Lettieri

I

The following manifesto includes a series of elements that will explain why Alfredo Lettieri disappeared.

My name is not relevant. The fact of having expressed this text, without any copy, in a notebook that I will leave in Plaza Bolivar, responds to the circumstances that govern my actions.

A few years ago the village dawns inhabited by a dense smoke. People say they are "foggy days" and they laugh at me because I point out the two refineries and the cement plant that is on the outskirts of the city. My co-workers do not realize, they spend 12 hours underground, operating the machines of a radio station.

Alfredo Lettieri owned the radio station where I worked as a radio theater writer. Bahia 15 Social FM operated in a carpeted basement that looked like the perfect place for an aleph.

Alfredo himself called me from his office because they recommended my services as a radioplay writer and, although I had no experience in the genre of melodramas nor knew how they had contacted me, I accepted the job.

That morning I appeared punctually on the radio. I heard a radio broadcast where people phoned the government complaining, the moderator a bit upset too, until he called a woman barking insults and the program was interrupted. Then the figure of Lettieri emerged, dressed in a suit and tie.

So I was raised the work of developing a radio novel about a writer who falls in love with women who look at it daily and its consequences. I accepted with five paid chapters in advance and a desk at my disposal in the scriptwriting office of the radio. I visited a couple of times, to see what woman I found but I did not have patience.

I'm not a social type, in fact, I think my friendship with Lettieri corresponds to a matter of curiosity rather than empathy or charm. When the radionovela began to be commented on in Puerto de Mar, Alfredo approached me to go out to "drink curda" but the most impressive thing is that he did not take any.

Instead he decided to tell me that since he was 20 he started experimenting with hard drugs.

-My parents are Spanish, they arrived in Venezuela in the 70s, ten years later I was born, the only child. My mom was lucky because my grandfather was an important farmer and this has allowed us to enjoy good capital in any country. My dad dedicated himself to business, importing tools to work with oil. They have turned my back on me sometimes but I owe my status. Today I am serving seven clean years, without smoking anything or drinking a drop of alcohol. I invited you this beer because you do not look like here. Are you Venezuelan? "- said Lettieri.

- Yes, of course- I said.

- It is that the people in the office call you "the Frenchman" behind you - he added.

- Yes, it must be because of the hat I wear. I said, I pointed to my beret and continued drinking my Polar. Alfredo continued.

-I tell you this because you must know who I am, so you can motivate yourself. I had a crush on my now wife but I abandoned them and took to the streets in a white Cheyenne, with two thousand dollars in jewelry and stone to kill me. Sometimes the police would grab me and I would say "I'm depressed, I lost everything, leave me alone", so I ended up in a hole, lost. Then I started attending narcotics anonymous and here you have me, totally clean, keeping my company and wanting to found a football team.

- Motivate me what? - I asked

- To win a ticket- answered

- And then what? - I asked

-you enjoy it when you can, because making a ticket deserves time- told me and I decided not to argue. My point of view was totally contrary and the sunset that was happening was more interesting than a discussion about numbers. In fact, he related the wealth with the time that was had at total disposal, without worrying about expenses. Or the number of days available to live without producing.

 

The truth is that I was very confused. The matters of my mind did not focus on money, I worked inventing stories that I did not identify to give my mother's salary. I was interested only in going idle to think about writing and writing about thinking. In those times of leisure, I would go for a walk in Puerto de Mar and then sit and watch women walk in the Plaza de la Cruz and the Sea. But I also discovered the secret of Lettieri.

At first I decided to ignore it and not take the road but it was impossible not to remember it when I saw Lettieri on the radio, sometimes he would take me to my house and tell me:

-You are a carajito, I have adventures with little carajitas that you, can be my daughters-

Luckily my house was not far from the radio, which prevented him from spreading his stories.

The issue I forgot. But on August 21, 2012, Lettieri and his van disappeared. On September 2, 2012, his truck appeared on the hill "El Morro", a place related to paranormal activities, indicated by the sculptor Dimitrius Demus as a point of reference for the extraterrestrials. But the whereabouts of our character, who left a wife and a son adrift, never met.

II

The radio was in the hands of a cousin of Lettieri named Cornelio, who acted as if he did not understand Spanish. He did not talk, he went to his office to meet with General Director Augusto Marnelli, to disappear at noon, without greeting or saying goodbye. Everything remained the same in our work because Marnelli had always been in charge, but Lettieri liked to exercise a decorative figure, to be the image of the radio.

 One afternoon something strange happened. I woke up from an unexpected nap with the image in my mind of Lettieri in his black truck, the transsexual leaning against his window, then the transsexual walking to the passenger door to open it and disappear next to the sound of the engine.

My computer was damaged and prevented from working at home, I went to the radio. The writers' office empties as usual and I prepared a coffee to sit down to write 14 minutes, then I was interrupted by a call but I did not want to answer. The office phone rang five more minutes and fed up, I attended.

-Proyecto Radio Bahía 15 social FM- I said while I was wondering if he had said the name correctly.

- Good evening, is Lettieri? - said the voice on the other side of the receiver.

- No. Do you know that it disappeared? - I answered.

-I saw him yesterday. In the usual place .- he replied.

-Where? What are you talking about? - I asked.

-They told me you're alone in the office. You run danger. I know who you are. You are the type of radio shows. Alfredo talks about you, says that you walk around in strange pods, that you write about crazy people, that you are to blame for what he did to protect his family. The voice behind the headset told me.

-I still do not understand-. I said confused, I knew someone was making fun of me.

- They call you "the Frenchman", Alfredo told me one day that you spent your time wandering around the city and that's why he investigated who you were, it seems that you studied with one of the writers and called you crazy. Someone told him that you were dedicated to poetry and he proposed to do the radio plays but later he regretted it, although there was success. He added the voice, cleared his throat and continued.

- Then the madness began. One night he was uneasy because he was watching you walking after looking for me. But then he talked about faking a suicide to live his dream next to me. I'm just his lover. But I had to hide to protect myself and that's why he's with me now. We know about you because we saw you on the way to the radio, "he clarified.

- What do you want from me? In the end I think I am an excuse for the situation. I do not even talk about it. I think Lettieri knows me- I said impressed. The truth is that he thought he was sure that it was a joke. They hung up

III

Months after the call, I was walking in a shopping center full of empty stores. In the shop window there was a collage of newspapers that served to hide its interior. I was looking in detail, driven by curiosity rather than discovering what was inside the place, to read a story that I transcribe from my memory:

CICPC Detective killed "Jhade Perla"

At 9:15 pm last Friday, he was found on the hill "El Morro", the dead body of Alberto Ramírez (20), who was known as "Jhade Perla".

The SEBIN informed, through a press release, that Fabricio González surrendered to the authorities after assassinating Ramírez and transferring the body to the hill "El Morro. It was unofficially known that the detective was in charge of the investigations into the Lettieri case.

A neighbor of the "Las Charas" sector commented that Ramírez maintained a carnal relationship with Detective González. "The petejota always came looking for him, sometimes they fought because his mother told me that among so many men, this was the worst. We spent the weekend without knowing about him but that is normal. We were impressed when he appeared in the newspaper, nobody called the family. You can not go unpunished, you have to know the truth. "

IV

By way of conclusion, and no less important, it is necessary to affirm that my identity can not be deciphered. It is likely that my absence is a habit for the inhabitants of Puerto de Mar.

However, Lettieri is alive and probably guilty of the transsexual's death. Because as he told me once:

-In Venezuela everything is solved with silver-.