For Isabel by Antonio Tabucchi

Author:Antonio Tabucchi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2017-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

Perhaps Tiago was my age, or perhaps he was a few years younger, it was hard to tell. He had a buzz cut and wore a linen jacket and an Indian foulard around his neck. He was extremely elegant, smoking a cigarette in a long ivory holder.

Good afternoon, he said, were you sent by the agency? I told him no. Sorry, he said, I was expecting a critic from an agency, someone to review my show. I put out my cigarette and stood up. No, I answered, I’m here on private business, regarding someone you met a long time ago. He looked puzzled but unfazed. Come into my studio, he said, we can speak more freely there.

He led me down a hallway that opened out to a balcony, which looked out over an enormous space with very high ceilings and granite columns. It seemed like a convent refectory, and maybe it really was at one time. We went down a small, metal staircase painted green, and he had me sit on a couch adjacent to another, at the center of this large space. All around us were tripods and cameras, backdrops of various colors, white umbrella lights. The walls were covered in small color photos I couldn’t quite make out.

Well? he said and crossed his legs as he sat on the couch. Well, I said, I’m here for Isabel. He looked confused, then his expression grew more ironic. He untied the foulard around his neck and draped it over the armrest. Isabel, he said, musing, Isabel, my dear sir, I’ve known dozens of Isabels in my life, it’s such a common name in Portugal, what Isabel do you mean – an actress, a model, or something else? Or something else, I answered. Perhaps you could explain a bit more, he said. I put on a patient look and said, I’ll thoroughly explain so you can thoroughly understand, Mr. Tiago: this Isabel went by Magda, but that was only a code name, and I think you very well know both her name and her code name, let’s just say she was Isabel known as Magda, the same name as another who may or may not figure into this story, now do you have something to say? His ironic expression turned back to confusion. Could you explain a bit more? he said. All right, I went on, I’ll explain a bit more: many years ago, you might say, about thirty years ago, Isabel known as Magda wound up in the Caxias political prison, and you, Mr. Tiago, were in The Organization, I’m not sure if it was the underground Communist Party, or a different underground party, seeing how all parties during Salazar’s dictatorship were underground, and you, well, you, Mr. Tiago, you had Isabel escape prison posing as someone else, Isabel arrived at Santa Maria Hospital and you had all trace of her disappear, but you know where those traces lead, you know something, and I want to know it, too.

The photographer shifted positions and lit another cigarette in his long ivory holder.

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