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THE SANTIAGO INHERITANCE
Note This book was written a number of years ago and occurs at a specific time in history – toward the end of the Pinochet regime in Chile. At that time personal computers were rare, most operated in a Basic universe, and the security options were primitive and simplistic compared to what is available now. Chapter One
Santiago, Chile July 10, 1988 Anna watched Romo over the top of an open book. Her husband hunched above the mahogany desk, rivers of sweat streaking his white shirt. He scrawled notes in the margins of his manuscript and muttered under his breath. The scratch of his pencil and the hiss of the coffee pot on the bookcase were the only other sounds in the study. Anna turned the page without reading a word. Romo massaged his scalp, leaving tufts of thick, black hair sticking out at erratic angles. It was a familiar sight to Anna, and in the early years of their marriage she'd found it endearing. After fifteen years, it had become an infuriating reminder that he was absorbed in his work, and not in her. |
"Aren't you hot?" she asked.
"What?" Romo didn't look up.
"I said, aren't you hot? That sun is beating down on your back." She got up. "Do you want me to close the blinds?" She stood close behind him and ran her fingernails down his spine.
"I don't care," he said. His focus never wavered from the manuscript in front of him. Anna dropped her hand and glowered at his back.
She wandered over to the bookcase under the window and drew out a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Her fingers caressed the faded green cover, its leather soft from constant handling. Perched on the corner of her desk, she leafed through it. “Snow White and Rose Red,” “The Goose Girl,” “The Bremen Town Musicians.” Most of her childhood friends had lived between the covers of a book.
Anna closed the book and looked around the room. The study was too small to hold more than two desks, two chairs, and the bookcase that sat under the window. Many of her books were still in boxes, because the shelves didn't have room for all of her old friends. And Romo refused to spend her money on a bigger house, even though she could well afford it.
It was her money. Inherited when her parents died, and sitting in a bank thanks to Romo's stubbornness. He didn't mind spending what she earned; only what she inherited. His salary and her royalties paid for the house and the once-a-week maid.
She glanced back at Romo. He was still involved in his work. She put the fairy tales back on the shelf and noticed a bright green water pistol lying next to the coffee pot. Their younger son had been tormenting his brother the night before, and Romo had confiscated Pablo's weapon. Maybe that would cool him off. Or heat him up. Stifling a giggle, she picked up the water pistol and took aim.
A stream of water caught him between the shoulder blades. He jumped up, and she doubled over in laughter.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" he said. Romo pulled the damp shirt away from his skin and glared at her.
"Can't you take a joke?" she said with a grin.
Romo responded with a cold stare. "Grow up," he said. He sat down and turned his back to her. Anna felt the hot flush of humiliation sweeping through her body.
"Damn you!" she said. Her voice broke on the words. Romo glanced up. Anna hurled the water pistol at his face. He ducked. It struck the corkboard on the wall next to their desks and a shower of papers cascaded to the floor.
"What are you doing?" he cried. Romo leaned over to shove the mess under his desk. He straightened up and waited for an explanation, but Anna couldn't trust her voice enough to speak. Romo shook his head and bent over his manuscript.
She fought to calm herself. At the first hint of tears, Romo would walk out. Long gone were the days when he'd try to comfort her. She took a deep breath and said, "You work too much."
"What are you talking about?" asked Romo. His attention was still on the papers in front of him.
"You ignored me at breakfast," said Anna. She braced herself against the desk with sweaty palms. "You've ignored me all morning. I don't like being ignored."
Romo slid the papers inside a folder, swiveled the chair to face her and settled back. "All right," he said. He tapped his pen in a light rhythm on the folder. "You have my complete attention. What do you want?"
"You," said Anna. She stopped, afraid her voice would betray her.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I want you to pay some attention to your family."
Romo's black brows lifted, his face darkened with anger. "What are you talking about?" he said.
"Your sons, Luis and Pablo. You remember them, don't you? And me, your wife, the woman you married?"
Anna folded her arms tight against her body, battling the temptation to reach out to him. It would be so easy to end this argument the way they had ended so many others. The only tenderness left between them was in bed, and she needed tenderness. As if he had read her mind, Romo held out a hand to her.
"Anna," he began.
She closed her eyes, determined not to give in this time. "We're right in front of you," she said. "But you're so busy with your writing and with your politics you never even notice us."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Ridiculous-” Anna turned to the window so he couldn't see the pain and longing on her face. It was useless. Once upon a time he would have dropped everything to make her happy. She heard him sigh behind her.
"I'm sorry you feel neglected," he said. She heard his chair creak and papers rustle. He was back at work. A sucker punch would have been kinder. She spun around.
"Apology not accepted!" she snapped. He ignored her words. "I want to know what's going on," she said. "You've been completely buried in your work - even more than usual. What's so important you can't find time for your family?" She reached over his shoulder and snatched at his manuscript. His hand caught hers in mid-air.
"Anna that's enough," said Romo. His voice was low and controlled. Anna tried to pull her hand free. He instantly released it. He got to his feet and looked down on her with a perplexed expression.
"No," she said, "It isn't enough." Her neck ached from the strain, but she refused to look away first. "I want some answers. You can't keep pretending nothing is wrong."
"What's wrong isn't with me-"
"-No, of course not," she interrupted. "It never is. Everything is my fault."
"I never said that."
He was so blind. Why couldn't she hate him when he was like this? Why did she still want him? She forced her mind back to the subject.
"It is politics," she said. "Isn't it?"
"Never mind." Romo walked over to the window and stared out.
"Damn it, don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you!" she said. "Just because I don't get upset like you do over every stupid person who gets himself arrested, you act like I don't know what's going on."
"Leave it, Anna."
"You aren't the only one who reads the papers and watches the news." She waited in impotent fury for a response. "Damn it, talk to me!"
"I can't," he said, clenching his fists. The muscles in his neck were taut as ropes. "You don't listen."
"I'm listening now," Anna insisted. She tried to steady her breathing.
"No, you're not." He pivoted and studied her. "You refuse to see what goes on around you. You've lived in Chile for almost twenty years, you've lived with me for fifteen years, yet you can pretend that everything is fine."
"The coup was fifteen years ago, Romo." His polite attention mocked her. She struggled for the words that would convince him, and bridge the gap. "I'm the daughter of a diplomat. I know what I'm talking about."
"You're an American," he said. "You never lived there for more than a few years at a time. You-"
"I've seen a lot more of the world than you have," she shot back.
"Living in embassies, growing up as a member of the privileged elite doesn't qualify you as an expert on politics," he said. "I suppose you see Pinochet as a humanitarian, not a bloody dictator?"
She threw up one hand, like a traffic warden. "Don't start with that line about disappearances and torture, please," she said. "You know those are just stories." She leaned against the desk, as if needing its support for her next words. "You are right about one thing, though."
"What's that?"
"Everything is not fine with us."
There was silence for a moment. Something flashed across Romo's face. His lips tightened into a grimace and he closed his eyes. For a second she thought it was pain. Then his face was composed again and she dismissed the thought as absurd. He broke the silence with an effort.
"I want a divorce."
There was a roaring sound in her ears. Romo's words pounded against her brain - "Divorce - I want a divorce." The pounding was unbearable.
"I'll get it," said Romo. He was out of the study and running down the stairs before Anna realized the pounding she heard was at the front door, not in her head. She charged after him.
Romo opened the door. Two men in suits and trench coats shouldered their way into the front hall. One man was dark and stocky, the other blond and slight. They can't come in, thought Anna, still reeling from the bomb he'd dropped. I don't care who they are; Romo and I have to talk.
"Are you Romulo Peregrino?" asked the dark, stocky man.
"Who wants to know?" said Romo. Their grim appearance caused the first stirring of alarm in Anna. Romo's massive form moved to block her view. She winced at his aggressive tone and threatening attitude. Romo never gave ground. To anyone.
He was shutting her out of this, too. She slid from behind Romo to get a better look at them.
The man ignored Anna. "Police. Are you Rom-"
Anna interrupted. "Of course he is. What do you want?" Romo was no criminal. This was ridiculous.
They continued to ignore Anna. The dark one motioned to Romo. "Come with us."
"Why?" Romo asked, "What do you want?" He silenced Anna's protest with a glance.
"You're under arrest," the man said. "Let's go." Neither stranger moved, but Anna saw their bodies tense up. Why were they arresting Romo? And why did he have to antagonize them?
"No," said Romo. He crossed his arms and watched them.
"Wait! What do you think you're doing?" Anna said. "You can't just burst in here-"
"Anna, stay out of it," said Romo. He turned to emphasize his warning with a frown.
The slight, blond intruder leaped. He seized Romo and jerked his arms behind him. Anna gasped. Romo struggled in vain. She stepped forward to protest. The dark man barred her progress. Peering around him, Anna was shocked to see that the wiry strength of the blond man held Romo's huge frame with ease.
"What do you want?" Romo snarled. He strained to break free and Anna's muscles tensed in sympathy with his efforts.
"You," said the dark man. He frisked Romo up and down, his hands slapping Romo's legs, arms and torso. Anna flinched with every slap.
Romo's face was scarlet. The blond man's grip tightened. Romo thrust an elbow back into his stomach. With a grunt, the man gave Romo's right arm a vicious twist. Romo tried to stomp on the blond man's instep. The dark man grabbed Romo's shirt, pinning Romo between the two of them. Romo aimed a head butt at the dark man, but the man gave him a quick uppercut to the jaw. Romo sagged to his knees. The blond man whipped out a pair of handcuffs and snapped them on Romo's wrists. Anna stood, paralyzed.
The dark man grinned and cocked his fist for another blow. "Stop it!" cried Anna. Astounded to find she could move again, she ran forward and clutched the dark man's arm. He knocked her to the floor with a powerful backhand. She collided with the wall. Her knee banged painfully against the tile and she cried out.
Romo struggled to his feet. The blond man grabbed a fist full of his hair and yanked. "You make one more move, and you can watch while we kill her." Anna looked up, her heart racing. Romo became suddenly still. The blond man pushed him toward the door. "Let's go."
"Wait!" said Anna. Ignoring the throbbing in her knee, she found the strength to get up off the floor. "Wait, where are you taking him?"
"Shut up," growled the dark, stocky man. Turning to his partner, he said, "Get going." The blond man shoved Romo outside and hustled him into the sedan parked at the curb.
Anna lunged for the door. The dark man blocked her way. Steely fingers curled around her upper arm and brought her to an abrupt halt. Where were the neighbors? Didn't anyone see what was going on?
The car door slammed shut. The man looked Anna up and down, as if seeing her for the first time. "Too bad," he said. "We could have had fun with you." He glanced out at the waiting car, then back at Anna. "Keep your mouth shut," he said. "Don't talk to anyone." Before she could reply he released her, strode across the lawn, slid behind the wheel and drove away.
"What?" Romo didn't look up.
"I said, aren't you hot? That sun is beating down on your back." She got up. "Do you want me to close the blinds?" She stood close behind him and ran her fingernails down his spine.
"I don't care," he said. His focus never wavered from the manuscript in front of him. Anna dropped her hand and glowered at his back.
She wandered over to the bookcase under the window and drew out a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Her fingers caressed the faded green cover, its leather soft from constant handling. Perched on the corner of her desk, she leafed through it. “Snow White and Rose Red,” “The Goose Girl,” “The Bremen Town Musicians.” Most of her childhood friends had lived between the covers of a book.
Anna closed the book and looked around the room. The study was too small to hold more than two desks, two chairs, and the bookcase that sat under the window. Many of her books were still in boxes, because the shelves didn't have room for all of her old friends. And Romo refused to spend her money on a bigger house, even though she could well afford it.
It was her money. Inherited when her parents died, and sitting in a bank thanks to Romo's stubbornness. He didn't mind spending what she earned; only what she inherited. His salary and her royalties paid for the house and the once-a-week maid.
She glanced back at Romo. He was still involved in his work. She put the fairy tales back on the shelf and noticed a bright green water pistol lying next to the coffee pot. Their younger son had been tormenting his brother the night before, and Romo had confiscated Pablo's weapon. Maybe that would cool him off. Or heat him up. Stifling a giggle, she picked up the water pistol and took aim.
A stream of water caught him between the shoulder blades. He jumped up, and she doubled over in laughter.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" he said. Romo pulled the damp shirt away from his skin and glared at her.
"Can't you take a joke?" she said with a grin.
Romo responded with a cold stare. "Grow up," he said. He sat down and turned his back to her. Anna felt the hot flush of humiliation sweeping through her body.
"Damn you!" she said. Her voice broke on the words. Romo glanced up. Anna hurled the water pistol at his face. He ducked. It struck the corkboard on the wall next to their desks and a shower of papers cascaded to the floor.
"What are you doing?" he cried. Romo leaned over to shove the mess under his desk. He straightened up and waited for an explanation, but Anna couldn't trust her voice enough to speak. Romo shook his head and bent over his manuscript.
She fought to calm herself. At the first hint of tears, Romo would walk out. Long gone were the days when he'd try to comfort her. She took a deep breath and said, "You work too much."
"What are you talking about?" asked Romo. His attention was still on the papers in front of him.
"You ignored me at breakfast," said Anna. She braced herself against the desk with sweaty palms. "You've ignored me all morning. I don't like being ignored."
Romo slid the papers inside a folder, swiveled the chair to face her and settled back. "All right," he said. He tapped his pen in a light rhythm on the folder. "You have my complete attention. What do you want?"
"You," said Anna. She stopped, afraid her voice would betray her.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I want you to pay some attention to your family."
Romo's black brows lifted, his face darkened with anger. "What are you talking about?" he said.
"Your sons, Luis and Pablo. You remember them, don't you? And me, your wife, the woman you married?"
Anna folded her arms tight against her body, battling the temptation to reach out to him. It would be so easy to end this argument the way they had ended so many others. The only tenderness left between them was in bed, and she needed tenderness. As if he had read her mind, Romo held out a hand to her.
"Anna," he began.
She closed her eyes, determined not to give in this time. "We're right in front of you," she said. "But you're so busy with your writing and with your politics you never even notice us."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Ridiculous-” Anna turned to the window so he couldn't see the pain and longing on her face. It was useless. Once upon a time he would have dropped everything to make her happy. She heard him sigh behind her.
"I'm sorry you feel neglected," he said. She heard his chair creak and papers rustle. He was back at work. A sucker punch would have been kinder. She spun around.
"Apology not accepted!" she snapped. He ignored her words. "I want to know what's going on," she said. "You've been completely buried in your work - even more than usual. What's so important you can't find time for your family?" She reached over his shoulder and snatched at his manuscript. His hand caught hers in mid-air.
"Anna that's enough," said Romo. His voice was low and controlled. Anna tried to pull her hand free. He instantly released it. He got to his feet and looked down on her with a perplexed expression.
"No," she said, "It isn't enough." Her neck ached from the strain, but she refused to look away first. "I want some answers. You can't keep pretending nothing is wrong."
"What's wrong isn't with me-"
"-No, of course not," she interrupted. "It never is. Everything is my fault."
"I never said that."
He was so blind. Why couldn't she hate him when he was like this? Why did she still want him? She forced her mind back to the subject.
"It is politics," she said. "Isn't it?"
"Never mind." Romo walked over to the window and stared out.
"Damn it, don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you!" she said. "Just because I don't get upset like you do over every stupid person who gets himself arrested, you act like I don't know what's going on."
"Leave it, Anna."
"You aren't the only one who reads the papers and watches the news." She waited in impotent fury for a response. "Damn it, talk to me!"
"I can't," he said, clenching his fists. The muscles in his neck were taut as ropes. "You don't listen."
"I'm listening now," Anna insisted. She tried to steady her breathing.
"No, you're not." He pivoted and studied her. "You refuse to see what goes on around you. You've lived in Chile for almost twenty years, you've lived with me for fifteen years, yet you can pretend that everything is fine."
"The coup was fifteen years ago, Romo." His polite attention mocked her. She struggled for the words that would convince him, and bridge the gap. "I'm the daughter of a diplomat. I know what I'm talking about."
"You're an American," he said. "You never lived there for more than a few years at a time. You-"
"I've seen a lot more of the world than you have," she shot back.
"Living in embassies, growing up as a member of the privileged elite doesn't qualify you as an expert on politics," he said. "I suppose you see Pinochet as a humanitarian, not a bloody dictator?"
She threw up one hand, like a traffic warden. "Don't start with that line about disappearances and torture, please," she said. "You know those are just stories." She leaned against the desk, as if needing its support for her next words. "You are right about one thing, though."
"What's that?"
"Everything is not fine with us."
There was silence for a moment. Something flashed across Romo's face. His lips tightened into a grimace and he closed his eyes. For a second she thought it was pain. Then his face was composed again and she dismissed the thought as absurd. He broke the silence with an effort.
"I want a divorce."
There was a roaring sound in her ears. Romo's words pounded against her brain - "Divorce - I want a divorce." The pounding was unbearable.
"I'll get it," said Romo. He was out of the study and running down the stairs before Anna realized the pounding she heard was at the front door, not in her head. She charged after him.
Romo opened the door. Two men in suits and trench coats shouldered their way into the front hall. One man was dark and stocky, the other blond and slight. They can't come in, thought Anna, still reeling from the bomb he'd dropped. I don't care who they are; Romo and I have to talk.
"Are you Romulo Peregrino?" asked the dark, stocky man.
"Who wants to know?" said Romo. Their grim appearance caused the first stirring of alarm in Anna. Romo's massive form moved to block her view. She winced at his aggressive tone and threatening attitude. Romo never gave ground. To anyone.
He was shutting her out of this, too. She slid from behind Romo to get a better look at them.
The man ignored Anna. "Police. Are you Rom-"
Anna interrupted. "Of course he is. What do you want?" Romo was no criminal. This was ridiculous.
They continued to ignore Anna. The dark one motioned to Romo. "Come with us."
"Why?" Romo asked, "What do you want?" He silenced Anna's protest with a glance.
"You're under arrest," the man said. "Let's go." Neither stranger moved, but Anna saw their bodies tense up. Why were they arresting Romo? And why did he have to antagonize them?
"No," said Romo. He crossed his arms and watched them.
"Wait! What do you think you're doing?" Anna said. "You can't just burst in here-"
"Anna, stay out of it," said Romo. He turned to emphasize his warning with a frown.
The slight, blond intruder leaped. He seized Romo and jerked his arms behind him. Anna gasped. Romo struggled in vain. She stepped forward to protest. The dark man barred her progress. Peering around him, Anna was shocked to see that the wiry strength of the blond man held Romo's huge frame with ease.
"What do you want?" Romo snarled. He strained to break free and Anna's muscles tensed in sympathy with his efforts.
"You," said the dark man. He frisked Romo up and down, his hands slapping Romo's legs, arms and torso. Anna flinched with every slap.
Romo's face was scarlet. The blond man's grip tightened. Romo thrust an elbow back into his stomach. With a grunt, the man gave Romo's right arm a vicious twist. Romo tried to stomp on the blond man's instep. The dark man grabbed Romo's shirt, pinning Romo between the two of them. Romo aimed a head butt at the dark man, but the man gave him a quick uppercut to the jaw. Romo sagged to his knees. The blond man whipped out a pair of handcuffs and snapped them on Romo's wrists. Anna stood, paralyzed.
The dark man grinned and cocked his fist for another blow. "Stop it!" cried Anna. Astounded to find she could move again, she ran forward and clutched the dark man's arm. He knocked her to the floor with a powerful backhand. She collided with the wall. Her knee banged painfully against the tile and she cried out.
Romo struggled to his feet. The blond man grabbed a fist full of his hair and yanked. "You make one more move, and you can watch while we kill her." Anna looked up, her heart racing. Romo became suddenly still. The blond man pushed him toward the door. "Let's go."
"Wait!" said Anna. Ignoring the throbbing in her knee, she found the strength to get up off the floor. "Wait, where are you taking him?"
"Shut up," growled the dark, stocky man. Turning to his partner, he said, "Get going." The blond man shoved Romo outside and hustled him into the sedan parked at the curb.
Anna lunged for the door. The dark man blocked her way. Steely fingers curled around her upper arm and brought her to an abrupt halt. Where were the neighbors? Didn't anyone see what was going on?
The car door slammed shut. The man looked Anna up and down, as if seeing her for the first time. "Too bad," he said. "We could have had fun with you." He glanced out at the waiting car, then back at Anna. "Keep your mouth shut," he said. "Don't talk to anyone." Before she could reply he released her, strode across the lawn, slid behind the wheel and drove away.