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Chapter 3

 

 

Yesterday at my hotel, here in Iguazú, was only the third time Geraldo and I've met, or talked, since leaving the Barrio, nearly twenty years ago. When he gave me the first thousand, we agreed to meet the day before the planned seduction, for him to show me recent pictures of Diana on his tablet, and to give me an idea of her plans for today. He was ultra-cautious.  He parked some distance away, in a flower nursery, and disguised in old gardening clothes, walked half a kilometre to the hotel, wearing a baseball hat and dark glasses. Afterwards he pocketed his hat and removed his jacket, before returning by a different route. 

His cloak-and-dagger antics and my new wardrobe made me feel that I really was James Bond, his secret agent on this mission. 

When we met in the bar, Geraldo had explained that Diana thinks of him as her plaything. He was getting a bit drunk and complained that she likes to be treated as a goddess. Apparently 'Diana' is another name for Artemis, the ancient Greek goddess of the hunt, who lived on Olympus. The joke is that Artemis is also the goddess of chastity! Her parents have a lot to answer for. They were well off but her money is her own. She took her wealthy first husband to the cleaners when he had an affair. So Geraldo sees nothing wrong with doing the same to her.

Her second husband lasted only a few months before he was kidnapped. The ransom went wrong and he was killed, along with his kidnappers, when their van spectacularly exploded in flames during a police-chase. It was in all the newspapers. His death left her a grieving young widow; but this time with her husband's entire estate; and very wealthy indeed.

He's her third, with no wealth, her toy-boy. So he complained at length about the arrogant way she treats him, as if she's the goddess on Olympus and he's her mere servant. Thinking back that's funny. I've been taking pictures of her all day with my stolen Olympus. 

I'm loving this mission. I would have taken this for expenses only! To think I'll net over five thousand US and I've even picked up an expensive Olympus camera as an additional benefit. I'm feeling like James Bond in these clothes. The only thing I'm missing is a Barretta strapped under my arm.

One thing doesn’t make sense. Early this morning Geraldo crossed into Brazil. Then he took a flight to Rio and an international flight back to Buenos Aires. He obviously didn't mean to tell me about this plan. He's not always the sharpest tool in the box and it slipped out. He looked confused and blustered when I asked him why he didn't simply fly out on a domestic flight from the Argentine side? I'm not sure I should believe that it was so the divorce lawyers could confirm that he was back in BA when Diana met me and started the affair. The only explanation I can think of for doing it was to ensure that his identity and the time was recorded: at passport control at the border in Iguazú, Brazil; and then again, at passport control in BA. But why could that be important?  

Maybe it's just to show Diana where he is if she gets suspicious and checks on his movements? Maybe its just the way his mind works. Yet it seems more like building an alibi. But what for?

And this deal seems too good. As an experienced con-man myself I know that when a deal seems too sweet there's always something wrong. Is he trying to pin something on me? Maybe he wants her dead? Could I be his fall guy? But how?

One thing's for sure, I don't believe his divorce story. Being married doesn't seem to slow him down. And why kill the goose that lays his golden eggs?

***

Obviously, I don't intend to harm his wife, except for a fairly vigorous fuck, getting more vigorous by the minute, with her hand moving up my thigh like this.  

Geraldo can't be plotting my death. He hardly knows me anymore and it can't be over that girl, who's long gone, to her heart defect.

Wait a minute! I wonder if Diana has some health condition like that? A weak heart? Does he think I'll fuck her to death?

I adopt my best 'James Bond' voice: “Kikka, you are really turning me on doing that. I can’t wait to have you. But I don’t want to hurt you",

I'm channelling Sean Connery but I'm playing down the Scottish accent: “I’m quite nervous the first time with someone, because I put my first girlfriend into hospital. She had a weak heart. It was terrible. She suddenly had a pain in her left arm and I knew immediately.  I called an ambulance just in time.” 

“Are you kidding? " She sounds incredulous. "That's total bullshit! Why would you make that up? Why don't you just say: I'm the greatest lover in the universe.  I could fuck you to death!"

"If that’s your best line, it’s not a turn on, it’s insulting. No! I don’t have a weak heart. Or any other fuck-threatening ailment!”

Her hand has fallen from my thigh and she’s pouting. But at least it eliminates one possibility. 

A shake of her head… She’s considering. Does she want this or not?

Oh, thank goodness, the hand is back… higher than ever.  She’s squeezing me and biting my ear, rather too hard. A punishment?

"I've got a little fantasy I want you to play out for me." She's whispering in my ear as she snuggles in close. "Would you like to hear what it is?"

Of course, I would. "Yes," I reply. But it's too late, we’re here…

"Swing into that car space over there..." she instructs me.

 

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Travel

Malaysia

 

 

In February 2011 we travelled to Malaysia.  I was surprised to see modern housing estates in substantial numbers during our first cab ride from the Airport to Kuala Lumpur.  It seemed more reminiscent of the United Arab Emirates than of the poorer Middle East or of other developing countries in SE Asia.  Our hotel was similarly well appointed.

 

Read more: Malaysia

Fiction, Recollections & News

The Royal Wedding

 

 

 


It often surprises our international interlocutors, for example in Romania, Russia or Germany, that Australia is a monarchy.  More surprisingly, that our Monarch is not the privileged descendent of an early Australian squatter or more typically a medieval warlord but Queen Elizabeth of Great Britain and Northern Island - who I suppose could qualify as the latter.

Thus unlike those ex-colonial Americans, British Royal weddings are not just about celebrity.  To Australians, Canadians and New Zealanders, in addition to several smaller Commonwealth countries, they have a bearing our shared Monarchy.

Yet in Australia, except for occasional visits and the endorsement of our choice of viceroys, matters royal are mainly the preoccupation of the readers of women's magazines.

That women's magazines enjoy almost exclusive monopoly of this element of the National culture is rather strange in these days of gender equality.  There's nary a mention in the men's magazines.  Scan them as I might at the barber's or when browsing a newsstand - few protagonists who are not engaged in sport; modifying equipment or buildings; or exposing their breasts; get a look in. 

But a Royal wedding hypes things up, so there is collateral involvement.  Husbands and partners are drawn in.

Read more: The Royal Wedding

Opinions and Philosophy

The Last Carbon Taxer

- a Recent Wall Street Journal article

 

 

A recent wall street journal article 'The Last Carbon Taxer' has 'gone viral' and is now making the email rounds  click here...  to see a copy on this site.  The following comments are also interesting; reflecting both sides of the present debate in Australia.

As the subject article points out, contrary to present assertions, a domestic carbon tax in Australia will neither do much to reduce the carbon impact on world climate, if implemented, nor make a significant contribution, if not implemented. 

Read more: The Last Carbon Taxer

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