her with that negative news.
“Uncle Rafael said he called you several times and he’s angry at you for failing to return his calls. He thinks you’re mad at him because he hasn’t offered you a position. Sounds like a communication mixup.”
“I never received a call from Uncle Rafael.”
Astonished, she asked, “You didn’t?”
“Steinerman controls all his calls. I’m unsure whether Uncle Rafael knows that. I assume Steinerman told him he gave me the message or, I would call him soon, or I wasn’t in. The same happens to my calls.”
“You should have threatened a scene as I did.”
“A woman, you might’ve gotten through. A rifle butt would’ve greeted me. If Uncle Rafael found out, Steinerman would call the incident a regrettable mistake. Steinerman doesn’t know how to handle you. You’re an enigma to him, an unknown quantity. I also tried writing. Steinerman has formed an iron fence around him.”
“But why?”
“Wait until dinner. We’ll have much to talk about.”
“I don’t know if I can wait that long. My curiosity is driving me crazy. Come to think of it, I wrote to him also and never received a reply. He wants the children and me at his retreat on Saturday. I plan to stay all next week maybe longer. He also mentioned to bring you if you want to go…at least for a few days.”
“Great! An opportunity to talk to him. Where is the retreat? I know it’s new.”
“Don’t know exactly but west of San Isidro. His car is picking us up.”
“I might have difficulty making it Saturday. Tell him I’ll come by on Sunday and the following weekend. I have a contract to fulfill next week and can’t spare the time.”
“Then we can tell him about Steinerman.”
“I intend to. And more. I doubt it will help much.”
Buenos Aires teemed; people, traffic, and bright lights. They headed for La Estancia a restaurant known for its parrallida, a world famous national dish; a mixture of prime steak chunks, chicken, small sausages, lamb, and pork slices barbecued on a stove or parrilla at the table; a culinary delight. The crowded restaurant located in central Buenos Aires at Avenida Lavalle near Avenida 9 de Julio.
They ordered champagne.
Pilar looked around and inhaled a deep breath.
Tomayo noticed. “You’ve done that ever since I parked the car.”
“It feels good being here. I want to absorb it all. I never realized the obvious vibrations of Buenos Aires, an excitement making you feel alive.” She inhaled another exaggerated deep breath and coveted the swirling nostalgia.
“After learning about your depressing existence in New York I’m delighted to see you happy and smiling.”
“Your turn to depress me. I waited this long with my uncontrollable curiosity. What’s happening here?”
“Let’s have champagne first.” Tomayo wanted the alcohol to fortify her for what he had to tell her.
“Why?”
“To toast you again. It’s coming.”
A waiter opened the bottle and poured.
“Okay, Tomayo, here’s to me.”
“Cheers with a long swallow.”
“If you insist.” She drank. “Now speak up.”
Tomayo surveyed the neighbors satisfied they looked friendly, and leaned closer to her for security.
“We know the cause that led Uncle Rafael to the presidency. Great promises made – a sound and stable future with peace and prosperity. The first month of his administration bred reason for celebration. Human rights restored, terrorism ended, and Argentina turned enthusiastic again, the economy grew on a sub-rosa level, then many attitudes drifted towards a coming dictatorship.”
“No one calls Uncle Rafael a dictator. I would have heard that in New York.”
“Openly, he isn’t functioning as a dictator although he has yet to have the free elections for president that he promised. If he held an election, I think he’d win. The majority loves him.” Pilar appeared bewildered. “To the point. As you know, Argentina welcomed many immigrants from Germany since the
J. S. Cooper, Helen Cooper