Miranda Read online

  Eliezer didn’t expect for me to respond that way. The half smile that accompanied his greeting had dissipated. He sat in the chair in front of mine.

  “I heard that you were indisposed yesterday evening. Too much coffee?” he asked, pointing at my cup. “I see that you don’t learn quickly.”

  “Nothing important,” I answered, trying to veer off the direction in which he wanted to take me.

  “For having left the office without answering calls, it must have been something important.” He resisted leaving the topic.

  I exhaled. I had no other weapons to use against him.

  “In fact, yes. It was something important, for me.” I put a period on the conversation, making it clear that I didn’t have the slightest intention to give him explanations. “May I begin the presentation?”

  “You have all of my attention,” he looked at his watch, “for now.”

  I began giving him the background on the international market, and the roles that I had assumed at Medika. For some ten minutes, he listened without interrupting. Notwithstanding, he didn’t seem impressed. Rather, he analyzed my words, like a predator that stalks its prey, committing every movement to memory, and waiting for the slightest sign of weakness to attack.

  “How long have you known Norman?” he asked unexpectedly, taking me by surprise. I stuttered and I couldn’t regain my train of thought. Surely it was a trick so that I would lose my concentration and make a misstep. I responded as well as I could.

  “It has been twenty-two or twenty-three years.” I looked at his eyes, and I was quickly confused. It seemed like I was looking at Norman and not at his son. Eliezer didn’t take his eyes off of me. Neither of us would succumb to the other’s mercy. Someone had to give in. I did.

  “Did you have any questions related to what I’ve presented to you up to now?”

  “Yes. I have several. Let’s see, where shall I start?” He scratched his jaw in a pensive and calculating gesture. “Why do we invest more in the international market than we do in the domestic market if the domestic market is more profitable?”

  It surprised me that I considered his question to be a valid one.

  “Because we work on projects that, from a long term perspective, bring sustainability to other countries and the firm.”

  “And why should I be betting my money on that strategy, since, beyond any doubt, the domestic market still has a lot of room for growth, is less complex, and is more profitable for me?” His eyes returned to being fixed on mine without any sign of retreat.

  “Because we have social commitments to less developed countries.”

  “Social commitments don’t generate profits for me.” The green of his eyes intensified just like Norman’s would when we would argue.

  “Social commitments define who we are.”

  “And who are we, Wise?”

  The conversation took a personal turn. I must have seen it coming. One more time he succeeded in taking me off topic.

  “Answer me, Wise! What in the devil are you?”

  Should I answer? Why do I allow him to address me in such a rude manner?

  “I am Miranda Wise, director of the international division. If that’s not enough for you, go ask the first person who crosses your path. Certainly, anyone could tell you who I am. Who are you Eliezer?”

  He bit the inside of his cheeks. The retort unsettled him.

  “I am asking the questions.”

  A knot squeezed my throat. A void formed in my stomach. My breathing became labored. I didn’t know how to respond. I couldn’t show him any weakness because he would annihilate me.

  “So, Eliezer, tell me who I am.” I put the ball in his court without knowing that it wasn’t the best move.

  “Do you really want me to tell you who you are? Do you really have the balls to hear what I think you are?”

  I didn’t lower my guard, but the damning violence in his words stunned me. He interpreted my silence as a ‘yes.’

  “You are no more than Norman’s slut.”

  “What?!”

  “You are Norman’s stupid slut that he picked up and has used this whole time to serve his self imposed sentence.”

  The knot in my throat got tighter each time. The insults came without remorse. My eyes watered. What sentence?

  It was time to put Eliezer in his place.

  “I see that they have told you a lot about me. I confess that it flattered me. It made me feel important. Even so, no one has ever told me about you. Do you really think that I care about what you think of me? Yes, if it makes you happy to think that I am your father’s whore, go ahead and think that I’m your father’s whore. It doesn’t matter much to me.” I breathed as little as I could. The air felt hot in my mouth. “You think that I don’t feel like slapping you so hard right now that it would make your head spin? Do you think I have any reason to tolerate your insults? You’re mistaken, Eliezer Clausell, I am not going to play your stupid game.”

  He let loose a brief cackle that was dark and cold.

  “If you’re here, Miranda Wise, you have to play; otherwise, you go. Only, in this game, there are some rules… mine.” He got up out of his chair and closed in on me. “Hear me, slut. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here. I would have fired you even before stepping into this office.”

  He stopped a few inches from my face. I felt the heat that his body radiated and the anger and rage that possessed him. I lifted my head up to continue looking at him in the eye and seeing how the green of his irises seemed to darken with every word that he seemed to spit at me.

  “And if you’re such a ringmaster, why don’t you fire me?”

  He wiped his forehead with his hands.

  “You must be very good at what you must do to Norman. You know? The old man gave me the liberty to do what I want with the company, except for one thing: to get rid of you. That’s the one rule that I cannot control… for the moment.”

  He thought so, but he didn’t intimidate me.

  “Your vulgarities don’t insult me, Eliezer. It’s evident that you really don’t know anything about me. If stay here listening to you speak your strings of idiocies, it would only be for one reason: your father. So we can do this in one of two ways: my way, or yours. My way is civilized and respectful, without taking the low road; or your way, the way of the troglodyte: arrogant and pretentious. If want to, I can be a real bitch. Believe me, it wouldn’t take much effort, but that would make me the same as you. And if there is one thing I could be sure of after the few hours that I’ve known you, it’s that I’m not at all like you. The only thing we have in common is your father, or on second thought, not even that. I forget that I indeed have had the privilege of being close to him the last twenty-something years, because I respect, admire, and appreciate him.” I paused. “And you, what do you have in common with your father? What do you feel for him?”

  I told several lies. I could never be like him. Some of the words that I externalized hurt me down in my soul. His eyes continued to be fixed on mine, but it wasn’t me they were observing. They had been lost in an internal trip.

  The sound of the cell phone brought him back to life. He took it out of his pants pocket and looked at the screen. He definitely used it as an excuse.

  Coward, I was tempted to call him, but I didn’t.

  “This conversation isn’t over, Wise.” He looked me over–he didn’t do it like a predator, but the way a warrior looks at an enemy when challenging them. I don’t know if that fleeting sign made me feel good or bad.

  “With pleasure, we’ll pick up exactly where we left off, Eliezer.”

  As soon as he left the room, my legs collapsed and I fell seated in my chair. What the hell just happened? How did we get to this? Should I tell Norman or try to manage the situation. The last thing Norman needed was problems, but who else would open his eyes and admit to him what his imbecile of a son was doing?

  ***

  A half hour later, Eliezer’s insults continue
d grinding away in my mind. With Norman’s paintings on the four walls around me, I felt immersed in each one of the sentiments that they expressed, drowning in that sea of torments. I, who was molded to tolerate anything in the business world, quickly felt… different. That protective layer that allowed me to not take things personally had weakened in a matter of less than five minutes. Eliezer really thought that I was his father’s lover. He had treated me worse than if I had been, and that, that was personal, and it hurt.

  My heart jumped in my chest with the abrupt sound of the opening door. I had my head on my desk, buried in my arms.

  “What the hell are these paintings doing here.”

  Oh, not so fast… no. I lifted my head.

  “Decorating, Eliezer, that’s what they’re doing.” A better answer didn’t occur to me. “Why are you interrupting me like this in my office? Wherever you’re from, didn’t anyone teach you any manners?”

  I stood up, in my war stance.

  He ignored my answer, and continued shouting.

  “What are these paintings doing here? Margaret! Margaret!”

  I heard the sound of her heels against the floor. She showed up in the doorway. Her face was pale. She, who always showed color in her cheeks, had the face of a corpse.

  “Yes, Eliezer?”

  He spoke to her amiably and calmly, with a tone of harmony.

  “Margaret, excuse me for bothering you, but what are these paintings doing here?”

  I would not allow Margaret to take the blame for my instructions. I walked toward them and interrupted their conversation.

  “Margaret, you may go. I’ll take care of this.” I made a gesture for here to leave and close the door. We two enemies were left alone.

  Eliezer’s face was red with fury.

  I spoke in a pleasant tone. Someone had to make peace.

  “I ordered Margaret to hang the paintings.”

  “I want you to get them out of here!” He got too close, waving his hands in the air. I felt threatened.

  “Why?” I asked.

  He was so angry, he had trouble answering.

  “I want these damned paintings out of here.”

  I crossed my arms.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m giving an order!” he screamed. The imbecile screamed at me!

  “You know what those paintings mean to Norman?” Now I was the one who got close to him, invading his space and security.

  “I don’t care what those shitty paintings mean. I don’t want them here.” He started waving his arms again. I felt like at any moment, he would lose his reason and hit me. I tried to reach his humanity.

  “I’ve been witness to how Norman collected them. He treasures them. He has spent hours in front of these paintings, admiring them, and I’m not going to let you, on a whim, remove them from here. What about these paintings bother you so much?”

  He pushed me out of his way with his arm. He began to throw the paintings down to the floor. He took one in his hands and smashed the canvas.

  I couldn’t stand the pain. In the nick of time I got to the second painting before he could destroy it. I confronted him and grabbed the painting by the other end. We looked like two kids at war over a toy. When he felt my resistance, he froze. I felt like he suddenly regained his reason.

  His breathing settled down, the blood accumulated in his face dissipated, perhaps going back to his brain.

  My soul was in pieces. I didn’t care about showing him weakness. A tear rolled down my cheek.

  “Surely, there are people watching and listening. I’m asking you, please, let’s calm down.”

  He yielded. His hands let go of the painting. I let myself fall to the floor, straining to hold up the painting with my hands. Eliezer kept his eyes on me, waiting and wishing for me to burst into tears.

  Another tear got away from me. I spoke in a voice that was barely audible.

  “If the problem is that you don’t want the paintings at Medika, I’ll make sure that they won’t be here anymore.”

  I put down the rescued painting and took the torn one in my hands, fumbling with the canvas, as though I would be able to put it back together. I don’t know how much longer Eliezer stayed in my office. When I noticed that he moved away, I felt the tension of victory in the air that he left in his wake.

  When the door closed, I exploded. I burst into tears. I was short of breath and had a powerful pain in my chest. In seconds, the door opened again.

  “Miranda…” It was Margaret’s voice. “Are you ok?”

  “What do you think?”

  Margaret helped pick me up off the floor. That was no place for me, it never was, and never would be, despite the arrival of that cursed man.

  “What was all of that?”

  “I don’t know, but one of us has to go or we’ll end up killing each other.

  “Girl, don’t say things like that!”

  “That man is a disgusting human being–an animal! He’s the living antithesis of his father. He detests me!”

  “No, no. You have to give him time…”

  The forgiveness that Margaret externalized regarding him surprised me. I grimaced. Tears came forth.

  He said that I was Norman’s slut.

  “God! What are you saying? It can’t be!”

  She had to sit down to assimilate my words.

  “So, Margaret, what do I do? Should I give him more time to find another opportunity to insult me again… or worse? I just met this person yesterday, and today he calls me a whore. To top it off, he tells me that if it were up to him, he would have fired me before setting foot here.”

  Margaret didn’t lose her expression of incredulity and shock. She knew Eliezer, and by the sadness that could be seen in her eyes, I could be sure that I was describing a stranger to her. The seconds of silence allowed her to formulate a way to temporarily relieve the pain.

  “Why don’t you go on a trip for a few days? That way, with some distance, things will calm down, and you’ll give him space for him to reconsider, be himself, and to settle down.”

  “Now I am the one who must disappear?” I snapped.

  “Miranda…”

  Her tone was maternal and friendly. I tried to smile.

  “I’ll think over what I’ll do before running like prey.”

  ***

  During the evening, Eliezer and I crossed paths on various occasions. It was a struggle to make eye contact with him out of pure courtesy; he acted as though nothing had happened. He walked around sure of himself. He reminded me of a Komodo Dragon: so toxic… hoping to sink its fangs into its victims so that it can then watch and wait for death to come.

  ***

  Margaret would think that it was because I followed her advice, but no. That same evening I had to confirm a flight to Panama for the next morning. I had to sign a contract with the government in person.

  In Panama, Norman called me. He asked me to visit him as soon as I returned. Upon disconnecting, I had stupid thoughts: What news would he give me now? Who else would he be tempted to install at the firm? His wife, my new personal assistant?

  I laughed.

  Eliezer

  “That slut has balls. We’ll see who has the bigger ones.”

  Visiting Norman at the rehabilitation center didn’t fill me with as much sadness as when visiting him at the hospital. The center had a positively charged atmosphere. Those who went there had survived some accident that had taken them to death’s door. Many needed therapy to regain function in some part of the body. In contrast to the hospital, it was a private institution. The surroundings were well cared for, the spaces appeared very organized, and the aesthetics, in general, were adequate. The design of the rooms provided maximum privacy for patients and their guests. It was so comfortable that each room even had a small living room.

  The door to Norman’s room was ajar when I arrived. I found him seated in a wheelchair that matched the set of furniture that decorated the small living room. His fac
e showed improvement. He still couldn’t walk, which is why he would stay seated most of the day. The intensive daily therapy promised that, little by little, he would recover his mobility.

  Norman rewarded me with a smile when seeing me. That smile to which I was accustomed, even with its seductive contours, was the closest I had to the smile of a father. Even though I respected him just like any daughter would respect and love her father, I admit that, on occasions, it was difficult for me to erase how attractive he really was from my mind. In fact, even though there were no blood ties between us, I had spent the last few years fighting with that box where I kept those luxurious and nearly incestuous thoughts.

  Reaching out toward me, he ordered me to come closer. We lost ourselves in an embrace. I sighed profoundly and involuntarily.

  “What’s that about?” His look puzzled me.

  “What?”

  I accommodated myself in the love seat adjacent to his wheelchair.

  “Your sigh… it almost alleviated the weight that I carried.” Norman knew me very well.

  “Do you think that everyone else has been out shopping while you enjoy a well deserved but forced vacation?” In my thoughts, I added: Maybe it would be better for us to change the topic of conversation or I’ll tell you that your son is the most malicious psychopath in history and that he’s unhinging my life.

  “Someone must sacrifice themselves and work.”

  A smile that was more plastic than Tupperware masked his curiosity. He didn’t buy the story, but for all purposes, he dropped his guard.

  “I see that your recovery continues progressing. I’m very happy about that… seriously, very happy.”

  He again gave me that smile.

  “I know, Miranda.”

  “I confess that the night of the accident my hopes were almost nil.” I looked down. “You looked so bad! So wrecked! I thought I would lose you.”

  A sharp, painful, and suffocating feeling overcame me for an instant. If we made eye contact, I would surely start crying. My family consisted of only one person: Norman.