The Knight´s Legacy

Rio de Janeiro

MARCH 2014

RIO DE JANEIRO

Debbie and Matías had already enjoyed three days of perfect holiday in Rio, had made all classic trips including Christ the Redeemer, the Sugar Loaf, the stadium Maracana, the Sambodromo and the historic Downtown area. They had enjoyed the beaches and traditional walks and given rein to their nocturnal s****l impulses in a suggestive city, where the erotic element is never very far. They returned to the hotel in Ipanema, exhausted and hungry, and after the shower the plans were simply choosing places to dine.

The only setback it had the day before, when they had gone to the Barra da Tijuca. While Matías bathed in uncontaminated waters he observed a restless movement behind him. He turned around and saw Debbie making desperate gestures and surely calling cries, which he did not hear by the murmur of the waves. He hastily left the sea and asked the girl that it was happening.

“While you were having fun in the water two guys running and seized beach bag that had everything.” Debbie replied in a tone of reproach.

“ And how come it is my fault that you have stolen? What you had in the bag? They had already recommended us in the hotel not to bring personal documents, jewelry or money to the beach.”

“No, I just had a few reais for the bus fare and clothing to return to the hotel.

So that day Debbie had to return to Ipanema only covered with  Matías´shirt who actually reached her knees.

It were already six o'clock in the afternoon; Debbie sunbathing on the beach right in front of the hotel, sitting in one of the lightweight chairs provided by it while Matías was lying on a mat placed directly on the sand, toasting his back. He was askance watching the garotas passing in front of him with brief bikinis that showed their skin colors ranging from ivory to ebony. At a time two beautiful mulatas passed by who left him speechless; but acting out cost him dear, his head shook strongly product of a push of Debbie´s foot whom these events had not escaped.

“Shame on you! I'm going to have to put you  a hood and take you with a string.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Answered unconvincingly Matías “ I was dozing when I woke up for your kicks.”

Debbie argued that they had already had enough sunshine for the day and decided to return to the hotel.

That afternoon the concierge of the hotel gave them two messages. One was Sara´s, with a simple request to her daughter.

“Debbie, call me once in a while! We want to know how you are.”

The other message was from a Senhor Dorival Braunstein, who left a phone number.

“This is Chiche ´s friend.” Reported Debbie. Matías felt a certain discomfort. He realized that the wonderful days in Rio were coming to an end and they were entering the stage for which in reality they had come. Chiche´s long arm had finally reached them. That night called Braunstein and agreed to meet him the next day at five in the afternoon in his office, in the District of Botafogo.

The office was in a busy area, partly residential and partly commercial with a harmonious blend of antique and modern buildings.

Braunstein was a man of about fifty years, low and plump that was simultaneously sympathetic and lively; typical carioca whom it was easy to associate with one of Chiche´s friends. The secretary, a sculptural mulata, guided them to a luxurious office. As they got into it they were wrapped by a recording with the seductive voice of María Bethania.

“….mostro a boca molhada…ainda marcada pelos beijos seus....”

that Braunstein was quick to turn off.

After an inconsequential talk in portuñol – that spontaneous mixture of Spanish and Portuguese Brazilians and Argentines used to communicate among them- the host cut to the chase.

“Chiche asked me to locate a Norwegian called Knudsen. As you know, Rio has been refuge of innumerable fugitives of all the polices of the world, precisely because of the difficulty in tracking someone who wants to hide and has the means and the contacts to do so. Anyway, my friends are always interested in possible former Nazi leaders who are in the city, and we have our informants. There is a man, apparently of Scandinavian origin, appropriate age and stature and which, we believe, had a military past. He is at least eighty-five years old. Unlike other ex-Nazis, this one is poor and lives in a cabin lost in the forest of Tijuca, heading to the Cristo Redentor, but away from the street that leads to the summit. We believe that he is hiding, and as there is nobody looking for former Nazi except us, it is likely that he is fleeing from his old comrades. This is frequent, since the former hierarchs either are gathered in their organizations and covered by them, or they are out and often they are pursued by these networks, possibly by what they know. Ah! the curious thing about this man, who calls himself Lund, is that it has formed a kind of family with a black woman and has a collection of mulatto children.

“A surprising evolution for a Nazi “ said Debbie.

“Rio is the cidade maravilhosa and tropics work wonders. These evolutions are expected.” Replied smiling Braunstein. “I want to emphasize that if you plan to seek contact with him you need to redouble precautions, because we do not know how he will react if he feels exposed, and in addition we do not want to bring his former comrades on his track.”

He then gave the young couple instructions to arrive with a public means of transport.

“There may be danger. In the forest you can kill someone and it is likely that the body will never appear, since all kinds of varmints are responsible of that. Keep a low profile at all times, and try to pass for tourists who have lost their way, although this is not too credible in that section of the forest.” Added Braunstein. Then subtly asked if Matías wanted to carry a weapon.

“I have never used them, and I'm not comfortable with them.” Replied the boy in a strict form.

Matías had been waiting for a long time until it the ancient bus appeared. He realized that the vehicle was obviously not part of the tourist circuit, but it was used by the locals who lived in la Floresta, in general very poor people of more or less pure African descent. Debbie had stayed in Ipanema, in part for being unwell and partly by not wishing to meet face to face with a real Nazi. Since he knew that there was danger, Matías agreed.

The vehicle climbed the steep slope on a path full of curves surrounded by lush greenery, covering every inch of the surface of the terrain. Dwellings were poor, some built on the edge of the path and others perched on the mountain, and were becoming scarcer as they climbed. At an indication of the driver Matías got out of the vehicle and after orienting himself stepped up the hill until he found a brick unplastered  house with metal sheet roof, surrounded by tall banana trees and a profuse thicket of tropical plants of all kinds. In particular, Matías marveled the scale that acquired in Rio the potus, bromeliads and other varieties that in Buenos Aires were indoor plants with small leaves.