“I think I know them, though I don’t know from where,” said Rigoberto. “Who are they?”
“But my boy,” replied Lucrecia, “they’re the couple from Piura, how could you not recognize them.”
“Armida’s sister and brother-in-law, of course,” Rigoberto said, identifying them. “You’re right, they’re traveling to Spain too. What a coincidence.”
He felt a strange, incomprehensible uneasiness, a disquiet, as if running into this Piuran couple on the Iberia flight to Madrid might constitute a threat to the program of activities he’d planned so carefully for their European month. “How silly,” he thought. “What a persecution complex.” How could this odd-looking couple spoil their trip? He observed them for some time as they went through procedures at the Iberia counter and weighed the very large suitcase with thick straps around it that they declared as their luggage. They looked lost and frightened, as if this were the first time they’d ever taken a plane. When they finally understood the instructions of the Iberia attendant, they linked arms as if to defend themselves against anything unforeseen and walked toward customs. What were Felícito Yanaqué and his wife, Gertrudis, going to do in Spain? Ah, of course, they were going to forget the scandal they’d lived through in Piura, complete with abductions, adulteries, and whores. They were probably taking a tour, spending their life savings. It didn’t matter. These past few months he’d become too susceptible, too sensitive, almost paranoid. That couple couldn’t possibly harm their marvelous vacation in any way.
“Do you know, Rigoberto, I don’t know why but it makes me suspicious running into those two Piurans,” he heard Lucrecia say, and he shuddered. There was a certain anguish in his wife’s voice.
“Suspicious?” He dissembled. “What nonsense, Lucrecia, there’s no reason for that. The trip will be even better than our honeymoon, I promise you.”
When they finished checking in at the counter, they went up to the second level of the airport, where there was another long line, so the police could stamp their passports. And yet, when they finally got to the boarding lounge, they still had a long time to wait. Doña Lucrecia decided to take a look at the duty-free shops and Fonchito went with her. Since he detested shopping, Rigoberto said he’d wait for them in the café. He bought The Economist on the way and discovered that all the tables in the small restaurant were taken. He was about to sit at the entrance to the boarding lounge when he saw Señor Yanaqué and his wife at one of the tables. Very serious and very still, they had soft drinks and a plate of biscuits in front of them. Following a sudden impulse, Rigoberto approached them.
“I don’t know if you remember me,” he greeted them, extending his hand. “I was in your house in Piura a few months ago. What a surprise to find you here. So you’re going on a trip.”
The two Piurans had stood, at first surprised, then smiling. They shook hands effusively.
“What a surprise, Don Rigoberto, seeing you here. How could we not remember our secret plotting.”
“Have a seat, señor,” said Señora Gertrudis. “It would be our pleasure.”
“Well, all right, delighted,” Don Rigoberto thanked her. “My wife and son are looking at the shops. We’re traveling to Madrid.”
“To Madrid?” Felícito Yanaqué’s eyes opened wide. “So are we, what a coincidence.”
“What would you like to have, señor?” a very solicitous Señora Gertrudis asked.
She seemed changed, she’d become more talkative and pleasant and was smiling now. He remembered her, during his days in Piura, as always severe and incapable of uttering a word.
“An espresso cut with milk,” he told the waiter. “So you’re going to Madrid. We’ll be traveling companions.”
They sat, smiled, exchanged impressions about the flight — would the plane leave on time or would it be late — and Señora Gertrudis, whose voice Rigoberto was sure he’d never heard during their meetings in Piura, talked now without stopping. She hoped this plane wouldn’t pitch as much as the LAN plane that brought them from Piura the night before. It had bounced so much that tears came to her eyes because she thought they would crash. And she hoped Iberia wouldn’t lose their suitcase, because if it was lost, what would they wear there in Madrid, where they’d be for three days and three nights and where it seemed the weather was very cold.
“Fall is the best season of the year all over Europe,” Rigoberto reassured her. “And the prettiest, I promise you. It isn’t cold, it’s pleasantly cool. Are you just passing through Madrid?”
“In fact we’re going to Rome,” said Felícito Yanaqué. “But Armida insisted that we spend a few days in Madrid simply to see it.”
“My sister wanted us to go to Andalucía too,” said Gertrudis. “But that would mean being away a long time and Felícito has a lot of work in Piura with the company’s buses and jitneys. He’s reorganizing it from top to bottom.”
“Narihualá Transport is moving forward, though it always gives me some headaches,” Señor Yanaqué said, smiling. “My son Tiburcio has been taking over for me. He knows the business very well, he’s worked there since he was a boy. He’ll do a good job, I’m certain. But, you know, you have to be on top of everything yourself, because otherwise, things start to go wrong.”
“Armida invited us on this trip,” said Señora Gertrudis, a touch of pride in her voice. “She’s paying for everything, it’s so generous. Fares, hotels, everything. And in Rome she’ll put us up in her house.”
“She’s been so nice we couldn’t turn her down over a thing like this,” explained Señor Yanaqué. “Imagine what this invitation must be costing her. A fortune! Armida says she’s very grateful for our putting her up. As if it was any trouble at all for us. More like a great honor.”
“Well, you were very good to her during those difficult days,” remarked Don Rigoberto. “You gave her affection, moral support; she needed to feel close to her family. Now she’s in a magnificent situation, so she’s done very well to invite you. You’ll love Rome, you’ll see.”
Señora Gertrudis got up to go to the ladies’ room. Felícito Yanaqué pointed at his wife and, lowering his voice, confessed to Don Rigoberto, “My wife is dying to see the pope. It’s the dream of her life, because Gertrudis is very caught up in religion. Armida promised to take her to St. Peter’s Square when the pope comes out on the balcony. And maybe she can manage to find her a place among the pilgrims the Holy Father gives an audience to on certain days. Seeing the pope and visiting the Vatican will be the greatest happiness of her life. She became very Catholic after we got married, you know. Before that she really wasn’t. That’s why I decided to accept this invitation. For her sake. She’s always been a very good woman. Very self-sacrificing at difficult times. If it hadn’t been for Gertrudis, I wouldn’t have made this trip. Do you know something? I’ve never taken a vacation before in my life. I don’t feel good if I’m not doing something. Because what I like is working.”
And suddenly, with no transition, Felícito Yanaqué began telling Don Rigoberto about his father. A sharecropper in Yapatera, a humble Chulucano with no education, no shoes, whose wife left him and who, breaking his back, brought up Felícito, making him study, learn a trade, so he could move up in the world. A man who was always rectitude personified.
“Well, how lucky to have had a father like that, Don Felícito,” said Don Rigoberto, getting to his feet. “You won’t regret this trip, I assure you. Madrid and Rome are cities full of interesting things, you’ll see.”
“Yes, I wish you the best,” the other man said, standing up as well. “My regards to your wife.”