به یادآوری همه چیز

CHAPTER NINE

Remembering everything

Cristina got into Daniel’s car. ‘We’re going to the police, are we? Which police station?’ she asked.

‘We’re going to your flat,’ Daniel replied. ‘The police will be there. They are hoping that the person who tried to kill you will follow us. They want to get him. We’ll go down Avenida de Libertador.’

Daniel drove the car out of the hospital car park but he didn’t see the blue Peugeot leave the car park behind them. Daniel turned into Avenida del Libertador. The blue Peugeot turned into the same road a few seconds later and moved to the left hand side.

Cristina looked around her. She couldn’t believe that less than a month before she was riding her motorbike down this Avenida every morning and every evening without a care in the world. Now she had no motorbike and lots of problems.

Daniel drove slowly through the heavy traffic. There were a lot of people around as usual. Many of them were on their way to have dinner in the restaurants of Recoleta.

People in Buenos Aires never really have dinner before ten o’clock in the evening and the city center was busy until at least three o’clock in the morning. All the traffic lights were red.

It was always the same.

She looked at Daniel beside her. He looked tired and worried. He wanted to get Cristina to the police quickly.

He slowed down at some traffic lights as they were changing to red. Cristina turned her head and looked into the car next to them.

She saw two men. The man who was driving the car was looking at the road in front of him.

The man sitting next to him looked out of the window at Cristina. She looked into his eyes and she couldn’t look away.

She looked into the dark brown eyes of that man and for a moment he looked back. Then he turned his head and she saw the tattoo of the red poppy on his neck.

Suddenly Cristina remembered everything. She remembered the eyes of the man and the red flower on his neck, the poppy.

She remembered the car and the sound of the police cars. She knew that these were the same men who had tried to kill her in the gym. The same men who had driven their car at Philippe.

And then she remembered the gun. The same gun that the man was picking up now. The same man, the same gun. The same red flowers in the field of the painting she loved.

‘Go, Daniel! Move! He’s got a gun! He’s going to kill us!’ she shouted. Daniel drove through the red light and on down the Avenida.

The other car followed. Daniel didn’t have much time to think. He drove along the Avenida as fast as he could.

‘What shall I do?’ he asked Cristina.

‘Turn into Calle Montevideo. We’ll go past my flat. That’s what the police wanted. I’m sure they’ll be there,’ answered Cristina.

The Peugeot was still following them. Daniel turned into Calle Montevideo. Cristina saw the two light and dark blue police cars parked across the road near her flat.

‘Slow down, Daniel. Stop here. It’s OK. We’ll be OK.’

Daniel stopped the car suddenly and pushed Cristina down onto the floor of the car. The Peugeot behind was going so fast that Carlos couldn’t stop it. He tried but the car turned right and left and right again.

Then it hit one of the police cars and turned over. There was a lot of noise. People were shouting. Cristina wanted to look out but Daniel said, ‘Stay there. It could still be dangerous.’

After another long minute it was quiet and two policemen came to open the door of Daniel’s car.

‘You can come out now. It’s safe,’ one of them said.

Then they heard the sound of an ambulance. It came into the street and stopped near the Peugeot. Cristina stood still. She didn’t want to watch but she couldn’t stop herself. The police pulled a body from the Peugeot.

Cristina couldn’t see if the man was alive or dead but she could see the blood. Men carried the body to the ambulance. When the door was closed, the ambulance drove off to the hospital.

Cristina could see the other man, the man without the tattoo of a poppy, sitting in the police car.

Six months later Cristina was standing in the main room in the museum. It was the first night of the Impressionist exhibition. She was wearing a short black dress and her dark hair fell around her shoulders. Music was playing. Cristina looked around. Her parents were there, talking together and drinking champagne. Daniel was there with his girlfriend from Rosario.

After a few minutes the music stopped and everybody was quiet. They all stopped talking. Leonardo Martinez, the museum director, started to talk:

‘Ladies and gentlemen. I am so pleased to welcome you to this important Impressionist exhibition. We have never before had this number of Impressionist paintings in Buenos Aires.’

Cristina felt a hand on her arm. She knew that hand. It was Philippe. He had come back to Buenos Aires often while they were organizing the exhibition and they had spent a lot of time together.

Philippe spoke quietly in Cristina’s ear, ‘It’s really happening. Your parents and friends are here. The paintings are here. Monet’s poppies are here. And we’re here together to see them too.’

‘I know. It’s wonderful. I wish you and your paintings could stay here forever.’

‘No, I have to go home. But I want to ask you something. When I take my paintings home, will you come with me?’

Cristina smiled at him with love in her eyes and nodded her head.