The Blue Line (26 page)

Her childlike laugh rang through the car.

There was nothing of El Diablo in her. Her Asian eyes, her high cheekbones, her pale skin. Theo moved back to get a better look at Mia. And yet. El Diablo had pulled it off brilliantly. With her Asian features, Korean name, and perfect English, the girl would be untraceable. It would be impossible to establish a connection between Mia and Argentina unless Mia revealed the secret of her Mapuche origins, and her father had warned her against this. The feeling of shame he had instilled in Mia because of her mother's suicide was an additional safeguard. Finally, El Diablo had hidden his treasure at Swirbul and Collier: where better than a CIA contractor to keep enemies at bay? All the employees were CIA protégés in one way or another, bound by a secret related to their own personal story that went beyond the scope of professional confidentiality. It was the reason he himself was working for Swirbul. In exchange for the information Theo had passed on to the American intelligence agencies, he lived a sheltered life, protected by a structure that made him invisible. That same structure had thwarted all of Julia's attempts to track him down. It had also enabled him to pick up the trail of his torturer. Or so he had thought until now. Through the
company's archives, Theo had found out that El Diablo had come to the United States before the end of the dictatorship, but he hadn't expected his torturer to benefit from the same protection as he had. Which, he now realized, explained the lack of accessible information on El Diablo, and Theo's own fruitless search.

Her rounded forehead, her silky black hair. There is nothing of him in her. And yet. The red lips, the perfect teeth, that distant smile.

“He's fat,” Mia went on, “and short, with a big nose and black hair. And anyway, his name isn't Ignacio Castro!”

“So who is he?”

The young woman was taken aback by his aggressive tone. Her brow furrowed in concentration.

“I don't know. They say lots of children were given up for adoption back then. My mother's brother thinks maybe that's what happened to me. I looked, but there doesn't seem to be a record of adoptions. I don't even have a birth certificate in Argentina.”

“But your real father can't have vanished into thin air. He didn't leave you on the doorstep of a church!”

“My biological father committed suicide shortly after my mother was killed. He drove his car off a cliff. The car blew up—”

Theo interrupted: “And no one ever found his remains.” He put his hands on his knees and said bitterly, “Take me back home, Mia. I can't help you.”

It was pitch-black. A glimmer of light somewhere in the distance accentuated the contrast of Mia's profile. Theo watched as she hid her face in her hands. He refused to be moved. She turned the key and the engine purred obediently. A couple of deer caught in the headlights froze for an instant, their eyes red, then bounded away into the trees.

—

Nothing should derail me
.
Not even Mia
. Squatting in the garden holding a hand rake, Theo admired the hydrangeas. Julia's return would give him a break. He thought he saw his neighbor looking enviously at his well-kept flowerbeds. He gave the old lady a wave and smiled.
It's impossible not to make the connection
.
It'
s written in black and white
.
Or else she's
her father's accomplice
. Theo wiped away the large beads of sweat rolling down his face. A bumblebee hovered a little too long at the corner of his eye. He flicked it away in irritation.
After this I can live my life again
.
I'
ll go away with Julia
.
Far away
. He pushed the spade into the ground and turned the soil over. The bumblebee returned, stupid and stubborn, and began buzzing in concentric circles around Theo's head. Disheartened, Theo threw the spade and the rake to the ground and walked back into the house.

—

The parking lot was full. Swirbul was always a hive of activity on Mondays. He found a spot at the far end, next to a shiny new white SUV with oversize tires. Driven by an
involuntary curiosity, he walked around the car to inspect it. When he came out late that evening the huge lot was empty, but the Chevy Crossover was still there. Theo hovered for a moment to give it another once-over before getting into his car.

He was just about to pull out when a car raced across the parking lot, tires screeching, and came to a stop right in front of him. Mia got out wearing an emerald green suit. She was furious. Eyes brimming with tears, she yanked open Theo's door and shouted, “I hate you. Do you hear me? I hate you!”

A man emerged from the complex at that moment and came striding in their direction, fiddling with his keychain in one hand and holding a black crocodile briefcase in the other. Theo recognized him immediately. It was one of the company directors.

“Get in,” he ordered.

—

Mia did as she was told. The car reversed, pulled away, and drove out of the parking lot. Theo accelerated, hurtled down the avenue, turned right, and braked in front of an imposing mansion surrounded by a large park. He turned to Mia, grabbed her forcefully, and kissed her.

“I hate you,” she said again, beating at his chest with her fists.

Theo wiped her tears away with the back of his hand.

“I hate you too. I can't tell the difference anymore between my love for you and my hatred, Mia.”

“But why? Why me?” She had a sudden thought. “It's because of my wedding photo, isn't it?”

He caressed her face. “No. But I think I know who killed your mother.”

Mia's breathing quickened. “Yes, I could sense it. That's why I went to Argentina. To understand, Theo.”

“You really don't understand?”

Theo grasped her face to force her to look into his eyes.

“But I'm telling you I don't understand! You're hurting me, Theo. And you're really scaring me. What happened to my mother?”

Theo remained silent for a moment. He stroked her lips with a finger, then leaned back against the door.

“You grew up with your mother's killer, Mia. Your father's name is not Samuel Matamoros, and he's not Spanish.”

“What are you saying?”

“He's Argentine, and he's also your biological father.”

“That's crazy! He isn't . . . he can't be . . .”

“His name is Ignacio Castro Matamoros and he was a captain in the Argentine air force. He was also known as El Diablo.”

Mia stared at him in horror.

“He was in charge of one of the torture centers during the Dirty War, Mansión Seré. Mia, your father is a murderer.”

Her tears left glistening streaks down her face. She couldn't draw enough breath to speak.

“It's not true. You're wrong. You're mixing him up with someone else. Ignacio Castro committed suicide.”

“Your father lied to you. From the start, about everything. Except one thing: your mother's identity.”

Theo's voice changed. “And I don't know why.”

“It's not possible. . . . How do you know all of this?”

“I've been searching for your father for thirty years, Mia. I recognized him in your photo.”

“You must have made a mistake. Maybe they look alike. You don't know my father. He's a wonderful man, he . . .”

“Stop it, Mia. You wanted to know. Now you know. I had no intention of revealing any of this to you. And I have no idea why I'm doing it now. But I think you have a right to know who this man is.”

The first-floor lights of the mansion went on. Someone looked out the window.

“I'd lost all trace of your father for years.”

“And you want me to believe you found him again by accident?”

“Yes. I think about it all the time. It's very strange. Either it's destiny or . . .”

“Destiny? There's no such thing, Theo.”

A police car with tinted windows cruised past. Theo started the car, then drove to the junction and under the railway bridge. He decided to take the old road that wound from one town to the next. They were no longer pressed for time.

“You must have known it was me, Theo! You have access to all that company information.”

Mia's emotion turned into nausea. She opened the window to get some air, her mouth drawn into a grimace.

“So you used me, Theo? That's it. You knew . . .”

The car jolted as it crossed a narrow bridge overlooking a marina. The lamps along the landing stage were reflected on the rippled surface of the water like a scattering of stars. Theo stopped the car on the side of the road, pulled up the parking brake, and switched off the engine.

“No, Mia. You know perfectly well that's not true.” And he added, as if to chase away his own doubts: “You didn't know either.”

A painful silence followed, each of them weighing up the other, uncomfortable.

“Are you looking for him on the company's behalf? Do you have to . . . ?”

Theo cut her off. “No, the company's got nothing to do with it.”

“What am I supposed to think, Theo? You're looking for him just like that, for no reason!”

The blood had drained from Mia's face. Her lips had turned bluish, emphasizing the pearly sheen of her skin. Her mouth trembled, hesitating.

“Where do you know him from?”

A muted violence struggled to surface, like lava rising.
Theo's voice shook, his skin blotched and red as he tried to control it.

“El Diablo . . . tortured my brother,” he said in a strangled voice. “Then he killed him.”

Mia could hardly recognize the man looking at her—the blue-tinted veins protruding from his temples, the dry lips edged with white saliva, the flared nostrils, the bloodshot eyes.

“He took photos, he filmed it. . . . He showed me everything.”

The young woman shrank into her seat.

“He also tortured my wife . . . who was expecting our child.”

All at once, Mia was gripped by spasms that shook her body violently until they reached her throat. She opened her door and vomited.

OF LOVE AND HATE

Boreal Summer

2006

I
t would soon be dawn. They walked barefoot down the stairs and out of the house across the damp grass to the beach. They stayed close to each other, the cool sand giving way under their feet, their bodies still seeking each other, unsated. Around them the dark expanse was filled with the reddish glow of a dying campfire. The gentle lapping of the waves reminded them of the presence of the sea. But they sat down with their backs to the water, fascinated by the embers of the fire that they were set on rekindling.

“I've been having nightmares for days.”

“I've been having them for years.”

Theo turned the logs over. Timid flames began to lick at them.

“I don't think I will ever be able to free myself from all this.”

“Knowing comes with a price, my love. Ignorance is bliss,” Theo said, kissing her neck.

“But I love him, Theo. Before you, I thought I could never love any man more than my father.”

“Don't talk about him, please.”

“But I have to. You're the only one who can understand.”

The crackling of the fire distracted them for a moment.

“I dreamed that my mother was talking to me. I never knew my mother; it feels strange to have heard her voice.”

“Maybe you stored it in your memory from when you were first born.” Then, changing tones, he added, “Julia's grandmother would've said your mother was contacting you. People used to say she was some kind of psychic—it exasperated my parents.”

“That's odd. My uncle told me my mother was a
machi
. I'd always thought that was a princess. But actually it's her name—Mailen—that means ‘princess.' Do you know what a
machi
is?”

“Yes, they communicate with spirits, have premonitory dreams. . . . It's a form of shamanism, right?”

Theo went to get some dry branches from a pile that had been placed not far from the fire.

“My uncle said that was the reason she was killed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her husband didn't want . . .”

“Your father?”

“He would have forbidden her to practice, but I think she kept on doing it without his knowledge.”

“Have you gotten back in touch with your uncle?”

“No. I don't know if I will. I wouldn't know what to say to him.”

The heat was becoming almost unbearable. Mia shielded her cheeks with her hands.

“The thing I'm dreading most is talking to my father again.”

The fire suddenly leaped up. Amid a shower of sparks, they got up and rolled the dried-out tree trunk they had been sitting on farther away.

“What are you going to say to him?”

“I don't know.” Mia continued, “You see, I think I could have even forgiven him for killing my mother. . . .” Her voice broke. “But I can never forgive him for what he did to you.”

Dawn was breaking. They stood up, holding each other tight, and threw sand on the fire to put it out. A stray dog trotted toward them with its tail between its legs. It sniffed at the ashes before scampering off. The tide was retreating slowly, leaving a froth of green algae in its wake. In the distance they could see the silhouette of a runner approaching. He sprinted across the sand with a feline grace. Mia watched with envy as he ran past.

—

Theo dropped Mia off at her place and went to the airport to pick up Julia. He parked near the arrivals gate and got out of the car. The summer was drawing to a close; a delightful breeze softened the heat rising from the asphalt.

He saw her come out wheeling her suitcase. She was wearing the white dress they had bought together in the spring. She got into the car, blithe and sunny, radiating a happiness that immediately caused him to tense up. He sped toward the Bronx to get on the Connecticut Turnpike. Julia read his impatience as a mark of affection. She forgot to be tired.

“Let's go out for lunch, Theo. We've got lots of good news to celebrate.”

“The sushi bar in Westport?” he answered, inserting a CD into the car stereo.

The shrill sound of a guitar burst out of the speakers. Julia leaned toward him, lowered the volume, and slipped her arms around his neck.

“The first bit of great news . . .”

She leaned back to better assess the effect her announcement might have on him. Theo smiled at her, seemingly focused on the road, while his thoughts were elsewhere. Maybe Mia would be at the sushi bar with Kwan. Then they would have to say hello, make introductions. Or maybe Julia and he would sit down at the next table and he and Mia would pretend to be strangers.

“Are you listening, my love?”

“Yes. I don't want to miss the exit. This is where I always get it wrong.”

A sea of cars was stopped at the toll booth. Theo switched off the engine and opened the windows.

“Okay, go on. Tell me. What's the good news?”

“Theo, you're going to be a grandfather!”

Theo opened his eyes wide as if surprised. He turned the engine on again. The vehicles in front of him had moved. Maybe he would be jealous seeing her with Kwan. When he wasn't with her . . . This was absurd.

“. . . a name for a little boy. I'd be very happy if it was a little Josefina. Can you imagine? What do you think?”

“Me?”

“Yes. What would you prefer?”

“Doesn't matter. Both.”

“Stop being silly! If it's a boy, what name would you like? You can't call a baby both names: Ignace-Josefina!”

“Ignacio? Why Ignacio?”

“Ignace, not Ignacio! You haven't listened to a word I've been saying. It's her father's name!”

“Whose father's name?”

“Ulysses' wife's father, of course! They've decided that if it's a boy she gets to choose the name and if it's a girl, Ulysses will.”

“Oh, I see. Right. I didn't know.”

They would name their child however they saw fit, Theo thought. It was no longer his problem.

He turned up the volume. A frenzied drum solo made further conversation impossible. In any case, all his solutions were bad. The worst was to do nothing. No way. El Diablo would pay one way or another, even if death was too good for him. Theo would almost rather see him live as he himself had lived all these years: in the shadows, and in shame.

“. . . a house overlooking the water, on the rocks. You'll love it. We'll have to book our tickets right away. It can be hard to find tickets at Christmastime. Is that okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“Going to visit them in December.”

“We'll see. We've got plenty of time.”

Theo took the exit ramp and stopped at the red light. It was stupid being this head over heels in love, like a teenager. He had only just left Mia and all he could think of was seeing her again. He drove slowly down the avenue, looking for a place to park; the sun was blinding. He passed the restaurant, holding up a hand to shield his eyes, and spotted her immediately. Mia was sitting at a small table on the sidewalk. She looked up. And smiled.

—

They had gotten into the habit of meeting at the hotel in Fairfield, which was halfway between the office and their respective homes. It had been a sultry afternoon. Large black clouds announced an imminent storm. They gazed at each other in the darkness. To him it felt like Mia's body was made of ether, almost like the result of a vision. The low hum of the air-conditioning did little to cover the noise from the highway. The world rumbled in the distance. He held her tighter.

“You never told me the details of that dream about your mother.”

“It was more of a nightmare.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I was in a forest, surrounded by trees. All of a sudden, I lost all notion of who I was; I blended into the universe. I was the sky, the grass, the trees. I was breathing through them. I was just beginning to become myself again and to recognize that I had a body when I heard a voice speaking to me, coming from outside. So I tried to remember who I was.”

“And . . . ?”

“That voice was my mother's voice. It seeped into me like the sap of a tree. Her words went round inside me and I didn't understand. I breathed. I breathed out her love, her suffering, her life.”

“What a strange dream.”

“I think about it all the time. That voice keeps haunting me, Theo.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me a story about a girl who had lost her mother and then found her again one day. I don't know if I was the girl, the mother, or the daughter of the girl. I only knew I was one of those three women. When I felt like I was the girl, I saw her searching for her mother behind every tree in a dark, humid forest. In the end, the voice said the mother was coming back, and I felt a bright light spreading through me, but I didn't experience a feeling of release. I kept feeling the mother's fear and suffering, like poison in my veins.”

“A real nightmare.”

“Her voice was telling me things that I can't really make
any sense of. To get out, to leave, I think. But I can't shake off this suffering. I wake up tired, as if I was mourning something bigger than me.”

Mia placed a hand on her forehead and followed the line of a first wrinkle, running like a pencil stroke from one temple to the other.

“I can't go on living knowing what he's done. I don't want to carry the genes of a monster. I'm scared of being who I am.” A bead of sweat glistened above her mouth. “But I won't let you kill him.”

“Don't say that, Mia.”

“Bring him to justice. He'll pay for it in prison.”

“That would be rewarding him.”

“I don't want you to become a monster in turn because of him.”

“That's what I'm sentenced to as long as your father is alive.”

Mia turned over in the bed, overcome by the heat.

“But you're not a killer, Theo.”

“Mia, you know I'm the only one who can make him pay.”

“Don't you understand? Death would be a release for him!”

“You're saying that because you love him.”

“Of course I'm saying it because I love him.” She turned and looked at Theo with frantic eyes. “But I'm also saying it because I hate him. I hate him because of what he did to you and your family. I hate him because of what he did to my mother. And because of what he did to me: for keeping me for
himself, for calling me ‘Mia.' Mine. His thing. A reward for his depravity.” She moved back to get a better look at Theo. “But yes, also because I love him.”

“You have to choose, Mia.”

“I know what I don't want to be.”

A cell phone on the floor buzzed insistently. Theo didn't even bother turning it off.

“I don't want to be like him, Theo, I don't want blood on my hands. I'd rather die in his place. Avenge your brother's death by killing me. I'm the most precious thing he has.”

“You're crazy.”

“You're the crazy one. What kind of life would we lead if you killed my father? Could you go on, knowing that I could only hate you?”

“I prefer your hatred to your death.”

“Theo, the two go together. Love alone can give life.”

Tenderly, he brushed back the strands of hair sticking to Mia's face. He looked at her in contemplation.

“I'd rather die than live without you, Mia.”

—

The sailboats rocked gently on the mirrorlike surface of the water, a forest of masts reaching skyward. Mia and Theo were sitting at one of the round tables outside, overlooking the marina. Inside the restaurant, waiters wearing frock coats and white gloves swarmed around the customers, holding their trays aloft without looking at one another.

The chiffon of her ecru dress rippled in the breeze like a second skin. Mia gathered up her hair and twisted it into a bun, securing it with a pencil. She slipped off her high-heeled sandals and irreverently wriggled her bare toes on the wooden slats. The maître d' pretended not to notice and served them crystal-clear water in glasses filled with clinking ice cubes. The man took a step back. Waiting for Mia to deign to notice him. She turned confidently to Theo.

“What shall we order, darling?”

Theo answered hurriedly, hoping to be left alone, but the waiter returned almost immediately to pour the champagne with a flourish. Theo watched him, smiling. He wouldn't have changed a single thing. As soon as the waiter left, he kissed Mia's hand. She gave him an amused look.

“Well?”

“Well, Julia's leaving me.”

“Julia's leaving you! What do you mean?”

“She knows about you.”

Mia traced a design on the tablecloth with her fingers. “How did she possibly find out?”

“I think she ran into Ben and his wife.”

“But what could they have told her?”

“They asked her to dinner and mentioned they would invite you too.”