In this sequel to The Condor's Riddle (2024), Brazilian-American novelist Marcelo Antinori returns to the eccentric and charming world of Santa Clara by the Sea.
The motley collection of local characters and expatriate refugees who give that Caribbean city its magic flavor must tackle a fresh mystery. Who was the man who lived in the abandoned apartment?
By accident, BebĂ©i, the seemingly naĂŻve but deceptively shrewd archivist in the French embassy, tumbles to his disappearanceâwhich, rather embarrassingly, has gone undetected and unexplained for ten years.
The only clues left behind are some notes hidden in twenty-six books on a shelf, and what began as a simple curiosity slowly mushrooms into a shadowy mystery that pulls in deadly games of the Cold War.
Each note unveils a new clue, and when Bebéi starts asking questions, everyone gets involved; the city's fate is at stake, and only those notes can save it from the corrupt mayor and his friends.
In this sequel to The Condor's Riddle (2024), Brazilian-American novelist Marcelo Antinori returns to the eccentric and charming world of Santa Clara by the Sea.
The motley collection of local characters and expatriate refugees who give that Caribbean city its magic flavor must tackle a fresh mystery. Who was the man who lived in the abandoned apartment?
By accident, BebĂ©i, the seemingly naĂŻve but deceptively shrewd archivist in the French embassy, tumbles to his disappearanceâwhich, rather embarrassingly, has gone undetected and unexplained for ten years.
The only clues left behind are some notes hidden in twenty-six books on a shelf, and what began as a simple curiosity slowly mushrooms into a shadowy mystery that pulls in deadly games of the Cold War.
Each note unveils a new clue, and when Bebéi starts asking questions, everyone gets involved; the city's fate is at stake, and only those notes can save it from the corrupt mayor and his friends.
A seagull landed on BebĂ©iâs balcony.Across the park, Lieutenant Pirilo was playing dominoes on the terrace of the Asturian Tavern, a sign that everything was quiet in Santa Clara. The word âquietâ has a faulty meaning in town â sometimes calm and serene preceded massive storms â but even so, people were enjoying a peaceful afternoon, and the only one complaining was GrenĂĄ, the lottery ticket seller; with everything so restful, there was no gossip to share.
Pirilo was teaming up with the Asturian, the tavernâs owner, to challenge the cityâs champion duo: Moses and Habib. The two, a Jew and a Lebanese, owned competing clothing stores, one across from the other on Main Street. They fought all day long over clients but were second to none when they joined forces for a dominoes game. They could read each otherâs thoughts.
According to Pirilo â probably trying to justify his frequent losses â the two did not win by the excellence of their game, but rather by the jokes they told to distract their opponents. For every story Moses told about a Jewish patrician, Habib responded with one about his Arab compatriots. But the truth is that Pirilo had no right to complain, since whenever the two of them were silent, his partner, the Asturian, would quickly come up with a new story, teasing his Galician countrymen.
That afternoon, Pirilo and the Asturian had great luck and managed to win one of the matches. The noise of their laughter, the screams, and the hard strike of the dominoes hitting the table could be heard all over the park, where guayacans were in whole blossoms of yellow flowers.
 ***
A few steps away at the hill leading to Our Lady of Mercy Church, Bebéi, the archivist of the French embassy, was ready to hit the streets with his dog Zoubir, and a thousand thoughts echoing in his mind.
He was born in Paris and raised by his uncle as an immigrant, always trying to conceal his Algerian origins and his Muslim religion. He struggled to understand his teachers at school â he was considered naive. His curiosity, however, was endless and he was often a step ahead of the last answer. Thanks to an exceptional memory, he got a job as an archivist at the French Foreign Office where, for years, he dedicated full attention to âkeeping safe what cannot be missed and quickly finding what seemed lost.â
He was all but forgotten at the very end of the fourth-floor corridor when he heard his boss, Madame Roisson, mention that there was a vacancy for an archivist at the embassy of Santa Clara. His life was dreary, and he decided to risk an adventure before retiring. He applied and landed the job. That was why, on a sad and cold Parisian day, he boarded a plane to cross the ocean and live in the tropics in Santa Clara by the Sea.
BebĂ©i quickly adopted his new town and felt embraced by his neighbors. The sun was always shining and people were friendly, patient enough to chat on the sidewalks and answer his questions. The work was unwinding at the embassy, and his commitment was highly praised, so he felt comfortable asking to leave the office a little early that afternoon. The reason, he kept to himself â it was personal: during the night, a seagull had landed on the balcony of his apartment. The bird seemed to have a wound on its wing and remained still, keeping its gaze fixed on the sea.
***
Santa Clara by the Sea is a peninsula surrounded by the sea near Panama City. The city harbors old churches, a few embassies, and ancient colonial manors, such as the one where BebĂ©i lived. Despite being a few minutesâ drive from the countryâs capital, the city has a small-village atmosphere, where people greet each other with friendliness and chat while sitting on chairs placed on the sidewalks.
Bebéi lived in an amber manor built a century ago by one of the founders of the Republic. The manor was later split into small residential units, and his apartment was on the third floor, with two small balconies: one off his bedroom, where the seagull had landed, and another off the living room. From his balconies he could see the fish market, the pier, the bay full of seagulls, and catch a glimpse of Paris Street, bursting every night with women, nightclubs, and joyful sinners; a privileged view that Bebéi relished, but that had become entirely irrelevant since the seagull settled at his apartment.
Bebéi was shy and dressed every day in the same brown suit, but despite his few words, he quickly became known in Santa Clara for his outdated habit of greeting everyone by tipping his hat.
That afternoon, he closed the large wooden door of the manor behind him and looked across the park to the tavern where his friend, the Pirilo, was playing dominoes. He chose not to bother him; it would be useless to interrupt the lieutenant while he was playing. BebĂ©i decided to look elsewhere for help. His problem was not the birdâs presence â he was happy with the new guest â the question was how to feed it appropriately.
As soon as he began climbing the hill following his dog, Bebéi heard the music of a barrel organ. It was Mimi, the ice cream seller, pedaling a colorful tricycle and carrying a little monkey on his back. Bebéi waited for him; he wanted to enjoy the music filling the street.
BebĂ©i greeted him with a tip of his hat and the ice cream seller, who was also a magician, stopped pedaling, bowed his head respectfully, and, after murmuring incomprehensible words, pulled a small bouquet from under the monkey and gave it to BebĂ©i. BebĂ©iâs dog didnât bark; he was used to wizardry. Then, happy as a child, the ice cream seller smiled and pedaled off uphill. On his back, the little monkey stared at BebĂ©i and his dog with what looked like a laughing expression.
BebĂ©i followed them, holding the dogâs leash in one hand and carrying the small bouquet in the other. For him, the music of the barrel organ was a perfect match for the narrow cobblestone streets walled in by the colonial manors of Santa Clara.
***
At the top, when he reached the church, Bebéi greeted Grenå, passing the flowers to the other hand and tipping his hat respectfully. That corner was his favorite spot in town. Around Our Lady of Mercy Church, locals gathered to chat and share gossip away from the tourist crowds on the boardwalk. Next to the church, Rasta Bong had his barbershop and the Chinaman his small grocery. It was also at the stairs of the church, right in front of the yellow umbrella where Grenå gossiped all day selling lottery tickets, that a group of homeless boozers, self-titled the Useless Brethren, liked to drink, curse, and sleep.
Bebéi watched while Robespierre, probably the weirdest member of the Brethren, was yelling at a Finnish tourist that, thank goodness, could not understand a word of what the bum was saying.
BebĂ©i only stayed there for a few minutes â he didnât want to waste time with distractions â and walked straight toward the barbershop where Jordi, the young waiter who usually served him at Ilonaâs CafĂ©, was having a haircut.
Jordi had just finished the exams to become a high school teacher and wanted to give an excellent impression to the selection committee at the interview scheduled for the next morning. He listened to BebĂ©iâs problem, and offered to go with BebĂ©i to the Chinese grocery after his haircut was finished  to buy a few sardine cans to feed the seagull.
Jordi was excessively talkative that afternoon. He was convinced he had passed the written exams, and not even the interview scared him. What was causing him some anxiety was longing for Cristine, his girlfriend. She had traveled to Boston with a scholarship offered by the Mayor, and as her return approached, Jordiâs chest seemed to be tightening.
For him, life without Cristine was bizarre. They lived on the same street, studied in the same school and most of the time in the same classroom. They had only split up at the university, when he decided to study history and Cristine psychology.
When Cristine was at his side, everything seemed so smooth. Jordi always invented new ideas, and Cristine knew how to turn them into reality. He never did anything without first asking her, but how to feed a seagull did not seem to be a transcendental problem, and he volunteered to help Bebéi.
âAfter all, what could happen when someone feeds a seagull on the balcony of a friendâs apartment?â
The cozy mystery of The Seagull And The Spy, revolves around a group of foreigners from all over the world, who have come to reside in the small town of Santa Clara by the sea and have fallen in love with their small community. Here, they fight for the community, fight for their home. The spirit of rebellion against foreign control is central theme of the story.
As a reader, the chemistry and the love within the diverse heritage in the community of Santa Clara has made me fall in love. There is something about the author's writing style that brings a non existent person to life and added shades of color to the plain lives of sea side residents. Not to mention, town seems alive in its ever persistent gossip, forward moving activists and corruption ever flowing in its veins.
It is inevitable to get invested in Santa Clara, in the lives of its people. The inquisitive Beibei, unsure Jordi and his distant girlfriend, Princess and her duality, Pirilo who cares for everyone's security, Ilona holding them silently together or even the absent Arpad, who, though mysteriously missing, helps the neighborhood of Santa Clara in his own way are the heart of the story. And Santa Clara needs help! Under the supervision of its greedy mayor, who wants to expand the city and fill his pockets, Santa Clara's community wants to rise. However, they have little platform and even lesser influence, they need all the help they can get, even as uncertain as the missing Arpad's help.
With the mayor's schemes, the plot looks parallel to Beibei's active search to translate Arpad's multilingual notes and codes. However, the stories are connected. Seeing the many layers of Arpad coming undone and pulling the two storylines closer with every reveal, once again made me realize the subtle art of words and its magic, made me fall deeper in love with cosy mysteries and opened a who new way explore history/backstory in books.
The author has a deep knowledge of cultures and people. Within the small town of Santa Clara, he has created a magical community, ever rarely seen in books, a blend of all cultures coming together harmoniously. Through Arpad's past and the colorful community's united effort, the message of universal harmony gives literary fiction undercurrents to the story.
Expanding my one line review - the story is indeed like a warm hug, a soft hand that leads you in with simple people and their gossip worthy lives. You will soon be standing on the edge of a cliff, too invested in their struggles, rooting for their win and aching for their failures, experiencing every strong wind as they experience it and it will be too late to turn back.