Shadows Across America Read online

  During his first argument with a couple of parents, he decided to put himself to the test. He bluntly declared that their children were improved thanks to him and they shouldn’t doubt his methods. The husband, a tough former paratrooper, was enraged by his insolence and knocked down Stobert, swearing that his son would never see this fraud again. The wife, however, knelt down to help him. She was gentle and understanding. He speculated that during their brief conversation, he’d had time to bend only her to his will. He savored the sensation of blood flowing through his teeth even though he knew that his credit with these guinea pigs had run out.

  His grand opportunity came in 1955, on the eve of the fall of Perón, and he seized it with both hands. Friedrich, now known as Federico, a former aide-de-camp who had become a smuggler in Brazil, told Stobert about a Mennonite colony looking for a teacher of their faith. They’d heard of him. He knew immediately that this was his destiny. Eager to try his luck in an innocent community, he quickly made contact, claiming to be an Anabaptist. As a final exercise before he left, he decided to leave a gift for the father who’d punched him. He took the man’s son’s best friend aside and, focusing all his will in his gaze, gave him a compass. He told the boy over and over again that he wasn’t giving it to him: the boy was stealing it. When the boy saw his friend, he’d grow extremely angry and plunge it into his eye. He’d never understand why.

  The boy’s silence told him that the suggestion had been successfully implanted.

  Calvo pulled on his jacket as he headed for the lobby. His assistants were sharing a pair of boards placed on top of temporary stands while they waited for the new furniture to arrive.

  “Did you hear me, boys? Isn’t anyone going to lunch? I’m telling you none of you had better come back late. Come on—let’s go; let’s go . . .”

  Like a mother duck rounding up her chicks, he bustled the four of them, two of whom were still clearly suffering from the effects of Ari’s attack, out the door.

  “When you’re out on assignment, you claim that you don’t have time to eat, but now that you do, you’re just gossiping away. I’m going home for lunch, but I want you all here when I get back.”

  Ángeles hung up the intercom and interjected. “Forgive me, Don Adrian. Miss Ari is coming up.”

  Calvo turned around in annoyance. “That girl never calls ahead. Didn’t you tell her that we were going out for lunch?”

  Ángeles shrugged.

  “Fine, fine. You all go. I’ll wait for her here. You wait, too, if you wouldn’t mind, Ángeles.”

  The chrome elevator opened, and Ari got out, walking past Calvo’s staff, who kept their eyes down. Distracted by her anger, she ignored them. Calvo awaited her with his best smile.

  “What an unexpected surprise . . . how can I help you? I thought we’d wrapped up all our business. You know, we were just going out to lunch. You only just—”

  “I’m sorry. Michelle ditched me on the road, and I realized that I didn’t have her phone or address, and all my things are there, including my passport. I found a taxi, but this address is the only one I have.” She showed him the card he’d given her a couple of days before. “I’ve come to ask you to help me get back.”

  Calvo rubbed his forehead.

  “Ángeles, could you let my wife know that I won’t be coming back for lunch? And please try to track down Doña Michelle. Tell her that we’ll wait for her here.” He put his hand on Ari’s shoulder. “Come into my office. You know the way, of course. It’s the one with the broken door.”

  To Calvo’s surprise, once inside Ari succinctly outlined the progress they’d made in the case: the transport network, the Brazilian connection, the colony, and her plan to meet up with her contact. She told him everything, except for Suarez’s identity. Calvo noted down every detail admiringly.

  “This friend of yours fascinates me. I can’t remember ever seeing such good work. But you’re not telling me this just to pass the time, are you? What do you need from me, my good Ari?”

  “I haven’t heard from him for two days. He hasn’t answered my emails or logged on to WhatsApp. He’s disappeared.”

  “I see. You’re afraid that he might have gone too far on his own.”

  Ari seemed upset.

  “I understand.” He started to sing a salsa. “‘You baited your hook wrong and caught a shark instead of a sardine . . .’ Forget it. So what can I do? I can’t see how I can be of any use.”

  “I’m going to Brazil. And if something has happened to my contact, I’ll need more help. Not there but here. Do you have any contacts in Brazil?”

  Calvo whistled before saying, “My dear, Brazil isn’t like saying . . . Costa Rica. Brazil is a continent. It’s as though you were asking about all of Europe. I’m flattered by your trust, but any contact I might be able to offer you in Brazil would be worse than nothing. I’m not that powerful. To begin with, you should be concentrating on Santa Catarina, not all of Brazil. But then there’s also the internet—one doesn’t have to meet people in person. My boys can try to find out anything you need found out, but I can’t promise anything. Would you like me to look for your friend?”

  “I want someone to help me find him and the girl. I have to fly there right away.”

  “A detective?”

  “No, the investigation is finished. I know where to find them. I need someone who’ll break in with me. Someone with weapons. I need a hit man.”

  Calvo whistled again. “I’d forgotten that you’re never interested in anything trivial. You want a mercenary? I can do that here, but so far away—”

  He was interrupted by Ángeles on the intercom. “Don Adrian. Doña Michelle is here.”

  “How wonderful; the whole family’s back together. Would you mind ordering us some sandwiches and one for yourself, Ángeles? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  Santa Catarina, 1955

  The community received Stobert with the curiosity, interest, and wariness of isolated, insecure rural folk who had refused to change their ways, or their clothes, since their arrival eighty years earlier. He decided that they urgently required his leadership. The coldness of his skin was now unpleasant to the touch, but his charisma had only grown more compelling while his confidence in his abilities made him feel invulnerable. In the first week, he found them defensive and mistrustful. However, they would never have dared to expel him so soon, not without justification at least, and that was all the time he needed. It irked him that there was a town so nearby. The smuggler had told him that two former comrades, who’d arrived in ’45, lived there. He asked the smuggler to be discreet, worried that if his former affiliations became known, the Mennonites might not like it. They agreed that he’d keep his true identity secret from the Germans. It took him a month to win over the congregation, and he set his sights on an attractive young woman. Initially, she found him repulsive, but she had no idea that she didn’t stand a chance. He didn’t give her much thought or even desire her—he just saw her as a way into the social life of the community. At first he concentrated on her parents before eventually breaking her will.

  And yet his presence didn’t go as unnoticed as he’d hoped. One morning, while he was out on a walk through the forest, two men in uniform crossed his path and greeted him in Portuguese. He hadn’t come across police or soldiers until then, and their presence upset him. He smiled at them and continued on his way, but one of them asked a question he didn’t understand. He tried to gesture that he didn’t know Portuguese, but they stayed where they were. The one who had asked the question gave an order to his inferior, who quickly marched off. Once they were alone, Stobert was surprised to hear the man address him in excellent, heavily accented German.

  “You may not speak Portuguese, but don’t worry. I like your language. I learned it from my grandfather; he was from Bavaria. My father and family honor their history. My name is Marcelo Rocha, and I’m the head of the federal police here. I was informed of your arrival and thought that I’d intro
duce myself. Not much happens in this province.”

  “Thank you. It’s a pleasure. I’m on my way home, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Fausto Aspiazi.”

  “Yes, that’s my name.”

  “A strange name for someone who only speaks German.”

  “I was nationalized in Argentina. I came before the war.”

  “Aha . . . well, it’s been a pleasure.”

  Stobert tried to walk away, but the officer stayed where he was.

  “And yet you haven’t visited our compatriots in the town.”

  “I . . . don’t know them.”

  “Aha . . . they arrived after the war.”

  Stobert shrugged, and Marcelo apologized. “Maybe you don’t share their opinions.”

  “I have no way of knowing.”

  “I, however, think that they have something important to say. There are a lot of black men around here, you know. Also Indians and more and more Jews. Greater Brazil is in danger. Prussian colonists built this area: before, it was just a wasteland. I honor the memory of my grandfather and his people. I admire you.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you; I’m just trying to help some decent Christians.”

  Marcelo lit a cigar and inhaled deeply before going on. “Difficult times are coming, and when they do, there’ll be no second chances. Watch the young people. The Zionists are playing their cards. One day they’ll come for you. You and your colleagues. You have the look of a leader; you may well subjugate the dirt eaters, but the moment will come when you’d do well to have a partner. My question is: Can Brazil count on you?”

  Stobert was hesitant, disconcerted. Eventually he nodded, and the chief of police tapped out his cigar ash and smiled before walking away. “I’m glad about that, Aspiazi. The day is coming when we’ll have to choose sides. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

  He said goodbye with a raised arm.

  This unsettling meeting stayed with Stobert for some time. He began to take notice of how young people had started to behave. Ever since the end of the war, the global balance of power had changed: ideas such as the purity of race were now an anathema, and the ubiquity of the cinema served as a loudspeaker for the new world power, the United States, which was molding the world according to its own mythology. European culture had all but disappeared, and what was left, an erratic intellectual class with disturbing sympathy for left-wing causes, worried him even more. For the moment, this land was still isolated from these trends, but they’d arrive. You could hear it beginning on the radio: they’d started playing the black music they called jazz. Marcelo knew another war was coming.

  Half a year later, the wedding was held. It was the last step on Stobert’s path to becoming a full member of the congregation. He was now the new German teacher at the Colônia Irmãos Menonitas, but this was only the beginning.

  Now that Michelle and Ari were standing in the same room, the atmosphere became electric. To Calvo’s surprise, the drama he’d been expecting didn’t materialize. Michelle addressed Ari in conciliatory English.

  “I went back to find you at Denny’s, but you’d gone. I needed time to think.”

  Ari didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to deal with situations like this. Calvo only understood the odd word.

  Michelle sat down next to Ari and handed over a sheet of paper. “I got two plane tickets, flying in four days. I’ll have spoken to Henrique by then. The last I heard, he was living in Joinville.”

  Ari looked at it incredulously and answered in Spanish. “What? I’m going alone.”

  But this time Michelle wasn’t prepared to be passive. She ripped the piece of paper out of Ari’s hand. Her voice wavered with emotion. “She’s my daughter. You and Ethan have no right to keep what you find out from me or to treat me like an idiot. You hear me? You don’t know Henrique; the only one who’s going to speak to him is me. Understand? You don’t have to come with me. We can say goodbye right now if you like.”

  Emotions ran high for several minutes. Ari didn’t understand much of what Michelle had said, but she got the gist loud and clear.

  Calvo was torn between his curiosity and his desire to be anywhere but there. Eventually he decided to play intermediary. “Doña Michelle, it’s none of my business how you decide to proceed, but a moment ago Doña Ari was asking me for help finding someone to help her to find your daughter in Brazil. I don’t know whether . . . you’d like to continue along those lines?” He tried to meet both women’s eyes. “Yes? Fine, so you’re going to Joinville—is that in Santa Catalina?” He looked it up on his phone. “Yes, it is. It’s a fairly large town; that’ll help. Doña Ari, the town where your contact disappeared isn’t far from there. It might be a good base of operations.”

  Michelle looked up in alarm. “Who disappeared?”

  Calvo sighed. “Couldn’t you have spoken before coming to see me? That secret detective of yours has disappeared, and Doña Ari has quite sensibly asked me to find her some help before the both of you disappear along with him. Which reminds me: we haven’t yet discussed my fees.”

  Ari flared her nostrils in annoyance. Michelle added nothing, waiting for her to reply.

  “A week ago I paid you two thousand dollars for a phone call. Whatever. How much is it now?”

  “Don’t be like that. You paid me to bring Ethan back to you, and I delivered him safe and sound, at not inconsiderable risk to my life. You can’t have forgotten so soon, can you? Nonetheless, I shan’t charge you for this work; we’ve been through a lot together, and as you say, you’ve already paid me something. Let’s just say that this one’s on the house so long as you can clear up one last little matter for me.”

  Ari and Michelle waited, intrigued.

  “It’s simple. Tell me the name of your contact. You won’t be able to search for him and the girl. If he’s still alive, that is. But maybe I can.”

  Ari’s strength began to waver, but Michelle stood firm, speaking with a resolution her companions had never seen in her before.

  “Go to hell. Using blackmail to get information you’re not a good enough detective to find out on your own. Come on—we’ll find another way.”

  Calvo stood up with a conciliatory expression. “Doña Michelle: wait, please. I didn’t mean to upset you.” In the blink of an eye, Michelle had dispelled the deep irony that Ari and Ethan had had to put up with since the beginning. “Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m not looking for revenge or to hand him over to the Mara. No one cares about him except for me. He’s too good; he’s brilliant.” Calvo’s voice was infused with admiration. “He’s managed to go under everyone’s radar like a ghost. I want to meet him and, if he agrees, to work with him. He’s incredible. And if he’s in trouble, what better way to help him? I don’t mean to be pessimistic, but if a genius like that, after what he did here, has failed there, you could well be heading into the mouth of hell. Let me help you. I’ll give you all the logistical support I can. You know that you need me. Can’t you see that it’s in my interest? I want the bastard close to me. What do you say? It’s a gift!” Calvo flashed his supercilious smile.

  “I just want you to help him,” Ari said.

  Calvo nodded with childish eagerness. “And if I break my word, Ari will kill me. Don’t you have a feeling of déjà vu?”

  In the elevator, Michelle had just one thing to say to Ari. “My daughter is unique. You don’t know her. She’s special, not just one of many spawned by a son of a bitch. Get it? Fuck your information! I’m a failure—I know that—but she . . . she’s unique.”

  Then she returned to icy silence. Over the next few days she would limit herself to a distant politeness that Ari didn’t dare to intrude upon. Now it was she who allowed herself to be guided. She’d judged Michelle harshly before, but, as she reluctantly had to admit, this woman was beginning to demand a little respect.

  Angela, the new bride, did honor to her name in her plain dress—frills were not well regarded in the community—and told he
r friends that she was marrying a good man even though he might appear cool, physically and emotionally. They were pleased that she was happy, not that there was any joy in her face, and congratulated her on her union with someone who was clearly a teacher of souls while she was just a humble rib. This concept, which Stobert had patiently and persistently worked to implant within her, became fixed in the young woman’s mind. He would be a great shepherd for her people.

  The wedding night was a more disagreeable trial than she had expected. Although they kept their nightshirts on the whole time and he was done quickly and efficiently, the coldness in his body passed through the sturdy fabric, creating an unpleasant sensation. Stobert told her that they’d sleep in separate beds, and she was very grateful to him for this. The first few months passed quietly, and their physical encounters were few and short lived. For this she thanked God because she couldn’t bear to touch him, although this made her feel extremely guilty. A subconscious manifestation of her wish to atone took the form of a fantasy about how her husband would shepherd his flock, and she told him about it one evening over dinner. He reacted with feigned surprise: it was true that the Mennonites elected their minister among the community, but he had to be nominated and voted for after a period of prayer and consideration. Neither of them, for fear of incurring the sin of pride, could put his name forward.

  Months later they were visited by Friedrich, Federico the Traveler. He had come under the premise of giving them a gift along with his congratulations, but Stobert saw something in his manner and took him aside. Once they were alone, he saw that the smuggler was beside himself with fear.