The Buenos Aires Quintet by Manuel Vázquez Montalbán Read Free Book Online Page B

attending your classes any more.’
    ‘Why? Are they that bad?’
    ‘You’re pessimistic about language, but you earn your living discussing and analysing other people’s language. Don’t you believe in what you’re doing?’
    ‘I use words to earn my living, and say what people expect to hear. Aren’t you a pessimist?’
    ‘I’m supposed to find a cousin I don’t know in a city I don’t know either. Those of you who were closest to him could help me. Are you sure you haven’t seen him?’
    Alma sustains his gaze.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Why not? I don’t understand.’
    ‘He didn’t want to see me. Perhaps I remind him too much of my sister. We’re very alike.’
    ‘Perhaps.’
    Alma changes the subject. Sips at her drink.
    ‘I’ve tasted worse too.’
    ‘What did you make of your brother-in-law?’
    ‘An industrialist who used science. All he wanted to do was make money from his discoveries. He was a behaviourist who taught how to treat people like rats.’
    ‘Did Berta agree with him?’
    ‘No. At some point she thought perhaps the discoveries could serve the cause, but she often expressed her doubts to me. Like all of those who come from the working classes, Raúl had a twin brother inside him who wanted to be rich, even though his father was already rich enough. But that’s enough about Raúl.’
    ‘What happened to you?’
    ‘You mean, in general?’
    ‘No. I mean the night you were arrested. How did you survive? What exactly happened to the little girl?’
    Alma shakes her head, but eventually thinks about it and starts to speak as if she has no need for an audience. As she tells the story, she takes on the role of the different people involved that night.
    ‘They forced their way in, shouting, insulting us, guns in hand. We were in Raúl and Berta’s apartment. There were more people there, who didn’t survive. Font y Rius, my husband, was there. Pignatari had written a piece of music dedicated to Eva María, and I’d had it recorded in a music box. Have you ever heard a rock song in a music box? Then they burst in. It was like a full-scale battle. Berta grabbed a pistol and faced up to them. They hit the walls of the entrance hall and crawled their way towards us. Raúl shouted at Berta not to resist. “Don’t be stupid! They’ll kill us all, the child too! Don’t be so stupid! We surrender! Just spare the girl’s life! The little girl!” I remembered Eva María in her cot, so I dropped my gun and ran in there. She was only a year old. I picked her up. My mind was a blank – perhaps that’s how I managed to get out, by being completely blank. I got out with my Eva María – it was as if the bullets stopped to let us through.’
    Slowly Alma comes back to reality. She’s cradling her arms as though the baby were still in them. Carvalho gently stops her movements, but encourages her to go on with the story.
    ‘Some days later I read in the papers that Berta had been killed in the shoot-out. I thought it was the right moment to go home or at least to my parents’ place to hand over Eva María. Until then I’d been in hiding, like an insect, not knowing who to turn to. So I went to my parents’ apartment. The goons were there. I didn’t even get to see my parents. I was arrested. They took the baby away’
    She’s about to break down. Carvalho comforts her.
    ‘It’s all right. That’s enough for today’
    ‘You’re right. You made me talk about something I never wanted to mention again.’
    Now it’s not an emotional Alma opposite him, but a woman furious with herself and with him. She’s had enough of confessions and of being there. She stands up abruptly, and leaves Carvalho open-mouthed when he realizes she’s stood him up yet again.
    All human rights offices look the same, especially if organized by a group of victims of crimes against humanity. They are down-at-heel apartments full of second-hand furniture and posters proclaiming hope beneath garish neon lights. The