Timote: A Novel

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 He’s now returned home. He has no idea that he’s being watched. Right now, from the reading room of the Champagnat. If he had known it, he would probably have thought we were soft, easy clay in the hands of history that we think we are making and that has surprises, frightening things, in store for us. You think you are the creator of new, never-before-imagined events. The patriot has taken the country’s history first one way and then another. The providential man. The man who yesterday threw Peronismo out and who today will bring it back to everyone’s benefit. But he doesn’t know it. He doesn’t know anything. He allows himself to be carried along by his thoughts; he has hundreds of ideas, projects. He sees a country of unity, civilian peace, and progress. A country made possible by his sincere, honest patriotism . He has, he thinks, everything under control, the perfect plan—one that can’t fail, one that will carve for him the statue that he undoubtedly deserves. But there is only one thing he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that they are watching him from the sidewalk across the street. He doesn’t know that pretty soon they will kill him. Not to know this is not to know a thing. That’s the way life is, so unpredictable that it’s scary. The young people watch him go into the building. There, where he lives. They still don’t know where to kidnap him or how. They know they’re going to do it, no matter what. They take josé pablo feinmann 28 | | notes. They call this “external fact gathering.” No one bothers them. The reading room or library is deserted, at best a place in which someone appears distracted to find a book and leave. They gather facts, also, from Avenue Santa Fe. One or two persons from the organization cover the area. Let’s just say that we don’t have to worry about them. They will not take part in the kidnapping . They will not travel to Timote. All they do is wander along Avenue Santa Fe, mingling with people and sweeping their gaze from one side to the other without seeing anything worthy of note, anything indicating danger or anything out of place. There’s a corporal there, overweight and blond. That should have caught their attention. Blond. But the guy looked insignificant, nothing more than a simple recruit, a corporal. Everything looks easy. The weight of the job (what must essentially be done to carry out the surprising deed they have set for themselves) is undertaken from the Champagnat. Inside there, Fernando Abal Medina follows the serene footsteps of the great founding father of anti-Peronista Argentina. “He looks ordinary,” he says. A good neighbor going out for a short walk. Is that what his doctor told him? “It’s good to go for a stroll, General. A military man who doesn’t die in battle dies from sedentariness. Take care of yourself.” What an innocent soul he seems to be. He takes in the day. A beautiful autumn day, he can feel it on his face, the sun on his forehead. Not even a bird craps on him. Content, at peace with life. It hurts to see him that way. So exposed. He hasn’t got a clue. He could be dead in a day or two and there he is enjoying the autumn breeze and the gentle sun, taking it easy. t i m o t e| | 29 Let’s say that that day Gaby is with them. Why not? They’re not going to waste her. Gaby is older than the lot of them. For example, she’s seven years older than Fernando. She’s been his partner for two years. But not a word about this just yet. Arrostito , who’s Gaby or Skinny, approaches the window. She looks at the general. “I don’t think he’s taking it easy,” she says. “A guy like Aramburu never takes it easy. Or do you want to take him for a jerk?” “Don’t be smart-mouthed, Gaby.” “And don’t you go feeling sorry for such a fuckup. While he’s walking to the corner and back, his mind is working. He’s thinking about Onganía. About how to screw him...