Replay (25 page)

Andrew slid down the wall. Sitting on the floor, he touched his back. His hand came away covered in blood. The ceiling light was still flickering when he lost consciousness.

I
f you were so keen on meeting Antonio, all you had to do was ask,” Marisa quipped as she walked into the hospital room.
Andrew just stared at her.

“I know, not exactly the time to be making jokes. Sorry,” she said. “Wow, those guys really messed you up. But the resident says you were very lucky.”

“All depends how you look at it. I had a knife blade miss my kidney by a couple of inches. Strange concept of luck that doctor has.”

“The police say you must have been the target of some thieves. The cop I talked to told me it’s happening more and more often. They’re looking for laptops, passports, and other valuables that tourists leave in their hotel rooms.”

“Do you believe that version of events?”

“No.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Did you have a laptop in your room?”

“I work the old-fashioned way, with notebooks and pens.”

“In that case they left empty-handed. I’ve picked up your stuff. It’ll be safe at my place.”

“Did you get my notebooks?”

“Yes.”

Andrew gave a sigh of relief.

“You’ll need your rest if you want to question Ortiz on Tuesday,” Marisa said. “Still want to take the civilized approach?”

“I didn’t come all the way here to rest,” Andrew protested, trying to sit up. He winced in pain, and felt his head start to spin. Marisa came closer and held him steady. She rearranged his pillows, lowered him into a more comfortable position and poured him a glass of water.

“I already have one in the hospital,” she sighed. “I should’ve been a nurse, not a bartender.”

“How’s your boyfriend?”

“They’re going to operate on him again next week.”

“What about me? What do the doctors say?”

“They say you should take it easy for a few days, Mr. Stilman,” Dr. Herrera said, coming into the room. “You’ve had a lucky escape.”

He walked over to the bed and peered at Andrew’s face.

“You could have lost that eye. Fortunately there was no damage to the crystalline lens or the cornea. You’ll get off with a bruise. It’ll go away on its own, but you might not be able to open your eye for a few days. We also stitched up a serious cut on your lower back. My colleague has already reassured your friend here about that. You’re not dying, but you’re also not in the best shape. I’m keeping you here under observation. I want to run a few tests.”

“What kind of tests?”

“The kind I think are necessary. I suspect you might have internal bleeding somewhere. How were you feeling before this happened?”

“Not exactly in top form,” Andrew admitted.

“Have you had health problems lately?”

Andrew pondered the question. “Lately” wasn’t the right word, but he didn’t see how he could tell Dr. Herrera that he was suffering the aftereffects of a fatal attack that would only take place in a few weeks’ time.

“Mr. Stilman?”

“I’ve been having fainting fits and excruciating back pain. And I’m cold all the time.”

“It could simply be a pinched nerve, though a pinched nerve is never a simple thing to fix. But I’m convinced you’re losing blood somewhere, and I’m not letting you leave until I’ve figured out where.”

“I’ve got to be back on my feet by Monday at the very latest.”

“We’ll do our best. You almost died. Just be thankful you’re still alive, and in one of the best hospitals in Buenos Aires. This afternoon we’ll do an abdominal ultrasound. If that doesn’t show us anything, I’ll send you for a CT scan. Now get some rest. I’ll stop by again at the end of my shift.”

Dr. Herrera left the room, leaving Andrew and Marisa on their own.

“Have you got my cell phone?” Andrew asked.

She took it out of her pocket and handed it to him.

“You should let your newspaper know,” she suggested.

“Definitely not. They’ll fly me back. I’d rather not have anyone know what happened.”

“The police are already looking into it. They’ll want to question you as soon as you’re feeling better.”

“They won’t get very far, so why are they wasting their time?”

“Because it’s the law.”

“Marisa, I refuse to miss this meeting with Ortiz a second time.”

“What do you mean, a second time?”

“Never mind.”

“Do what the doctor says: get some rest. Maybe you’ll have recovered by the weekend. I’ll tell my uncle he’ll have to wait for a few days.”

* * *

Thursday was a succession of ultrasound exams, X-rays, Doppler scans, and blood tests, with long stints in the waiting area outside each exam room, where Andrew had to wait his turn alongside the other patients.

He was taken back to his room in the early evening, and though they wouldn’t remove the IV, which hurt like hell, he was allowed to eat a normal meal. The medical staff was kind, the nurses considerate and the food decent. He really had nothing to complain about, except that he was losing valuable time.

While he was waiting for his test results, Andrew called Valerie. He didn’t say anything to her about what had happened to him. He didn’t want to worry her, and he was scared she would insist on him coming home.

Marisa dropped by again on her way to the bar to start her shift. Watching her leave, Andrew felt an urge to go after her. Death had been lurking around him for so long—he was suddenly overcome with the desire to jump-start his life; he wanted to feel euphoric, high, and never come down again.

* * *

Dr. Herrera showed up around noon on Saturday with a group of medical students in tow. Andrew wasn’t thrilled about being a guinea pig, but he submitted to the exam.

The cut on his eyebrow had puffed up so much he could only see out of one eye. The doctor assured him the swelling would go down within the next forty-eight hours. The kidney scan had revealed some internal bleeding but all the other results were normal. Herrera was pleased his suspicions were correct: hemorrhagic fever coupled with renal syndrome, most likely caused by a virus. The early symptoms resembled those of the flu, and were followed by headaches, muscle and lower back pain, and bleeding. There was no treatment for the disease. Andrew would recover over time, with no long-term effects.

Dr. Herrera wanted to know if Andrew had been camping in the woods. He said people usually became infected with the disease after breathing in airborne particles from rodent droppings. Andrew, who was very fond of his creature comforts, truthfully replied that it had never occurred to him to do any such thing.

“Any chance you could have hurt yourself with a tool someone might have used in the woods, then? A piece of woodcutting or hunting equipment?”

Andrew immediately thought of Olson, and his fists clenched as a desire to smash his colleague’s teeth in overtook him.

“Could be,” he replied, keeping his anger in check.

“Well, be more careful next time,” the doctor beamed, delighted his students were witnessing this display of his knowledge. “If all goes well, I’ll let you leave on Monday afternoon—that’s what you wanted, right?”

Andrew nodded.

“But take things easy. The wound on your lower back isn’t too serious, but you’ll have to give it time to heal and make sure it doesn’t get infected. When do you return to the US?”

“I’m supposed to go back at the end of next week,” Andrew replied.

“I’d like you to come in for a follow-up before you get on your flight. We’ll remove your stitches then. I’ll see you on Monday, Mr. Stilman. Have a good weekend,” the doctor said. He walked out, the students trailing after him.

* * *

A little later that afternoon, a policeman came in to take a statement from him. When he told Andrew that since there were no surveillance cameras at the hotel there was absolutely no chance the culprits could be caught, Andrew decided not to file a complaint. Relieved he could avoid unnecessary paperwork, the policeman left Andrew to convalesce in peace. In the evening, Marisa came to visit after sitting with her boyfriend all afternoon, and spent an hour at Andrew’s bedside.

On Sunday, Luisa, who’d heard what had happened from her niece, came to the hospital carrying a meal she had cooked for Andrew. She spent most of the afternoon with him. He described to her some of the high points of his career as a journalist, and she told him how she had come to be a Mother of the Plaza de Mayo. Then she asked if he’d met Alberto.

Andrew told her about the poker game, and Luisa fumed that all Alberto had done for the past thirty years was play poker and get fat. He was such an intelligent man, and yet he’d given up on his life, not to mention his marriage. It still made her mad.

“If only you knew what a handsome young man he used to be,” she sighed. “All the neighborhood girls were after him, but I was the one he picked. I played hard to get. I let him believe he left me cold. And yet each time he talked to me or smiled at me when our paths crossed, I melted like an ice cream in the sun. But I was much too proud to let him see that.”

“What made you change your attitude?” Andrew asked, amused.

“One evening . . . ” Luisa began. She interrupted herself. “Did the doctor say you can have coffee?” she asked, taking a thermos out of her bag.

“He didn’t say anything, but they’ve only given me disgusting herbal tea to drink since I’ve been here,” Andrew said.

“Silence means consent!” Luisa declared. She fished out a cup and poured him some coffee. “As I was saying, one evening Alberto came to my parents’ house. He rang the doorbell and asked my father for permission to take me out for a walk. It was a stifling hot December, and the humidity made it even worse. I was hovering on the second floor landing, eavesdropping on their conversation.”

“What did your father say?”

“He refused. He showed Alberto the door, telling him firmly: ‘My daughter doesn’t want to see you.’
I used to get a kick out of wrong-footing my father every chance I got, so I ran down the stairs, threw a shawl over my shoulders—I didn’t want to shock Papá
too
much—and followed Alberto out of the house. Looking back, I’m sure they cooked it up between them. My father never wanted to admit it and neither did Alberto, but the way the two of them made fun of me for years afterwards each time someone mentioned my first date with Alberto, I just know they did.

“I didn’t expect to enjoy the stroll as much as I did. Alberto didn’t flirt with me, not like all the other boys, who only wanted to get the girls into bed as soon as possible. He talked to me about politics, about a new world where everyone would have freedom of speech and no one would be doomed to a life of poverty. Alberto’s a humanist. He’s idealistic and naive, but he’s also extremely generous. There was something reassuring about his deep voice, and the way he looked at me made me feel light-headed.

“We’d been so lost in conversation, we hadn’t noticed that the evening had flown by. When we started back, it was well past the curfew my father had given me—he had shouted it out after us repeatedly as we were leaving. I knew Papá would be waiting for us on the doorstep, maybe even with his shotgun filled with rock salt to fire it at Alberto and teach him a lesson. I didn’t want Alberto to get in trouble, so I told him it was better if I went home on my own, but he insisted on escorting me.

“When we got to the corner of my road I asked him to pass me his handkerchief, and tied it around my ankle. Then I leaned on his shoulder and pretended to limp the rest of the way. My father calmed down as soon as he caught sight of me, and began running towards us. I told him I’d sprained my ankle, and it had taken us two hours to walk back because I’d had to stop every few hundred feet to rest. I don’t know if Papá believed me, but he thanked Alberto for bringing his daughter back home safe and sound. My honor was intact, too, and that was the main thing. As for me, when I went to bed that night, all I could think of was the way I’d felt when Alberto had put his arm around me, and when my hand had touched his shoulder.

“Six months later, we were married. We didn’t have much money and it wasn’t easy making ends meet, but we always managed to scrape along somehow. We were happy, genuinely happy. I spent some of the best years of my life with him. We laughed so much together. And then the junta came to power, more terrifying than the previous dictatorships. Our son was twenty when they kidnapped him. We’d only had one child. Alberto never recovered from his disappearance, and neither did our marriage. We survived in our different ways. He chose to forget, and I chose to fight. Our roles were reversed.

“If you see Alberto again, you’re not to tell him I talked to you about him. Is that a promise?”

Andrew promised.

“I’ve had trouble sleeping ever since you came to see me. Ortiz isn’t one of the key people in my album. He was just a sidekick, like I told you—an officer with an unremarkable career. But now I can’t help wondering if he was the one who flew the plane from which they threw my son into the Río de la Plata. I want you to find him and make him confess. There’s nothing more terrible for a mother than losing her child. It’s the worst tragedy any human being can suffer, a prospect more terrible than death. You can’t imagine the pain of not being able to visit his grave, of never having seen his body. Knowing that the child who called you Mamá, who would run into your arms when he saw you and hug you as tight as he could . . . ”

Luisa paused.

“When the child who was the light of your life disappears without a trace, when you know you’ll never hear the sound of his voice again, your life becomes a living hell.”

Luisa went over to the window, keeping her face averted from Andrew’s gaze. She took a deep breath and continued speaking, her gaze lost in the distance.

“Alberto took refuge in oblivion. He was afraid that his suffering would drive him into blindly seeking vengeance. He didn’t want to be like them. I wasn’t afraid of that. A woman wouldn’t have the slightest compunction about killing someone who stole her child. If I’d had the chance to do it, I would have.”