The Music Trilogy (52 page)

“What do you mean?”

“When I left a few minutes ago, you looked depressed, and now you don’t. Very strange.”

Jacques laughed. “I do feel better, and I
was
depressed.”

“Yes? So, what’s her name, the sexy Swedish blonde you were just talking to on the telephone?”

“Would you believe Ernesto Martinez? Not very Swedish. Or sexy.”

“Okay, enough joking. Now tell me what is going on.”

“I will tell you, but you must promise me, no one must know about this or Martinez will be in grave trouble.”

“I promise.
Tell
me!”

He told her.

“I wish I could tell Davina,” he whispered letting his head fall forward. “He will need skin grafts. Oh, God, Monique, I’ve never heard a grown man scream like that. It was as if he was being tortured.”

Monique bit her lip. I must be strong, she thought, for Jacques and for Alejandro, and Davina as well. It’s my turn, they need me, and they’ve all been through too much.

Upon his arrival at the office in the morning, Jacques placed a call to the Burn Center to inquire about Mister Garcia. There was little change, the doctor said. Alejandro was sleeping.

“He is sedated,” the doctor said. “I’m sorry that I have no further news.”

“I see, thank you. May I come by later?”

“Yes, relatives and close friends are always welcome. As a matter of fact, you can play an important role in the healing process.”

“Anything we can do, and gladly. Thank you, Doctor.”

Jacques next called Sergeant Martinez to say that he had told Monique, as he said he would. He also mentioned that he had just spoken to a physician at the Burn Center. “The doctor strongly recommends that friends and relatives come visit. He says this is part of the therapy, of the healing. It’s very important.”

“Okay, Jacques, but remember, this is still confidential until we get the word.”

“I understand. You can rest assured that we will not say anything to anyone.”

But it made Martinez nervous. Who would be next?

♫

BRAZIL

CHAPTER 40

Zeferino da Cunha went back home, that is, back to Brazil, although he did not plan to be away for long. As his plane descended over Rio de Janeiro and the Cristo standing vigilant above the city of light and darkness, he began to cry. His future bride should have been on this flight, sitting right next to him, holding his hand. Instead, he would meet his father alone.

Senhor da Cunha spotted his son at Galeao Airport before Zeferino saw his father. He saw the pain in his son’s face and he saw in his eyes the reason for this visit. On the telephone with his father, Zeferino had been enraged as he explained his terrible loss, the love of his life, as if life itself, his own life, had been taken from him. The irony did not escape Carlos da Cunha, for now both father and son had lost their love, although by different twists of fate, one by a crazed killer, the other by disease.

He knew his son’s agony because he went through the same agony with his wife. She was beautiful with a wonderful heart, but she became very ill, and she suffered terribly. Carlos took her to many doctors. He flew her to specialists in Paris, Switzerland, and the United States. No one could help. Carlos watched her die, slowly and painfully. He had a small boy he didn’t know how to care for and a flourishing business that was practically bankrupt because he had spent a fortune trying to save his wife, the woman he loved more than anyone and anything in the world.

When she died, Zeferino and his father had somehow drifted apart. But he needed his father now. When he saw his father at the airport gate, Zeferino longed to fall into his arms.

Carlos indeed knew his son needed him now, he could feel it from their long embrace and Zeferino’s tears, tears he was helpless to control.

“I’m sorry,
Pai
.”

“Why are you sorry? Are you afraid that your tears mean you are less of a man? Your tears show that you have heart, but unfortunately, a broken heart.”

They sat together nursing steaming espressos as they awaited their flight to Brasilia. Carlos saw it again in his son’s eyes, the reason he had come back to Brazil.

“Believe me when I tell you, Zeferino, that I know what you are going through. I have been there myself.”

“Yes, with mother.”

“You know, I stayed with her until the very last moment, and when she died, I lost all hope. There was no joy anymore, no sense in pushing myself to make the business thrive again, no one to live for, no one to be happy or to grow old with. The only good thing I had done in that time was to find a nanny to take care of you. You as well had become a burden I didn’t want to face. I felt that I had failed you as well because I wasn’t able to save your mother. I drank. What little money I had left ran dry.”

Zeferino had not heard this story before. His father had never told him how terribly he had suffered. How deeply he must have loved her, and how painful it must have been for him, a young man trying his hardest for his family. Zeferino listened attentively with growing admiration for the man he had always respected but never thought he deeply loved. But he realized now how much he loved him. He had been afraid of showing it, and now his father was finally opening up to him and proving how much he in turn had always loved his son.

“What happened?”

“I went to a man I grew up with. He told me off, set me straight.”

“Who was this man?”

“A man who made his fortune in peculiar ways.”

“How do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that his business wasn’t very common.”

“You mean he was a criminal?”

“Let me explain. Let us call him Mario. Mario and I grew up together in the slums of Rio. We had nothing. No money, no house, no parents. All we had was a big steel overturned dumpster of a box we called home. In the summer it was hotter than hell and we slept outside. It provided a roof when it rained, and thankfully the winters were not too bad. We were always hungry, but also cunning and intelligent, even as children.”

“Where did you meet this Mario?”

“I found him on the side of a dirt road, half dead, or so I thought at the time. I didn’t want to bother with him, having my own problems and all. But I couldn’t just leave him there, so I carried him to the box. I was about ten years old. He had been abandoned. His parents had too many children to feed. He was starving so I gave him some food and cared for him and in a few days, he came to. All the poor kid needed was some nourishment. After that we became brothers and looked out for each other.”

“Where did you get food?”

“Ah, that is where it all started!”

Carlos da Cunha, a millionaire many times over, a man who gave generously, even lavishly to charities, stole the food. There was no other way. He had to steal to survive. He had no money and no one wanted to hire a ten-year-old. Besides, children were supposed to be in school.

He and his new friend Mario were not the least interested in school, and why should they be? They were free. No one told them what to do. They were on a permanent vacation. They could do anything they wanted. They learned a lot in the streets as they lived their lives of leisure and misery. They learned all the dirty tricks, how to steal without being caught. They worked their trade of thievery at night, stealing from prominent people. The poor had nothing to offer anyway.

“We became very hardened,” Carlos said, glad of his son’s interest in learning about this part of his own father, a past that might have remained hidden forever. “One night we raided an Admiral’s house. We were older, much older now, but not so smart that night. The Admiral happened to be there. He caught us. But he gave us a choice. Turn us in to the police or draft us into his Navy. That was the best thing that ever happened to me. But Mario, poor Mario, he hated it from the start.”

In the Navy, the boys were given food, clothing, and an opportunity to get an education. Carlos came to respect the Admiral, who became like a father and taught Carlos a great deal, not only about the Navy, but also about life. Carlos studied fiercely, for two reasons. He wanted to succeed in the rich man’s world. He wanted to be very rich and very powerful. He swore that he would never go hungry again. He also wanted the Admiral to be proud of him. He felt the man deserved as much in return. Carlos believed that if he succeeded, he would have repaid him in some small way for setting him straight.

Mario had the same dreams Carlos had about money and power but he decided to do it another way, the easy way, or so he said. He hated taking orders from anyone. He hated his studies. He managed to learn to read. He decided that was all he needed and when the first opportunity came, he jumped overboard and every one thought that he had drowned.

Carlos was shattered. He had lost his friend and family, but he was wrong. Mario left him a note inside one of his books, saying that he would contact him when he finished school. It seemed that nothing could stop Mario. He was as lucky as he was stubborn and his ambition was even stronger.

“The day I graduated from the University in Rio, I noticed a man with a heavy beard in the audience. When the president handed me my diploma, I looked up and the man was smiling.”

“Mario?”

“Yes, even with his beard, I could not mistake him. He stood out in the crowd. He wore an expensive suit. He was already well off. I waited for the ceremony to end and looked for him, but he was gone. Then suddenly a small boy handed me a note. It was from Mario. He wanted to meet me. I went to the address he wrote on the note. It was one of the worst sections of town, very rough and dangerous, and as hardened and tough as I was through my younger years and in the Navy, I was frightened, let me tell you! I entered a filthy, smelly dark basement. A voice called my name and a man came out and searched me, for what I presumed were weapons. I had none. He told me to enter through a door he opened for me. To my amazement, I saw the most lavish and beautiful apartment I had ever seen in my life. Nothing was missing. Televisions, stereos, leather chairs, a huge carved wooden desk. Mario was sitting behind it. It had been seven years since we had seen each other, but not a moment forgotten."

Mario had succeeded, as he said he would. He was rich and powerful but he had chosen the other side of the law. He had to stay under cover most of the time. He had become Rio’s so-called Godfather. No one moved without his knowledge, not a deal, not a transaction. He controlled the city and had quite a few policemen in his back pocket.

Mario and Carlos stayed together for a few hours. When Carlos stood to leave, Mario handed him a large envelope. He told Carlos not to open it until he was safely out of the district. Once Carlos opened it, he found a smaller envelope inside with a message written on it. It said: “I’m proud of you. You are like a brother to me. You saved my life and I will never forget that. I know you want to continue your studies in America. I want you to accept this little gift, for that is what this is, a gift, nothing more. I suggest you use half of it for your studies, and save the other half to start your business when you are ready. Think of my gift as my contribution to what will be future good deeds, for that is in your character and you will be generous with your new skills. Brazil will one day be proud of you.”

In the smaller envelope was fifty thousand dollars. Carlos knew the money was dirty. But he decided that he would respect Mario’s wishes and use the money in the manner he had suggested.

“Did you see him again?” Zeferino asked.

“Once. After your mother died. Actually, he found me, in a gutter, drunk and lost, void of all lust for life. I hated everything and everyone, doctors especially. They couldn’t save your mother. Most of all, I hated myself. But Mario told me off, yelled at me for the first time and told me to pay more attention to my son.” The older man turned to Zeferino with tears in his eyes. “Forgive me,
Filho
, but since then, I have lived only for you. You have been my life and you have made me proud. You have done your father a great honor by the way you turned out. I regret that I was not as affectionate as I should have been, but deep in my heart, no father ever loved his son more than I.”

The two men embraced again and wept in each other’s arms.

“But what about you,” Carlos said. “I have the feeling that I know why you came here.”

“Am I that transparent,
Pai
?”

“No, but your pain is visible. I sincerely wish that I somehow could change the terrible thing that happened, but what I see in your eyes is something else. You really loved her, didn’t you?”

“Very much. She loved me for myself. She had no idea that I had money. And I know no one can bring her back but…”

“I would gladly give my life for hers, but I am not God.”

“But what I want is revenge.”

“Yes, I can see that, in your eyes. Revenge is never good, and it usually backfires.”

“I know you’re probably right, but this man is sick, he’s crazy. He’ll surely kill again. He’s got to be stopped.”

“Yes, of course, but not by you, by professionals.”

“The police have tried. They can’t catch him.”

Their conversation came to this end with the call to board their flight to Brasilia. Once home, Zeferino detailed for his father the sundry affairs of Simon Grady and the hopeful but ultimately futile attempts on the part of U.S. law enforcement to catch him.

Carlos thought carefully of all his son had shared, and after Zeferino had gone to sleep, he dialed a number that he had never dialed before, but one that he had kept with his most cherished belongings for many years.

“Yes,” a voice answered.

“Carlos speaking…”

Zeferino awoke to the sounds of tropical birds singing by his window. He took a quick shower, dressed casually in jeans and joined his father in the living room. Another man was with him.

“
Bom dia,
Zeferino.”

“
Bom dia,
Pai.”

“Did you sleep well, my son?”

“Yes, actually I did.”

The older da Cunha spoke to the other man. “I would like you to meet my son Zeferino.”

They shook hands.

“I’m sorry but I did not catch your name,” Zeferino said.

“That is because I did not mention it,” his father said.

“Shall we just say that I am like an uncle,” the man said. “I have known you since you were born and have followed your progress through the years.”

“It is strange that I have never met you before because I seem to recall seeing you somewhere,” Zeferino said. “I never forget a face.”

The man had a high forehead and a thick moustache that fell to the corners of his mouth. When he smiled, it was with the slightest of facial movement.

“Your father has done well,” the stranger said. “He should be proud.”

“I am,” his father said.

“I do remember you from somewhere,” Zeferino said smiling. “It will come to me… My first communion. You were in the church.”

“I’m impressed,” the stranger said. A corner of his mouth edged slightly upward.