Chapter 13: Rosalva’s Dilemma

February 1999

We gathered up all our copies of printed information sources and left the library. We were certain we had uncovered something big. We now had a name for the “Man in Black.” Eduardo Arellano! I would go online tonight, in my room, and start looking up everything I could on this man. Lou was certain we would be uncovering something big and nasty if I brought him up on the net.

We arrived back at our hotel room and decided to go for some supper before burying our heads in my computer. Taking the car for a ride, we journeyed on one street until we were almost on the outskirts of the town. We saw a restaurant that appeared to be open. Inside, we found quite a few patrons eagerly and happily enjoying their evening meal. A thin maître” de with a towel over his left shoulder greeted us and escorted us to a table. Lou asked if we could sit with our backs to the wall. I assumed the man thought us to be members of some law enforcement unit, or worse, some criminal element in that we would be so security conscious.

When our server came to take our order, we looked up and it was our librarian helper. She nearly dropped everything when she saw us. In English, she whispered, “What are you two doing here? Why are you following me? I gave you what you wanted. Now leave me alone!”

I put my finger to my lips as to caution her to keep her voice down. “We aren’t following you my dear lady. This has been one evening of fantastic coincidence. First, you have the information we are looking for: we have met the man in black for whom we now have a name for, and I might add, a connection to our departed friend. Then, we get hungry, and decide to come looking on the outskirts of Bogotá for a quiet place to get a nice supper, and you show up to be our server. Is all this really just a coincidence or just pieces of a puzzle starting to fall in place?” Lou added to the conversation. “We know what we are doing here, Senorita, but why are you here? Or do you always work two jobs to put yourself through college.” She let her guard down and began to cry. Lou and I both felt bad for being the cause of her despair and told her so.

“Senors, you do not understand. My family was wealthy at one time but no more. They have lost most of their fortune due to the civil war that rules the region of my family. They force my father to give out his labor and land to the cartels for less than he used to make, growing coffee and other crops. They have scorched our land in places, mined our fields in others because of whom he will grow for and whom he will not. To be honest, I have to work two jobs to finance my way through the university.”

“Perhaps we could help you,” Lou stated flatly. “If you help us, perhaps as a guide around Bogotá, and show us how to get into the area that we will show you on a map, we will make it very nice for you in regard to your education costs. I will let you think about it while we eat, ok?” Lou ordered a nice table wine and some steaks for us, with some side dishes. It was probably the best we could have gotten for two strangers not knowing their way around Bogotá.

We continued with our dinner, making small talk. Lou stated that when we got back, he was thinking seriously about perhaps reconciling with his wife. He said he felt that the cause for their separation was mostly his fault. He said he realized that his life had been slowly coming apart because his spiritual life was totally void. He said it made him feel empty. As if there were no future in what he was doing, and that it didn’t seem to count for anything anymore.

“Not the idealistic police officer anymore, huh?” I asked as I sat back with my glass in my hand. He continued to chew, looking at me, then back at his plate.

“I just feel that I’m missing so much, not having my family with me like I once had.” He put his knife and fork down and reached for his glass. The dark red wine in our glasses brought me back to thinking about its symbolic nature in history, particularly in biblical history. In the New Testament, the substance of wine symbolizes blood as it did at the Last Supper. This is where the use of wine has become an institution in the Church, because of its use in the sacrament of communion.

Lou had been rambling for about a minute when my attention came back to his conversation. I have no idea of what he had said in that last minute, my thoughts so consumed by the symbolism of wine. I passed it off as if I had heard every word.

“So, are you going to talk to her about it when we get back? Do you think she’ll be open to it?” I poured another glass, first for me, and then I filled Lou’s glass. “I think you should be ready for some demands for changes. Talk of change without the intent to change is useless. Nothing will have changed, and your separation may become permanent. A good self-examination may be in order here, Lou,” I said, looking him straight in the eye.

“I see what you have with Rachel, and your children,” he said, leaning forward, holding his stemmed glass with both hands. “It makes me envious that I should have that with my family, but I don’t. I think that after coming to know you so much better, since we started working on this case, that your happiness is because of your spiritual life. I suppose that is what I’m envious of.” “Lou,” I said back to him, “All people have ups and downs in their marriages, especially the Christians. There is evil all around us. To think that Christians have insulation against the effects of the evil that purveys this world is absurd. All Christians are tempted, and sometimes they stumble and fall. Flat on their faces!