“Now, I will try to describe it, so you have some idea: it was a statue of a standing Buddha, wrapped in a cloak that fell in folds around him. The hands of the god were clasped in prayer, and his feet rested on a lotus leaf, as delicately as if he had descended from heaven to settle there. An oblong halo opened out behind him, furrowed by lines creating veritable labyrinths. The Buddha’s body was lean, as he was usually represented at the time, his face almost square, fully expressing his power. But he wore the hint of a small smile, which drew out his slightly oriental features. That extraordinary statue, created a thousand years ago by an artist whose name we shall never know, weighed thirty-one pounds in pure gold and stood seventeen inches high, in today’s measurements. Can you imagine…?
“The item finally crossed the Pacific Ocean, with more careful handling than usual, and was unloaded in Acapulco, crossed Mexico, reached Veracruz and was shipped again, now to Havana, whence it should have gone straight to Seville and then to Madrid, a royal offering to a Philip IV beginning to witness the decline of his empire and like all Spanish kings quite short of funds. That sculpture had great value in its weight in gold alone and its curators took special care, set in train special security measures, convinced his Majesty would appreciate such a piece at a time when great art from the Orient was beginning to be rediscovered and valued in Europe. The only risk the work ran was in what it stood for: in the period of the Counter-Reformation and Inquisition, an image of the Buddha might perhaps be ill-fated, and the king or one of his economic or spiritual advisers could recommend its destruction by fire and transformation into a still valuable pile of gold…
“Here history ends and speculation begins: because the last trustworthy news we have of the journey of the gold Buddha from Manila to Europe is of its arrival in Havana on 3 December 1631, at the height of the war between France and Spain, and it was moved to the Captain General’s coffers on the island, where it would be stored with other treasures from Mexico, Peru, Bolivia and Guatemala until its definitive departure for Spain… which never happened. The mystery of the Buddha’s disappearance provides scope for endless speculation and several characters can be suspected of the theft: from Juan Bitrián de Viamonte, who was Governor of the Island to the Admiral of the Fleet, including the Royal Keeper himself and the General Overseer, who accounted for all riches sent to Spain. The head of the Governor’s official guard was also suspected, and several functionaries of the imperial bureaucracy who were privy to the information about that fabulous item’s existence, and knew moreover how much it was worth and where it was kept. The investigation of the theft was carried out by a lieutenant from the Royal Guard, one Fernando de Alba, who two years later wrote a memorandum to the king detailing the story, and apologizing for his failure. What we do know is that the gold statue disappeared from where it had been located, and even from people’s memories. And when it reappeared, it only brought misfortune, deceit, disappointment and death, as if wreaking revenge on behalf of an Oriental deity…”
Dr Alfonso Forcade’s stiff smile imposed a long pause, which none of those listening dared break. The old man struggled to breathe, as he waited for his facial muscles to relax. On the edge of his seat, the Count realized he’d forgotten to light up, despite the anxiety that gnawed him. He waved a cigarette and waited for the old man’s nod of approval. Only when he lifted his lighter did the policeman feel his hands shake: where would that strange, forgotten story, graced by old Forcade’s astonishing erudition, lead? To his son’s death, obviously; and the certainty that Miguel Forcade had returned to Cuba solely for the object that could make him a wealthy man showed the Count his suspicions were well founded and revealed to him an immediate danger.
“Doctor, forgive my interrupting you… Are you sure nobody else knew this story?”
Finally released from his paralysing smile, old Forcade looked at his wife.
“Please bring me some water.”
“Wouldn’t you like one of your pills? Or a lime infusion?”
“No, water,” he repeated, and as his wife left, the old man at last looked the Count in the eye. “Don’t despair, Lieutenant, we will to get to my son Miguel, but there’s still some way to go.”
“I’m not despairing, I even think I’m enjoying the story, but I don’t like the conclusion I’m already imagining.”
“The end is indeed quite predictable by this stage… But what is surprising are the paths along which everything flows from now on. But don’t worry, the end isn’t exactly how you imagine it. Some surprising things still await you.”
“And do you know where this Buddha is now?” interjected Manolo, leaning forward. Curiosity had him well and truly hooked.
“I think so, though I’m not sure. But we’ll get there soon… And as for you, Lieutenant, smoke as much as you want. I love the smell of tobacco. I smoked for forty years, haven’t smoked for twenty-five and I still feel the desire to do what you are doing.”
The Count nodded sympathetically at that confession from a repentant smoker and looked around for an ashtray. In the corner of the room he spotted a beautiful bureau he’d almost not noticed before, so enthralled had he been by the story of the missing Buddha.
“A beautiful piece of furniture, Doctor,” he commented, pointing to the table, ideal for someone devoted to writing.
“Yes, it is beautiful. Does it suggest anything to you?”
The Count deposited the ash in the palm of his hand.
“What should it suggest?” he asked and, almost without thinking, he added: “Is it connected to the Buddha?”
The old man smiled again, cadaverously, and when he’d recovered his speech he held out a hand to Mario Conde.
“Lieutenant, why waste your time on this job? With your intuitions…”
The policeman looked back at the magnificent bureau, from which a strange call of destiny seemed to emanate, and swayed his head before saying: “If only I knew, Don Alfonso. And if only I knew how this story really ended… one you should have told me by now.”
“No, it wasn’t the right moment. First I had to know who you were and what you thought and if you really wanted to find out who killed my son and why…”
“And do you know who killed him?”
“I don’t unfortunately. But I’m breaking a promise by telling you the story of the Buddha. Because I hope that then you will be able to find out… Thanks, Caruca,” he said and drank the water his wife had handed him. “Now where were we?”
“Nothing more was heard of that gold Buddha until two and a half centuries later, in the midst of the War of Independence, when it came back to life to drive more people crazy… It all started when one of the richest men on the island, the owner of land and sugar refineries in Matanzas, by the name of Antonio Riva de la Nuez, tried to take the statue to New Orleans, perhaps afraid his properties would be confiscated or ransacked by revolutionaries fighting for independence, their ranks thronged by former black slaves: the Haiti syndrome still haunted the minds of many Cuban landowners and several took out part of their wealth in order to be spared the total ruination meted out to the French settlers in Santo Domingo. It’s the same old story repeating itself, isn’t it, Lieutenant? The eternal fear of predatory barbarians… But, unluckily for Don Antonio Riva de la Nuez, it was the time when, prompted by the war, a decree went out that all goods entering or leaving Cuban ports should be registered, and when that statue of the Buddha was found, the Royal Customs officer informed the Captain General of the existence and possible departure of a most valuable item to Mexico, and when the latter researched the origins of this singular treasure someone must have discovered it was the same Buddha that had been stolen from the King of Spain in 1631… And the statue was impounded, on behalf of the Spanish Crown, which was still its lawful owner, as you must agree? It is a real pity, but nobody ever really discovered how the statue that had been lost for more than two centuries came into the hands of Don Antonio Riva, and how it was extracted from the Captain General’s treasure room. Because he always stated in the court cases he initiated against the Crown that he’d inherited it from his father, who in turn had bought it in Santiago de Cuba from a Franco-Haitian landowner, ruined by the war in the former French colony. Did that purchase really happen? Probably not, but nothing was certain in relation to that item…