by Alan Judd
‘They won’t.’
‘They shot your friend.’
‘Arthur?’
‘With machine guns. He had taken the colonel’s sword to protect Ines and the girls when the soldiers wanted to rape them. He would not put down the sword and so they shot him.’
‘Dead?’
‘Afterwards they took Ines and the girls away.’
‘Poor Arthur.’
‘If he is dead he cannot be tortured.’
‘Come with me and we’ll run away. Then we can marry. Sally has left me.’
‘She has left you?’
‘With an American called Max. He’s in the CIA and she’s run off with him. I think they’re leaving the country, too. We could do the same.’
She came forward and put one hand on his arm. ‘Poor William.’
‘It’s all right, I don’t mind. It’s all right.’
‘You do mind – it is in your face.’
‘No, I’m sad for Arthur and Ricardo and all the others.’
‘You must not ignore yourself.’
He took her hand. ‘But what about you? We must do something.’
‘Perhaps the CIA will rescue us and the Americans come. That is our only hope.’
‘They seem to be going rather than coming.’
She let go of his hand but continued to stand close. ‘Shall we undress?’ She smiled slowly at his surprise. ‘Always you say you want to talk to me. You cannot really talk with a woman unless you make love with her. Your conversation is unfinished.’
‘Make love now?’
‘If you want to talk.’
He undressed, this time without self-consciousness. When they were naked she knelt by him and unpinned her hair.
‘When I first saw you in the covered market that day,’ she said, ‘I thought you were a priest. You looked so serious. But you had a kind smile.’
‘I was frightened of you.’
‘Why?’
‘You were too beautiful.’
‘Does it worry you that I have been a prostitute?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you still like me?’
‘I love you.’
‘I will not be a prostitute any more.’
‘Come away with me. I will look after you.’
She smiled. ‘First you must talk to me.’
Later she sat up suddenly. ‘Why do you love me? Is it because I’m beautiful?’
He propped himself on one elbow. ‘That and something else. I want to go on talking to you, on and on.’
‘I have never really loved any man.’
‘Why not?’
‘Perhaps my banker, a little. He was kind.’ She stretched out her arms and looked at them; the upper parts were slightly plump. ‘Did you like making love with me?
‘Yes.’ He was worried by the question. ‘Yes, I did. Very much.’
‘Really like?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘I don’t think you did, not really. I think you were too worried. Is it long since you made love with your wife?’
‘Many months. I’m sorry it was over so quickly.’
She looked along her outstretched arms, rotating them slowly. ‘You should not worry about such things. It takes time to know someone. Men are always in such a hurry. Also, perhaps I am like a fantasy for you.’
He sat up. ‘No, it’s not that, it never has been. It’s you I like, yourself, ever since you spoke to me. It was speaking that did it.’
She smiled and took his hands in hers. ‘You look like a priest again. We can be friends and then maybe I will love you. To be friends is the big thing. All my life I have thought if I can find a man to be my friend, I will stay with him. But normally I cannot be friends with men. They do not want it. They want the sex, they want me for their mistress and that is all.’
‘We will be friends. I will take you away, anywhere. We will send money to your family. You must come with me.’
‘I have never been anywhere. You will get fed up with me and then you will send me back.’
‘I won’t. I won’t ever get fed up, I will always look after you. I like to have someone to look after.’
‘You will miss your wife and she will come back.’
‘She won’t, not now. Our marriage was dead for a long time. Anyway, she never wanted me to look after her. She never wanted me to do anything for her. I think she never wanted me at all.’ He felt as if his marriage had ended years ago. Theresa listened with downcast eyes. Her dark eyebrows arched strongly and evenly. He pulled her forward and kissed them. ‘We will hide and then we will go away together.’
She shook her head. ‘It is not possible.’
‘Why not?’
She looked up. Her eyes were impregnable, as in the cemetery when he had told her he was married. ‘Things do not work for me.’
He argued, pleaded, insisted. More in her tone than her words, he had felt the brush of the wing of despair – the outer feathers merely, but it was as if they had darkened the corners of his vision. He felt he was arguing with her to stay alive and his words became more impassioned as he became more fearful. She remained calmly negative. There was no hope for her, she said. She had always known that. Her life might be short, but he would grow old. She was not a magician but some things she knew and was nearly always right about. This was one. She was not sad – it was God’s way. It made no difference what she did but at least she had done something for her family. She hoped she would be with God and the Blessed Virgin.
‘You want this,’ he said. ‘You’re talking yourself into it.’
She stroked his face. ‘Poor William, I am making you miserable. But you are really my friend?’
‘Yes, I keep telling you. Yes.’
She kissed him. ‘We will be friends for all our lives.’
It was some time later that the soldiers came. She heard them first and broke away from him, her eyes hard and glittering. ‘It is now. It is happening.’
‘What?’
‘They are coming. It is what I knew – it is starting.’ She grabbed his hand. ‘You will always be my friend?’
‘Yes, yes.’ He sat up.
‘We will be friends in heaven.’
‘Yes, don’t worry, don’t worry.’ He was still trying to reassure her when the door opened.
The soldiers paused but only for a moment. They had none of the embarrassment which had afflicted those who arrested the generals. There were five or six of them, clumsy but purposeful. They pulled Theresa and William away from each other, the one in charge excitedly repeating, ‘Search them, search their clothes, search them.’
William at first felt paralysingly vulnerable, but when he looked at Theresa the feeling left him. She stood simply, passively, unembarrassed. She already had a dignity that made the soldiers at her side uneasy about holding her. Their hands rested lightly on her arms and the one who was going through her clothes looked awkward.
William’s clothes they went through vigorously and carelessly. A soldier threw his trousers and underpants across to him and the one in charge ordered him to put them on. When he had done so he looked again at Theresa. They had done nothing with her. He was held apart from her as if they were two people who had been caught fighting. When he tried to catch her eye the soldiers pulled him back by the arms and pushed him towards the door. He turned and this time caught her eye. She gazed at him without expression or recognition, as if she were not fully recovered from an anaesthetic. Four of the soldiers stayed with her, the other two pulled William roughly by the arms. The door closed on her.
When they left the building a blanket was thrown over his head and he was made to walk stooping, his arms pushed up behind his back. All he could see was his bare feet on the wet cobbles. It was raining heavily. His head felt the drops through the blanket and the wind flapped its edges against his legs.
He was pushed into a vehicle and made to sit with his head between his knees. It was uncomfortable and whenever he tried to raise h
is head a hand pushed it down again. No one spoke. The vehicle lurched frequently and the gearbox whined. He listened to every change in noise, tried to judge from each change in direction where they were going – he assumed the palace but couldn’t tell. He wasn’t at all frightened. What was happening to him seemed of little account; it was only him. His thoughts remained with Theresa, with her muted, submerged look, and the four soldiers.
The car stopped twice in quick succession, then moved slowly over rough ground and stopped again. There were voices and the sound of rain on the roof. A hand was pressed on the back of his head, keeping it down. After some time he was made to get out. His feet were on rough ground and, just beyond the edge of the blanket, he could see rain spattering into a puddle. Someone took his arm and he was pushed forward. The ground hurt his feet, he banged his toes on stones and slipped in mud. The soldiers took no account of his difficulties, treading confidently in their boots. Only when they reached a small flight of brick steps did they make allowances, waiting for him to feel with his feet from one step to the next.
They were in a building, brightly lit and with cold green lino. Mud trickled from his wet feet. Doors opened and closed and there were voices giving orders; then he was pushed forward again, this time with someone holding the blanket so that he could not see even the floor any more. Once, and then again a few yards further on, they used his head to open swing doors. The lino ended and they went down steps of brick or stone, then along another corridor with more lino. A telephone rang. They approached and then passed it before stopping abruptly and turning in through a door.
This was a room with different lino. No one was touching him and he stood as he had been left, bowed in the blanket. There was some coming and going, then the blanket was pulled off and he was told to stand up. It was a green-painted functional room with a radiator, a filing cabinet, a desk and chair and a blanked-out metal window. On one wall was a photograph of Carlos, beneath it photographs of the generals.
For a moment he thought he was alone but when he tried to turn round, his shoulder was pushed roughly forward. An officer came into view and sat at the desk. He was younger than William and looked like Ricardo.
‘Undress,’ he said.
William took off his trousers and underpants. He saw then that two soldiers stood behind him. They were very young and looking precociously solemn. He had the feeling that both the officer and the soldiers were embarrassed by him. He felt vulnerable but not frightened. His vulnerability was complete, he was defenceless, there was no room for pretence. He felt this gave him a strength which his captors, who had everything to protect, lacked.
‘Face the wall and bend over,’ said the officer. ‘Right down.’
Before his glasses fell off William could see between his legs that the man was still sitting at his desk. One of the soldiers took the glasses away. There was then a face between his legs and a pair of thumbs pulled his buttocks apart and examined his anus with a torch. He had to force himself not to clench his buttocks. The torch was switched off and the face disappeared.
‘Stand up,’ said the officer.
William stood and went to turn round but was pushed back to face the wall. He could hear movements behind him. The blanket was thrown over his head and he was made to stoop again. A hand took him by the arm and pulled him towards the door.
There was more lino, more descending stairs, then a cold damp concrete floor and finally a cell. He was pushed in, the blanket was pulled off and the door closed in one movement. The cell was bare and the walls again were green, the paintwork marked and smeared reddish-brown in places. A single bright light was flush with the ceiling behind wire mesh. Panels of dark glass were set in at the top of two of the walls, behind which it was just possible to make out camera lenses. The only furniture was a three-legged stool.
The cell was cold and smelled damp. William was more conscious of his nakedness now than when he had been in the office with the soldiers. He walked the perimeter, trying to see whether the camera lenses followed him, but his eyes were not good enough. His feet were very cold. He sat on the stool, testing it first, and put his feet on the bottom rung. He became colder. Next he squatted on his feet on the stool, which had by then been warmed. It was uncomfortable and he was about to get off when the door opened and the two soldiers rushed in. He stepped clumsily backwards off the stool. They snatched it away and went out, slamming the bolts home. He resisted the urge to look up at the cameras and continued pacing the room. After some time he sat on the floor with his back against the wall; it was very hard and very cold. He pulled his knees up to his chest and put his arms around them but soon started to shiver, so he got up and began pacing again. It was four paces one way and three and a half the other. He thought again of the woman who had walked from Russia to Paris in her cell.
He had no idea how much time passed. It didn’t feel long, but there was nothing by which to judge – no sounds, no change in light. It might have been very little time, since he was neither hungry nor thirsty nor conscious of his bladder. He would worry about that when it happened. He began to feel that despite the cold, the confinement and the bleakness of his future, he had a kind of freedom. All that might have worried and concerned him had fallen away, leaving what was essential. He still wasn’t sure what that was but felt he was beginning to find it out. Perhaps he was to suffer greatly. There was nothing he could do about that. It would happen when it would. Even thoughts of what might be happening to Theresa, what was happening to Ricardo, what had happened to Box were more bearable now that he was locked up and helpless. He wished they could know he was there and how he felt about them. He would have liked Box to know, too; he couldn’t really believe he would not.
He sat against the wall again, tired but not sleepy. The cold put sleep out of the question, anyway. Time passed. It was odd to have no measure of it. He could recall no occasion in his adult life when he had not any idea of the passing of time – no possibility, ever, of dusk or dawn. He realised how his day was hourly parcelled out, how he lived life like someone on a boat, so busy taking bearings he had no time for sea or sky.
His bladder recalled him and with nothing else to hold his attention, the desire grew stronger. It was not yet as bad as when he had been in the medical centre and he was determined not to let it get that far. Perhaps he was meant to go on the floor. He got up and knocked on the door.
It was opened abruptly. They must be watching his every movement. ‘I want to go to the toilet,’ he said unthinkingly in English.
The two soldiers stared. He repeated it in Spanish. They threw the blanket over his head, pulled his arms behind his back and pushed him out along the corridor. They came to a junction where he had to step up, but before he could do so they stopped him.
‘Lie down,’ ordered one.
‘I want to go to the toilet.’
His arms were twisted and yanked upwards, forcing him to his knees. He lay down on the stone floor, his top half still covered by the blanket. He wanted to urinate more urgently now, and not only that. Perhaps they were going to make him do it there. Perhaps they were going to torture him or pull his legs apart and kick him. The thought made his buttocks quiver, though he did not feel fear. He felt detached from himself. His chin rested painfully on the concrete and his eyes focused on the tiny ridges an inch or two away. He felt he was more vividly aware of detail than he had ever been.
A door banged. There was some grunting, a few muttered words and the sound of something being dragged along the corridor in front of him. As it came closer he heard boots on concrete and heavy breathing with, amidst it, whimpering. The sounds passed, another door banged and there was silence.
‘Get up,’ said one of the soldiers.
The toilet had neither door nor seat but it was clean and there was paper. The two soldiers stood and watched.
Back in the cell there was only cold and silence. No doubt if they made him cold enough, tired enough and hungry enough for long enough he would gi
ve in, whatever that involved, but he felt that by then it wouldn’t really be him who was surrendering: it would be what was left. Everything good and strong would have been used up.
Yet it was the past that interested him more than the future, particularly now that all his past should have come down to this. Until now he had simply drifted with the current. Job, marriage and South America had followed each other as one thing after another. Similarly, involvement with Theresa, Box and Carlos. He had initiated nothing, had just let it happen. It was the same with Sally. He had been considerate of her but not really attentive to her. Now, quite suddenly, he was washed up on a rock. Other currents swept onwards, but his had stopped. What was left were memories and the impressions of personality, particularly of those who had given of themselves. They left more behind. For him it had all just been easy or fun or desirable. It had become serious with Señor Finn. That was when he was first faced with consequence.
The cell now seemed the result of his whole life, not only of the past few days. Layers of habit and illusion, years of accretion, had fallen away with his clothes. He felt that at last he might know where to begin again, if he were permitted.
Chapter 14
‘Estupido. You are stupid, Señor Wooding, and you are dangerous. Stupid people are more dangerous than clever people. They do things so stupid that no one would think of them, and sometimes they nearly work.’
Manuel Herrera sat behind the desk with his hands resting on his chest and his fingertips just touching. He looked tired. It was the office in which William had been searched. William stood before him, still naked, but flanked by two different soldiers. It was much later but he did not know how much; he assumed it was day. He felt hungry, weak, cold and tired.
Manuel looked at William’s body. ‘Why do you let yourself get so fat?’
William did not answer. It was another rhetorical question. He was there to be lectured, perhaps condemned, but not interrogated. So far it seemed they knew all he knew.
‘And because of your stupidity and the stupidity of those who sent you, other gullible stupid people get themselves into trouble. All your people in the tango club, little turncoat Ricardo, the president’s whore – they will all suffer because of you. Treason is a capital offence here, like espionage. It is not necessary to involve the courts since it is the prerogative of the People’s Party to decide punishment. All these others will suffer because you did the bidding of your British spy master. Even the British Embassy acknowledges the stupidity of the affair. They have told us it was nothing to do with them and clearly they do not approve.’
