Wide Is the Gate (The Lanny Budd Novels)

by Upton Sinclair

  “I would not care to have a third party brought into the matter under any conditions.”

  “Let me give this assurance: I will return to Caceres unless there is definite and immediate danger which compels me to flee. In that event I will owe you not five hundred dollars but one thousand. I will put it to your account at my bank in Cannes, or I will put it in any bank you say, and in any name you say; or I will hold it until you send me instructions. I assume that your troops are going to put down the Reds, and it might then be pleasant for you to have a vacation on the French Riviera; if so, the money will be there awaiting you. We cannot put any of this into writing, but I hope that you will accept my word of honor. Juan-les-Pins, Alpes-Maritimes, is my address, and a letter or a wire there will reach me no matter where I am. If I am away, my mother will wire me and I will reply, and she will pay you the money. Understand this: if you do me such a service, I will consider you my friend, and will carry out my obligation to you in the same spirit that is moving me in the case of your prisoner.”

  X

  Capitan Vazquez took time out to think over these proposals. He took it for granted that Lanny’s hard-luck stories were invented; but these rich people were so damnably smooth and impressive, they could always beat down the poor man! He tried to summon his courage, and said: “What you say may be true, Senor Budd; but the dangers of this project are very great. I should be risking my career and possibly my life. I do not feel that the compensation is enough.”

  “What do you feel that you should have?”

  “Two thousand American dollars when I deliver the prisoner, and another thousand when you return from Portugal.”

  “I am sorry, but I haven’t that much with me.”

  “You say that you are going to buy pictures in Caceres—”

  “I have already bought one, and I gave a check for that. I cannot give you a check, as you will understand. The other sums I expect to pay here are very small.”

  “You have ways to get money here from France, without doubt.”

  “It is not so simple transferring money in wartime; it means delays, which are very bad because I am attracting attention in this town. I will make you a counterproposition. I will pay you fifteen hundred dollars on the delivery of the prisoner, and five hundred more on my return to Caceres—or, as I said before, if I cannot return to Caceres, then a thousand dollars payable in France at your order. That will mean a total of something over thirty thousand pesetas for you, or perhaps forty thousand if you exchange them on the illegal market. It is a sum on which you could have many enjoyments.”

  There was another silence. The Capitan felt sure that he was being cheated, but the elegant gentleman had him bluffed. He said: “Bueno esta!”

  “How soon will you be ready?”

  “There is no reason for delay so far as I am concerned. But you have to get a bottle of animal blood.”

  “I have it in the car.”

  “The devil you say!”

  “I sacrificed a chicken this afternoon, so it is good and fresh. I have everything, even to the pocket knife with which you may cut yourself if you have the nerve.” Lanny slipped him the knife. “Watch out for a vein,” he added.

  “You mean to do it tonight?” demanded the other.

  “Why not?”

  “Jesucristo!” whispered the Capitan. “What am I getting myself in for?” He seemed quite human all of a sudden. “See here, Senor. Budd, you are going into deep water, and I’m going with you. Are you sure you’ve got some way to get that fellow to the border?”

  “I would not be starting unless I could finish. It would be a long story, and it might be better for you not to know it.”

  “It won’t do me any good not to know it if you get caught. You realize that pickets on the road may search your car at night?”

  “I have passes for two.”

  “I can’t imagine how the hell you did it, but I take your word. Who else has been taken into this plan?”

  “Nobody else, I assure you. It was all very simple, and some day in Juan-les-Pins I may have the pleasure of telling you about it.”

  “There’s this that worries me: if that loco of yours should come back to Madrid to fight—”

  “You have my word of honor about that, mi Capitan. He will return to his studies at Oxford, which is one of the English universities.”

  “But his presence there will be noted. The newspapers will report his story, and we have agents in London who will telegraph it here. Then they go to the cemetery and dig up a box of rocks! Virgen Santisima!”

  “I have thought of that also, amigo mio. The lad can say, quite simply, that he has returned from Madrid. He did not crash in Nationalist territory but in Red, and he was nursed back to health in a peasant hut in the Sierra Toledo. The story that he was in a Franco prison is all nonsense, and it must be some other fellow who has been using his name.”

  “Por Dios!” exclaimed the deep voice. “You are un hombre habil! Will you swear to me that your friend will stick to that?”

  “In my country,” replied Lanny, “when we make a deal we shake hands on it.” He clasped a large tough hand with much hair on the back.

  32

  AND WIN OR LOSE IT ALL

  I

  Lanny said: “We have been staying in one spot a long while,” and his new friend replied: “Every wall in this town has ears.” So Lanny got into the front seat and drove the car around a couple of blocks, keeping watch in his little mirror as he did so. He stopped in a new place, and returned to the back seat, where the pair conducted a curious sort of rehearsal. Lanny had watched Rick directing plays, and now he put the Capitan through a complete ensayo, all in whispers and in darkness.

  The Spaniard said he knew no Latin, except for a few religious phrases; Lanny now taught him three words from Ovid, and charged him that his first action upon entering the cell with Alfy was to whisper: “Bella gerant alii!” Then he would add: “I have just come from Lanny Budd, and am going to take you out to him. I am going to pretend to shoot you, and you are to lie perfectly still and as limp as possible. No matter what happens, do not move or make a sound. I am going to pour chicken blood over your face. It won’t be pleasant but you can stand it. I am going to fire three shots, but not at you. First you are to shout at me and call me names.”

  “What names?” interposed the stage director.

  “Won’t he know the names?” inquired the actor.

  “Not in Spanish. You must tell him.”

  “All right, then. I say: ‘Puneta! Carajo! Asesino!’”

  “Very good. And now?”

  “I tell him to lie down. I dump the blood over his face.”

  “And the bottle?”

  “I put the bottle in my pocket.”

  “And the cork?”

  “I put the cork in the bottle first.”

  “You won’t forget and let the cork fall on the floor and get lost?”

  “Por Dios, no!”

  “And then?”

  “Then I cut my hand.”

  “No, that is wrong. You have forgotten the blanket.”

  “Caramba! The blanket. I take the blanket from the bed and fold it as many times as I can and then lay it on the floor.”

  “How near to the prisoner?”

  “Near, but not so that I will hit him.”

  “How near?”

  “Six feet. Then I fire into the blanket.”

  “No, wrong again. You cut yourself.”

  “Hell, yes—I cut my hand—in the soft part. I had to fight him and take the knife away from him.”

  “And what do you do with the knife?”

  “Drop it beside him. And then fire into the blanket.”

  “Bang, bang, bang. And then?”

  “I grab up the blanket. I sweep up the bullets from under it and put them into my pocket. I throw the blanket onto the bed. At the same time I shout for the guard and I start raising hell.”

  “What do you say?”


  “I say: ‘Jesucristo!’ I say: ‘Virgen Santisima!’ I say: ‘El hijo de puta, he tried to kill me! He cut me! Asesino!—all the things that he called me. I say he called me this and that. I go loco—por Dios, I shall feel that way anyhow.”

  “Not too much,” said Lanny. “A good actor never loses himself in his role. Something unforeseen might happen.”

  “Dios no lo quiera! I say: ‘El Jefe will be furious with me. This Englishman is rich, he is important, and I am in one hell of a mess. Look at him! Look at the floor! I shot his face to pieces—I was furious with him.’ Then I say: ‘Go and fetch a coffin. We will put the scoundrel in it.’ Is that all right?”

  “How many men will answer your call?”

  “There should be three, at least.”

  “Send two for the coffin. Keep the third with you. Don’t be left alone with the body, for that might be suspicious. You go on pacing the cell and cursing.”

  “Si, that comes easy in my business.”

  “Here is a clean handkerchief, so that you can tie up your hand. It has no identification marks on it.”

  “Por Dios, you think of everything. And what now?”

  “Most important—the blanket.”

  “Oh, yes; when they bring in the coffin—not before then—I take the blanket and wrap it round the body.”

  “You are careful never to turn your torch on it; and you will surely not forget and leave it on the bed, for the blanket with a dozen bullet holes through it would certainly be hard to explain.”

  “Caramba!” exclaimed the Capitan de Guardia. “I am beginning to lose my nerve. Let us go over the damned thing once more.”

  II

  When he was letter-perfect, they shook hands again, and Lanny discovered that the hand had become moist and had lost something of its firmness. He said: “Coraje! It is all clear now, and will go like the River Tagus up in the mountains. Put it through, and no matter what happens, understand that I will keep faith and will never talk.”

  “Dominus nobiscum!” said the pious gangster.

  Lanny drove a couple of blocks and then let him out to walk to the barracks. They had agreed upon the taberna where the aguardiente was to be drunk, and the exact spot where Lanny was to stop. First he went to the outskirts of the town and from a vacant bit of land collected the stones, an easy enough task in this part of Estremadura. He chose flat ones, which would not roll, and enough to equal the weight of Alfy, allowing for his losses in prison. This done, he drove to the spot appointed, a few yards beyond the entrance to the wineshop. He drew up his car under the shelter of a tree, protected from too bright moonlight.

  He got into the back seat, and after that there was nothing to do but wait—and imagine all the things which might go wrong. The Jefe de Dia might arrive unexpectedly and take charge of the proceedings. The prison physician might arrive and go through with his routine of examining the body. Alfy might sneeze in the coffin. Or suppose the Capitan had been setting a trap for Lanny, and he now appeared with a squad of his guards? Lanny had read some of Lope de Vega, and knew the violence and fury of which the haughty Spanish temperament is capable; a ghastly thought had come to his mind, of what the captain of the watch might consider a proper jest to perpetrate against a Red sympathizer. Suppose he actually shot Alfy in the face, and then brought him here in the cart and allowed Lanny to make the discovery! What a barrack-room tale that would make! What a theme for a Falangisto dramatist, if ever there should be such a thing!

  III

  Here comes a peasant cart, and Lanny watches it from a corner of his rear window. He can see in the bright moonlight that a mule is drawing it, and that three men are riding in the front seat. It approaches with Spanish dignity; it is a funeral cart, though an impromptu one; it bumps loudly on the stone-paved street. It passes the taberna, and is about to pass Lanny; that is according to plan. The Capitan’s sudden thirst develops at exactly the right instant, and the cart stops and draws in by the side of the street. Lanny has his curtains drawn and is slumped in his seat, so they do not see him; his windows are closed, so he hears only a murmur of voices. But he has rehearsed the scene twice, and knows what the Capitan will be saying—that his nerves are shot and that he cannot go on without a drink.

  The cart is just behind the car; so far everything is perfect. Lanny hears the footsteps of the men, and forces himself to wait. When he judges it safe to peer out through the rear window, the first thing he sees is the head of the mule about ten feet away from him. Apparently the patient creature does not move except when compelled to by those superior beings who have brought him into existence and who condition his life. He stands with head drooping, and perhaps is already asleep. Lanny will not awaken him.

  The trembling conspirator observes that the driver’s seat is empty, and there is no one near the door of the taberna. The moment has come, and he slips out of the car, leaving the door open. He must walk, not too fast; no one ever runs in Spain—unless it is a war, or possibly a house on fire or the pursuit of a thief. He goes to the back of the cart, and there is a pinewood coffin. Now is the moment when he will find out if this scenario has been composed by Lope de Vega! He lifts the lid of the coffin an inch and whispers: “Romney!”

  Instantly comes a murmur: “Righto!” An English word and an English voice.

  Lanny takes a look up and down the silent street. It is nearly midnight, and no one will be about, except perhaps someone leaving the taberna. If such a one should behold this sight, he would surely yell: “Mil diablos!” A dead man rising out of a coffin, ghastly, his face smeared with blood, shining in the moonlight!

  “Come out,” Lanny says. “Be quiet.” He gives him a help down from the cart, for he might be near to fainting. Lanny himself is unpleasantly aware of his knees shaking and his teeth chattering. He manages to say: “Get into the back seat and lie still.” He assists his friend into the car, then closes the door silently, and reaches around through the front door and locks the rear door.

  Now for the stones. They are piled on the floor of the car, to the right of the driver. Lanny takes one and carries it—walk, don’t run!—to the cart. He lays it on the floor of the cart and goes for another. When he had brought five he will climb in, take off the coffin lid, lay them in a row, and cover them with the blanket-shroud. It is one of the ticklish moments of the adventure; if anybody should come out of the taberna and witness it, an explanation might be difficult to find. Lanny’s hands are shaking so that he has hardly enough power to lift the stones.

  He assumes that the Capitan is on guard inside. It has been arranged that the Capitan shall take his seat at a table near the door, and if he sees anyone starting to leave the taberna, he will call to him and ask him to have a glass. A free drink, and conversation with a distinguished person of the town—such a combination will not be refused. If some man should be so drunk that he does not halt, the Capitan will challenge him, accusing him of a discourtesy, and starting an argument—anything to keep him occupied. Lanny has not been able to rehearse the moving of the stones, and doesn’t know just how long it will take, but there is no harm in allowing too much time. The mule will not run away and neither will the coffin.

  Perhaps the Capitan has an idea that Lanny might do so. He comes out just as the coffin lid is being put in place, and it gives his fellow-conspirator a nasty start. Lanny gets down from the cart and goes to the car—walk, don’t run! The Capitan is supposed to be sick, perhaps vomiting, or answering the call of nature. He strolls over to the car with dignity; and when he is close and safe in the shadow of a tree, Lanny whispers: “Esta bien!” He holds out his hand, and presses a round wad into the hand which is tied up with a handkerchief. “Mil quinientos dolares y mil quinientos gracias,” he says.

  “Gracias a Vd.,” replies the Capitan. He does not attempt to count the bills or to examine them in the moonlight. Perhaps he has acquired confidence in the American sense of honor; again, perhaps he is too nervous.

  “O.K.?” inquires Lanny, and
the reply is “O.K.” There is a quick handshake, and then: “Adios.” Lanny steps into his car and closes the door softly, slides over into the driver’s seat, starts the engine, and rolls away.

  IV

  The first and only performance of this Spanish melodrama had gone perfectly, and the curtain was down. But there was another to be played immediately afterward, one entitled The Flight to Portugal. The opening scene would be just outside Caceres, where Lanny knew there was a military post with a black-and-white-striped barrier across the road. Before playing that scene, the leading “juvenile” would have to repair to his dressing-room for a quick change.

  One street was the same as another at midnight in that silent old town. So Lanny turned a couple of corners and halted in the shadow of another tree. Then he leaned back and whispered to Alfy: “Are you all right?”

  The reply was: “Topping.” Then: “How in God’s name did you pull it off?”

  “A long story,” Lanny said. “Now we have to hurry. The first thing is to wash your face. Open the suitcase. There’s everything right on top. The bottle has water in it; don’t waste any.”

  The fugitive went to work. “What is this blood?” he whispered. When told it was a respectable elderly hen he said “Ugh,” and fell to scrubbing vigorously in the dark.

  “I thought you might need to shave,” explained the rescuer. “You’ve got to look right.”

  “I’ve got quite a bit of brush, to be sure.”

  “Take your time; I don’t think there’ll be any pursuit.”

  “Won’t they find that coffin rather light when they come to lift it?”

  “I put stones in it, about the right amount.”