlene.

Father Moreno nodded, without too much fervor.

“We're getting married in Chile,” she said.

“You're lucky,” said Ricardo.

Carla Marlene suddenly stiffened. “I'm afraid of the dark. There's nobody out there. If we get stopped, no one will help us.”

“So, can I count on you, Father?” Ricardo said, ignoring her.

Then, with a look of phony naïvete, Carla Marlene asked Ricardo whom he planned to take to the cabin.

“I guess I don't have a choice,” Moreno said.

Ricardo left the dining car as Alderete was making his way in with a bottle of whiskey under his arm. Alderete tried to challenge him with a stare; Ricardo passed so close that he could smell the accountant's cheap cologne, but he simply ignored the man and headed to his own cabin. Alderete watched Ricardo's steps like a hunter; upon seeing him enter his cabin, Alderete continued straight ahead to the poker players' table.

Moments later, Ricardo emerged from his cabin and knocked on the Alderetes' door. He waited for a moment and then continued over to Doña Clara's.

“Hi,” he greeted Gulietta. “Aren't you going to watch the card game?”

“I'll wait for you,” she said in a hushed voice.

“Who is it?” asked Doña Clara.

“Ricardo; he's come to say goodbye.”

Gulietta kissed him cautiously. “I'll see you in a bit.”

“Good night, Doña Clara,” said Ricardo.

Back in the corridor, the steward was sipping maté tea from a gourd, Argentine-style. Ricardo removed a fifty-peso bill from his wallet and placed it in the upper pocket of the steward's jacket.

“What's this for?”

“You'll let me know when her husband comes back.”

“That's very risky, young man. Don't get yourself into trouble. He's a brute. He might kill you.”

“It's worth it,” said Ricardo.

“To be frank with you, I won't have time.” He tried to return the money, but Ricardo stopped him.

“It doesn't matter. If you can, great . . . if not . . .”

Ricardo didn't have to wait long. No sooner had he entered the cabin than Gulietta arrived and flipped on the small light above the sink. A tenuous glow illuminated the contours of the room. They could barely see each other, and this enhanced the ambience of tense sexual excitement. Ricardo removed her sweater and placed it on the upper bunk. He went about unbuttoning her blouse with the stealth of a safe-cracker.

“Can you take off my pants?” he asked.

“Is that what I'm supposed to do?”

“French women do it. I've seen it before in movies.”

Gulietta obeyed. The only sound was that of the wind striking the window with unusual force.

She was still wearing panties and a bra. Her body exuded a fresh, pungent scent. Gulietta nimbly climbed the ladder and Ricardo followed, trembling. He stared at her pinkish-white bottom in the dim light as she ascended, the sight of which rendered him incapable of breathing calmly.

“It feels wonderful to be up so high. It makes this very special,” said Gulietta.

They covered themselves with the gray blanket provided by the railway. Their lips touched, cautiously at first and then excitedly. She emitted faltering moans and he started to pant like a bicycle racer. He took one of her hands and showed her the way. It was the first time she had caressed the embodiment of a man's energy and desire. She understood that he was offering her the symbol of his virility, the very part which used to inspire laughter and dirty talk at bedtime with her classmates at boarding school in Buenos Aires. Curled up against him, her naked body looked completely vulnerable.

“I'm more nervous than I was this afternoon.”

“Don't worry about the priest. He's watching the poker game and your husband is up against a pack of revenge-thirsty dogs.”

Alderete trusted his lucky stars. He knew the coalition of rancorous men before him was eager to rip him off mercilessly. Even so, he wasn't afraid; he was difficult to take down in poker.

“Good evening,” he said as he approached.

“Don Nazario,” replied Ruiz with a hint of sarcasm, “are you itching for a fight?”

“Where should I sit?”

“In back, Don Nazario,” said Ruiz in an angelic voice.

Alderete set the bottle of whiskey on top of the table. “We'll start with this one, and then you guys can order a second. If we make it to a third, we'll split the cost.”

Petko looked perturbed as he made room for Nazario to squeeze by. The Marquis, Durbin, and Tréllez were seated at the other side of the table, and Petko and Ruiz were in front. The table was made of imported wood and its smooth top shone.

“The cards?”

“You do not trust,” said Petko as Alderete examined the deck with great care.

“I know who I'm playing with,” responded Alderete.

“Maybe
we
should be the ones saying that,” said Durbin.

“It looks like these haven't been marked,” said Alderete. “How's everything at the Jewish bank?”

“I am not banker,” answered Petko.

“Actually, I've always wondered what you do for a living,” said Alderete.

“It does not matter,” said Petko. “We came to play cards.”

Tréllez served the whiskey.

“It's not just any drink,” said Alderete. “Top-shelf Scotch.”

“Top or not top, whiskey is whiskey,” said Petko.

The person with the highest card would go first. Durbin drew an ace.

Anita settled in at the table in back, escorted by the Franciscan and Carla Marlene. Alderete noticed Father Moreno.

“Isn't your twin brother a union leader?”

Father Moreno turned pale; Carla Marlene pinched his backside.

“You're obsessed,” said the priest.

“I'm good with faces,” said Alderete.

Durbin dealt the cards with flair. His green eyes avoided looking at Alderete's face; it would unleash his memory and this wasn't a good moment to hash over the past.

From her vantage point, Anita had a full view of Alderete's hand. A rectangular mirror also reflected the hands of Ruiz and Petko. Anita had been instructed to memorize Alderete's cards and, through the use of sign language, send messages to the rest of the players, except for Petko, who wasn't participating in the plot to take down Alderete.

The poker theatrics kicked off with a toast, which was followed by the first squabbling. Durbin raised his glass and proposed a drink to the Republic of Ireland.

Everyone agreed except for Alderete. “The Irish are the ones who always take a beating from the English, right?”

“There's a kind of civil war between the Catholics and the Protestants in Northern Ireland,” Durbin clarified.

“I can never tell the difference between the ones from the north and your kind.”

“It's because you're ignorant and you don't know the history.”

“Don't insult me, goddamnit!” snapped Alderete.

“If you want, we can fix this some other way,” suggested Durbin.

“Señores, please. We just started the game, and here we are, about to come to blows. Let's play like civilized people,” Ruiz interjected.

“A toast to my wife, who will make me happy for the rest of my days,” said Alderete as he sipped on his drink.

The Marquis laughed and Durbin pretended to have a coughing fit.

“What are you laughing about?” demanded Alderete.

“These guys laugh everything,
khuya
,” said Petko.

The first few hands favored Alderete: simple three-of-a-kinds and two pairs. His expression resembled a smile, but also conveyed a coldness reminiscent of a rabid mastiff. A second round of drinks was served. Petko was working on a straight; lady luck shined on him and he drew just the card he needed.