The Andalucian Friend

by Alexander Soderberg

  They were passing the Frauenkirche. Ralph looked up at the domes and started thinking again: curious at how the Guzman affair would develop, curious at how Adalberto Guzman would react when he had brought him to his knees. Because he would, mainly because he wanted to find out who Guzman really was. Because that was the only time you got to see what a man was really worth, when he was lying beaten on the floor, only then could you judge. Some just lay there pathetically, begging for forgiveness. Some got up and let themselves get knocked down time after time. Others got up, blamed someone else, and sold their souls to the devil. Some would call it the survival instinct, but Ralph called it fear of life. But there were also a small group of people who hit back with full force. They demanded respect, and maybe Guzman was one of those?

  After a while Roland broke the silence and started to run through the rest of the day’s schedule. He had been working for Ralph for eight years. Roland Gentz made sure that most things that could be seen as problems for Ralph were turned to his advantage. He was an economist, lawyer, political adviser, and knew no boundaries. Ralph appreciated this aspect of his personality. He was the right hand that Ralph couldn’t do without, he did things that Ralph himself couldn’t do: contacting people, negotiating, and making sure that everything ran as it should. He had an almost minutely detailed overview of everything that was going on. If anyone made a fuss, Roland took a step back and Mikhail stepped up in his place. Ralph had built up a small but highly efficient organization around him.

  “Mikhail, you’re off to Rotterdam, aren’t you?” Roland said.

  “What are you going to Rotterdam for?” Ralph interrupted.

  Roland turned in his seat.

  “I’ve decided that we should always have someone there to receive the goods, at least for the first six months. It’s just routine, just to make sure. Guzman’s people may start to get ideas.”

  “Why Mikhail, haven’t we got anyone else?”

  “They’re all busy elsewhere. This will have to do.”

  Mikhail said in his broken German that he had prepared everything, it would be him and two others, and it would be fine.

  “Which others?”

  “We served in Chechnya together.”

  “Are they OK?”

  Mikhail gave a crooked smile and shook his head.

  “No, not remotely.”

  Ralph liked Mikhail’s attitude, he’d always liked the Russian. There was something straightforward about the way he worked; he seldom questioned anything, did as he was told, and when things didn’t go as expected he used his own initiative to sort things out.

  “OK,” Ralph said, sitting back and relaxing. He closed his eyes, a few minutes’ sleep would do the trick.

  Sophie tried a number of different styles in front of the mirror. She thought she looked too dressy, and got around it by putting on a pair of jeans to even things out.

  “Where are you going?”

  Albert was sitting on the sofa in the living room. She looked at him as she came down the stairs.

  “To a party.”

  “What sort of party?”

  “A birthday party.”

  “Whose?”

  She stopped in the hall, looking at her reflection in the mirror hanging above the hall cupboard.

  “A friend.”

  “A friend?”

  “His name’s Hector.”

  She leaned closer to the mirror and put on her lipstick.

  “Hector? Who the hell’s named Hector?”

  Sophie pressed her lips together. “Don’t swear.”

  “So who is he then?”

  She applied some finishing touches. “He was a patient.”

  “You’re not really that desperate, are you, Mom?”

  She could hear the irony in his voice and had to make an effort not to smile. He got up from the sofa and went past her toward the kitchen.

  “You look really great, Mom,” he muttered.

  She’d noticed him trying to boost her confidence on the rare occasions when she went out.

  “Thanks, darling,” she said.

  The taxi dropped her off outside the Trasten restaurant. When she opened the door to go in she was met by a young man in a white shirt and black trousers who held the door open for her, took her thin coat, and walked her inside. Sophie felt suddenly nervous, not sure she was right to come. She could hear voices and laughter from within the restaurant.

  The room was lit by candles rather than lamps. People were sitting around different tables, laughing, talking, drinking. Several more streamed in behind her. Sophie glanced at how they were dressed. She couldn’t figure out if she was too fancy or too plain, something in between, she guessed, exactly as she’d hoped. A woman passed her carrying a tray, Champagne glasses filled to the brim. Sophie took a glass and looked for Hector in the crowd, and found him sitting farther into the room with a small boy on his lap. The boy was laughing fit to burst as Hector bounced his good leg, making the little boy bob up and down. She started heading toward him as someone clinked a glass. She stopped and went to stand by the wall, and looked on as a man who was probably in his fifties, heavily built and bald, with a white shirt that was half unbuttoned, waited for the noise in the room to subside. He tapped his glass again, a voice from one of the tables said something loudly in Spanish, and several people laughed. The man who had called for silence let the laughter die out, then started to speak in Spanish. Every now and then he would turn and look at Hector, and after a while the man began to speak more quietly and seemed almost sentimental. His voice kept breaking. Hector listened calmly, something that the boy in his lap seemed to sense in some subconscious way, as he sat completely still, leaning back in Hector’s arms. The man concluded his speech, raised his Champagne glass, and proposed a toast to Hector. The other guests joined in. As she drank, Hector caught her eye and waved her over to him. The boy in his lap disappeared. The noise of the party returned and Sophie headed toward him as Hector whispered something into the ear of a young girl sitting on the chair next to him. The girl got up and offered her seat to Sophie, who thanked her with a smile. Hector got up as well, and seemed to get stuck just looking at her. Then he pulled himself together and kissed her on both cheeks.

  “Sophie, welcome.”

  “Happy birthday, Hector.”

  Sophie handed over a small parcel and he took it without opening it. He looked at her briefly once more.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  She smiled in response.

  “Come with me, I’d like you to meet my sister.”

  They headed toward another table. Sophie saw Aron sitting at the bar at the far end of the restaurant; he nodded warmly to her.

  A woman stood up from the table, short, dark hair, dark freckles on olive skin, alert eyes that were curious and happy at the same time—she looked very well.

  “Sophie, this is my sister, Inez.”

  Sophie held out her hand. Inez ignored it and gave Sophie a hug, kissing the air as their cheeks met. Hector said something in rapid Spanish to Inez. Inez said something as she looked at Sophie.

  “She says thank you for looking after her useless brother.”

  Sophie was told that Inez had two children who were back home in Madrid with her husband. Inez said she was glad to have met Sophie, patted her arm, and disappeared.

  “My brother couldn’t come, he lives in France. He’s a marine biologist and seems happiest when he’s underwater. Not that I blame him,” Hector said.

  The man who had made the speech came over and hugged Hector, then turned to Sophie. His bulky frame and large nose seemed even bigger close-up. He had bits of gold all over him, a thick bracelet around his wrist, a chain around his neck, and two heavy signet rings, one on the ring finger of each hand.

  “Sophie, allow me to introduce you to Carlos Fuentes, this is his restaurant.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sophie. I saw you before, very briefly, when you had lunch here with Hector.”
>
  Carlos spoke with a strong accent.

  “I understand you’re a nurse? Maybe you could mend my broken heart one day?”

  Carlos put his hand to his chest, smiled at her, and left them.

  “Why has he got a broken heart?”

  Hector shrugged. “He wants women to see him as a hopeless romantic. He hasn’t got a broken heart, just two broken marriages, and he broke those himself.”

  Hector watched Carlos walk away. For a moment Sophie caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes.

  A couple, possibly from the West Indies. He was tall, skinny, and powerful at the same time. She was attractive, with a round ball of hair on her head and a proud posture, and she swayed as she walked. They were walking toward Hector arm in arm. It was as if they owned the whole world, but wanted to share it with everyone else. The tall man patted Hector affectionately on the shoulder and gave him a wrapped parcel. Hector lit up at once, and the man took Sophie’s hand.

  “My name’s Thierry, and this is my wife, Daphne.”

  Sophie introduced herself, and Daphne smiled at her. They talked to Hector, then Thierry and his wife went off, wrapped around each other, to say hello to people they knew.

  Someone clapped their hands and asked the guests to take their seats for dinner.

  Hector asked Sophie to sit at his table. There was no seating plan, people seemed to know where they were sitting. She found a spare chair and sat down.

  Next to Sophie was a man who appeared rather dry; he was one of the few wearing a suit and tie, a gray suit with a blue, checkered tie. He had short hair, was fairly trim, wore thin-framed glasses, and seemed rather awkward, as though he’d rather not be there. He introduced himself as Ernst Lundwall, then he sat in silence until it became unbearable, perhaps he became aware of it himself.

  “How do you know Hector?” he asked.

  She talked about the accident, which Ernst was already aware of, how they had met in the hospital and now she was sitting here. She returned the question.

  “I help Hector’s publishing company with legal matters. I’m a lawyer by training, most of the time I work as a solicitor and adviser in matters of copyright law.”

  His voice was nasal and monotonous. The meal turned into something of a trial for her. Ernst Lundwall replied to all her questions in monosyllables without asking her anything, without picking up any threads or behaving in the usual, functional social way. The man on the other side of her was no help, he couldn’t speak English or Swedish. In the end she gave up and decided to sit in silence.

  She concentrated on the food, glancing occasionally at Hector, who was engrossed in a conversation with his sister, who was his dinner partner. Alongside him, on the other side, was a beautiful woman in her thirties, Sophie didn’t know who she was. The woman looked up, caught Sophie’s eye for a moment, then looked away. Sophie realized she was staring.

  Sometimes people would get up to go out and smoke. She made use of that, excused herself to Ernst, got up from her chair, and went outside.

  She stood alone outside the entrance to the restaurant, smoking. She felt slightly drunk after a few glasses of Champagne, and the cigarette tasted good. The door opened behind her and Aron came out, followed by two men.

  “Hello, Sophie.”

  “Hello, Aron.”

  He looked around. One man went down the street to the left, the other went right. Aron turned to her.

  “Can I ask you to go in for a moment?”

  Sophie was taken aback, but his attitude implied that the question was completely natural.

  “Of course.”

  A car was coming up the street. The man who had gone right waved to Aron. Aron took a couple of steps out onto the street. The car came closer. Sophie went in.

  During her cigarette break a vague sense of chaos had descended on the party. Everyone had changed places and was sitting and talking over coffee and liqueurs. Someone else was sitting in her chair at Hector’s table. She found a spare place at another table, and it wasn’t long before Ernst Lundwall came and sat down beside her.

  “They took our places!”

  He seemed upset. The front door opened and a short-haired, muscular man came in. He surveyed the room quickly, then an elderly, well-dressed man with white hair and a deep suntan followed him inside, followed lastly by Aron, who locked the door behind him. Hector stood up; he looked surprised, almost bewildered. The elderly man made his way over to him and the two of them embraced.

  “Guzman el Bueno!” someone in the room cried, and everyone began clapping their hands.

  Sophie saw Hector and his father exchange a few words as they patted each other on the cheek. A waitress helped Adalberto Guzman to take off his coat, chairs were moved, people changed places, and Adalberto sat down next to his son. They immediately fell into conversation. Adalberto held Hector’s hand in his the whole time.

  Ernst Lundwall had suddenly gotten drunk. He was more talkative than before, telling Sophie what music he listened to when he was younger, and what music he chose to listen to now. Sophie tried to look interested but she kept glancing over at Hector and his father. There was something truly joyous, intense about them.

  “Excuse me a moment,” she said.

  He didn’t hear her, just continued droning on about his uninteresting youth.

  “This is my father, Adalberto Guzman.”

  Sophie shook his hand while Hector explained who Sophie was to his father in Spanish. Adalberto didn’t let go of her hand, but looked her in the eye and nodded at what Hector was saying.

  Hector stood up and offered Sophie his arm. They did a circuit of the room and Hector introduced her to a mixed group of people, and she thought that her walk through the restaurant with Hector’s arm in hers gave the impression that they were in a relationship, as if Hector wanted to show her off to his friends. She pulled away from his arm and went back to her place, where to her delight she couldn’t see Ernst anywhere. Music started playing from the speakers, people got up and started to dance. Hector came over after a while and sat down next to her.

  “Do I scare you?”

  She shook her head. He looked out over the dance floor.

  “I didn’t mean anything by introducing you to my friends.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said.

  He took her hand in his. “Is this OK?”

  She nodded.

  They stayed there holding each other’s hands, watching the dancers. His hand was large and warm. It felt good to hold it.

  Toward two o’clock in the morning the guests began to leave, and half an hour later the music was turned down and there were just a dozen or so people left in the room, most of them gathered around one table. Hector, Adalberto, Inez, Aron, and Leszek—the short-haired man who had arrived with Adalberto—as well as Thierry and Daphne. And, beside Hector, the beautiful woman. Sophie was sitting next to Aron and had been chatting to him about nothing much. Then she had started talking to the short-haired Pole, Leszek. She looked at the people around the table. She saw Inez talking to Adalberto—she looked like a child who had decided to be cross with her father, while Adalberto looked almost pained, like a father who didn’t want his daughter to be cross with him. Thierry and Daphne were huddled together. She looked at Hector. He wasn’t talking to the woman beside him, he had only exchanged a few words with her all evening. Sophie realized she was staring at her again. There was something chilly about the woman, something chilly and beautiful, not cold but almost sober and sensitive. She seemed sad, introverted, without being shy. But above all there was something grand about her, “beautiful” was too small a word. Sophie felt a pang of envy.

  She bumped into her in the bathroom, perhaps she had followed her. They stood next to each other, inspecting their faces in the mirrors above the two washbasins. The woman was touching up her makeup.

  “My name’s Sonya,” she said quietly.

  “Sophie.”

  Sonya left the bathroom.

&nbs
p; When Sophie came out she was met with music and dancing again. Everyone who had been sitting around the table was now dancing energetically. A young waiter came over to her with a tray. She saw a load of white pills.

  “Please, help yourself,” Hector said behind her.

  “What is it?”

  “Ecstasy. I’ve taken one of these every birthday since I was thirty. It won’t kill you.”

  She hesitated, looked at the happy guests, looked at Hector.

  “Have you taken one tonight?”

  He nodded. “Just now.”

  “Can you feel anything?”

  He stared into the middle distance, searching his emotions to see if anything had changed.

  “It probably hasn’t had time to work yet … I think. But I’m not sure,” he said with a wide smile.

  Sophie took a pill and swallowed it.

  She discovered that she loved dancing more than anything, that what had seemed like an unremarkable restaurant was one of the most beautiful places she had ever been, so beautiful in its exquisite furnishings. Time kept twisting on its axis and suddenly they were all sitting at the table again, the music was quieter now, like the most perfect backdrop.

  Sophie looked on. The others around the table were talking and laughing in turn, smoking and drinking. It seemed that every subject of conversation was a link that bound everything together in a far greater context. Inez leaned over and started talking to her. Hector interpreted as best he could, but he and Inez kept bursting out laughing in Spanish. Sonya wasn’t laughing, she just smiled—a gentle smile that settled over her beautiful face, as if she was finding everything agreeable for a while, as if she had chosen to enjoy the moment instead of giggling. Hector was acting with boyish confusion; he was having a great time, she could see that, everyone was. Adalberto had become a child, chattering away in a Spanish that no one seemed to understand but that everyone found funny. Daphne and Thierry seemed even more in love now, sitting closely entwined, holding each other tight. Sophie felt as if the whole world were perfectly composed and comprehensible.