Dossier - short story - Latin America: Private Eyes & Time Travelers

"On the other hand," he said, turning his attack on Benedetto, "we have the gentleman here who has said he hardly knew what the report was about. That, too, is false. At the beginning of the meeting he felt up on the material enough to try to give us two opinions on it. This vagueness was duly condemned."

"That was a figure of speech," Benedetto replied hastily. "Of course I read it, what more could I do, Galvan. I simply tried to clarify that I don't know anything about the torn-out page. I submit my excuses, gentlemen."

"Next time you apologize you'll be severely punished," the man with the carnation interrupted furiously. "Go on, Ricardo," he added impatiently.

"Mister Benedetto, when the dossier reached your hands, could you verify the presence of page fifty-six?"

"Yeah ... No ... Actually I can't say for sure."

"Well, sir, what's it going to be, did you read it or didn't you?"

Benedetto was perplexed. He opened and closed his mouth like a potbellied toad. Suddenly, his jowls shook:

"When I'm interested in a report I just read the text, not the number of pages."

"In that case, if there were any missing pages, you would have noticed a gap, an interrupted idea."

"No, no. I didn't notice anything strange," he said, vacillating.

"You sure?" asked the man with the carnation, half-closing his eyes.

"I don't know! I don't know! Christ, I don't know! Take it easy on me!" he pleaded desperately.

"Are you getting all this down alright, miss?" whispered the man with the carnation, leaning his head to the side.

"Yes, sir," replied the blonde girl. Her voice was deep and stained, like a bass-string stretched dangerously taut.

"I suggest we dispense with Benedetto's suspicious testimony," he said, speaking to the man with the carnation, gaining his assent. "Mr. Arozmendi," he said unexpectedly, turning to his left, "when you looked over the papers this morning, did you notice page fifty-six missing?"

"Oh, no, of course not, Galvan. The report was complete. I've said as much."

"Could you kindly explain to us what it was about? Naturally, just a summary."

"Huh? How's that?"

"Do I need to repeat the question?"

"No, no. Galvan," Arozmendi said nervously. "I ... to tell you the truth ..., I don't remember."

"Nevertheless, at the beginning of the meeting, when Silvera brought our attention to the importance of that page, you stressed that it had to be read carefully. Is that right?"

"Sure, sure...."

"What I'm asking you then is, how did you know it was important if you don't even remember its content now?"

"Splendid, Ricardo," exclaimed the man with the carnation enthusiastically.

Gratified, he lifted his head slightly and smiled in spite of himself. To the left of his chair, Arozmendi sputtered incoherent babble; across from him, the unfortunate Curiel continued sobbing, face down on the glass, while Silvera looked on at him with obvious concern; to the far right of the table, Benedetto, crestfallen, trembled like a giant pudding; to his right, Gomez Cuevas, cringing, smoked a dark cigarette without showing his face. Moving up to the edge of his seat, he swelled up with pride, gloriously surveying his battlefield, rejoicing that his lack of memory had not deprived him of his incontrovertible skill in handling that kind of situation, in order to pave his way in life whichever way the wind might blow.