The Heart Has Its Reasons (45 page)

“How about we quit digging up old grudges that no longer can be settled and make an effort to be productive?” I cut in.

“Totally agreed, Blanca,” Luis said. “It's not I, by the way, who has chosen to revisit events peripheral to the matter that concerns us. All that needs to be done now is to solve this . . . let us say, irregularity.”

Daniel walked across to the kitchen area divided from the living room by a small counter, jerked open the fridge door, grabbed a beer, and closed it with a bang. He didn't even bother to offer us anything. Luis and I remained opposite each other, separated by the table and the barricade of material. Trying to figure out a way to wriggle out of a jam that could prove embarrassing for all parties concerned.

“In any case,” Luis added, “besides the legal ownership of all these papers, I'd like to know what exactly is brewing here—because I have no doubt that, whatever it is, it goes beyond the mere cataloging of documents. And in the event that I do not receive a convincing answer, my next step will be to ask for explanations from SAPAM.”

A hoarse peal of laughter from Daniel ended the standoff. Coming from behind the counter, he slowly made his way back toward the table with the bottle of beer in his hand, once more displaying a seriousness that belied his appearance.

“Don't bother, Zarate,” he said, spreading his arms theatrically. “Let me introduce you to SAPAM. All that's behind it is me.”

I closed my eyes for an instant and took a deep breath, trying to figure out what it was he hoped to accomplish with such a brash confession. Luis's reaction was immediate. Of course.

“That's an outrage, Carter! An infraction of any ethical code, an absolute—”

“Let him explain, Luis, please,” I begged.

To my surprise, he consented. And Daniel spoke, detailing everything I already knew. Everything that, days earlier, had stirred in me a mixture of indignation and bewilderment.

“There's no more to it, Zarate,” he concluded once he had outlined his setup. “And from here on, it's up to you to decide what to do.”

“Obviously, the first thing I'm going to do is to inform the university of the illegality of this so-called SAPAM.”

“Perfect, but I advise you to think it over carefully before you do so, because such a reaction could backfire. In the event you proceed, be aware that I'll find a way to publicize your department's inadequate management procedures for receiving funds through a bogus foundation without double-checking its origin.”

“That will be nothing but a temporary blot on my record, but you'll be seen by the entire academic community as an interloper,” Luis said, anticipating his argument.

“Please, can you—”

Neither of them paid any attention to me.

“Having reached this point, I don't care if what I've done is known,” Daniel replied defiantly. “I'm even ready to incriminate myself before I'll let this work go unfinished.”

“I'm afraid I'm not going to allow that under any circumstances.”

“Please . . .” I insisted.

“What are you going to do? Denounce me? Call a notary to certify that . . .”

The bottle of beer was to blame. For being so handy. And empty. Daniel had put it on the table absentmindedly; in fact, it even left a small round moisture spot on one of the maps of San Rafael.

Only the noise of broken glass against the door got their attention. My aim was off, but it made the point. A loud shattering sound first and silence afterwards. Finally I was heard.

Chapter 40

D
isconcerted, they turned to me. I was disgusted at the bitter verbal combat they were embroiled in.

“It's unbelievable that you refuse to reason with a little common sense.”

They both began mumbled excuses.

“In the event you keep up this petty obstinacy,” I went on, “the one to air all the dirty linen of the fraudulent SAPAM will be me. I've got a few more days until I leave, but I'm sure there's plenty of time to ask for an appointment with the dean and detail for him the various irregularities in my hiring process.”

Neither one said a word. I took a few moments to calm myself before I continued.

“Now it's my turn to talk and you're both going to listen to me, okay? And no interruptions, please. It's clear all three of us have an interest in this business. Different interests, but equally important to each of us. You, Luis, are concerned that it follow official protocols and out of pure principle are against whoever has circumvented you as chairman, but you're not too anxious for this affair to be made public because some of the steps you've taken could be seriously questioned and your professional credibility dragged through the mud. And you,
Daniel, may have flouted Zarate's wishes and Santa Cecilia's official regulations, but you're worried that this whole project is getting way out of hand and realize that what began as an honest attempt at reconciliation and personal atonement could end up turning into a major academic scandal. And I, who have also made the decision to take on this additional part of the legacy, am not ready to throw three months of work out the window without reaching its conclusion. So, if we wish for this all to be resolved satisfactorily and in our best interests, we must each be ready to make concessions.”

Zarate was the first to reply, still undeterred.

“I'm not so sure—”

“Well, you will be,” I cut him short. “Don't overlook the fact that, in this whole process, which has been plagued with pitiful irregularities, you've not only involved a foreigner but a career civil servant of the Spanish state and a full professor of a public institution that, if I were to inform them of this fraud, would most likely demand an explanation from the University of Santa Cecilia.”

Daniel went back to the refrigerator. Instead of one beer, this time he took out three. He handed me one and left another on top of the table for Luis. I opened mine but the department chairman didn't take his. Daniel, on the other hand, drank half of his in one gulp. Afterwards he slumped in a chair with his long legs apart and the ends of his shirt sticking out on the sides, as disgusted as I was by the whole business.

“What is it you expect us to do?” he then asked me.

There was neither friendliness nor animosity in his words. Simply the coldness of one who knows he has no choice but to obey a protocol. Luckily for me, he seemed to accept, this time around, that the protocol would be determined by me.

“For starters, all this material is to be taken out of your house immediately. As long as there is no way to prove it's legally yours, Zarate is right that it all points to belonging to Fontana's legacy.”

“But you know that's not so!” he protested, depositing the bottle on the table with a dry thud.

“What I know doesn't matter. We must follow objective criteria if
we are to have any shot at moving forward and reconciling the interests of all parties.”

“Then everything will return to the department,” Zarate was quick to proclaim, sensing he had scored the first goal of the game.

He also sat down; the only one standing now was me.

“No way. It doesn't return there because it wasn't there. My proposal is for it to stay on neutral ground.”

“Where?” they both asked in unison.

No one appreciated the humor of the situation.

“In Rebecca Cullen's house. She works at the university and is friends with everyone. I'm sure she'll accept our proposal without raising any objections. She'll watch over the legacy faithfully and I'll move there to keep on working.”

“By yourself?” Daniel asked bluntly.

“No. You'll continue working with me. I need you.”

“No way,” Zarate protested with lightning speed.

“Luis, I'm afraid you have no other option. Carter abides by the first condition, which is to get all of this out of his house because the terms of his ownership, although valid, appear suspect. Now it's your turn to make a concession. And what you're going to accept is for him to continue working with me in the days to come.”

I sat down opposite them and continued.

“When this whole business of Los Pinitos is legally concluded, whatever the result, I'll no longer be here. But if—”

Some forceful knocks at the door interrupted me. Daniel yelled his customary “Come in!” but no one entered. He then got up to open it and someone loaded down with wide, flat square boxes came into view.

“Come on in, Fanny, dear,” he said, assuming a cordial tone. “Those pizzas smell delicious; it'd be a sin to let them get cold.”

“I'm leaving,” Luis announced.

“Stay,” I asked him. “We need to keep talking.”

He headed toward the door with no intention of listening to me.

“I think I've heard all I need to hear; now I need to think.”

“Tomorrow morning there won't be a single piece of paper here, I promise.”

“I hope so.”

He closed the door behind him, but I immediately opened it. He had not yet started down the stairs when I grabbed him by the arm from behind and forced him to turn around.

“You told me I could count on you, remember?”

“That was before you behaved in a way that I didn't expect from you.”

“That was when you tried to kiss me and offered me your support without conditions. Or have you forgotten?”

Night had completely fallen and it was cold. I drew my old gray woolen jacket tighter around me. He did not answer.

“We've all got some reasons to feel disappointed and a lot more to keep moving forward and not look back,” I added.

“But what you've done is unforgivable . . .”

“Don't talk nonsense, Luis, please.” I took a step toward him. “All of this is very irregular, I know. Highly irregular. It goes beyond all possible norms and at times it even goes against common sense. Things have happened that have caught us all by surprise, defenseless, without time to react. But if you wish, there's an easy way out of this.”

He did not ask what the solution was, but I knew he wanted to know.

“Stop hindering us,” I whispered, coming even closer. “I've got just a few days left here, you know that. During which our only intention is to work. Rest assured that if everything ends favorably, your department will benefit greatly and it won't hurt you personally in any way.”

The only light on the stairway came from a dim lamp affixed to the wall. The houses on the opposite side of the street were already decked out with Christmas ornaments: the lights on a large fir tree blinked on and off in one of the gardens, and another house had a bunch of colored bulbs strung above the window. Somewhere in the evening sky there should have been a moon, but I couldn't see it.

“Think of us all. Behind the ton of papers in the basement there was a man of flesh and blood who deserves to be acknowledged. Then there's Daniel Carter, who has not acted out of academic self-interest but rather out of a purely sentimental impulse. And then there's the
business of Los Pinitos, what it means for this university and for the entire community of Santa Cecilia.”

“I am not particularly interested in any of that,” he was quick to say.

“Then, if during this time you've held me in any esteem, I beg that you do it for me.”

When I went back inside, the pieces of glass from the bottle I'd broken were no longer on the floor. Daniel and Fanny were chatting away in the kitchen while eating pizza. Fanny was speaking nonstop while she chewed, rhythmically moving her head. “A brand-new apartment . . . my mother . . . an inheritance . . .” I thought I'd heard her say.

Daniel, meanwhile, pretended to be listening to her. Perhaps he even was, but with only half of his neurons. The other half, no doubt, was busy trying to figure out what was happening on the other side of the door as I spoke to Luis Zarate.

We'd been shoulder to shoulder for many hours, many days. Close accomplices, both seeking each other out and distancing ourselves from one another, coming close and holding back at the same time. Engrossed in an urgent task that did not allow for interference or delays even if at times our hearts might have yearned for something totally different. Getting to know each other better.

Perhaps this was the reason he was beginning to come across so transparently. I was able to guess his thoughts and I knew he was not going to talk about us, of our feelings for each other. His mind, at the moment, pointed in another direction. To the man dressed in black who at that moment was starting his car while a Spanish woman's appeal to reason continued to echo in his head.

We must get Zarate out of our way no matter what, I sensed Daniel was trying to tell me. We must get rid of him.

Before he was able to swallow his mouthful of pizza and confirm my expectation, I raised a finger in warning.

“I know what you're thinking. The answer is no way.”

Chapter 41

R
ebecca's large dining room table was the legacy's next destination. The same one on which we'd enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner, when we made all those toasts to life and listened to a touching appeal to compassion. Only a few weeks had gone by since then, but nothing was the same anymore. That family friend who'd come in dragging a load of memories from yesteryear, who touched us with words overflowing with affection and truth, now moved about the room brusquely, snorting as he disentangled cables, looked for plugs, and connected gadgets. I, meanwhile, was busy again unpacking a bunch of boxes and spreading their contents out in stacks while trying to find a place for everything.

In one of the boxes we'd packed in a hurry a short while earlier, the old wooden cross reappeared. I held it in my hands again, my fingers caressing its rough texture. I placed it in a corner, alone, lying flat. Don't let us down, I wanted to say, but didn't. In objective terms, that house was a five-star headquarters. With thick rugs and linen curtains that allowed for the right amount of light to come through. With fresh flowers, luminous paintings, and the lovely oak table that hosted generations of family members when they all gathered together. Without either Daniel or me openly expressing it, I knew nevertheless
that we both missed the camaraderie that had brought us together in the austere apartment that we'd been obligated to leave. The warmth that emanated between us despite the sparse furniture, the naked floor, the empty walls. The current of positive energy that we transmitted to each other with a simple touch of my hand on his arm when telling him about some small discovery, of his fingers on my shoulder when asking how I was coming along. A spontaneous laugh over any little thing and that collusion that drove us to frenzied work over the surface of a simple board, forgetting for the moment the possibility of fatigue, dejection, or discouragement.