Miranda Read online

Page 10


  “What do you mean, what does a poor person, have? Normally, the poor have nothing.”

  “You are wrong, Wise. There’s a saying: the poor live off hope.”

  I crossed my arms.

  “Well, then let’s say that a poor person has hope.”

  He moved forward, not towards the front seat but towards me, with that peculiar smile on his lips, suddenly very interested in talking to me.

  “If all a poor person has is hope, since that is merely an abstraction, at the end of the day, he has nothing.” He paused, moved forward, took a cup from the cup holder, and drank the liquid someone had poured. That ordinary action gave him an air of vulnerability to me. “A poor person just has luck, or the bad luck in this case, of being alive. Life is the only thing that can be taken away from him. On the other hand, a rich person has everything. If his bitch of a life is taken from him, well it’s taken and that’s that. Another rich person is born.” He looked me in the eyes, and although that word “bitch” was echoing in my mind, he didn’t seem to be ashamed of having unnecessarily used profanity. “The rich are punished differently,” he concluded.

  He had to be joking. And yet, there was something in his words that made some sense.

  “What do you think, Wise?”

  “That either way, you shouldn’t express yourself that way.”

  “And of my theory?”

  I sighed.

  “I’ll admit that it was the other side of the coin that I had not seen before.” Internally, I was battling myself: How can you lend merit to such drivel?

  “Do you realize that, Wise? Little by little, we are coming to understand each other.” He smiled again his victorious smile.

  I laughed. It would be impossible for us to come to understand each other.

  “According to your theory, Clausell, how are the rich punished more painfully?”

  He was pensive before responding, lost in the blackness of the leather of the seat in front of him.

  “The rich are thrown into the toilet but we aren’t flushed. We are left wallowing in….”

  “Scheiße?” I completed the sentence.

  His eyes gave a sudden leap, an act that made me realize how much I had surprised him.

  “That’s right, Wise, in Scheiße1. That’s where we stay. Now tell me, who does God treat better?”

  I did not say anything more. I remained unmoved in the perdition of his gaze until he looked uncomfortable and remembered his high-tech tools. He went from the iPhone to the iPad nonstop, without looking at me again.

  To my surprise, that same night, he invited me to dinner. It was not a formal invitation, of course, but a necessary one to review some very important bidding documents for El Salvador.

  We went to the Italian restaurant inside the hotel. He ordered an Angus steak with a salad. I chose a plate of carbs, which would help me control my anxiety of being so close to that despicable being for so long.

  “Do you agree with what we reviewed?” I asked because I needed his backing to finalize the offer.

  “What makes you think you’ll get that business?”

  How I hated when he answered me with questions!

  “We have worked for years on this...” Eliezer interrupted me.

  “That doesn’t guarantee anything, Wise.”

  “We developed the proper relationships and delivered the proper message at precisely the right moment,” I defended myself while chewing on a piece of bread.

  “How would you feel if you were to win those eighty million?”

  I looked at him perplexed. And since when does he care what I feel? I studied his eyes, analyzed his gestures. Let’s see who lowers his guard this time. He did.

  “What’s wrong, Wise?” he asked tactlessly. Although, in any case, it would be difficult for him to even attempt to sound subtle. His voice was too harsh and abrasive.

  “What’s up with you, Clausell?” The wine was beginning to liberate me with words.

  “What’s up with me with what?” He took a piece of steak to his mouth. The steak would release juices on the plate every time he cut into it. That simple gesture of taking food to his mouth repeated itself in my mind over and over again. Who knows why?

  “Do you always answer with questions or only when you feel threatened?”

  Of course, he launched another question.

  “Have you been told that you are quite irritating, annoying and inopportune, wise-ass?”

  “No, this is the first time.” I paused. “Nobody has had the ability to irritate me, or of making me annoying, let alone inopportune or a wise-ass.”

  I directed my attention to the pasta. God! How delicious! And then...

  “Oh! What was that?”

  I dropped the fork on the plate and the people at the surrounding tables turned when they heard the irritating sound. I didn’t care. My finger was pointing at his face. He frowned and inspected his torso as if trying to understand what I was referring to, why I had been so surprised.

  “What?” He moved in a strange way… like was putting himself on guard.

  “Was that a smile for a joke of mine, perhaps?”

  Yes, that was a smile for me, not against me, and it had just made another appearance. He relaxed his posture. The way his eyes lit up as his face began to show conflicting expressions made me uncomfortable. Why do I celebrate Eliezer’s smiles? I knew it wasn’t proper, but even so, I remarked: “The stingy and insensitive grump has genuine smiles, and he shares them!”

  Eliezer took a sip of wine.

  “Wise, did you just call me stingy?”

  “And grumpy and insensitive.”

  He smiled again and that smile was indecipherable.

  “You better have your credit card with you, Wise.”

  It was with that comment that the long awaited moment had finally arrived when we both lowered our guns.

  Gladly, I would pay for a lifetime, if only you never erased that beautiful smile on your face, if only I would never had to go back to those early days when our meetings were clashes.

  The metering needle of the incessant tension between us had been lowered. I paid, yes, but he ordered another bottle of wine, which cost five hundred dollars. At least he would be the one to approve that expense report.

  Security was a very serious subject for Eliezer, although I felt very confident in Panama. Against Eliezer’s wishes, I rented a car and I drove to the meetings that were left. I don’t know what he was complaining about if he had arrived safely to all his destinations. What kind of life did he lead in Europe?

  The scheduled meetings included the Minister of Health, the directors of Social Security, and my great friend Dr. Luis Bartolome, whom I had met thanks to my job at Medika, and who, in contrast with other people of influence, had earned my respect and admiration from the beginning.

  Curing and helping others was his vocation as well as what flowed through his veins. Passion for medicine was his mission. As one of the best emergency physicians in his country, he dedicated his services to the public sector. A few years ago, he presented a social project to me to take medical services to the needy communities at the far reaches of the city. I remember that when he spoke to me of the proposal, I thought he was joking. It involved establishing a primary care site in a remote town with no roads where the death rate was very high because it was impossible to cross the river to get to a hospital. I still could not understand how situations like that could exist in the twenty-first century. Without thinking twice, I joined with him on that project. I focused my goals on his. Over time, our friendship so blossomed, that on several occasions, during the carnival season, I spent the night with him and his family on a ranch just outside the city.

  The visit to Panama also had another purpose: attending the carnival. In Latin America, those carnivals are just tributes to the saints they honor. Lasting up to five days, they paralyze the countries. People from all social classes participate, they mix, becoming one and indistinguishable. That ye
ar, besides the promises I had made to my friend during previous months, I had to attend because he had also promised to introduce me to a medical colleague who, according to him, was a perfect match for me. I had accepted the invitation: not because of the prospect, but because of my friend and his wonderful family with whom I always felt at home, like I did with Norman.

  “Will you arrive in town or do you need a ride?” asked Luis who was in the back seat.

  Eliezer, unaware of my plans and ignorant of the reason for Luis’s questions, looked at me from the corner of his eye and raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll drive to town,” I answered. I looked at Eliezer, who raised his eyebrows even more. “Tonight the carnival begins–the big event.” When I looked at him, he smiled a smile of disapproval and annoyance.

  “Would you honor us with your presence, Mr. Clausell?” It seemed that, in addition to extending a cordial invitation, Luis wanted to ruin my plans.

  “Thank you, but we have a flight to take.”

  The use of the plural indicated that Eliezer had the nerve of deciding and speaking for me.

  “I’m going,” I said, looking in the rearview mirror while correcting him. I resumed looking at Eliezer. “Later I’ll return on a commercial flight… that is if my boss approves a couple of vacation days for me.”

  “We’ll see,” he whispered with a sarcastic smile. He knew that I intended to expose him.

  “Perfect, Miranda! So then I’ll wait for you. I don’t think Mr. Clausell will want you to miss the carnival. It’s not held every day, nor in every country.”

  He had no other choice than to be polite. Perhaps that’s why he gave us the most sarcastic and phony smile that I’ve ever seen in my life. Once Luis was out of the car, I could feel in the atmosphere that peculiar cumulative weight of the words that had been spoken. Were it not for the nerve I had to look him in the eye while waiting for the light to change, he would not have dared to speak.

  “So you’re going to stay for the carnival,” he said as he looked through the window at the cars going in the opposite direction.

  “Exactly!” I was loud, but my enthusiasm was unintentional.

  “Don’t you think you could have mentioned it earlier?”

  “I did. Didn’t Margaret put it in your agenda? Oh, that’s because it was my agenda, not yours. It was the last item and it was not directly related to Medika,” I lied and he gave me a look of disdain. “Clausell, my plans don’t affect your agenda.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Wise,” he admitted.

  I thought who understands him? Then this came out of my mouth: “They invited you too,” I hesitated briefly. Again, my mouth betrayed me. “Have you ever been to a carnival?”

  “I’ve not had the need,” and that must have been the truth, because he did not sound interested.

  “Why don’t you come?”

  There was dead silence. My sixth sense made me realize that we both asked the same question. What are you doing, Miranda Wise? Eliezer lifted himself a bit from the seat. He fixed his pants and put the cell phone in his pocket. I looked at him.

  “That’s not in my plans. I will return today. The jet is ready.”

  It made me uncomfortable that he did not thank me for the courtesy. I’m not someone who extends invitations casually, much less to disturbed bosses who may have been ogres in another life.

  “Well, then have a good trip,” I mumbled.

  “No doubt,” he replied with that peculiar smile on his lips.

  The conversation ended. I said it in my head: You’re such an idiot, Eliezer...

  ***

  Three hours later, the elevator door opened and there he was, wearing dark blue jeans and a light blue polo shirt. I left the elevator and, having no other choice, I greeted him with a small gesture, but I didn’t stop.

  Within seconds, I realized he was walking next to me as if he were escorting me.

  “What? Do you need a ride to the airport?”

  “No,” he paused, dusted something off his leg, “I’m not leaving.”

  I began to believe that I would never understand a human being by the name of Eliezer Clausell.

  “Well, where are you going?” I finished asking following a sigh of discomfort.

  “To the carnival, where else? Or did the invitation have an expiration date?”

  I turned and looked at him with mouth agape. To the carnival? Today? Tonight? Why? Why are you determined to make my life impossible? Do you really want to play this hate game all night? I could not imagine Eliezer among the crowds of people that would surely become unbearable with the music and alcohol.

  “Are you sure you want to come?” He stopped walking and so did I. “I must warn you that there will be lots and lots of people. You’ll feel hot and suffocated. Your body will rub against other sweaty bodies that may not smell very good, and the smell of alcohol will be nauseating, and you may in fact run the risk of a brawl taking place.

  Eliezer tried smiling. I don’t know if he was being sarcastic or merely surprised by my description.

  “What makes you think I won’t be able to withstand a carnival jam-packed with smelly, sweaty, drunk people?”

  He used his usual defiant tone. I had to disarm him before he tried to insult me.

  “Relax, Eliezer. I’ve never underestimated you,” I smiled.

  “Well, then, don’t waste more time and let’s go.”

  I complied reluctantly.

  ***

  The trip seemed longer than I remembered. Maybe Eliezer’s company had something to do with it. We couldn’t figure out what to talk about. Regardless of the subject I chose to talk about, he paid no attention or wouldn’t respond to any of my questions, until I asked the question he did want to hear.

  “Why did you decide to come?”

  He bit the inside of his cheek–the face he would make when he was about to lose composure, or when my words bothered him.

  “Are you going to persist with this subject?” His eyes remained fixed on the road.

  “I’m sorry, Clausell, but you just don’t seem to be the kind of person that attend this type of event.”

  He scowled.

  “Let’s see, Wise. What answer do you want me to give you to satisfy your curiosity so you can focus on the road again? A week ago someone told me that, before making decisions, I should get to know and live Medika’s state of affairs, because any decision would affect the company.” He made one of his strange pauses. “Here you have me, Wise, living the entire experience.” He opened his eyes widely to emphasize the last word. “Am I excited about being in a loud celebration of strangers in a foreign country? No, I don’t like the idea. Nevertheless, I’m here. Can we end this conversation? Can you drive focused on the street and not on my decision-making?”

  The ability I had to unhinge him became tempting. It was clear that he was doing it just to prove a point, so that at the next meeting, I couldn’t argue against any of his decisions regarding my department. Why else would he be here with me?

  The blood had stained the back of Eliezer’s baby blue shirt near the left shoulder.

  “Take it off so I can see how deep the wound is.”

  “That’s not necessary, Wise. I’m taking a shower.” He got up and before I had a chance to respond, he was in the bathroom.

  I went to the kitchen. Perhaps my homemade ointments and medicines for these types of accidents had survived the passage of time in the cabinets.

  Following the brawl started by two men next to us, the celebrations had stopped and Eliezer ended up with a laceration caused by a broken bottle that was hurled by one of the angry men. The streets were inundated with people. There was no room to move. Coming back to the city was not an option. Luis offered us his home, but Eliezer declined the offer. That’s how I decided to go to my favorite spot in Panama, a place far away from the hustle and bustle, a cabin in the mountains: my cabin.

  In the beginning, it had two bedrooms but I had
asked for the wall that divided them to be taken down and turned the space into one huge bedroom. The living room area and the kitchen were charming, decorated with huge wooden beams that gave them a rustic touch. The balcony was my favorite. I could spend hours… days there in complete solitude enjoying the green countryside and the way the sun would caress the trees when it wasn’t raining. It was my refuge and my only private space. Only two people knew of this place: Norman and Luis. Add one more to the list: Eliezer Clausell, my favorite person in the whole world.

  I found the alcohol, triple antibiotic and gauze. When I returned to the room, the bathroom door was still closed. I heard the shower was still on. I waited at the edge of the bed. He’s been in there a long time. What if something happened to him? What if he bled to death?

  I jumped towards the door. I knocked.

  “Eliezer.” He didn’t respond. I knocked again. “Eliezer!”

  Just when I began to turn the doorknob, I was yanked inside as the door suddenly swung open. I exited as fast as I had entered.

  “What’s going on?” The shower had not helped quell his bad mood.

  “I wanted to know if you were alright. You had been in there a long time and....” As I tried to explain, I got more confused. What are you trying to prove, Miranda? Forget it.

  “You’re not that lucky, Wise. I’m still alive,” he said with a sarcastic smile on his lips. I ignored that.

  “The shower is still on, Clausell,” I said.

  His smile vanished. He moved away and he shut it off.

  The muscle on his forearm moved when he did that.

  “Take these,” he said as he threw his jeans, which I was able to catch in the air. Then I realized that his torso was uncovered and the towel only covered his privates. “The least you can do is wash my pants.”

  “What did you say?” I paused and thought: He’s got to be taught some manners. “Oh! You meant to ask me to please wash your pants. That’s what you meant to say, right?”

  I waited for the response of abrupt, unfiltered words–the kind only he can use. The answer never came. It never came because I read in his eyes how uncomfortable he was in my presence. I placed the jeans on the chair next to the wardrobe, and I remembered that somewhere I had seen a pair of pants that he may be able to use.