After abandoning my trashed apartment on that twenty-ninth of July, I found myself disoriented. Obviously, the perpetrators weren’t simple burglars, nor had it been some random attack. For a moment, I thought about retracing my steps and having a word with the building superintendent, but I was terrified by the idea that the people who’d come looking for me the previous night might try again in the morning. I told myself I’d done right to flee the scene at once. But where could I go? If they knew my address, they must also know where my parents lived, or Sandoval, or someone else close to me. I couldn’t put myself—or the people dear to my heart—at risk. But I didn’t have a cent. And although I was in fact walking on Rivadavia Avenue, heading for the center of town, I had no fixed destination in mind. I checked the street numbers: I was in the 5000 block. So now what?
If I had misgivings about filing a complaint directly with the police, I could go to the courthouse and file it in the Appellate Court, or so I thought. I wasn’t sure. Suppose they were waiting for me around the Palace of Justice? And who the hell were “they”? Who were they? I happened to pass a bar that had a public telephone. I went in and searched my pockets. One of the four or five coins I was carrying turned out to be a phone token. I dialed the number of Alfredo Báez, the only person I trusted at all.
He was surprised by my call, but—perhaps alerted by the alarm and haste in my voice—he immediately put my chaotic tale into some order by asking a few precise, logical questions. It was his idea that we should meet some hours later on the Pueyrredón Avenue side of Miserere Square.
I wandered around that part of town the whole morning. It was almost noon when I realized I hadn’t notified the court that I wouldn’t be coming in to work. With my last remaining coins I bought a token and called the office. My excuse for not showing up was a sudden attack of the flu, and I was informed that Sandoval had called in sick as well. As I always did when I took a day off, I passed along some instructions. I consoled myself by recalling that our office workload wasn’t very heavy at the moment. I’d have been more concerned if I’d known that I wouldn’t set foot in the court again for seven years.
Around two in the afternoon, I took a seat on a bench in the square. At 2:30, I started awake; some guy had just sat down next to me. I turned my head. It was Báez.
“Your espionage work doesn’t require concealment, I see,” he said. It passed through my mind that he always liked to fuck with me a little.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Don’t worry about it. Tell me what’s going on.”
I described to him in great detail everything I’d seen in my apartment from when I arrived until I got the hell out of there. My tale wasn’t long in the telling, but I do believe I spent more time relating it than living it.
When I finished, he asked me, “What did you say was missing from your place?”
“The TV set and the stereo system.”
“And the message on the mirror …?”
“It said they came there to do me in, and I was lucky I wasn’t there. Next time, it said.”
“They used your name, right?”
“Yes.”
Báez contemplated the toes of his shoes for a few moments. Then he turned his head toward me and said, “Look, Chaparro. If this is what I think it is, you’re fucked. Just in case I’m right, don’t go home, don’t go to the court, don’t go anyplace where they know you. At least, not until I get in touch with you again.”
“And what the hell am I supposed to do in the meanwhile?” On another occasion, I would have been ashamed to show Báez how vulnerable I was, but in those circumstances, I had no inhibitions.
Once again, he thought for a while. Then he said, “Do this. Go to a rooming house called La Banderita, on the corner of Humberto Primo and Defensa. I don’t mean right away. Give me time to go there and talk to the owner. Then you show up. You say your name is … Rodríguez, Abel Rodríguez, and you’ve got a room reserved and paid for. I’m going to give him a week’s rent in advance. By the way, you don’t have a penny in your pocket, right?”
“No, I don’t, but … maybe I could pass by the court …”
“What did I just tell you? Don’t even think about going to the Palace of Justice. And not anywhere else, either. You put yourself in your room, and you go out, if at all, only to do whatever shopping you need. Here’s some money—just a few pesos. Come on, take it, don’t be like that. You’ll pay me back later.”
“Thanks, but—”
“One week. In a week, I should have a pretty good idea of what this is all about. Things are in such a mess these days, you never know, but let’s hope for the best.”
“Can’t you tell me anything? What do you think’s going on?” Still today, I’m amazed at what a fool a man can be when he’s as scared as I was back then. Báez’s unfailing tact kept him from making fun of my stupidity.
“I’ll be in touch with you. Stay calm.”
He started to walk away, but then he stopped and turned back to me: “Is there some really sharp person assigned to your court at the moment, someone we might turn to? I mean somebody with some clout, your clerk, your judge, the other clerk …”
“Our clerk’s a woman on maternity leave,” I said, and the thought of that distracted me for a moment. But I recovered quickly and went on, “The other section’s clerk is mentally challenged.”
“That’s often the case.”
“And we have no judge. Fortuna Lacalle retired a while ago, and they still haven’t named his replacement. The acting judge is Aguirregaray, from Examining Magistrate’s Court No. 12.”
“Aguirregaray?” Báez looked interested.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“He’s a great guy. At last, some good news. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you in a week, more or less. Don’t worry, I’ll come to the rooming house.”
I followed his instructions to the letter. I pounded the pavement of the city center all day, and as evening was falling, I headed for San Telmo. As soon as I identified myself as Abel Rodríguez, the man who received me at the rooming house—I assumed he was the owner—handed me a key. The room was clean. I flung myself onto the bed without stopping to remove my clothes. I hadn’t closed my eyes for a day and a half, and during the course of those thirty-six hours, I’d participated in a barroom brawl, walked across half the city of Buenos Aires by night and by day, gazed upon the complete destruction of my home, and turned into a fugitive, although I didn’t yet have a very good idea why. I laid my head on the pillow—which also smelled clean—and fell fast asleep.