José Javier Rojas
Gonzalo
Tender Lumplings listen Oh let me take you by the hands.
'll take you from this hell-hole to the Promised Land.
But Do not Blame Me, O Children, if Those don't keep promises.
'Cause promises like lives, can Be Bought so very cheap. Tender
Lumplings, Danny Elfman
hung the phone, shaking his head with resignation. Gerardo had played one of his usual early departure to start the week: a lot of partying, too many women, little sleep the mouse, equal to, the wipe will have to solve it alone for a change. It sounds easy, but cleaning the windows of the towers of Central Park is not something to take lightly.
Gego, not the artist of the lattice structures, but the maintenance company was actually owned by Gerardo, capital equity partner, the man with the touch of contacts, the type of captivating smile that closed the deals and opened her legs as Secretary rebotona was eager to earn the same. The contribution to society Gonzalo, in addition to the last syllable of the name, was not so much the last word as the word of moderation, he was the ground wire of Gerardo, who in turn was the engine that pulled her His misgivings carnal Byzantine picky.
Tower had seen better days, when modernity was not suspected of bad trades and worst intentions. The terrible fire that had struck his face was left behind as the renovations progressed slowly, recovering the structure for use in the Venezuelan bureaucracy.
Since its scaffolding hanging from the clouds, the partners discussed lively in her box privileged on the frequent public demonstrations that sang the praises of the Supreme Revolutionary Leader or asked their brains pickled. From so high they all looked just as anarchic, exalted and gesticulating, waving their banners monotonous, banners and crests, predictable armies of toy soldiers, pawns, pieces on the board of a cosmic game played since the beginning of time.
suspended from the pulleys was comfortable, and had learned to appreciate the silence when his partner was not there flaunting their sexual prowess. But the height and loneliness had begun to affect him. Daily work of their fellows so high, Gonzalo was over to believe that he also lived above the other, that political patuques not splashed so sneaky because they could not achieve in his hermit Stylite scaffold. On floors
recovered from the fire, the workers had succeeded in removing the scars of fire with relative efficiency and only the trained eye could distinguish the new from the original finishes. However, the loneliness was still the only tenant of those half-finished floors, full of building materials and tools left behind by construction crews reassigned to more pressing.
The banking crisis of the nineties was the financial cataclysm that catalyzed the partnership between the two friends. Hyperinflation on the one hand, the usurious interest debt for another knelt and Gonzalo Gerardo in a matter of a couple of years. Together with the need, founded the company more successful in caring for the side glass of the buildings of Caracas. Gonzalo's scruples were collateral for getting Gerardo accounts were as transparent as the windows they both kept spotless. Gonzalo
and that floor was terminated when something unusual caught his eye. Nose hit the glass and made a hood with his hand to block the glare. At the bottom of the abandoned room on a straight painter and under the flashing neon light was open briefcase full of greenbacks.
"Oh, you must be a joke," he said, and flipped the lever to lower, "but what if it is not the case, which will be then? - Stopped the mechanism of a slap and recovered the lost height. He stood in front of the window and lock easily manipulated. No insurance goes a hundred feet above the ground, even in Caracas.
- Whoa! Good morning! Is there anybody there? - Shouted to the empty room.
could see it all clearly now, and unless steps placed under the dim light, like a pedestal displaying a Maya deity in a museum, in the fourth was only air. And him. Gonzalo did not remember have entered the room, but it was two steps from the case, because just at the height of your eyes.
beginning to reach out when frightened turned to see nothing but the open window and scaffolding. "Nothing, nothing and nobody," he said to himself. In any case, withdrew his hand and stared at the briefcase. It was a hard Samsonite combination of new models, more rounded at the corners and ergonomic design, pretty but not particularly striking. Gonzalo had a similar, darker, he used to collection efforts by our customers. The difference was that theirs was full of accounts receivable, prints José Gregorio Hernández and cartoons of his daughters, and this under the sheet withdrawal from the ceiling was full of dollars with the face of Benjamin Franklin. Gonzalo
amid growing excitement, began to think. First, he realized he was standing, he and no other, compared with a fortune very alien, very suspicious provenance. If someone came at that time, how the hell would be able to justify their presence there? If someone came. Someone. It would be a girl selling raffle tickets for Fe y Alegría. Gonzalo was standing in front of the proverbial bag, the epitome of corruption and fraudulent dealings they had screwed up their country. Damn, that he had fucked up, cleaning windows of skyscrapers for a living. A wave of heat and hatred rose from the bowels of Gonzalo. He thought back to the scaffold, taking some tool, and the corrupt deal, giving him until he vergajazos apologize and confess to how many were fleeced to be done in such a fortune. That was already when he realized that the corrupt are known corrupt, and not go through life protected only with a good deodorant. There was no way to confront the offender who was about to hide millions of dollars in cash in the ceiling and walk out of the trance. "A point of hiding" the words rang like a stone lurching falling to the bottom of a deep well. There had to escape before the arrival of the bully with his followers and became part of the concrete mix of the building under renovation. Escape and go unpunished for the damned thieves who have condemned Venezuela for being a land of beggars and wild bandits started imposing the law of his guns on the helpless citizenry. Maybe you have enough time to get off, get to safety, call the media, make a report to the competent authorities ... Authorities? Competition? Gonzalo had forgotten for a moment in the film was going rapidly in his mind that the film was a Venezuelan film, as I did before Román Chalbaud. Even in the unlikely event that everything went well, they managed to convince reporters and police that he had discovered a suitcase full of dollars in a government building, to ignite a scandal as hell, and that the country only speak that for several weeks, perhaps months, in the end all be reduced to a settling of scores, with Gonzalo the adjusted account balance.
The sound of the toilet, just behind the door, Gonzalo pulled from his reverie. As a breath, closed the Samsonite, crossed the room, jumped onto scaffolding and closed the window behind him. When the scaffold began to fall, weary with his speed, Gonzalo began to mourn. While people wandered the streets began to increase in size as they approached the ground, for the first time in many years Gonzalo felt part of them, which was no better than anyone that all were equal and among them he was like them, one of them. Belonged, in the end. The street grew, diffused through the prism of his tears, and he, as he hugged the bag with the loot, he was embraced, welcomed by their peers. Had fallen from his column hermit, and never again be alone. Gonzalo wept with joy at returning home.
"Sir, thank you for putting me where.
