by Jack Tollers
Chapter Ten
Lunch at the Courts
‘Whaaattt? You can’t be serious, I mean, you can’t,’ he raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘How shall I put it? It’s wrong.’ Thomas was completely bewildered.
‘Oh I know that. But before being wrong, it simply is. It’s a fact, and I can’t help it.’
‘I can’t believe my ears.’
‘I knew I shouldn’t have given myself away just like that... All along I thought you might come up with a bit of squeamishness, but no, uh, I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have told you.’
They were in a small restaurant near the Courts where Thomas worked as a kind of under-secretary to a Judge. He had just been paid his monthly salary and had invited Jimmy for lunch. They had not seen much of each other recently, despite the fact that Thomas frequented the Elizalde’s home quite a lot since he had got engaged to Veronica. But for one reason or another Jimmy never seemed to be in, and Veronica was always rather vague when it came to her brother’s comings and goings, except that he hadn’t found himself a proper job, and that he actually wasn't doing anything at all. There was some talk of a trip to Europe—an idea sponsored by his worried mother—though when referring to the topic Jimmy talked about it as if someone else was going, not him. On the other hand, his father had offered him to manage one of the family’s farms, but Jimmy seemed equally uninterested. Veronica just shrugged and declared that it was only a phase and that eventually her brother would settle down one way or the other. Thomas wasn’t so sure. He didn’t overtly say so, but to his mind there was quite a chance that Jimmy was onto drugs as doubtless was the case with some of the rather worthless characters he now frequented. ‘Bunch of good-for-nothings,’ was his judgement when asked by Peter about their friend’s new chums, ‘Some of them were at high-school with him, I know one or two of them... Uh, you know the type, the good-for-nothing offspring of the Northern District, from highborn ancestry... I don’t know, just useless hippies living on their father’s wallet and doing nothing productive. And, naturally, they know nothing about this country out of what can only be described as criminal indifference. One of Argentina’s greatest blights, if you ask me, uh, that the best people from the greatest lineages don’t care two hoots about this country. And that’s how the rabble takes control.’ He sighed. ‘It’s the secret of Perón’s success... well, we need not go into that right now.’
‘But Jimmy isn’t like that, at all,’ Peter had protested.
‘Yes, I know.’ He quoted Shakespeare in Spanish with a wry face:‘“Now is the winter of our discontent”’ and proceeded to explain that resentment was a very dangerous passion.
‘Do you actually think that behind Jimmy’s bitterness with the Army there’s resentment of some sort lurking around?’
‘Yes, well, I’m not sure about that. We all have to handle different levels of anxiety, loneliness and fear... Worst of all are our frustrations... We all do what we can. I don’t know, but Jimmy has somehow dwindled back into his class these days seeking refuge among his equals because he didn’t quite like what he’d seen in other places. So now the spoilt brat goes back to his old frivolous mates for comfort.’
‘What do they do all day?’
‘Well, that’s it you see. Nothing. They just laze about and drink screwdrivers and listen to the noisiest rock & roll they can get their hands on... you know the stuff, Jimmy Hendrix—’
‘Oh, that’s nice!’
‘Yes, and Janis Joplin, and the Rolling Stones, and all the rest of them.’
‘Led Zeppelin?’
‘Quite.’
That was after the summer holidays. The four friends had seen a lot of each other that summer in Bella Vista, where they had gone to almost on a daily basis, attending parties and playing football or card games or bathing in a swimming pool or else just spending the long hot afternoons chatting away. To Peter, Veronica, Jimmy and Thomas, Bella Vista’s social life seemed to be inexhaustible and they soon discovered that few other outings were as entertaining and rich in terms of diversity and original amusements. That very summer, Thomas had got engaged to Veronica, Peter had spent most of the day with Victoria and Jimmy had seemed to have developed a certain interest in one of Andrew’s sisters. There was no trace of trouble looming in the future, and Jimmy had been his usual sunny self, even when he was prone to get drunk, more often than not. Through Andrew they were introduced to other unusual Bella Vista friends of his, notably George and Edward, two incredibly book-learned characters who got on with Thomas like a house on fire, the three of them conversing eruditely until dawn about all manner of subjects, from the state of the Church, through Edith Piaf’s love-life, up to the benefits of lighting a cigarette with matches instead of a lighter. However, as the weeks passed by, Edward was seen less in the other two’s company because he had developed a certain penchant for Victoria’s sister, Lucy, with whom he spent a long time chatting away. This made quite a ripple among them all because of the difference of ages between them: after all, Edward was twenty-one and Lucy only sixteen. Then, there was Henry, Andrew’s best friend, who also played the guitar. They had been school mates and seemed to be wrangling all day long about this and that; and yet, possibly because of their shared musical passion they seemed to be drawn to each other and stuck together most of the time. Henry was a dark, serious, chubby chap. He was of a taciturn turn of nature but from time to time a bit of Indian blood inherited from his ancestors showed up in his irascible character. He was a most friendly young man, even when now and then he could flare up without previous notice which invariably caused laughter on account of the discordance between his tiny body frame and the irate insults he would dedicate to one or the other. On such occasions only Andrew could calm him down—something that he did not always choose to do, frequently preferring to fuel his rage for the fun of it. However, and for all that, Henry was much appreciated by his friends, and it was plain to all that he was a most innocent young man. When he wasn’t around, Andrew singled him out frequently as the best of friends and the two of them spent endless hours playing and singing away—when not arguing about this or that—no matter where they happened to be or what their circumstances. Peter had been quite surprised to find out that they could play and sing while walking along any of Bella Vista’s streets, going from one party to another.
But all that seemed ages ago; it was cold now, and Peter had left for Covunco. With the exception of Veronica who sometimes stayed over at Victoria’s place, they now seldom went to Bella Vista at all.
“Now is the summer of our discontent,” Thomas thought and frowned as he served Jimmy more wine. By then they had finished lunch and were lingering over the remains of an excellent red wine (‘Rincón Famoso’ from López, that most Argentine vintage) that Thomas had ordered for the occasion.
‘I suppose you don’t plan to...,’ he hesitated.
Jimmy grimaced and his freckled face took on a painful look.
‘No plans, relax, my friend, no plans at all. This is my damned secret and I hope you’ll keep it to yourself. I won’t be telling anyone else about this and you can sleep tight and forget about the whole business if you feel like it. For the moment, as you can see, I can’t.’ He shook his head. ‘It all started in that blasted lift at last year’s party—and it seems a hell of a time since then.’
‘Lift? What lift?’ Thomas enquired.
Jimmy told him, and hastily added, ‘But I don’t plan to tell Victoria about my feelings, let alone Peter, poor chap, who deserves better friends.’
‘It would be, among other things, the end of our friendship, you know,’ Thomas said repressively.
‘I suppose it would be the end of everything.’ Jimmy budged uncomfortably in his chair. ‘But you can relax, my friend. There hasn’t been the least sign from Victoria’s part except to underline again and again that she’s perfectly in love with Peter, so even when—’, he paused uncertainly, ‘Even when, er...’. Jimmy decided to let what he didn’t w
ant to say at that. ‘All the same, I thought we could do without platitudes like these—I mean, I hope I don’t appear as a traitor in your eyes just because I happen to fall for my best friend’s girl. It’s not like something I deliberately looked for. After all, it’s an old story, this ménage a trois business, isn’t it?’ he wanly smiled, ‘this “Tristan und Isolde” stuff, what?’
‘It sure is,’ Thomas reluctantly agreed. ‘But it has always been a rum thing and I sincerely hope you soon get over it,’ and with a thin smile he added, ‘Preferably without a “Liebestodt” and all those German excesses.’
‘So do I,’ Jimmy sighed.
‘After all, we’re Catholics aren’t we?’
‘So was Wagner.’
‘I don’t know about that, but no, not his operas, they certainly were not Catholic, I can tell you. But get me right: it’s not that there’s too much passion, or too much love, or too much nothing for that sake. We Catholics can digest that and more too. It’s a matter of getting your priorities right.’
‘Well, I’ve lost you now. Priorities, what priorities?’
‘Quite easy to understand if you only give it a bit of thought: values are hierarchical. All Tristan’s passion for Isolde is perfectly all right as long as his passion for his King and friendship and loyalty is equally intense.’ And as an afterthought, ‘Or more so.’
‘What if it’s not?’ Jimmy enquired with a frown.
‘Ah! Well, then you’ve lost your way. But if you can conceive such strong feelings for the one, surely you can also for the other, no matter what the circumst—’
‘I’m not sure about that, I can tell you.’
Thomas paused for reflection. He was quite aware that he was treading on dangerous ground and yet he thought it his duty to try and help his prospective brother-in-law out of the swamp where he seemed to be stuck. He decided to back down for the moment and give himself some time before trying anything. Jimmy was obviously subject to one hell of a storm and it would take time and patience to calm those boggy waters and help him see what was to be seen.
‘I think we’re facing a clear-cut case of one Jimmy losing his way,’ he reflected. ‘After all, since you came down from Military School you haven’t seemed to know what to do with your life—not to mention your love-life,’ he added rather grimly.
Jimmy listened dejectedly. On the one hand he felt relieved after telling someone about his falling in love with Victoria, but on the other he knew he was in for quite a few reprimands as soon as he confessed this and he wasn’t quite sure he was in a mood to put up with it all.
‘One doesn’t lay open one’s heart to a friend just to get scolded, I mean—’
‘You’re not being scolded, young man,’ Thomas interrupted, ‘I’m only trying to help you out of this labyrinth where you seem to have lost your way, that’s all.’ And as an afterthought, ‘Have some more wine. As Marechal used to say, there’s a sure way out of every labyrinth.’
‘Such as?’
‘Out through the top.’
They laughed at the literary reference and drank in peace for a while, delving lengthily into what one and the other had read and thought of Leopoldo Marechal, an Argentine poet that they both admired. Gradually they relaxed and ordered more wine and talked about the films they had been seeing. Thomas had seen A Night at Casablanca with the Marx brothers and they laughed their heads off remembering some of its scenes. It was like old times, Thomas reflected, with that peculiar nostalgia young people can have for moments not six months away.
Then they took to talking about Thomas’ wedding plans, though he told Jimmy that without a flat or a house or something, the prospects looked rather grim.
‘It’s not that we can’t live on my salary, but it wouldn’t cover our minimal expenses if I were forced to pay for a rent, you know.’
Jimmy looked enviously at his friend who was so concerned with real problems, in the real world. He felt a bout of self-pity for his imaginary problems from what seemed to him a dreamy world where real things just didn’t happen.
‘Maybe Daddy can help you out,’ he said.
Thomas shook his head. ‘No, I wouldn’t want anything like that, you know. Nothing wrong with your old man, but I do prefer to start off with a bit of independence, if you don’t mind.’
Jimmy knew what Thomas was pointing at—namely, his mother’s tendency to interfere with her children’s lives, specially Veronica’s—and nodded.
By six o’clock in the afternoon they were quite drunk and had started to sing one or two tangos they happened to know. That was when the restaurant’s owner appeared and courteously invited them to leave, since, he explained, the place was closing. With typical alcoholic shrewdness Jimmy instantly knew that this wasn’t true, and said so. Things would have become rather sour except that Thomas got up, asked for the bill, paid it with unsure hands, and after some rather lewd comments dedicated to one of the waitresses they eventually left the place walking unsteadily towards Jimmy´s home.
It was while they were walking through the park in front of the Colón Theatre that Thomas returned to Jimmy’s quandary. ‘Maybe it’s not your fault, you know. To be perfectly honest, uh, we’re all a bit in love with Victoria, if you have to know,’ Thomas laughed, while Jimmy stopped dead in the middle of the park. ‘Oh, don’t pull that face, my friend. Or do you believe you’re the only one in the world who knows a spade when he sees one.’ He laughed again. ‘After all, she’s a remarkable girl, no question about that.’ The good wine appeared to be doing quite a job. ‘In fact, the most stunning, beautiful, clever, original, gay and loving girl I’ve ever met.’
Jimmy was completely taken aback by this bit of news.
‘Oohhh? So you think so too?’
‘Of course, you silly chump, and I’m not the only one,’ he winked knowingly as they started again on their crooked walk. ‘But she’s Peter’s that’s all, and good for him. You’ve only to reflect a bit on what kind of a bloke Peter is and you’ll fall out of love in no time.’
Jimmy doubtfully shook his head.
‘I’ve tried that for the last couple of months, and err... yes, I do feel a bit of a traitor, but what can I do about it? She’s in my mind most of the time, and no amount of distract—’
‘Have you ever listened to any of Wagner’s operas?’ Thomas interrupted.
‘No, only fragments now and then,’ Jimmy said, remembering that he had stayed up most of the night listening to the Woodstock concert, ‘I think I prefer The Who any day,’ he added with an innocent smile.
Thomas preferred to ignore that. ‘All right, tell you what. I’ll find out when there’s one on at the Colón,’ he indicated the theatre’s imposing canopy with a finger, ‘And then we’ll spend a couple of evenings listening to its leit-motivs and I’ll try to explain them as best I can.’
‘Hasn’t it got to do with Nazism too?’
Thomas smiled back. ‘Everything has to do with everything,’ and with a grin to accompany his non-sequitur, ‘That reminds me, have you any Scotch at home?’
He got back home at about nine o’clock completely drunk and let himself fall on his bed fully dressed. There was a flicker of remembrance before he fell asleep and it made for some uneasy dreams that refused to give way for the rest of the night.
