Andean Express (15 page)

“Adultery is a strike against you.
In the act
. He caught you in the act. There would have to be witnesses for our side.”

“There's Ricardo.”

“Ricardo was in on it.”

“The steward? We could probably buy him off.”

“So could Alderete. He has more money.”

Doña Clara slipped a shawl over her shoulders, closed her book, and took Gulietta by the hand. “Let's go see him. And Ricardo?”

“I don't know. He was getting dressed.”

The corridor was empty and the wind was howling. The light rain had ceased, but its passing made the air feel even colder. Doña Clara pushed open the door to Alderete's cabin, which was dark inside. She turned on the ceiling light and discovered Nazario lying flat on his back on the bed, his eyes wide open. She hurried up to him and touched his face with the palm of her hand.

“He's lukewarm . . . Nazario?”

No answer.

“Are you okay?” asked Doña Clara.

“Mamá! Take his pulse!”

Doña Clara unbuttoned his shirt, lifted his undershirt, and pressed her ear against his chest. Not even Alderete's soul could be heard.

“Call Tréllez,” Doña Clara said.

“Is he dead?”

“I don't know.”

“My God!”

The dining car was officially closed, but Gulietta could see Tréllez at the table living it up with the others. Everyone was sitting there, including the Franciscan and Carla Marlene. One of the waiters let Gulietta pass when he noticed how distressed she was.

“Gulietta,” said Tréllez, “you look like you've seen a ghost.”

“It's my husband. I think he's had a heart attack.”

Tréllez was drunk and struggled to stand up. “Excuse me, Gulietta, but we were celebrating.”

Upon seeing how upset Gulietta was, Anita woke Moreno, who had dozed off. The two of them, along with Carla Marlene and Tréllez, followed Gulietta to the cabin.

“Lose at cards mess up his head,” said Petko. “Fake attack to get attention. That jerk is just fine.”

The Marquis looked like a figure out of the Fallas Festival in Spain. The whiskey had caused his enormous nose to turn red. “What could be wrong with the guy?”

“He just wants people to feel sorry for him,” said Ruiz.

Moments later, however, Tréllez confirmed that Alderete had passed on to a better life. While he had never liked the man, the PURS congressman got choked up. “Give him the blessing,” he told the priest.

Father Moreno smiled beatifically.

“Don Tréllez is a congressman with the ruling party,” Carla Marlene explained.

The Franciscan descended from heaven to earth. They were still an hour or two away from the border; if Tréllez realized that Moreno was an activist, he could have him put behind bars in Charaña. He had no choice but to go look for his worn Bible. He returned a few minutes later accompanied by Ricardo, who was pale as a fallen leaf.

“What happened?” Ricardo asked Gulietta.

“He died.”

“From the shock?”

“What shock?” asked Tréllez.

Ricardo went mute like a defendant hearing his death sentence.

“Alderete was very upset about losing the game,” said Doña Clara.

“We'd better tell the truth . . . He found me and Ricardo in the cabin.”

“I see.” Tréllez shut Alderete's eyelids. “Father?”

“Let us pray,” said Father Moreno. “Bildad's First Speech, in the book of Job:
For we are but of yesterday, and know nothing, because our days upon earth are a shadow . . .
And from Proverbs:
It is better to dwell in the wilderness than with a contentious and angry wife
.”

Carla Marlene kicked him in the ankle.

“Let us say the Lord's Prayer,” sputtered Father Moreno.

Everyone gathered together and recited the prayer, following along with affected unction. Father Moreno appeared a bit shaken.

For his part, Ricardo went from surprise to despair; he was absolutely certain that the sight of his and Gulietta's transgression had caused Nazario's fatal attack. Though Ricardo clearly had no fondness for him—he had slept with Alderete's brand-new wife while he was playing cards, after all—his antipathy hadn't reached such a level that he wished him dead.

Watching her husband grow stiff, Gulietta was seized by a flood of emotions. In all sincerity, she believed he didn't deserve this, that the punishment was excessive. Yet after a few minutes had passed, she calmed down and concluded it was the best thing that could have happened. Death had visited the accountant at just the right moment. The night had looked very bleak, with Alderete so worked up over his wife's rejection in addition to his loss and humiliation at the card table.

Doña Clara, being a practical woman, joined Alderete's hands over his chest and, together with Anita, went about fixing him up in the appropriate manner. They combed his hair and arranged his head on the pillow. Alderete now appeared to be sleeping. His facial features seemed to relax, giving off a peaceful aura which clearly moved the other passengers—something he had never been able to do while alive.

The Marquis entered the room. His expression was devoid of emotion. He gazed at Nazario, verified that he was truly dead, then turned toward Doña Clara. “If the Chileans see he's dead, they'll send him back. It's one thing for a live person to pass, but a corpse is something else entirely.”

“Please don't talk like that,” said Doña Clara.

“Well . . . that's the way it is. You two would have to spend the night in Charaña and then return to La Paz.”

“What a pain!” said Gulietta.

“And now what do we do?” asked Doña Clara.

“The best thing would be to . . .” The Marquis closed the door and invited Father Moreno and Carla Marlene to listen to him closely. “You mustn't tell anyone about what happened. The Chilean border guards would hold us up all night. You know how they are; just like the Prussians. You can't reason with them. Better if this goes unnoticed.”

“How?” asked Father Moreno.

The Marquis approached Doña Clara, who had started cleaning Nazario's face with a cream. “The best thing would be for him to sleep in peace,” he said.

“Then we won't spend the night here with him?” asked Doña Clara.

“That depends on you. My advice would be to let him sleep like an angel, and tomorrow morning, once we're in Chile, you sound the alarm. Gulietta can get out of bed and mourn like Mary Magdalene.”

“I won't sleep here,” insisted Gulietta.

“Poor girl,” said the Marquis. “Just married and with a dead man already on her back.”

Doña Clara asked Father Moreno and Carla Marlene to leave the cabin. “Don't ever mention what happened,” she said.

“Don't worry,” replied Father Moreno. “We'll be as silent as a tomb.”

“Marquis, what will become of Nazario's fortune?” asked Doña Clara.

“According to the law, Gulietta is the legitimate heir.”

“Doesn't he have children?”

“He had lovers, half-breed girls, and he's probably fathered a kid or two, but I doubt he acknowledged any of them. The money of her husband, may he rest in peace, belongs to Gulietta. There's nothing more to say.”

“Do you think God did this?”

“He must have had a hand in it.”

“Will we have to undress him?” asked Doña Clara.

“Of course; if you can't handle it, I'll take care of it myself,” said Anita.

“No . . . no, I'll help you.”

“Here's the plan,” said the Marquis. “The man undresses, gets in bed, and goes to sleep. Tomorrow at around 8, Gulietta will enter the cabin without being seen, and then she'll call the steward. Immediately, at the next station, we'll let the authorities know that Alderete is no longer with us: a heart attack due to his high blood pressure, which was severely aggravated by the altitude.”

“Do you think we'll be able to bury him in Arica?” asked Doña Clara.

“In general the Chileans are incorruptible, but there are always those who are capable of turning over the El Morro fortress
*
to Peru for fifty pounds sterling.”

“I'm not going back to La Paz,” said Gulietta.

“You'll do what I say.”

“Mamá, I'll be a laughingstock!”

“So what? Everybody dies someday.”

“The Americans have an expression,
Life is hard and then you die,
” said the Marquis.

“You can stay in Arica for a few days,” said Ricardo.

Gulietta had forgotten about her newfound lover. “You look so pale.”

“How do you want me to look? We shocked him to death.”

“Nobody could have known that he'd come into the cabin.”

“It was always a possibility,” said Ricardo. “I feel bad . . .”

The Marquis took him by the arm. “Ricardo, my friend, you had nothing to do with it. He died all by himself.”

“Everybody dies by himself, but we gave him a good shove.”

“Shut up, please,” said Gulietta.

“Ricardo, you still haven't explained to me what you were doing with my daughter in your cabin.”

“I can't believe it. This could be a Billy Wilder comedy,” said Ricardo. “You didn't answer my question,” Doña Clara pressed.

Ricardo sat down at Alderete's feet and couldn't contain his laughter.

“It's nerves,” said Gulietta.

Ricardo laughed and laughed. He finally calmed down and pinched his cheek. “I'm not dreaming,” he said.

There was a knock at the door right then. It was Durbin.

“Come in,” said Doña Clara.

Petko, Ruiz, and Lourdes followed Durbin inside. The three men were obviously drunk, while Lourdes possessed the impassivity of an actress in a Greek tragedy.

“Our condolences, Doña Clara,” Durbin said, then hugged Gulietta. “I can imagine your pain.”

“It all happened so fast,” the young girl responded.

“They can't blame us,” said Durbin. “He lost fair and square.”

“That's not what killed him,” said Ricardo.

“Please,” said Gulietta. “Don't throw wood on the fire.”

Durbin contemplated the dead man indifferently. “All that money. He won't even be able to take his wallet with him.”

“Doña Clarita, maybe you can return the land he stole from me,” said Ruiz.

“Señor Ruiz, it's only been a few minutes since he left us and you're asking me for your land. Don't you think it's a little premature?”

“Let's not worry about the small things,” said Lourdes. “Let's concentrate on his soul.”

The Marquis, who seemed to be the unofficial master of ceremonies, spoke in a loud and authoritative tone: “Let's allow Doña Clara, Lourdes, and Anita to undress him and put him in bed. The man needs his sleep.”

Petko appeared perplexed and asked what was going on. The Marquis quietly explained the plan.

“It seems like a smart decision,” said Tréllez. “Once we're in Arica, maybe Doña Clara can convince the authorities to bury him there. I think we all agree that Alderete should continue the trip tonight. I'll tell the steward the truth, I think we can trust him. He collects the documents and hands them to the Chilean authorities. The Chilean police will come to verify the identity of each passenger. Since Alderete will be asleep, they probably won't bother him. If they do come, Gulietta has to be in the cabin for as long as the operation lasts. Chilean police are respectful.”

“The immigration agents in our country generally just take the documents and let the passengers sleep,” said the Marquis.

Tréllez called the steward. Leaving his congressional eloquence behind, and in simple terms, he explained to the man what had happened.

“It's dangerous,” the steward said. “If he's dead, we can't bring him back to life.”

“Anything's possible,” countered Tréllez. “Trust me, you have absolutely no responsibility. If you don't know anything, they can't blame you for anything. It's simple.”

“I could lose my job,” said the steward.

“But I never spoke to you,” said Tréllez.

“Really?”

“Listen to me. Go on back to your booth and we'll have an emissary deliver an envelope to you. If what's inside makes you happy, let me know, otherwise it would mean putting this train journey at risk. Police shenanigans can take forever. Besides, I'm an honorable congressman for the PURS and I'll give you my card. If you need anything, you can look for me in Congress.”