Chapter 14: The fate of the Montoya family

Just as the bank manager was talking to me about the banking system in Peru and corporate structures for companies, a teller led an elderly couple in. You could see the weight they were carrying on their shoulders. While the man tried to keep up appearances, the woman was at the end of her rope. Her life’s work was lost; all hope had left her.

The bank director summed it up. It couldn’t get any worse. The Montoya family was deep in debt. They had mortgaged their house to save the hotel, which had closed due to bankruptcy. Their two children had to drop out of university because they could no longer afford it, and they had no savings and no income. Their house would be auctioned off and the family would be homeless and without any income. I felt sorry for the family, but of course that was no basis for a business relationship.

The meeting was difficult because Mr Asprilla had to translate everything and Mr Montoya found it difficult to express his worries to the bank. The repossessions always took place on the last Thursday of the month, the hotel in October, the house in November. If the banks did not meet the minimum requirements, the family was left with the remaining debt. We had to break off the conversation.

By chance, I discovered that the two Montoya children were waiting in the counter room. As the shares were still being registered, I accompanied the couple to their children, Agustín and Ximena. They were two great young people, just as open-minded as Amira and Antonio, both spoke good English, Agustín was a year away from his degree in business management, and Ximena had completed two years of studies in business information technology. I was happy to invite the family for lunch. Agustin told me there was a nice restaurant near their hotel with quiet tables in the patio.

I managed to reach Antonio on his mobile phone. Of course, he knew the ‘La Plaza Bar & Grill’ and we were supposed to meet there around midday, but he had a bigger problem with Lucia. She had stayed on the square with her friend Kantu. Antonio and Sarah were on their way to meet me; they wouldn’t have time to pick Lucia up. They didn’t know where Lia Condorcan was. It was completely unclear whether we would find her again, as she didn’t have a mobile phone.

The bank manager came to see me beaming with joy, had printed out three statements and congratulated me on owning shares worth 32,438,075 SOL at yesterday’s selling price, which corresponded to a value of 8.7 million US dollars. I nodded in agreement. “It was 32.2 million the other day, that’s fine. Thank you.”

He handed me the papers, a quick goodbye, and I hurried to the car. The modest Lia was waiting there, beaming. Great, I didn’t have to look for her. We drove to the park. We quickly found Lucia, but she was worried. Her friend Kantu was very ill, I could tell from the few words of Spanish and Lucia’s gestures. Kantu was almost a childlike Lucia, maybe 15 years old, with a one-year-old daughter in her arms, just above her bulging belly. She was at least six months pregnant. Oh God, the poor child! I let them both get in and we drove quickly to the restaurant. I asked Antonio to translate what Lucia’s friend’s problem was.

A restaurant worker refused to let Kantu, who was dressed almost in rags, in; the owner did not want poor people in the restaurant. That made me angry. At first, I wanted to leave in protest, but then I had a better idea. I asked Antonio to sing a hymn about mercy. There was already a small crowd outside the restaurant because of the loud discussion, when our priest began to sing in the deepest bass. Lia and Lucia sang along quietly. When Mrs Montoya and her daughter joined in, at least twenty people from the street were singing along. With little Tamayu in my arms, I led Kantu through the restaurant into the patio. Many people followed us to see if Kantu could eat with us. Yes, she could. There was applause and much praise for Antonio. Lucia was deeply grateful.

Antonio told me that the somewhat neglected Indio woman was in pain, especially around her kidneys and pelvis. Lia knew immediately what to do. Kantu had probably not drunk enough and her kidneys could no longer process the thick blood. The same thing happened to Lia during her second pregnancy. Lia and Lucia looked after the pregnant woman and gave her mineral water to drink over and over for the next hour.

Sarah just said laconically, “You don’t have to stress it, it’s not your child, but it’s very nice if you help the poor girl”.

Sarah took care of little Tamayu, went with Lia to buy nappies and fresh clothes, and returned with a clean and fragrant pearl of a child. Soon the four women were sitting at the next table playing with the now clean and well dressed baby. Lucia reported that Kantu had very dark, reddish urine, but was able to relieve herself easily. Lia nodded, the same had happened to her. After a few days of drinking properly, the pain would simply disappeare.

Now I could focus on the Montoya family. Their son Agustin spoke English very well and occasionally translated for his parents. When he realised that I really wanted to help them, he became more open and talked about the family’s worries and needs, certainly more than his parents would have liked.

We sorted out the problems:

1. The hotel was in debt to the tune of 1.2 million SOL. There were other claims from energy companies, suppliers, and the city council totalling almost 80,000 SOL. If the auction did not raise 1.3 million, her parents would be in debt for life.

2. Their house next to the hotel had a debt of 500,000 SOL, of which the interest had not been paid for five months. With debts to a construction company and the town council, the total debt was 560,000 SOL.

3. The father had no job prospects. He had previously run his father’s restaurant, which made a good profit, so, they bought the hotel about twenty years ago. For more than five years he had made little profit and most of the time the costs could not be covered.

4. Since the hotel closed, his mother has worked part-time as a cook in a restaurant, but her low income has not been enough to support the family.

5. Ximena worked full time in a computer and copy shop for only 1,200 SOL per month, less than $350.

6. Agustin worked part-time as an accountant in two small companies, but was paid 100 or 200 SOL two or three times a month.

Meanwhile, our food had arrived. When ordering, I had asked everyone at our two tables to order whatever they felt like, no matter what it cost, but everyone had ordered cheap, modest food. Kantu had almost devoured her food; she was so hungry, even though she had already had a portion of fast food from Lucia in the park. The Montoyas were still not full, but they thanked me politely.

Antonio and I went to the chef and asked if he could offer us something filling and particularly tasty. Soon, there were two large bowls of chips on the tables, along with lots of salads and sauces. The chef himself brought out four freshly prepared guinea pigs and two grilled chicken. After a moment’s hesitation, everyone took what they wanted. I realised there was too much food, but we could have it packed for Kantu and the Montoyas.

With my notes, I sat down with Agustin and his father on a bench between green hedges in the courtyard of the restaurant. We sat as if we were in a real little gazebo for lovers, not really a place for our problems, but we sat apart and were undisturbed.

After a brief discussion, I summarized the matter. “Your problem is very close to my heart, I almost feel uncomfortable talking about it. I’ve heard that there are no buyers for the hotel, but there are for your house. I could probably buy the hotel for 1.2 or 1.3 million. That wouldn’t help you because a month later you’d lose your house. Can I see your hotel? Do you have the keys?”

The father nodded in agreement.

Sarah and Antonio accompanied the three of us to the hotel. The building was fine, but rather run down. Unfortunately, the restaurant had no outside area and the heating and air conditioning were broken. But the property was obviously worth something. I estimated that I would have to pay at least two million euros for it in Belgium. That’s almost eight million SOL. Of course, real estate in Peru was not worth as much as in Europe, but definitely more than two million SOL.

As we sat at a large round table in the restaurant of the closed hotel, I asked if I was thinking correctly. “Let’s say the auction of the hotel would fetch 2.5 million SOL, then all the debts would be paid, you could pay off your house and still have about 600,000 SOL left for yourself. Is that right?”

Agustin’s father wasn’t very good at figures, but his young son was immediately on board. “Yes, that would solve the problem and my parents would have a modest life for maybe ten years. Would you really do that?”

Of course, I was still thinking. “I have one more condition. You and Ximena continue studying, I’ll give you a scholarship. After you have successfully completed your studies, you agree to work with us in the valley for two years, with free board and lodging and a salary of 2,000 SOL per month. Is that all right with you, Agustin?”

He looked uncertainly at Antonio, then at his father. Sarah nodded in encouragement. Then the young man ran off. Antonio only said that Agustin was too emotionally affected by my proposal. He was ashamed of his tears and had only gone to collect his feelings. Antonio brought him back. We shook hands as if we had come to an agreement. Then the boy explained to his father what they had talked about. Soon, they were both crying and hugging each other, and then Antonio and me, too. Later, our priest whispered to me that I had saved at least one life. Mrs Montoya had vowed to kill herself if they lost their house. Her husband would not have been able to cope either and might have considered suicide.

Back at the restaurant, I called the bank manager on his private mobile, as it was siesta time. He confirmed that the auction would not take place if the bank’s claims were settled first. As far as I was concerned, the deal was perfect. Mrs Montoya looked at me uncertainly. Agustin was translating his mother’s words: “Are you really such a good person that you also help our children?”

It felt so overwhelmingly good to be honoured as a benefactor. To Mrs Montoya I was a saviour, but I felt guilty. It wasn’t my honestly earned money. In fact, I was just giving away money that didn’t really belong to me, but that I happened to have access to. I intended to set the record straight when the opportunity arose, but at the moment I was enjoying the sweet poison of praise that was only partly mine.

But I had to make one thing clear. It wasn’t me who bought the hotel, it was our community. It wasn’t my money, it was our money. The ‘Organisation for the Support of Homeless Women in Peru’, the OSWP, was to become the owner of the building.

Mrs Montoya didn’t care. For her, I remained the hero of the day, maybe even for the rest of her life. I simply took her in my arms. She also kissed ‘my dear wife’ Sarah with gratitude and dabbed away a few tears. I said goodbye in a friendly but firm manner. We had to leave urgently. The site manager would surely be waiting.

“Would you like to come with us, Ximena, and Agustin? You can sleep with us, I’ll bring you back tomorrow.”

Of course they did. Ximena’s eyes lit up at me. She seemed infinitely grateful. They quickly ran to their nearby house to pack the most important things for one night.

Meanwhile a new problem arose. Lucia asked if it would be possible for her to take Kantu to our village. She would help her prepare the oldest hut. Kantu was used to working hard, even when she was pregnant. Everything in me rebelled against it, and Antonio wasn’t sure it was right either. We already had so many children in the valley, almost too many.

Sarah said in the way she seemed to have copied from Ramona: “As if one child more or less in the valley is important. Take the girl and her daughter with you. You do that, Michael. Otherwise, you won’t be able to sleep at night thinking about the fate of little Tamayu. Please, Michael, help Kantu, too.”

Who can say no to his dear sister like that? I certainly can’t. Lucia kissed me gratefully and Kantu gave me a quick hug. After a few friendly words to the hotel owners, I drove off towards paradise with my now eight companions.

The police were at the junction from the 3N to San Huano. The new road was blocked. What had happened? We were very astonished. A little further on, a garland was stretched across the road. The construction manager and a man from the provincial government of ‘La Libertad’ were waiting for us for a ceremony. Three photojournalists were there and Ernesto, of course. There were words of thanks and I was given a pair of scissors. I called Lucia and Kantu over, took the scissors from the man from the provincial government and suggested that the two Indio girls should open the new road.

My speech was short: “The opening of the road is being done by Lucia, the poor girl from the park whose baby ‘Mama Olivia’ had breastfed, and by her friend Kantu, who lived as a beggar in the central park of Trujillo, was raped and impregnated again. She is moving to our valley today. Soon, she will look as beautiful as our Lucia. Open the road, dear ones.”

Agustin translated and Lia told the young women what to do with the scissors.

Sarah asked me how I’d managed to organise this again, but I had to admit that I had no idea about the event. Of course, I took the opportunity to give some information to the press.

“The road is the first step towards a major project that we want to fund. We want to build a small dam to prevent the 3N road from being washed away, which has happened almost every year. At least a hundred families will be able to settle and farm below the dam. They will get electricity and water from the reservoir. Fields and gardens can be irrigated all year round. But the provincial government has to sell me the valley; otherwise, I will not be able to get loans to finance it.

The man from the provincial government said that such a project should be supported. He made a solemn promise to everyone present.

Ernesto was with Kantu and Lucia. Lia was translating his questions into Quechua. He didn’t want to believe that Lucia was the girl from the park. Inti sent him two photos from the newsroom on his mobile phone. It was clear from her face that this was the same young woman who had looked so withered and neglected just a few months ago, but who now looked almost like a model. Again, I saw a few suppressed tears in Ernesto’s eyes. He was incredibly emotional when it came to the people of his country.

“Michael, thank you so much. The story is incredible. God sent you to Peru.” He hugged me tightly. “Can I write about the dam project?”

“That’s why I told the press. I need a ‘yes’ from the provincial government. Please, put pressure on them and we’ll start right away.”