Trash (12 page)

As we watched, coming up the drive we saw a police car. Then, just behind us – just as we drank it in and wondered – a low voice very close said: ‘What are you wanting, boys?’

I cried out and swung round – but poor old Raphael was just running. He ran straight out onto the grass, then stood, not knowing what to do, like some kind of stranded cat. I held my ground and shouted: ‘Stop! It’s OK!’ Sometimes you just know there’s no danger, in a split second, and I knew the main danger was Raphael getting seen in the open.

The man’s voice was calm.

The man who’d spoken wasn’t angry with us. He was under a nearby tree, just back from ours, and we simply hadn’t seen him – he hadn’t even meant to scare us, I was sure of that. He was crouching so low and still that we’d gone right past. I could see a pair of grass-cutters in his hands, and a wide hat to keep off the sun, and it was obvious he was just a lowly old gardener, one of the hundreds they must need to keep the place so neat.

Raphael sidled back and got behind me, shaking and panting.

‘You looking for anything in particular?’ said the man.

‘No, sir,’ I said.

‘Oh, just passing through. Maybe you just came to laugh?’

‘What’s there to laugh about?’ I said.

The man smiled at us both. He could see Raph was in a state. ‘I thought you must have heard, and that’s why you’re here. Sit a moment,’ he said. ‘Have a smoke. The boys at the gatehouse say we’re getting a lot of people coming by, asking if the papers are true.’

‘We’re just roaming,’ I said. ‘What’s in the papers?’

The man smiled again, and took off his hat. His face was so creased it looked like an old fruit – he was totally sunburned, and all I knew was, he was old as hell. A laugh came from deep down in his guts and rattled on until he was coughing, so he pulled a cigarette from somewhere and lit up, offering the pack.

‘It’s only been in some of the papers,’ he said. ‘But no one knows for sure. They don’t want to admit it, that’s what I think – but what are all the police cars for? That’s what we’re asking.’

‘What
are
they for?’ I said, taking a cigarette.

‘You counted them? How many today?’

‘Seven,’ I said, shading my eyes. There were seven cars round the fountain.

‘Yesterday there were twelve. Day before that … sixteen, and the president was here. Dropped in by helicopter.’

He started to laugh again. I passed a cigarette to Raphael, and we huddled back in the shade.

‘Those police down there, fooling about. Walking in the big man’s house, I don’t know why. It’s all over, as far as I can see – the show’s over, so what’s there to do? I guess they’re standing around, all asking the same questions. You know who lives here, don’t you? You know who you’re visiting?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘The senator.’

The gardener was smiling at us wider than ever, with his head on one side. ‘I worked here twenty-two years,’ he said. ‘Spoken to him twice. First time I said, “Yes, sir,” and the second time I said, “Thank you, sir.” He’s the fattest man I ever saw too – they had to get a car sent back and made bigger for him. I’d get sick on the food he throws away!’ He coughed, and smoked deeper. ‘You know, I wish I could go inside. I want to go in there and hear what they’re saying. I can guess, though! It’s not hard to guess, maybe.’

‘About what?’ I said again. ‘What happened there, sir?’

‘He must be working hard, covering it all up, trying to save his face. He’ll spend anything not to look a fool.’

I said nothing then.
Let him tell it
, I thought –
he’s getting to it
. Raphael was right behind me, listening close, and the smoke was calming him.

The old man closed his eyes and sucked on his cigarette. ‘It does me good,’ he said, ‘just to think about it. I think all those policemen are standing around, all very polite, and saying, “Sir? Tell us again. How did you let your houseboy walk out of the door with six million dollars?” ’
He laughed loud and long, and Raphael started to smile too. So did I.

‘Six million dollars,’ the man said at last. ‘Picked them up and took them out of the door. You know how he did it?’

We both shook our heads, smiling wider. It felt good just to see the old man having such a fine time, remembering it.

‘Everyone here knows,’ he said, ‘but the papers don’t have everything – they don’t have the whole story yet. It was the boy they trusted.’

‘What did he do?’ I said. I could feel Raphael holding onto me tight, because it sounded like the pieces were fitting together. Once again, we knew we were close to whatever it was we were chasing.

‘The word is, he did it with a fridge.’

‘What?’ I said. ‘Did what with a fridge? You saying six million dollars … what—’

‘It’s what the guards say,’ he said. ‘One of the maids as well. The name’s in the papers, but they won’t say what he did. They won’t say why they killed him, either.’ The old man spat on the grass. ‘Well – he was the houseboy here. Worked here – I don’t know – not as long as me, but long. I knew him to talk to, smoke away with, and he was a nice enough boy. What I hear is that a little while back he gets told to buy a new fridge. The old one’s dead, and the man needs a fridge for all that food! So – the boy orders one, and men deliver it. The boy says, “Take the old
one with you, please?” Fair enough, it’s got to go, it’s just junk to the senator. These delivery men, they have no objections – there’ll be parts they can sell. So they load it up, and our boy rides with them in the truck, with the gate pass. Chats with the guards, laughs – cool as cool. All on camera, so they say – the fridge, all roped up in sheets. But he doesn’t get down. He stays on the truck to show them a short cut. Then he stays all the way. Says he wants the fridge for himself, because he knows he can make something on it. So he gives them two thousand pesos to set it down just where he wants it – and that’s good money: nobody’s making problems with that kind of money. Some graveyard, they say – not even a house. And that’s the end of the trail. He’s never seen again.’

‘He’d put the money in the fridge?’ I said.

The gardener was laughing again. ‘That’s what everybody thinks. Six million dollars in a broken fridge!’

He nodded at the house and the police cars.

‘And they’re just standing around, I bet. No idea where it’s gone. What a boy! I just wish I’d got to shake his hand.’

He stopped smiling.

‘How did they get him?’ I said.

‘I don’t know. The papers don’t say.’ He threw his cigarette into the grass. ‘I know he had a little girl, so they could have traced her, maybe.’

Raphael spoke for the first time. ‘His name was José Angelico, wasn’t it?’ he said.

The old man looked up and stared. Then he nodded.
‘You read about it, huh? You know they found the fridge? I guess they’re asking where he put the cash – that’s what they want. I tell you, boys, I hope he gave it away before they killed him, because I believe that son of a bitch in there’s been stealing for years. Stealing even from me and you – can you believe that?’

He was shaking his head.

‘Vice-president,’ he said, and he spat on the grass. ‘I hope he never gets it back – not a cent of it. And I hope the shock kills him.’

Olivia’s story – last section.

‘José Angelico was my grandson,’ said the old man.

Gardo held the cup to his mouth again. The old man drank and wiped his eyes.

He laughed briefly. ‘I have many grandchildren,’ he said. ‘Shall I tell you why? Because Dante – you asked about him, Dante Jerome – that’s my son: he adopted thirteen boys and nineteen girls.’ He smiled, but it was a tired smile. ‘I know that sounds impossible, but it was some government programme. You could adopt children then as easily as … hail a taxi. Dante started a school, you see – probably like the one you work in, Miss Olivia. And he had four children of his own, and he found that it was safest to adopt the children in his care. Every time I saw him, I’d say …’ His voice trailed off. ‘Oh my.’ He scratched his head. ‘Little José, little José … What a way to end.’

Gardo spoke again in his own language.

The old man groaned, and then he coughed and fought for breath. We waited.

‘José was a favourite. One should not, I know, have favourites. But José Angelico … He was the sweetest boy. He was clever too, and he did not sleep – he was always working! “I will be a doctor,” he would say – so many of them say that. But … Oh my, we thought for a while it would come true. Olivia, is this making sense to you?’

I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said. It was a lie, because I was totally confused.

‘Oh, Gardo … you didn’t bring the letter,’ he said. He looked at the boy. ‘Is there something in it that … is dangerous, perhaps?’

‘We think so,’ said Gardo. ‘I thought the police might take it away. My friend was arrested, so we know they’re looking.’

‘What about his daughter? Where is Pia Dante?’

‘We don’t know, sir.’

‘She will have nobody.’ He was lost in thought for a moment, and then he said to me: ‘He wrote to me every year, José. On my birthday and at Christmas. Once he wanted to be a doctor, then a lawyer. Dante would have found the money – he had ways of getting money! So many deals, the boys he put into college – if they were clever, I mean. But little José …’ He winced and wiped his eyes. ‘Not so little any more. I saw him last year – he was a man, of course. He wanted me to see his daughter – she also is my
god-daughter. Oh …’ He wiped his eyes. ‘He gave up his studies years ago – he was just a houseboy, you know. Better than many jobs, I have no doubt of that, but we had hoped for better things … I think he lost patience.’

‘Patience with what?’ I said.

The old man paused. ‘You cannot wait for ever. How long they keep us waiting: for ever. We knock on the door for ever? José lost patience, lost ambition, dropped out of the school. He didn’t tell me where he was working. Boy,’ he said, turning to Gardo. ‘Please – we had better do this business. I am so tired.’

‘Sir,’ said Gardo.

‘You asked me what
It is accomplished
meant – that was in the letter. Speak truthfully.’

‘Yes,’ said Gardo.

‘Can you remember exactly what he said? Is this why you’re here?’

‘Sir,’ said Gardo, ‘I memorized all of the letter. If you like …’ He looked at the door. ‘I can say it to you.’

We both looked at him. ‘You memorized the whole letter?’ said the old man. ‘By heart?’

Gardo nodded his head. ‘It is not so long,’ he said, smiling.

The old man sat back, and Gardo licked his lips.

‘Speak.’

Gardo stood up straight. He put his hands behind his back, and I had a vision of him in a classroom, reciting.

‘
To Prisoner 746229
,’ he said. ‘
Cell Block 34K, South Wing
,
Colva Prison
.’ He took a deep breath. ‘
Dear Grandfather. It is a long time since I have written to you but you have always been in my thoughts, particularly of late, and you will perhaps be happy to know that on your birthday many glasses were raised in your honour. Not a day goes by without me thinking of you, even though getting to you is so hard now, especially as duties take me away from the city
.’

Gardo paused.

‘
I think also of Dante Jerome, your dear son
– in memoriam.
I bring up my daughter to honour his memory and your own. Sir: I am to tell you something important, and it may be that I never see your face again. I tell you that the seed-corn has been planted, but not in the way you expected. Soon the harvest, I hope and pray, soon the harvest because it is accomplished, it is accomplished, it is accomplished. I say it three times, but if I could make a banner – if I could write it in the sky for you to look out on, I would do so. My friend, it is accomplished. I am writing in haste, because nothing is for certain, and I have many reasons to be cautious always, as you said to me so many times. I know they will find me. This letter will lie in a private place, with instructions. If it comes to your hand, then you know I am taken. Ask after my daughter, please – use any influence you have, for I am afraid for Pia Dante now. But the seeds are safe, sir – and the veil of the temple is rent in the midst. If only you could go to Zapanta’s house now: it would make your soul sing
.

‘
Your loving godson, José Angelico, bless you, your wife, all your many children and their memories, and all of us so lucky as to be born in your light
.’

Gardo stopped, and I could see that the old man had gone pale. His eyes were closed and he was very still. His mouth was open, and I thought for a dreadful moment that he was having a heart attack, or was about to. I could see his chest rising and falling. Gardo took up the glass of water.

‘No,’ said the old man. ‘What he says is impossible.’

‘That is the letter, sir.’

‘There was something else,’ whispered the man. ‘He said there were instructions.’

‘Sir?’

He managed to open his eyes, and all at once his face was changing colour. His face was damp again with sweat, and he turned to Gardo and reached for him. He held the boy’s arm. ‘Was there something else? A slip of paper?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Of course there was. There always was. Did you bring that?’

‘No. I memorized … some of it.’

‘Why only some of it?’

‘Because it …’

‘Because it was too long? Because it made no sense?’

Gardo was nodding.

‘It was just numbers and slashes, wasn’t it? Boy, you are chosen.’

‘Yes, sir. It was just numbers, starting 940.4.18.13.14. Then I think 5.3.6.4 – I can’t remember any more.’

Gardo paused, and the old man whispered, ‘You don’t
know what it means. You’ve got the instructions, Gardo – you’re holding a key … The numbers are a code.’ He spoke in his own language; he was fidgeting in his chair, trying to stand.

‘You did right not to bring the letter,’ he hissed. ‘Oh, my boy, you are – you are an angel. You are a young, sainted angel. It’s a code that we used, José and I – other boys too. It’s what you call a book-code, simple when you have the book. We played games with it, but it was also for special things. Those numbers … they correspond to letters on certain pages – I must get my Bible. If you know where to look – if you know the rules … the code is so simple.’ He spoke in his own tongue again. He was standing now, leaning on the table.