Tango

by Alan Judd

  William stood for a minute or so after the outer door had closed. Fortunately, he could hear nothing. What surprised him was that at first he also felt nothing – no indignation, no jealousy, no rejection, no shame. It was as if a part of him had been abruptly and painlessly cauterised. He considered how long he could remain before Sally became anxious. He had said he wouldn’t be late. However, there was a telephone on the table, so he could ring her if it looked like being a long wait. But perhaps it would be only ten minutes or so.

  He picked up some of the papers and sat down. They were a month or two old but it was noticeable how much the country had changed even since then. There was a dated innocence about them, about their continued rejoicing in the demise of the old regime, about their prescriptions for economic recovery, about their speculation as to the political future. Now all that was known; the future was the People’s Party.

  William rested the papers on his lap. It was of course absurd to be sitting reading while the woman he loved prostituted herself to the president in the next room. He had been accustomed to think of himself as a stable sort of man, not one to be blown hither and thither, yet here he was hourly determining to divorce his wife, deciding it was impossible, then that it was inevitable. But the events had about them a sort of logic. After all, she was a prostitute – if it had to be put like that – and he had fallen in love with her, knowing that. He had encouraged her relationship with the president for his own ends, despite an attempt to persuade her not to go through with it. The sort of logic it was, therefore, was the logic of his own choices, given which it all seemed inevitable – except that he need not have chosen.

  He got up. Box was to blame, of course. It was at Arthur Box’s behest that he had done it all. The reason he was there now was to do Box’s bidding. Thank God he could hear nothing from next door. He reached for the phone.

  An operator asked for the number with disconcerting promptness. The hotel answered after the usual delay and he asked for Herr Kronstadt. The ringing tone was abruptly terminated by a harsh voice.

  ‘Ja?’

  ‘Herr Kronstadt? This is William Wooding – we were—’ William stumbled over his words. The charade made him self-conscious even though the likelihood of the palace telephones being bugged was remote. ‘I was ringing to see if you are all right.’

  ‘Yes, I am all right.’

  ‘The lunch did not upset you?’

  ‘No, the lunch did not upset me.’

  Box’s Germanic persona was not a helpful one. ‘I was wondering if you would like to continue our discussion. I may have some business for you now. Would you be able to come over?’

  ‘Jawohl.’ Box rang off.

  William rang back. ‘I didn’t tell you where I am. I’m at Carlos’s place. Can you come here?’

  ‘Ja.’

  ‘Use the back entrance and when challenged say you have come to help in interpreting for the prisoners.’

  ‘The prisoners, ja.’

  ‘Head for the exercise yard and wait outside the lighted door. You will see my car.’

  ‘Ja.’

  Box’s replies were so prompt that William wondered whether his message was really getting through. It was possible that Box was still concussed. ‘Have you understood everything?’

  ‘Ja, ja. And now something for you to understand. I am bringing my goods.’

  ‘Your goods?’

  ‘Ja, my goods. What I have showed you.’

  ‘Oh, ja – yes – your goods, right.’ William replaced the receiver and listened. No sound reached him. He hated to listen, but couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been in there. Long enough in one sense, if not in any other. Too long, of course, as far as he was concerned. He had to do something. He picked up the phone and asked for his own number. Sally took a while to answer.

  ‘Just thought I’d better let you know I’ve been a bit delayed. Might be late after all.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘It’ll keep in the oven, will it?’ Thinking of food made him hungry.

  ‘Yes, I’ll switch it off. You can heat it up when you get in.’

  ‘Fine. Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, fine.’

  ‘ ’Bye.’

  ‘ ’Bye.’

  Next he wanted to urinate. He had meant to go before leaving home and it was now becoming urgent. Carlos had pointed to the door beyond theirs as being a lavatory. He supposed that the room they were in was the surgery. The two were very close and he would no doubt be able to hear them, and they him. There must be other lavatories. The second door opening off the waiting room was locked. He went to the green-painted corridor and looked for other doors. There was none open and he was soon outside, where his car was parked. There seemed to be no one about. He went to one side of the lighted doorway, but the wind was too blustery. He hurried round the corner. There he found a row of single-storey brick huts linked by open paths with corrugated roofs. They looked like the kind of post-war hospital accommodation in Britain that had become permanent. The entrances were lit, so he made for a dark patch at the far end of the nearest hut.

  The rain came in spiteful gusts. He was about to pass the lighted entrance where the roofed path joined the hut when he heard voices. He ran across the grass and ducked into the darkened doorway of the next hut. His need was now desperate.

  Two soldiers came out of the hut. Their rifles were slung over their shoulders and they dragged a man between them. They had him by the arms with his back towards the ground, his bare heels dragging along the cinder path. His body looked young though his head was shielded from view by the soldiers’ thighs. William was close enough to see a large wet patch in the man’s jeans where he had wet himself. The shock made him forget his own desire for a moment. As the soldiers passed William glimpsed the man’s face. The whole of one side was crinkled and red where the hair had been torn out. Blood glistened in the neon light. His head lolled back as if he were unconscious.

  The sight shocked and frightened William. He wanted to get back to the waiting room as quickly as possible, but felt he would burst. He hurried through the wet grass to the next corner. His eyes, particularly weak in the dark, gave him no warning of the sitting figure and he fell heavily. The figure toppled over with a muffled grunt. There were four of them, blindfolded and handcuffed, sitting in the grass with no shoes or socks. They were grouped around a short flight of concrete steps leading into the end of the hut. Squatting on the top step, the door closed behind him, was a soldier in a cape, his rifle with fixed bayonet resting across his legs.

  William was back on his feet before he consciously thought. He had a vivid impression of the soldier’s startled young face and of the blind immobility of the wet hunched figures. As he turned he saw similar figures grouped around the steps of the adjoining huts. He ran back the way he had come, aware of shouting only after he had passed the roofed path. Twice he slipped on the grass, once his glasses nearly came off.

  He ran across the exercise yard to the doorway by his car and panting, closed the door behind him. It locked with bars that pushed down and could not be opened from without. He flicked the brass switch on the green wall and the strip-lights went out. He leaned against the door, panting and listening. There were footsteps and shouts and he caught the word ‘coche’ – car – after which the voices faded. His chest still heaved, his heart thumped and his thigh muscles quivered. It crossed his mind that that was probably the farthest he had run since leaving school. It wouldn’t do; he would begin exercising when he returned to normal life.

  He felt his way up the corridor, helped by some light from the waiting-room at the top. His breathing was still not normal when he got there. The far door opened and Carlos came out, composed and smiling.

  ‘Ah, Wooding. You see, I have not been long. Did anyone disturb you?’

  ‘No one disturbed me. I disturbed someone else. I’ll tell you about it. Is it all right if I go to the lavatory first?’

  ‘Of
course. You may find Theresa in there.’

  She was not. Relief was beyond words, at first even a little painful, but he knew the bliss to come. The cistern was as noisy as he had feared but there was no minding that now. On his way out he could not help looking into the open door. It was, as he had thought, the doctor’s surgery. There was a narrow untidy bed with a metal frame. Beside the bed stood Theresa, wearing white knickers and a white bra. She was adjusting the left shoulder-strap, her hair spread across both shoulders and over her breasts. Her face was turned towards the strap but she saw him out of the corner of her eye. She met his gaze calmly, unsmiling. Neither spoke. The strap adjusted, she bent to pick up her suspender belt. William went back to Carlos.

  ‘Something nasty is happening in your palace.’

  Carlos was stretching like Ricardo, staring at his fingertips. Like Ricardo, he stopped in mid-stretch. ‘Something nasty?’

  William told what he had seen.

  ‘Oh, the prisoners.’ Carlos abandoned his stretch. ‘Yes, they’re always here now.’

  ‘But they’re being tortured.’

  ‘That’s Manuel and the security police.’

  ‘Can’t you stop it?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You’re the president, aren’t you?’

  Carlos looked surprised and irritated. ‘Of course I’m the president, but I can’t do anything. I can do nothing, nothing at all. Why do you think I have to come secretly to the medical centre for my pleasure? I am a fugitive in my own palace. I can do nothing without the agreement of the triumvirate – Herrera, Paulotti and Quinto. These prisoners are political prisoners, their prisoners. Everything political is theirs. I am political and I am theirs. Otherwise, do you think I would tolerate having my women for twenty minutes on a doctor’s couch?’

  ‘Are you really powerless?’

  ‘How does it look to you?’ Carlos stretched again, then his loose lips widened into a smile. ‘Mind you, that twenty minutes was worth the candle, as we used to say in England. I am very grateful to you.’

  A klaxon sounded deafeningly in the corridor. Carlos hurried to a cupboard and the noise stopped. The remaining corridor lights went out.

  ‘Fuses,’ he said, ‘the only way.’ Other klaxons were sounding outside. ‘It’s the general alarm. There must be an intruder. Now they’ll surround my quarters and I shan’t be able to get back in. They don’t know I’m out. Dios mío, what it is to be president. Who would believe me?’ He looked angry and frightened.

  ‘It’s probably me they’re looking for.’

  ‘You must stay here. You can’t leave until they give up.’

  ‘But they’ll find my car.’

  ‘Well, they’ll just tow it away or blow it up.’

  Theresa appeared, dressed now and with her coat over one arm. Carlos smiled extravagantly.

  ‘Please accept my apologies for this small disturbance. It will mean some delay in your leaving. Perhaps we should have coffee.’ He took out some keys and unlocked the other door. ‘There’s a kettle and some things in there.’ He sat in one of the armchairs, indicating to William to do likewise.

  Theresa put down her coat and handbag and went into the other room where she could be heard moving cups. Carlos turned to William. ‘Not bad at all,’ he said in English. ‘Very good, considering the circumstances. I shall see her again, but we must try to make better arrangements. We should find someone for you, too. I felt a little guilty’ – he laughed – ‘well, no, a little concerned, about your hanging around without anything to do.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

  ‘Of course not, but you know what I mean. I should like to reward you in some way.’ He leaned across and, looking very serious, held out his hand. ‘William, now I think we can be even better friends than we were at school.’

  William tried to think only of doing his duty by Box. ‘I’m pleased to be asked to help.’

  ‘You are the only man I can trust.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you are a spy.’

  ‘Does that make me trustworthy?’

  ‘Yes, you are in my power. You are the only man in the country who is. I could have you shot. Manuel Herrera would organise it – he has said so – but I asked him not to because you are a friend of mine and because, being a British spy, you do no harm. Not like the Americans. So I asked Manuel to leave you alone and he said, okay, so long as you don’t do anything such as seeking unauthorised contact with me – like this.’ Carlos beamed. ‘If you are caught you are shot. So you are in my power. So we are friends and we can trust each other.’

  ‘What about you? Might they not shoot you as well?’

  ‘Not while I am popular with the people. But one does not know how long that will last. The people are fickle. If things go wrong, Manuel and the others will blame me; then they will shoot me.’

  ‘Does that worry you?’

  ‘Of course it does. I want to live a long and peaceful and selfish life. I don’t want to harm anyone or even do anything. But they want me to do things, and things go wrong when you start doing them. At least, that is my experience.’

  Theresa came in with two coffees on a tray. William was as aware of her moving near him as he would have been of a source of heat. Now on his neck, now the side of his face, now the back of his hand. It was difficult to concentrate.

  ‘But what can you do about it?’ he asked.

  Carlos shrugged. ‘I don’t know. At first I liked being president. It was better than being a colonel. But now it is hard and there is no fun. I wish I could be president without being in the government.’

  Theresa was leaving them. William turned. ‘Aren’t you having any?’

  Carlos looked as if he had just remembered her. He waved his arm. ‘Yes, have your coffee with us. Bring it in.’

  There were sounds of vehicles and shouting outside. The klaxons continued.

  ‘Won’t they realise you’re missing?’ asked William.

  ‘Not yet. This is the outside guard and I left orders not to be disturbed. We should be all right in here. But I have to get back soon. I look to you for that. The British Secret Service is famous for that sort of thing, is it not?’ He smiled at Theresa.

  ‘I have sent for assistance.’

  Carlos looked gratifyingly surprised. ‘You have? But how will they get in here?’

  ‘They – he – will find a way.’

  ‘He? Is there only one?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s very good and the more people you have the more likely they are to be seen.’ William was pleased with his answer.

  Carlos looked doubtful. ‘All this noise outside – it might mean they’ve caught him.’

  ‘He’s probably creating a diversion.’

  ‘He can do that sort of thing?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Once launched, it was easy to sail on confidently. The fact that each claim might be taking him farther from reality did not make it more difficult; it became easier. ‘He’s a master of disguise and infiltration.’

  ‘Is he armed?’

  ‘He doesn’t need to be.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘That’s up to him. I never know in advance.’

  Carlos was impressed. ‘Could you and he get a message to the Americans for me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Ask them to intervene and get rid of this government, and then set up a new government with me as president again.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And give us lots of money.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘It seems absurdly simple but when you think about it, that’s really all it needs. Will he be able to fix that, this man?’

  ‘Bound to.’

  ‘William, again I thank you.’

  They stood to shake hands. William felt fraudulent in front of Theresa.

  There was renewed shouting outside but Carlos was unworried. ‘Good. I am pleased that is settled. This has been a good evening.’ He looked at T
heresa. ‘Now, we shall go and see what they are doing out there. Perhaps we shall see your-friend evade them, William. There is a window that overlooks this part of the palace. Follow me.’

  He led them into the darkened corridor and up several flights of stone steps. Arc-lights had been switched on outside and there were enough windows to let some light in. They came to a small square room littered with broken chairs, old mattresses and planks of wood. There were windows in each wall through which they could see the palace lit like a football stadium. The area swarmed with troops and vehicles. William looked for the huts where he had seen the prisoners. The nearest was blocked out by the roof of the medical centre but those beyond were bathed in light. Two soldiers guarded each door, one facing outwards, the other inwards. The windows, he now saw, were boarded up.

  ‘There’s your car,’ said Carlos.

  It was being towed round the corner of some sheds by a lorry, the boot and bonnet open. The lorry took the corner too sharply and the side of the car was dragged along the wall.

  ‘They’ll probably take it to pieces now,’ said Carlos.

  Theresa was at another window. ‘Something is happening here.’

  On the far side of the exercise yard was a hearse and coffin surrounded by soldiers. A short man stood on the bonnet, gesticulating, while soldiers pointed their rifles at him. A tall man, apparently an officer, appeared and the short man got off the bonnet. They stood apart, talking.

  ‘Have they killed someone?’ asked Carlos.

  ‘Perhaps they are going to,’ Theresa said.

  ‘That is our rescue,’ said William. After a while, the officer saluted, turned away from Box and shouted at the soldiers. They quickly formed up on either side of the hearse, and, with Box driving, began to escort it at slow march pace across the yard.