The Panama Portrait

by Stanley Ellin

  A line of dunes ran along the beach as far north as the lighthouse rising high above the headland. At the foot of the dunes the Indian couple prepared a camping place. There Elissa stretched out in a beach chair under a gaudy umbrella while Ben cavorted in the water. He had the born plainsman’s wariness of ocean surf, and the size of the waves cresting over him did nothing to dispel it, but once past the breakers in deep water he found himself floating, as it were, in a warm salt bath. It was a lulling, almost sleep-provoking sensation, and he rocked there in a state of drowsy contentment, thinking vaguely of Lethe, the water of forgetfulness.

  When he returned to Elissa she was asleep in her chair, fingertips trailing in the sand beside the book that had fallen there. Looking at her this way dispelled all his peace of mind. When two people could so pleasurably share their time for a week, he wondered, why must they separate and go their ways alone afterward? Why, indeed?

  He had never thought about it like that. Reclining in his chair, eyes closed, he let his thoughts roam freely. If he could get the contract for Seaways he’d be making good money. By Bambas-Quincy’s standards it might not be much, but by all logical standards it would be enough to support a wife handsomely. He would be a top-level executive running an office in San Francisco, a city which, by all accounts, even Elissa might find to her taste. And beyond this was the indisputable fact that not only Elissa, but her family as well, regarded him with favor. Every sign pointed to that. He was her constant escort. Aside from Juana’s efforts to play duenna he could be alone with her at any time, and this, he had reason to suspect, was a signal honor. So it all came down to two questions. Could he get the contract for Seaways? And, if he did, would Elissa seriously consider a proposal of marriage?

  Later, the caretakers brought a hamper of food and a bottle of iced wine to them, and while they were eating Ben slyly introduced the subject of San Francisco into the conversation. Yes, said Elissa, she had heard much about it. Jerome knew it well and her father had visited it. Both had found it an admirable place.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” said Ben. “If your father signs an agreement with my company, I’ll be living there.”

  “Then I hope he does sign,” Elissa said, smiling.

  Ben pressed the point. “From what you’ve heard of it, do you think you could be happy there?”

  She seemed stricken by the question. She sat in silence for a long while, her mouth working. “I don’t know,” she whispered at last. “How could I know?”

  “Naturally, you couldn’t until you’ve been there. But why should talking about it disturb you so much? Did I say anything—”

  “No, no. You said nothing at all to offend me. You could never do that. Don’t you know how kind you are? You are one of the most gentle and considerate people I have ever known. It’s just that sometimes I’m a little foolish. A simple question overwhelms me. But that is not your fault.”

  They remained on the beach until sunset when the lighthouse started to blink its warning across the water, and they left Córdoba in the darkness. Once past the brilliantly lighted army post, Elissa drove fast, although hardly as fast as she had during the afternoon. It was cool now, and the dampness steaming from the jungle growth along the way sent trickles of water down the windshield. It would be good to be in the mountains for a few days, Elissa said. The air there was always clear and dry. Probably that was why the Indians on the Victorica seemed to live forever, while in the cities and lowland they died like flies.

  Midway between Córdoba and Playa de Harmanos the taillights of a car appeared on the road ahead, and as they drew closer to it Ben saw in the glare of the Facel Vega’s headlights that it was a patrol jeep with the familiar machine gun mounted on it.

  “Just blink your lights to show we’re friendly,” he told Elissa. “Don’t get any closer until they give us the signal.”

  She obediently followed his directions, but there was no signal forthcoming. The two men in the back seat of the jeep were peering at them, hands shading their eyes, but it was clear that they could not make out the identity of the big car. When Elissa impatiently started to move up behind the jeep, Ben put a restraining hand on hers.

  “We have plenty of time,” he said, and in that instant the world was engulfed by a mighty sheet of flame and the roar of an explosion. The jeep went high into the air in a slow arc and then crashed on its side across the road, blazing in a monstrous pyre.

  “Don’t stop!” Ben shouted, as the Facel Vega rocked under the impact. “Turn around, damn it! Just turn around!”

  He grabbed at the wheel, tried to wrench the car into a turn, but Elissa was frozen with horror. Her foot bore down on the brake, and the car slewed to a half turn and stopped thirty yards behind the blazing wreckage of the jeep. There was no time to get moving again. Shadowy figures burst from the cover of the roadside foliage and surrounded them. The flat of a gleaming machete blade was laid across the steering wheel. The muzzle of a carbine was thrust hard into Ben’s chest. Someone in fatigues holding a pistol—he was no more than a boy—switched off the ignition and pocketed the key. Then he barked a command in Spanish.

  “No comprendo,” said Ben. “I don’t understand you. I’m norteamericano.”

  The boy waved the pistol at him, “Norteamericano, hey? Well, put up your hands,” he said in almost unaccented English, “and don’t move. The woman, too.”

  They sat like this while the boy studied the contents of Ben’s wallet and Elissa’s purse. The drivers’ licenses interested him. “Ben Smith,” he read aloud, “and Elissa Maria Carlotta Bambas-Quincy. The Bambas-Quincy, hey?” He turned to address the men around him in the Quechua dialect, and they guffawed. The sound of it chilled Ben.

  “Look,” he pleaded, “you can see that the lady is harmless. Why not let her go and do what you want with me? That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “You mean,” said the boy, “that we release her for the privilege of shooting you?”

  A constriction in the chest made it hard to speak, but Ben managed to get the words out. “If that’s what you want.”

  “How gallant. And how stupid. Well, we will talk about it. Put your hands down, hero, and follow me. The woman will remain here. There is no place for her to escape anyhow, so she may as well be comfortable while we decide her fate.”

  The boy gave orders to his followers and they moved off, a couple to examine the blazing jeep and the bodies sprawled lifelessly around it, the others to squat watchfully a few yards apart from each other along the edge of the road. For all they were a tatterdemalion crew they moved with prompt discipline. There were six or seven of them besides the commander, youths in ragged fatigues like his, and almost naked Indians whose skins shone oilily in the light of the fire. None remained to guard Elissa, who sat pale and unmoving behind the wheel of the car, eyes fixed straight ahead. She needed no guard. It was obvious that she was near collapse.

  The commander, pistol at the ready, directed Ben to the shoulder of the road some distance from the others. There he faced his captive, his gun still on target. They stood like that a long while, the commander gnawing his lip abstractedly.

  “This is very embarrassing,” he said at last. “A most difficult situation altogether.”

  Ben tried to force a smile. “At least it is for me.”

  “For me as well. You see, you and I have a mutual friend that I greatly esteem. So it is deplorable that we must meet under these conditions.”

  “It is,” said Ben. “But I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. I will not name names, but I will remark that the Calle Indios may be a most interesting street for the tourist to visit. However, you are warned never to repeat this remark or any conclusions you may draw from it to the authorities. If anything happens to our friend—” the boy raised the pistol at arm’s length and pressed the cold circle of steel into Ben’s forehead, “—you will not escape this, wherever you are. Do you understand?”

  “Yes
.”

  “Very good.” The pistol was slowly withdrawn. “Also, please remember that if you chose to reveal your acquaintance with our friend, the authorities would be quite suspicious of you. So there is every reason to keep silent about the Calle Indios. That is evident, is it not?”

  “It is.”

  The boy nodded with satisfaction. “And you still have no recollection of having seen me before?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “So I have the advantage of you. It is difficult to introduce oneself without the use of names, but I will do so by saying that I am a captain in the armed forces attached to the Party of the Resistance and that these men are a patrol on combat duty. You seemed to think we were murderers and rapists. I assure you we are not. We are a people’s army fighting against the oppression of a reactionary government. Since I am a commissioned officer in this army,” the boy said with some pride, “you may address me as captain.”

  “Gladly,” said Ben. “And now if you don’t mind, captain, would you put away that gun? Believe me, I won’t try any tricks.”

  The gun remained unwaveringly sighted on him. “And this is the best way to make sure of that. However, there is no need for concern. I have been living with guns for three years. I know how to handle them.”

  “Three years? Is that how long your war has been going on?”

  “It has been going on much longer. It will continue until we are victorious. Time, of course, is on our side. If I am not here to celebrate the final victory, my children will celebrate it for me.”

  “But how much of a war can it be? It’s not even mentioned in the newspapers. I’ve never read a word about it here.”

  “That is the policy of the reactionary press. They refuse to speak of the Party of the Resistance by name, much less mention its activities. They make silence a weapon against us. One favor you could do in return for your safe conduct is to make known that the army of the Resistance is responsible for this destruction of a reactionary force. Not bandits, as the propaganda would have it, but the Resistance itself. I would appreciate that.”

  This turn of the conversation made Ben’s breathing a little easier. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Perhaps. I am well aware that your mission to this country involves a commercial alliance with the oligarchy. You are not in a position to be too outspoken. But that is understood.”

  “Then maybe the propaganda isn’t all on one side. I’d say that my mission is intended to benefit the entire country. That is the exact statement made to me by the head of my company in New York.”

  “I am sure it is. Our ruling class uses the same language.” The captain held up his gun meaningfully. “Now we are answering with this,” and Ben saw that he was in no mood for debate. Not that it could be much of a debate at best, with a gun held ready as the decisive argument.

  One of the men in fatigues came up and addressed the captain in Spanish.

  “Unfortunate,” said the captain to Ben. “The lieutenant tells me that the machine gun is completely destroyed. Very unfortunate. It would be invaluable. Also, one of the soldiers is still alive although badly hurt. Let us go see.”

  They moved to the wreckage of the jeep. It still burned, but the flames had receded showing the glowing red of heated metal. A short distance beyond it the bodies of its occupants had been laid on their backs in a neat row. One body, terribly charred from waist to feet, still twitched feebly, and when then bent over it, the eyelids fluttered over the sightless eyes.

  The captain stood up with resignation. “There is nothing we can do. He is as good as dead anyhow.”

  One look had been enough for Ben. He kept his eyes carefully averted from the sight on the ground as he addressed the captain. “But there might be time to help him. If we put him in the car I could bring him to a doctor in Playa de Hermanos.”

  The captain shook his head. “Haven’t you ever seen a man burned like this? In five minutes it will be finished. And even if some miracle could restore him to life like Ajaxa, he is better off dead. Otherwise he might be back with a vengeance, fighting for the enemy once again. What is the sense of making that possible?”

  “But was he fighting out of choice? He was probably drafted into the army.”

  “As I once was and the lieutenant here, too. But when we learned how to use our weapons, we knew which side to use them for. Every man is free to make his choice if he is not concerned with the price of it. I refuse to waste pity on those who choose wrongly. Now you and the woman had better go. Do you have emergency tanks of water and gasoline in the car?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have need of them. You will please bring them to my men over there.”

  Mission completed, Ben returned to find the lieutenant speaking to his superior in a passionate undertone. He didn’t like the looks of that. When the captain nodded agreement to whatever was being told him, his heart sank.

  The captain turned to him and made a curt gesture with the pistol. “Now tell the woman to get out of the car.”

  “Why?”

  The captain nodded at his underling who seemed to be licking his lips with anticipation. “Because this officer is interested in automobiles and has never seen one like this. He wishes to drive it a short distance. My men and I will go with him and return in a few minutes. You will be wise to remain here.”

  When Ben told this to Elissa and helped her from the car, she clung to him weakly. “Stay with me,” she whispered. “Don’t let them touch me,” and he could feel her trembling uncontrollably.

  “They won’t touch you,” he said, and had to curse the twist of fate which finally brought her this close to him, but only under such conditions. “Don’t worry. You have nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of you.”

  They stood like that while the lieutenant jubilantly got behind the wheel of the car, and the others piled into it. When it lurched into motion and disappeared down the road, the blackness of the night closed down, relieved fitfully by stirrings of fire beneath the jeep. Even if they wanted to run, Ben knew, there was no place to run. Boxed in by the beach on one side and the jungle on the other, they would have to hold to the road, and who knew what other raiding parties lurked along the way? Nor was it likely that the leader of the next one would share his acquaintance with the mysterious friend on the Calle Indios who had unwittingly saved the day. Two such pieces of luck in one night would be more than the laws of probability allowed. He was sure that the captain had been referring to Juliana Aguilar, but found himself wondering if Chapin were not in the picture, too. It was hard to make out Chapin. Everything he and Klebenau said pointed up his disinterest in politics, but couldn’t that be a case of protesting too loudly? An artist who had learned his brushwork from revolutionaries like Orozco and Rivera might learn other things from them as well, and, if he were shrewd enough, would do his best to conceal it. Was Chapin that shrewd? Or was Klebenau the wily one who had laid down the law to him? It was hard to believe in Chapin’s guile. It was remarkably easy to believe anything about Klebenau.

  The car returned in five minutes. As soon as it pulled to a stop, its passengers abandoned it and fell in at the side of the road, and only the two officers lingered. The lieutenant had the dazed and happy look of a man who has just experienced orgasm. “Ver’ fine,” he assured Ben, patting the car tenderly, “ver’ fine,” and then patted Ben’s shoulder as tenderly. “Mucho gracias,” he said with feeling, and went off to join his squad.

  The captain waited in silence as Ben helped Elissa into the car and got behind the wheel himself. Then abruptly, in a jeering tone, he spoke to the girl in Quechua, and Ben felt her go rigid. As he stepped on the accelerator, the captain raised a hand in salute. “Remember,” he called, “greetings from the Resistance,” and was soon out of sight behind the blackened, skeletal remains of the jeep.

  As they raced toward Playa de Hermanos, Ben had the feeling that the roadside was now full of hidden menace. It was like waking from a nightmare in a dark
room where other nightmares lurked in corners, waiting their turn. Elissa’s hand suddenly covered his in a tight grip. “I saw it,” she whispered. “When he led you away and put the gun to your head I saw it all in the mirror. It was your courage that gave me courage.”

  “I’m glad it did, but to tell the truth I was scared green.”

  “No. With the gun at your head you smiled at him. That is why he could not kill you. That kind can never kill a brave man when they are looking into his eyes. He knew too late that he had met someone who was not afraid of him.”

  It made a highly flattering, if inaccurate view of the proceedings, and Ben felt no inclination to correct it. “What did he say to you when we were leaving?”

  Elissa shook her head vehemently. “Nothing. An insult. Gutter filth. What could one expect from a savage like that?” Her fingernails dug convulsively into his hand. “Please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He could tell from her reaction the kind of lewd shot the captain must have aimed at her. “All right, then let’s change the subject. Would you mind talking about something that happened while we were on the beach?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you might at that, but I want to clear it up. In fact, I must clear it up before time runs out, and I may never have a better chance than this. When I asked how you felt about living in San Francisco, did you know what I was really trying to say?”

  “Yes.”

  “You did?”

  “I am a woman. No woman in the world could have failed to know that you were offering marriage and a home with you in San Francisco.”

  “If I close my business with your father successfully.”

  Elissa looked up at him. “Is that how you see it arranged?” she said wonderingly. “A business contract first, and a marriage contract afterward?”

  It took a moment for the implications of this to dawn on him. They left him stunned. In all innocence this woman had believed he was proposing a marriage of convenience! But why shouldn’t she? Any sane and intelligent man in Santo Stefano was expected to make his marriage serve practical ends. If he found his wife pleasing, so much the better, but the important thing she represented was an alliance with wealth and power. And what more desirable alliance could there be than one with the most wealthy and powerful family of all?