Out of the Jungle

"My name is Xavier Ortiz, I am a journalist." I looked at Colonel Rodriguez standing in front of me, it wasn't just the jungle green uniform that scared me or the machine pistol he held so casually, its barrel pointed directly at my forehead, it was the look in his eyes that really had me worried. I could see that he didn't believe me even though he had my passport and travel papers in his other hand.

"I disagree with you Senor, you are not who you say that you are, you are not Xavier Ortiz and you are not a journalist."

"But you have my passport that says that I am, you have my visa and travel papers that say that I am Xavier Ortiz, journalist and that I am here in your country to interview Senora Mendez again for my newspaper."

"I am aware Senor that these documents all tell me that this is who you claim to be but these papers are false and I know for a fact that you are not who you claim to be."

"There is one way that we can settle this, I have interviewed Senora Mendez in the past and she has agreed for me to interview her again. In my attaché case you will find a copy of my previous interviews with her, they have my by-line and my picture, if you need further proof if you would call her she will verify that I am who I say that I am." I was playing my last card here and if he didn't get her or she refused to back me up I don't know where I will end up, probably in some jungle camp while they tap the paper for a ransom which was more profitable to them than a firing squad, at least I hoped so.

I guess that I should explain just how I found myself in this situation. It all began some eighteen months ago in Italy, Milan to be specific.

Carmen Mendez was at the time of that interview Carmen Chavez, the daughter of El Presidente, Joachim Chavez, of this god forsaken Central American country. Carmen was a young opera singer and had just begun a season as Mimi in La Boheme at La Scala. There were rumours that had spread around Milan about the tension between Carmen and her co-star. Rumours had started after her rehearsal performance and she was being hailed as possibly the best Mimi yet, even better than Callas and that pissed off the famous tenor who was singing Rodolfo. My paper saw the newsworthiness of this situation and sent me to interview her even though I knew little about opera, I guess that they figured I'd not be overawed by her co-star's massive physical stature and reputation and produce a piece slanted in his favour. After several days of intensive coaching on the finer points of the soprano's art and that opera in particular I was let loose on her.

Expecting a Prima Donna performance from her I was surprised at her reservation, she appeared shy and distracted during the interview in her dressing room after her debut performance. "Signorina Chavez, first of all let me congratulate you on your magnificent performance, never have I heard Mimi sung with such conviction, you were Mimi." I was telling the truth when I said that, I had never heard Mimi before, but the raw emotion of her performance really moved me.

"Thank you Signor, it is unusual for a journalist who is not a theatre critic to appreciate opera." I hoped that she didn't know of my reputation as a theatre critic which probably helped me get this job.

"Signorina Chavez I have been told that a voice such as yours has to be a natural gift. When did you first realize you had such a magnificent voice?"

"Please, you may call me Carmen. It was when I was at school, I studied music and would sing at any opportunity and my teacher convinced my parents that I should attend the opera school here at La Scala."

"If you allow me to call you Carmen then you must call me Xavier, it is only fair. A natural voice is just a part of the opera singer's skill, you have to be able to drag the audience into the part, and you have done that here."

"You are not a fan of opera? I sense that you have had coaching on the questions that you have to ask, do you have a favourite opera or aria?"

She was putting me on the spot here, I could plead total ignorance or come up with an answer that would explain my limited knowledge. "You are right, I'm not a fan of opera, the vision of some middle-aged pouter pigeon soprano trying to pass herself off in the ingénue role of Juliet in Romeo and Juliet is a farce. Having said that I do have a couple of favourite arias, the first is the 'Flower Duet' from Delibes' Lakme and the second is 'In the depths of the temple' from the Pearl Fishers and both for the same reason."

"And what is that?"

"The harmonies, they are duets and when done well like when the singers harmonize rather than sing it as two solos, both of these arias send tingles up my spine, when performed at less than perfect they leave me cold like most other arias."

"I congratulate you, you are not one of these people who attend the opera to be seen but you do appreciate the finer points of the operatic art. I see that I must educate you further." She smiled when she said that and I was captivated by this woman.

"I got the impression that your Rodolfo was not happy with you, he tried to upstage you at the end of act three by standing a little behind you so that you were not facing the audience as you sang, but you ignored this and sang as you should."

"I hope that you were in the minority who noticed this. Most of the people in the audience had come to hear him sing not me so they took little notice of what he did."

"Is the role of Mimi your favourite?"

She thought about this for a while before answering.

"Each role I sing is my favourite at the time that I sing it otherwise I cannot do it justice."

My next question was prompted by the real reason that I was here. "How long do you intend to keep singing as a career?"

She looked sharply at me as if to try to understand my motive. "I would like to continue singing for many years but my being the daughter of the president of my country bears with it certain responsibilities."

I switched off my tape recorder. "This is off the record and what you tell me stays with me, I will repeat it to no-one and it will not be a part of the interview that I publish. I understand that you are to return to your country as soon as this season is finished to marry the son of your father's best friend. I also understand that you are not happy with this arrangement but have no choice in the matter because if you don't your mother will be harmed and badly. You don't have to answer me, just nod if what I say is true." Her nod was almost imperceptible and anyone watching from a distance of more than ten metres would not have seen it. "Is there some way that I can see you without your bodyguard knowing of it?"

"That is impossible, they follow me wherever I go, and they are outside this room now. I don't know how it is that you were able to interview me alone at this time, but to be alone with you again will be impossible."

"But I must speak to you alone and I am taking a chance doing it now but I have something to tell you that is important to you. For now we must return to the interview." I switched the recorder back on. "I understand that you have been offered the opportunity of singing the Mimi role at the Metropolitan Opera in New York in three month's time, will you do it?"

"No I cannot, I have to return to my country, there is a presidential election coming up and part of my father's campaign is that I am to be married to the son of his friend Juan Mendez, the joining of these two families will give a strong indication to the world of stability in my country."

"You don't. . . ." She held up her hand to stop my question. "think that you will be returning to the opera stage in the near future?"

"I think not, my duty is to my country and duty comes before pleasure, I'm sure that you must understand this."

Oh I understood this well enough. I took a slip of paper that I had prepared from my pocket and held it in the palm of my hand. "That will be all for today but I would like to interview you again in one week's time to see how you are feeling after a week of performing this demanding role if that is agreeable to you and your people." I stood in the passage outside her door and held my hand out to her. She felt the paper and closed her hand over it as my hand left hers. It was now up to her.

As I left her dressing room I was approached by one of the bodyguards and ordered to follow him to a room at the end of the hallway. With little ceremony I was shoved inside and told to sit down in a chair fronting a desk behind which a man sat. "Senor Ortiz, your recorder if you please." I took it out of my pocket and passed it over. He pressed the 'play' button and listened to the whole interview, rewound it and played it until he came to the place where I had switched it off. "There is a gap in the interview here, why is that?"

"I felt a coughing fit coming on so I turned it off until the need to cough went away."

There was a knock on the door and a man entered, he walked around the desk and whispered in the ear of the other man who nodded that he understood the message. "It would seem that you free to go and Senorita Chavez has agreed to see you next week so until then it is good-bye."

Free, that's a joke, I was followed out of the building and back to the newspaper office and when I got back to my hotel room I was aware that it had been searched, they were taking no chances.

The next morning I was prepared for my meeting with Carmen without knowing if she was going to turn up. If she followed her instructions she would meet me at a small café around the corner at eleven, if she didn't I would receive a phone call from one of my accomplices telling me that she wouldn't be showing up.

At twenty to eleven a well dressed woman entered a large department store and walked briskly to the ladies fashion section. Here she chose several dresses and walked to the change rooms, nothing unusual about that apart from the fact that she was followed into the store by two men and a woman. The men stood as unobtrusively as man can stand in a women's fashion department, some twenty feet away casually looking over the perfumes while the woman stood outside the passage way to the change rooms.

Carmen stripped off her clothes and began to try on the dresses she had chosen. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled at the dress, she would never buy something like this unless it was for a man that she loved, it showed too much of her breasts and the skirt was close fitting over her slender hips and finished about half-way between her hips and knees with a slit up one side that almost reached her hip. Her parents would die if they saw her wearing it even after she married.

As she was looking at her reflection a woman slipped into the change room. "Nice dress, you should buy it. You are Carmen?" On receiving the acknowledgement the woman stripped off the Nike track suit that she was wearing and handed it to Carmen who quickly put it on along with the sneakers, sunglasses and cap. "You know what to do? You walk out of here, turn right and a block down you turn right again. He is waiting for you."

"But what about my bodyguards, how do I get passed them?"

"They are being taken care of."

In the store the two men had been attracted by the woman who was bent over the jewellery cabinet looking at the necklaces and ear-rings. She was bent far enough over the counter that a large amount of breast was visible. Both men were transfixed by the sight and, as she moved around the display cabinet, slowly edged their way to the side so that they could get a better view. The woman bodyguard was trying to attract their attention and tell them to focus on the job at hand. They ignored her to the point that she had to walk over to them, it was then that the woman at the counter pressed a button in her hand, sending a signal to her partner in the change room. "Quickly, walk out of here as if you were walking on stage at one of your operas, I'll follow shortly."

Carmen walked from the store and minutes later sat across the table from me in the café. "Who are you? You are not just a journalist are you?"

"That is where you are wrong, I am a fully accredited journalist working for a major newspaper group. However I have been approached by a certain organisation to speak with you on matters that affect your country and another country, not mine although the owner of the media group was born in my country but has become a citizen of the other country. It seems that the relationship between your country and this country is a little strained because of drugs. I don't know how much you know of this problem but it is causing a great deal of concern to the government of the country that has hired me."

"I know that the cultivation of cocaine exists in my country but beyond that I know little, I do not know who the major players are."

"Your father has never discussed this matter with you?"

"No, I have been away from my country for three years and have only seen my father when I go home for Christmas. He does not discuss politics with me or my mother, it is men's business."

"Your mother, she is here in Milan with you?" I knew the answer to this question already but I needed for her to open out the discussion.

"Yes she is. She came over when the rehearsals started and she will fly home with me when the season finishes."

"Do you think that she is happy about going home?"

"Why do you ask this? It is her duty to go home just as it is mine."

"What does she think of your choice of husband?" Again I knew the answer to this, she was unhappy with this arranged marriage.

"He is not my choice of husband, this has been arranged between my father and his. She has not said anything to me but I believe that she would have wished for a man who is not so much a warrior, she would prefer an artist or singer."

"But she is forced to go along with this?"

"Yes, as am I and it saddens her to think that I am to become the wife of a man who is used to such violence." I could see by the expression on her face that she was wondering just where this conversation was heading.

I reached over and took her hand in mine, a move straight out of the demonstrating empathy section of Psych 101. "How would it be if I were to write a piece about this, about you being forced to give up a promising career on the opera stage to marry a man you don't love for purely political reasons?"

Carmen held my hand tightly in hers. "No you must not do that! If you do that Mother and I will never be able to feel safe again."

"If I could move the both of you to a safe place before the story is published would you consider it then?"

"How can you make such a promise? Who do you really work for? Your name is not common in your country, where were you born?"

"Okay, I guess that I'll have to set your mind at rest. My name is Xavier Ortiz, I was born in Australia but my parents were Chilean refugees who fled their country in early 1973 just before the overthrow of the Allende government by Pinochet. I am a journalist, I have a degree in journalism from Sydney University. I worked for one of Sydney's newspapers for a while until one day I drew the short straw and was made a theatre critic and had to review a play. I'm afraid I was scathing of the star that everyone thought was brilliant when I wrote that he was so arrogant that he thought that he could play his role drunk and had set out to prove it. He was good, I'll give him that, but to think so little of the patrons as to go on stage pissed as a newt was too much for me so I told the world and got canned for it. He couldn't sue me or the paper because I had evidence to back up my story, but he had enough powerful friends to order my crucifixion. I got a job in the London office of my current employer and was recently approached with this assignment, probably because of my South American connection. Now you know all there is to know about me."

"No, not all, what about the things that matter like are you married, do you have any children, you know the human things about you."

"I don't normally talk about my private life but seeing as how you asked politely here goes. No I am not married, I guess that I've been lucky that way, I wouldn't wish me on anyone, I don't have any children that I know of or that I'll own up to, I've had several long term relationships, I don't smoke but I do drink, probably too much on occasion. That's me in a nutshell, quite boring really. Now how about you, we know that you sing like an angel have the looks of a super model and that you aren't a pretentious little princess, but what floats your boat?"

"Floats my boat, what does this mean?"

"What are you like in real life, do you have a boy friend and I don't mean your fiancé, what do you do in your spare time?"

"I did have a boyfriend a year ago but he stopped speaking to me, I assumed that it was because our country's secret police spoke to him. I have never had sex, I don't smoke because it's bad for my throat but I do drink a little because it relaxes my throat. In my spare time, of which I have little, I like to paint still life pictures in oils because I find it difficult to leave my apartment because I'm followed everywhere. My guards must be frantic with worry looking for me I should go home."

"Do you know what I feel like doing right now? As you're free of your bodyguards why don't we have some fun."

"Doing what?"

"Did you ever see the movie 'Roman Holiday' in which Gregory Peck was a journalist who met this girl. Audrey Hepburn, who turned out to be a princess and they spent the day just roaming around Rome doing things that young couples do."

"And this is what you want to do?"

"Why not, I can be Gregory Peck and you can be Audrey Hepburn although I draw the line at getting on a motor scooter."

"Where would we go?"

"I know, how would you like to take me to La Scala and show me what's involved in staging an opera."

"I thought that you didn't like opera?"

"But I'd like to see where you work, see backstage, see the props, I want to experience your world for myself, not the world on stage that's not real, and then I might be able to write my piece with some little authority. Well, what about it?"

Carmen looked at me for a moment as if to see if I was serious or not. She made the decision and stood up, grabbing my hand as she left. "Come." Within minutes we had caught a cab and were at the theatre. "You know my dressing room and this is Rodolfo's dressing room and down the end of this passage is the rehearsal room." We stood in the middle of the room and she began to sing one of her arias, it sounded so clear and pure.

"Show me the costumes."

"The costumes for this opera aren't as elaborate as for some, you must remember that Mimi was a poor seamstress and Rodolfo was a student so they didn't wear fancy clothes." She held up her dress for me to look at.

"It doesn't matter, you'd look beautiful no matter what you were wearing." I leaned toward her and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Do you think that is a good idea?" Her lips were still close to mine.

"I think that it's a brilliant idea." I kissed her again and this time she returned my kiss, the dress dropped to the floor and she flung her arms around my neck. "You obviously do too."

"No I think that it's the silliest idea, what if we get caught?" Her eyes darted around the room, but she didn't pull away as I took her in my arms.

"How long have you got before you have to be back here?"

She looked at her watch, "Not for an hour and a half, why?"

"But you will have to go back to your apartment to change so we don't have that much time." I grabbed her hand and we walked to the stage door.

"Where are you taking me?"

"We are going to a friend's apartment to pick up the clothes that you bought today."