by Lucy Wadham
To his surprise, Mikel opened his hands.
Good, he said. But he did not move. He just sat there staring. Then he began again. I thought to myself, how can I avoid doing violence to this person who is threatening me and when I looked at it like that I saw that the threat was in reality not a threat. You just have to look in the right direction. Do you see?
Mikel. You’ve been away too long. The world is still violent, even if you’re not.
He wants the money for himself, Txe. That is what I understood. I thought about the conversation afterwards and it was obvious.
Txema could not help himself. There was real pleasure in hearing his friend use his nickname again.
How?
Perhaps he needs the money for something.
He wants to move back to the village, Txema told him, letting himself enjoy for a moment what felt like a conversation between equals. He’ll need money to pay for the retirement flat he wants. He couldn’t afford it with the pension he gets from the French, that’s for sure.
You should not live in fear any more, my friend.
Txema felt his throat contract. He stood up.
I have to go. But Mikel did not move.
You must give the money back. Give it back to the companies it was stolen from.
They didn’t steal it, Mikel. What’s the matter with you?
He was shouting. His throat was parched. He had to get out of this room.
Mikel held up his hands.
Give it back and you’ll be free, he said. It’s the only way, Txema.
What are you talking about? Txema allowed a silence. He was standing and Mikel was sitting. He was powerful and Mikel was weak. He had a gun and Mikel did not. If I give it back, he said, they’ll kill me.
Mikel shook his head.
They won’t know. Only Itxua knows. And me.
And Astrid, Txema said.
How does Astrid know?
I have no idea. I imagined you told her.
Mikel shook his head, unfazed.
His complacency was an affront. Txema wanted to knock him down.
We’ll talk later, he said. After the games.
Mikel nodded and smiled.
Sure, he said.
Mikel held out his hand.
It’s good to see you, friend, he said.
Txema gripped his hand, afraid now to let him go.
When Txema and Mikel emerged from the town hall, the games had begun. Two bare-chested men in white trousers with scarlet sashes around the waist were hacking their way through two tree trunks that lay the full length of the pelota court. Txema advanced, head bowed with the mock deference of a public figure, through the standing crowds to his place on the rostrum. Mikel clicked his fingers at Castro and they walked around the court to the exit. He would not meet Txema afterwards. He had heard the hatred in his voice, even while he had heard the love. He had done what he came to do. There was no need to stay. Castro had snarled at Txema when they had emerged from the building together, just as he had snarled at Itxua. The dog knows, Mikel thought to himself as he walked down the hill towards his van.
FORTY-TWO
Astrid had been unable to sleep. Kader had fought his tiredness and stayed awake with her. They had lain together in their hotel room talking until the streets were quiet. At last he had convinced her to go and ask Lola’s forgiveness. He had made her believe that it might be easily won. But now, as she walked through the deserted village, she understood that she had ruined her sister’s life and did not deserve forgiveness. She understood that what she had believed to be love for her sister had driven her to seek control over every aspect of her life and for this she would be punished. Perhaps now she could start loving Lola. But from a distance.
The day had been long. It had reminded her of the early days of prison; a day over which she had no control, a day that had simply occurred. Kader had held her all night and she had woken in his arms to such a sense of dread, of the contrast between the comfort of being held and the knowledge that she was alone, that she could hardly breathe. She could not cry either. While he went out to get breakfast she lay there in the blinding sunshine, afraid to move.
She blamed their mother. Margot had abandoned them. She had let her own misery overwhelm her and had vanished into it with no thought for her children.
Astrid walked along the narrow alley and through the wide stone arch where she and Lola used to play cards in the summer. They liked the spot because the air was cool here while the flagstone where they sat, the only place in the sun, was hot. Beyond the arch was the path with the grass verge running down the middle. As she walked she listened to the sound of the long, yellow grass whipping her calves and caught the scent of cattle on the night breeze. Josu, she thought, had abandoned them too.
*
She saw the dog before she saw Mikel. It was lifting its leg on the fountain where a man was once drowned in front of the whole village for stealing someone else’s wife. Mikel was standing a little further down the hill, whistling for the dog. He too must have known the story of the fountain and, perhaps out of respect for the dead man, did not want his dog pissing there. He looked so steady, standing on the hill, calling his dog. Astrid watched him, feeling a little envious that after only a few days of freedom he could appear so at ease in the world. Then he saw her.
Neither moved. It was the dog who picked up the connection between the two of them, seemed caught for a moment in the strings that ran between them. He turned on himself, bounded towards Mikel, then halted, turned and looked at Astrid. He appeared unable to tell if she were a friend or an enemy.
Mikel started up the hill towards her. At arm’s length from her he stopped. He raised his hand to touch her, then changed his mind.
Mikel, she said.
Then she looked down. She was ashamed to use his name. She looked at his old boots on the tarmac and found them reassuring. Then she looked up.
Can we go somewhere and talk?
As soon as she had spoken these words she wanted to take them back, but Mikel was looking about him, then putting out his arm and gingerly, without touching her, urging her forward with him down the hill.
They did not speak until they reached his van. They stood in the stark light of a street lamp. Mikel drew the soles of his boots back and forth in the loose gravel.
Is he your dog? Astrid asked.
Yes. This is Castro.
Astrid held out her hand for the dog to lick. Then she patted him and stroked his soft ears. At last she felt strong enough to look at Mikel. His dark eyes were set more deeply and did not shine as they had. His cheeks were marked, each with a single vertical line, and his mouth was thinner and more sharply drawn. His thick hair was all grey. She felt a sudden tenderness towards him that she knew was not limited to his person.
Lola found out about your letters to me.
He looked at her. He did not appear to want to speak.
I didn’t tell her, she went on. I couldn’t. I wish I had. I wish you’d never written them.
He kept on staring at her. She tried to read his expression but could not. All she saw was tiredness. He looked very tired.
I wish I had told her about the first letter and put an end to it, she said. I was mad. I am mad.
She realised that she was talking to herself. She turned on him.
Why did you do it? It was so selfish. You didn’t love me. You didn’t even know me.
I know you as well as I know anyone.
You don’t. You know Lola.
Mikel looked down at his feet, began to shuffle them again. Astrid was grateful for his silence now. It would have been an affront to hear him talk about Lola.
I don’t know you, she said, softening a little.
No, he answered. He was still looking at his feet. I’ve led a bad life. She detected no self-pity in his voice.
Good and bad, she said.
I don’t see the good.
You’ve paid.
He looked up. She f
linched as he reached out and tucked one of her escaped curls carefully behind her ear. She found herself holding still as though he were a madman. She was full of anger at the idea that she had let herself be drawn into his fantasy. That she had allowed it to exist at all proved that she was as mad as he was.
All I can offer to the world, he was saying, is the promise that I will try not to add to the sum of its suffering. I realise that I can only begin to do this if I stay away from you and from Lola.
Not from Lola! You must not abandon Lola.
He was looking at her with a kindness that she had not seen in him before.
Will you forgive me? he asked.
Astrid had the feeling that something was slipping from her grasp. His anger had vanished. He had changed. She was filled with panic.
She should have turned and left him there in the cursed village. But the old habit of control made her seek a solution.
FORTY-THREE
Txema smoked and looked out of the window at the macabre doll in the vegetable garden. Occasionally he would look over at Lorea, fully dressed and sleeping soundly in the ugly armchair she had given him. He had told her at the games that he thought the time had come to act and she had turned and smiled lovingly at him, setting her silly, chandelier earrings swinging, and he had been appalled by the realisation that this woman was the price he must pay for his peace of mind.
After the Show of Strength, they had walked in silence back to his flat. At home she had said simply, I need a nap, and there she slept, free of torment.
Txema marvelled at her poise. She was a machine. Her brother, Anxton, was to ride the bike. Although Txema had shied away from getting him involved, it was a good idea to use a stolen bike.
Anxton had located Mikel’s van. He was parked near the entrance to the village. As soon as Mikel moved, Anxton was to telephone them, let it ring once and then hang up. Then he would come and pick Lorea up on the bike. Her leathers and helmet were ready by the door.
Do the helmets have tinted visors? Txema had asked her before she fell asleep. He had hated himself for the anxiety in his voice.
Of course they do.
He’s not to bring a weapon.
He won’t.
He’d better not.
He won’t Txema.
If he can screw it up, he will.
Wisely, Lorea did not respond but closed her eyes.
Txema now started at the sound of the phone.
Lorea stood up immediately and went straight to the bathroom. Anxton would be downstairs in three minutes. As she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she told herself that she would never again have to worry: she would never have to fuck Txema again. He could find someone else for that. What mattered was that she was to be universally acknowledged as his wife.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, he was sitting in her father’s chair. Her poor father had watched TV in that chair for the last years of his sad life, while her mother was having it away, sometimes in the next-door room, with a wall-eyed, Venezuelan meat packer. When Lorea had come home to the village she had brought nothing with her but her clothes, her make-up and that chair. She had given it to Txema without explaining its origins, because for some reason it thrilled her to see him sitting in it.
She stood above him so he could look and admire. She wore her tight jeans and a T-shirt with a black-and-silver leopard on the front that she had bought in San Sebastian only the day before. She stood with one foot extended, hip askew.
Txema’s Browning was waiting in his lap. She leant down, kissed him on the mouth and took the gun. She turned it appreciatively in her hand and held it out as he had taught her, closing her left eye because she led with her right. They both knew she was now a better shot than he was.
Get him on the road, he told her. Preferably on the other side.
Lorea laid her hand on his cheek.
Don’t fret.
Txema allowed himself to close his eyes. After this, all between them would be doubt and mistrust.
Thank you, Lorea, he said.
Thank you, Txema, she said.
And she was gone.
FORTY-FOUR
Kader hobbled up the path to the sleeping house. He knocked briefly on the back door, opened it and stepped in. The kitchen was dark. He walked through into the entrance hall and called up the stairs:
Lola!
He waited, listening to the ticking of a big clock, then called again.
Lola!
A door slamming, then stamping. Lola was at the top of the stairs, flaming angry.
What is it? My mother’s asleep.
Astrid’s disappeared.
I don’t care. Will you please go?
Kader found himself short of options. Violence, abuse, charm, his usual weapons were inappropriate here. He stared up at her, open-mouthed.
Lola stormed down the wide staircase towards him.
For God’s sake. She’s gone back to Paris.
Kader shook his head.
She hasn’t.
She stood, one step above him, towering over him.
She’s unhappy, he said. She came to see you, to ask your forgiveness. I said I’d wait for her at the games. She never came back. All her stuff is at the hotel. Her car’s still here. I’ve looked all over the village. He gripped his throat. I’m hoarse from yelling.
Lola stepped down to his level. She looked into his eyes. Hers were icy blue.
She’ll hurt you. Whatever you do, she’ll hurt you.
She didn’t mean to hurt you.
Maybe.
She loves you.
Lola tilted her head slightly to one side. She had a strange look on her face: part amusement, part anger. Kader wanted to step back.
Who are you, Kader? she asked coldly. What are you doing here?
Kader opened his hands.
Look. I was hitching. On the wrong motorway as it turned out, and I fainted. Your sister picked me up. I’d been in a fight. It was a knife wound.
I knew it.
She was upset. There was something about her that made me want to help her. She made me want to be strong. She was going to see you then she changed her mind. She dropped me off at a gas station and went to see a colleague at her university. It was on the way.
Orsay.
Yeah. I followed her there. Made her take me with her. She’d changed her mind and was going south.
To see Mikel.
To see Mikel. Or to see you. I don’t think she knew.
She’s probably with Mikel now.
Kader shook his head.
She doesn’t love Mikel.
How do you know?
She told me.
And you believe her.
She loves me, he said, holding her cool gaze.
Lola laughed. Kader saw that her incisors were sharp like his. He wanted to hit her. He didn’t move.
Why are you laughing?
She stopped and looked at him. Kader felt as if she were suddenly far away and out of reach.
You think she loves you? That’s what you think?
Yes I do. She cried in my arms. I held her all night.
Lola tilted her head again. She reminded Kader of old Arnaga.
And now she’s gone, she said.
Kader seemed to be trying to drill the crutch into the wooden floor. At last he looked up and said,
You know, I don’t care if she doesn’t love me. I love her.
Then you’re as sad as I am, she said.
Come and help me find her. He looked at her shameful nightdress. Get dressed and come with me.
To his surprise, something made her obey. As she turned and ran up the stairs he thought it must have been his own belief, or perhaps sympathy drawn from somewhere deep inside her. He sat down on the stairs to wait.
FORTY-FIVE
Castro sat between them on the bench seat. Mikel was talking with ease about the satisfaction his job brought him; the interaction with people, he said, especially women, did
him good. He had talked of the pleasure his dog’s company brought him, of his contentment at being on the French side, where life seemed less of a struggle. Even the light, he found, was different. He had told her what a joy it was to drive again and had apologised for the poor quality of the headlights, even on high beam.
Astrid listened, full of anxiety, trying to gain some footing in the sliding scree of his thought processes. How could Lola be happy with a man like this? He was broken.
Then he said,
They want me back. They want me for the Refugee Committee. He glanced quickly at her over his panting dog. I wish they’d leave me alone.
Get out of here, she said. Take Lola and make a life somewhere. A simple life.
She looked at Mikel’s profile. There was still something grand about him. Lola had said all other men seemed pale in comparison Astrid stroked Castro, dragging his silken ears through her hand.
Have children with her, be happy. Love her, she said.
I would if I could, Astrid.
It’s the least you can do! she said, striking the dashboard with her hand. She clutched her stinging palm. Take me back to the village.
He slowed the van and pulled over. They were at the entrance to a forest path. A sign warned of the danger of fire. Astrid sat rigid as he reversed the van and drove back onto the road. The light of a motorbike blinded them both for an instant before it sped past.
They drove back to the village; Astrid silenced by her despair, Mikel by his shame.
FORTY-SIX
At the wheel of Astrid’s Volvo with Lola beside him, Kader had an unfamiliar sense of purpose. He felt useful, perhaps for the first time. Even in football he had always believed that his position was expendable. The only experience that had come close to this was being pushed around the supermarket in a trolley by his mother, who had been given a list by her employer that she could not read. At six he could read all the words on the list. His mother had been so proud of him.
He opened the window as they drove out of the village.
