The Agartha Star

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Once the process in the Migration sector was completed, he walked to the Baggage Claim area where the passengers swarmed waiting for their suitcases to appear on the conveyor belt that was assigned to their flight. Since the only luggage the young man carried was a large backpack and a small wheeled suitcase that he had placed in Buenos Aires in the luggage rack above the seats, he passed by the area on his way to the exit. In total, the process of entering the United States had taken three quarters of an hour, mostly due to the long queue that foreigners had to do before Migrations. Upon leaving the huge lobby mixed with disoriented travelers of all races and nationalities mixed with internal transport agents in search of customers to take them to the various hotels in the city, the boy smiled. New York was offering to him its usual nervous and busy face. The memories of his long previous stay flocked to his memory, and all the smells and flavors of the city flooded his senses. Resolutely he went to the area of the buses that connect the Airport with the center of the city where he would pick one of them to take him close to his destination. The rest of the trip he would do by subway or walking. As far as he remembered, the Gramercy Park area was a residential and quiet district and he wondered what his distant relative would be doing in such an elegant area.

His heart was jubilant. Immediately after his twenty-third birthday party at home in Buenos Aires, Martín Colombo returned to New York after four years of absence; in his mind this city was the portal of all kinds of adventures and experiences. At the end of the previous year he had taken his final exams at the National Technological University where he graduated as an industrial engineer and before joining the small systems consultancy firm set up by his brother Román, Martín had agreed with him and his parents that he would dedicate the following period to travel the planet and then enter fully into the adult world of formal work, in a kind of sui generis sabbatical year. To that end he had little money but at least he had a contact that according to his father would give him shelter and whom he could help in his tasks in exchange for a small remuneration; the nature of the tasks and activities were unknown to Martín at that time but in reality he did not care at all as long as they gave him time and freedom to travel the city and actually around the country.

The contact was a distant relative named Dennis belonging to a branch of the Colombo family that had migrated to the United States at the same time his grandfather settled in Argentina. Martín's father had met members of that branch who had remained in Italy when he had visited the small town of Inveruno in the province of Milan. When Martín had previously traveled to New York, his father had not yet been to Inveruno and did not know of the existence of that relative, so they had not met him then. When both tried to find out what Dennis was doing, the answers had been vague, so they presumed that the Colombo relatives living in Italy really did not know.

Martín pressed the doorbell of the apartment and while he waited for the answer, he looked around the peaceful neighborhood with its houses built obviously at different times but with a sober and elegant aspect and it was only then that he noticed the relatively few people who passed by at that time, an experience so different from the usual feverish rhythm in New York. He was lost in those thoughts when the electric bell rang and a male voice spoke to him from apartment 3C, where he had called.

“I'm Martín Colombo.” said the boy in still hesitant English.

"Come in." The speaker said succinctly in a husky voice. "The elevators are at the end of the corridor."

Dennis Colombo turned out to be a corpulent man in his forties. At that moment he was unshaven and looked a bit disheveled, but when he saw Martín he smiled and turned away from the door to allow him access.

The living room was large and shallow but tastefully furnished and it seemed to Martín that behind that aspect there was a feminine hand. Several books were open and scattered about what was obviously the dining room table, and at his side were scrawled some notepad blocks. At one end of the room, next to a window was a work table with two computers, a printer and other technological devices.

“Come, I'll show now you what your room will be.” Dennis said showing him the way through a short corridor. The room was small but cozy and had a single ample bed, a wardrobe with much room for the few belongings the boy was carrying and a light table. Also near the window was a small work table; the place looked clean and tidy. Martín left the suitcase and the backpack on the bed.

“So, what do you think?"

“Very good indeed, this is all I need and more than what I have in my own home."

“Come.” Dennis said again . "Let's have a coffee."

At the moment they were both going back to the living room and the owner of the house was heading towards what was evidently the kitchen, key noises were heard coming from the apartment door.

“It's Deborah, my girlfriend.” explained Dennis; when he saw the young man's doubtful gesture, he then added immediately.

“Don't worry, Debbie does not live here, she has her own apartment near Central Park, but she has a key to my house and we spend a lot of time together."

“It is fine by me. I do not plan spending much time inside the apartment; I want to tour the city."

Deborah Liberman entered the apartment and hung her coat from some hooks placed for that purpose next to the door. Martín looked at her admiringly and without saying a word. In her late thirties, tall, blonde, with intensely blue eyes, harmonious features with a nose of slightly Semitic profile, the woman was beautiful and no doubt by her elegant looks she made an impact with her mere presence. Deborah was dressed in a blue coat and skirts of unquestionable quality that made even an ignorant absolute of the fashion like Martín realize that it was brand clothing. The contrast with the worn jeans and the pullover somewhat deformed by the use of the young newcomer made him feel somewhat out of place; this feeling was, however, relativized by looking sideways at Dennis, who was even more modestly attired.

“Martín, let me introduce Debbie.” said Dennis, taking the boy out of his stupor.” Debbie, this is Martín.

Following the custom of his country the young man approached to kiss the woman on the cheek, but she anticipated extending his hand.

“Sit at the table.” Added the homeowner. I´m already coming with coffee."

Martín sat at one end of the table. As he watched forward he felt that the woman's beautiful eyes were resting on him, which increased his sense of discomfort, but when he looked straight ahead at her he realized that she was looking at him smiling but in silence. At that moment Dennis returned with the steaming coffee pot. Debbie hurriedly pulled out some cups and dishes from a cupboard and placed them on the table, so the man filled them. Just then the woman's voice was heard and in spite of his lack of practice in the language Martín immediately perceived that she spoke educated English.

"So you're the lost relative of South America." The tone was friendly.

“Argentina.”The boy specified.

“Argentina.”She repeated calmly.” I have already been told that in your country you are proud people."

“I ... I really did not want ..."

"And who told you?" Dennis interrupted, addressing the woman with the hidden purpose of removing his relative from the embarrassment.

“Students from other Latin American countries.” She answered.

“Debbie is a professor at an art academy.” explained Dennis.

“You have handsome relatives in Argentina.” The woman commented. "No doubt Selma would like to meet Martín."

“Selma is her younger sister.” explained Dennis once again.

“ Tall, with light color eyes and hair. It's not the idea we have of the Italians in New York." added the woman.

“The Colombo family comes from the north of Italy.” Dennis had taken charge of giving explanations of everything that was said.

“I want to hear you speak.” Debbie said now addressing Martín.” Do you speak English? Tell me about your life.”

Encouraged by the good vibes of his two interlocutors, the young man began to tell them his short biography, interrupted every so often by questions from the two Americans, who obviously had little information about his country.

“So you've gone skiing last winter.” The woman said. "One associates Latin America with tropical climates.”

“The south is very cold. You know ... Patagonia, Tierra del Fuego ... Antarctica is not far away."

As he spoke, Martín was growing more comfortable speaking English and the evening with the exchange of information continued for several hours, until Dennis said.

“It's time to have dinner."

Martín discreetly looked at his watch. Debbie noticed and expressed.

“ It's half past seven and p.m. What time do you usually have dinner in your country?"

“Hardly before nine of the night, but I'm hungry, today I ate little because of the trip."

“I'm going to order the food." Dennis resolved. "You can choose Italian, Chinese or Indian. It's the repertoire we have in the area."

"None of that!" Debbie said standing up. "Today I'll cook. We're going to have Martín try a New York dinner."

"Is there such a thing?" Dennis asked jocularly. "Well, you know better than I what supplies you will find in the refrigerator."