10.1. Going for the Jugular: Chatter and Cackle
OCUMO: A LATIN AMERICAN NOVEL
Previously: 9.7. Culpables Todos: This Side of El Charco
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A small army of waiters in uniform – black trousers, white dress shirt, silver bow tie, black waistcoat, silver gloves – worked its way through a dozen white-cloth-covered tables refilling glasses with each guest’s choice of alcoholic beverage. The open bar’s assortment, it seemed, had no limits: Moët & Chandon, Mas del Serral Pepe Raventós 2010, Vega Sicilia Unico Imperial 2010, Meursault Premier Cru La Goutte d’Or Arnaud Ente 2020, Diplomático Ambassador, Rémy Martin Louis XIII … the list went on. Most guests, though, once they had tried one or two of the absurdly expensive varieties, the ones they had ordered only to brag afterwards, reverted to their favorite Johnnie Walker Black.
It was the news publishers’ annual dinner at Quinta Santamaría, the presidential residence. The event was a tradition that had been started since the end of dictatorship and birth of democracy four decades ago. This year, when the invitation came to La Calle, Don Umberto handed it over to Román with a self-satisfied smirk.
“You’re the owner now,” Don Umberto had said. “Go to this and do some ass kissing. It’s part of the job.”
The evening had so far gone exactly as Don Umberto had described. The food had been a delicious and unique culinary experience. Betterave jaune cuite four avec des algues et crème d’algues de la Côte Caraïbes headed the three-course menu as described in detail (in French!) on a cardstock-paper printout handed out to every guest. The main course was Canard farci aux trompettes de la mort et thym citron, pommes de terre à l’ail caramélisé betterave jaune pimentée aux herbes, and for dessert a Bavarois aux myrtilles givrées, glace à la myrtille avec thym citronné, gelée, crème et meringues au citron vert. On top of that, conversation with the country’s most seasoned news publishers had been engrossing. The chatter and cackle of over fifty extrovert guests – all professional storytellers exchanging anecdotes and gossip – remained loud all evening, non-stop, constant like the steady rumble of Iguaçu Falls.
“Don’t try to impress them,” Don Umberto had advised Román. “Just listen, ask questions and learn.”
During the welcome drinks, before everyone went over to their table, Román got to chat with an old friend of Don Umberto’s, the owner of a little newspaper. The publisher congratulated Román on his incursion into the news business. Nothing is more exciting than selling news, the old man said. He told Román that technology has changed how things worked but the key to it all was how you treat and deal with the talent, the people working for you. That hasn’t changed one bit; success is all about working with the right people, in the right way, the man said. If you don’t have the right people operating it, it doesn’t matter if you have invested in a state-of-the-art newspaper rotary press – it could be a Goss or a Manroland – but it wouldn’t make a difference. And when it came to rotary presses, their maintenance and reparations, there were only a few, very few, men with the skill to do deliver quality.
“I have a Slovak master that’s been my go-to fixer for decades every time we need to retune our Manroland press,” Don Umberto’s amigo said. “We call him El Checoslovaco – he grew up in Czechoslovakia – and if you’d see him from across the street, wearing his two-piece suit, you’d guess he’s a European count with blond hair and blue eyes … but when you come up close, he looks like a regular car mechanic. Even in civilian clothes, even if he’d just showered, you would see traces of black grease on his hands; under and around his fingernails … and when he opens his mouth – when he talks or smiles – you’d see several teeth missing … and that’s not because of age; he’s been like that since I met him decades ago. I think he said he lost them playing ice hockey but I’m not sure I understood entirely … he speaks in his own Papiamento, mixing words from Spanish, Portuguese and German; it’s easy to understand when we talk about the rotary press but it’s nearly impossible to get what he says on other topics.”
“Where did you find this guy?” Román said.
“Honestly, I can’t remember … I think he came with the Germans that installed the Manroland and then stayed behind … all I know is that without him, I’d be finished by now, and he knows it … he doesn’t have a permanent address; lives on the road, going from country to country fixing offset presses … no one has gone up and down the Pan-American Highway more times than El Checoslovaco.”
“You better give me his number.”
“Umbertico has it … and just so you know, you can’t have your assistant call El Checoslovaco and ask him to come. He only deals with the owner, personally, so you have to call him yourself. And then, once he’s here, you need to treat him like a king. I’m not talking about luxury; the Slovak doesn’t care about that. All you need to do is send him a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and three hookers … every night. That’s all he wants. You do that and he’ll fine-tune your rotary press to perfection and come every time you call ... so you see, you need to treat the right people the right way. Do that, and you’ll make it in this business.”
Next » 10.2. Going for the Jugular: Orgies on Isla Rosada
Ocumo is available in paperback on Bookshop.org, Amazon and others.
Copyright © Mel Páez, 2026