The Ministry of Special Cases (12 page)

“Then be serious with each other.” Pato grabbed his jacket. “Keep the books and the door and your bloody noses and have a second honeymoon. It’ll be great—I know how you two so enjoy time alone.”

Pato stormed off, slamming that heavy door as best he could. With the dead bolt in the door handle, he didn’t even manage to lock himself out.

It was a happy home for Rafa’s mother with so many kids sleeping there. She made a big production of pulling out the trundles and making up the extra beds. The one next to her father for Pato, and the one next to Mufi for Flavia. The kids all came out of the bedroom laughing.

“What?” she said. “What?”

“We’re not sleeping like that,” Rafa said. “You can slide the trundles away.”

“That’s how we’ve always done it.”

“Poppy is eighty-two. He announces his presence in a way that makes it unpleasant to share the bed.”

“He’s your grandfather!” she said. “Respect.”

“I respect him, as do my friends,” Rafa said. “And here I pay homage to his pungency. Pato will get the top bunk.”

“That mattress is shot. There’s a hole right through it.”

“Good, then he’ll have somewhere to stick his nose.”

“And what’s wrong with your sister?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her,” Rafa said. “It’s just that my penis won’t reach Flavia from across the room.”

“Disgusting,” Rafa’s mother said. “Save such jokes for your friends.”

“It’s a valid logistical concern.”

“Since when is Flavia your girlfriend?” his mother said. Again she’d fallen out of the loop. “We didn’t discuss letting girlfriends share a room. It’s one thing, a lady that is your friend. A girlfriend is another.” She gave Flavia a disappointed look.

“She isn’t my girlfriend. That’s the wonder of my generation. We’ve dispensed with such formalities.”

They waited out Rafa’s grandfather, which wasn’t difficult since he was always asleep by seven. Mufi was another matter. She wasn’t much of a pain for a twelve-year-old, but they knew she’d stay up until the last one of them had gone to bed. They simply waited until she pretended she was asleep, forcing her to balance the thrill of eavesdropping with what had to be an exhausting performance. It looked like she was playing dead.

Flavia and Rafa were squished into the bottom bunk and Pato was above them on the thin foam mattress, which indeed had a tear all the way through.

“I might be better off with your grandfather,” Pato said, at which point, as if on cue, Rafa’s grandfather rattled the bed with a fart that put
an end to the proposal. They laughed hard and stopped suddenly, trying to catch Mufi making a noise.

“She’s good,” Pato said. And they gave her another minute to break. “I wish you guys could see my parents. It’s like letting someone hit you in the face with a shovel.”

“Who cares what they do to themselves?” Flavia said. “You have a nice room at home, you should sleep in it.”

“I’m not here because of the nose jobs,” Pato said. He tried to prop himself up and banged his head on the ceiling. “It’s because of the books.”

“I got rid of mine,” Rafa said.

“If you’d read any of them you might have felt more attached. And you have a little sister,” Pato said. “There is a child in this house to protect.” They paused again. Mufi rolled over and let out a little snore.

“What’s the difference? I’ll replace them when this is over.”

Flavia took Rafa’s side. “A little perspective wouldn’t kill you, Pato, when so many other things might.”

“To fuck him is one thing,” Pato said. “To agree with him is another. It’s actually hard to believe.”

“I’m keeping my books,” Flavia said. “But, in an alternate universe where my parents were remotely communicative, I wouldn’t get into a battle with them over it. I don’t want to sound like your mother, but if I could sleep in my own bed in my own house, I would.”

“So go home,” Pato said.

“I don’t think that’s an option anymore,” Flavia said. “I went to therapy this morning and my shrink wasn’t there.”

“Gone—not there?” Pato said. “How do you not say that until now?”

“She told me,” Rafa said.

“Rafa’s mother doesn’t have to know every last thing,” Flavia said. “She got enough news about my life today.”

Pato was jealous that Rafa knew before him. And feeling jealous when they were talking about a kidnapping made him feel petty and small. He also resented the sex his friends were having, and this made him feel smaller still.

“I waited around for the whole fifty-minute hour,” Flavia said. “For most of it the shrink in the other room is giving me the evil eye—and
he’s the one that must have buzzed me up. There wasn’t anybody else there. It’s when I’m leaving that the guy gets off his fat ass. ‘Friday’ he says. ‘They took her right out the front with a canvas sack over her head.’ I said to him, ‘Who took her?’ And he looks at me like I’m an idiot, like I’m too greedy to be satisfied with what’s been given. ‘Who took what?’ he said, all formal. ‘This isn’t a bus stop. If you’ve got no business here, go loiter somewhere else.’ Then he went back into the other room and slammed the door.”

“Two people in two weeks,” Rafa said. “You’re like lady luck.”

“Fuck off,” she said.

“So you’re never going to go home?” Pato couldn’t imagine it, though he’d claimed to be doing just that.

“They’ve got the patient lists. They can’t not have them. I might as well be a member of the ERP.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me before.”

“It’s because his mother is crazy,” Flavia said.

“It’s because my mother is crazy.” Rafa seconded the thought. “She’ll go nuts. She’ll think we’re all headed for the firing squad.”

“What about classes?”

“I’ll keep going for now, I guess. I’ll see how it feels. Otherwise I’ll hide out here for a while unless Mufi tells.”

“Yes,” Rafa said. “Unless my sister tells.”

“I won’t,” Mufi said.

“All right then,” Rafa said.

They all proceeded to feign sleep. Rafa and Flavia believed the others really were so that they could effect a privacy they, in reality, rarely managed. Mufi stayed awake, banking on more secrets. And Pato lay up on his thin foam mattress, listening to the sounds of struggle and the positioning and repositioning below him. He decided to spend another night or two at Rafa’s to spite his parents and to prove he wasn’t sure what to Flavia. He’d take at least another night before going home. Pato considered all these things as the wood began to creak and his bed began to sway. He closed his eyes and drifted off. Pato’s friends kept up their slow rhythm below, rocking him to sleep.

CACHO CALLED OUT FOR THE ELEVATOR
to wait and Lillian held the gate for him. She was wearing sunglasses that sat high up on her bandage. She took them off, revealing black eyes.

Cacho winced when he saw her and, recovering his composure, said, “It looks to be a bright morning, but the paper says rain.”

“Since when are newspapers interested in the truth?”

Cacho tried to agree enthusiastically but nothing coherent came out. His overcoat was thrown over one arm; he switched it to the other. There was an envelope in the uncovered hand.

“You look very smart in that suit, Cacho,” Lillian said. She gave it a tug, straightening his lapel. “It makes you look tall.”

“I got a summons.” He showed her the envelope. “I think I’m headed your way.”

“Routine, I hope,” she said.

“There’s nothing routine about it,” Cacho said, and his voice cracked. “It’s because of my trip to Punta del Este. Now they’ve called me down to the Ministry of Special Cases. I already registered my return—there’s no call for it.”

“Maybe they think it’s a bit late for the beach.”

“My brother’s business is there and he stays year round. It’s his business.
It’s travel related. I really don’t know what he does. And I can’t stand missing work.”

“Calm down, Cacho. You’re a model citizen.”

“I can’t calm down. These things terrify me. That’s what makes me a model citizen: I’m too afraid to do anything wrong.”

“I never thought about it like that.”

“That place was bad enough before the coup. Since then, it’s the ministry of last resort. It’s a bureaucratic dumping ground, a loony bin for those with no redress.”

“We all hear the talk, Cacho. But it’s likely only that.”

“Have you heard about the
chupadas
, then? Families are sucked up into a vacuum, never to return. I’ve been told they go into that ministry and never come out.”

“That’s not very logical, Cacho. Every ministry deals with big business and small. It’s a nothing reason you’ve been called in for. And I promise, you’ll come right back out.”

“You promise?”

“I do.”

“It’s a matter for the judicial system, if anything. I should’ve been summoned to the police or to court. It makes no sense to start me there. I know they want us to be afraid. But why bother me? I was afraid already.”

They walked Avenida de Mayo together, toward the plaza and the Pink House, the ministries and Lillian’s work. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud anywhere in the sky. Lillian switched the subject back to the weather, then their jobs, and Cacho asked about Pato.

“I haven’t seen him lately,” Cacho said, “He must be studying hard.”

“He was staying with a friend for a few days, is all. I assume you hear both my men screaming now and again. The apartment gets small as my son gets big. I hope last week wasn’t too loud.”

“I go to sleep very early.”

“That’s good,” Lillian said. “Only they don’t always fight at night.”

“I’m only guessing for not hearing,” Cacho said.

“Maybe it’s the new door.” It was then Lillian remembered to look: a nearby wall, the tree at her side. They were whitewashed.

Police sirens hit them and the two froze in place. A cruiser raced in their direction and behind it ran a soldier on foot. The police car passed, and then the soldier, without even a look their way. Lillian and Cacho hadn’t moved, except that her hand was in her purse and Cacho’s pressed against his pocket, holding his wallet from the outside. They were reaching for their ID cards, a reflex like blinking after a boom.

“I should hurry,” Cacho said, motioning toward the ministry. “Thanks for the support,” he said and turned.

“Cacho,” Lillian said. Lillian pulled her sunglasses out of her bag, as if that’s what she was after when she reached. “It’s not only Pato,” she said. “You haven’t seen me in some days either.” Lillian did her best to grin. “I’ve had some cosmetic surgery.”

“Oh,” Cacho said. Then he said it again, more loudly. “Your face,” he said. “I see,” he said. “Now that you mention it, I can see you’ve had something done.”

Standing at the kitchen sink, Kaddish tore off his bandage in a single pull. He dropped it in the pail underneath and, while prone, pulled the plugs of gauze, absolutely foul, from his nostrils. He washed his face with dishwashing liquid, much to Lillian and Pato’s dismay. Using a dish towel, he wiped it harder than one would think sound and turned toward them—letting the towel drop.

His drink he’d already prepared. Smiling wide, he toasted the air, took a sip, and said, “What do you think?”

“Oh my God,” Lillian said.

“Still swollen,” Pato said.

“You look gorgeous,” Lillian said. “I mean really, really handsome.”

“You look like everyone else,” Pato said. “A stranger to me.”

Kaddish’s smile only widened.

“Gorgeous?” he said.

“You really do.” Lillian put on her reading glasses, perching them on the bandage she still wore. “A fabulous nose. Small but strong.” Her excitement for him was pure, and it blossomed as she touched the tape
on her cheek. “You look like Hugo del Carril. You’re a movie star!” She
tsk-tsked
him and shook her head. “How can you trust my opinion and not run to see?”

“Your reaction is enough of a mirror,” Kaddish said. He reached toward her face. “I’d rather see what you’re hiding.”

Lillian drew back. “At the doctor’s,” she said.

“It’s only a piece of tape.”

“It’s only tape,” Pato said.

Kaddish’s eyes were fluttering. He leaned against the counter and put two fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“Still can’t breathe,” he said. “I think maybe he sewed it shut.”

“Maybe there’s some seal you’re supposed to break,” Pato said. “Like a hymen in your nose.”

“The wit of a boy who makes love to the sheets.”

“A hot shower,” Lillian said, “and I’m sure it will clear up.”

“We’ll take one together,” Kaddish said. “You lose the bandage, I’ll lose the kid, and we’ll see what we can arrange.”

“The two of you with runny noses and black eyes. It’s the height of romance!”

“Boundaries,” Lillian said. “We’re still your parents.”

“Come, my parent,” Pato said. He led his mother back to her chair. “Let’s see if it’s cooked.”

Lillian lowered her glasses. She turned her chair out from the table, and said, “Maybe I should wait.”

“I’m not looking in that mirror alone,” Kaddish said.

Lillian studied his fine new face, striking even with the swelling. “So handsome,” she said. “All right,” she said. She straightened up, tilted her head back, and put her hands on her knees.

“Ready?” Pato said.

“Ready,” she said, smiling. “Peel it slowly. One fell swoop and I’m afraid the nose will come off too. It’s a lady’s nose, remember. More delicate than the one on your father’s face.” She bit her lip even before Pato started. Partly for the pain and partly to keep down the smile until it was done.

Pato worked the tape free. He peeled the gauze pad down from the top. It was sticky and had fused in the middle, so he warned her, “Deep breath,” and yanked it off the rest of the way.

“Oh my God,” Pato said, stepping back.

Lillian smiled wide. “Gorgeous?” she said.

“Oh my God,” Kaddish said.

“Stunning?” Lillian said.

“Give it a minute,” Pato said.

“A minute?”

“Absorbing,” Pato said.

“Roman,” Kaddish said.

“Romanesque is nice,” she said. “Like Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra.” Lillian had seen
Cleopatra
at the Premier on Corrientes. She touched her nose gingerly, feeling its shape. Kaddish held the bridge of his own. He put down his drink. He wasn’t getting enough air.