But since arriving in Paraguay she had been shocked to discover that Bob was working for Wolf Richter. He had told her almost as soon as she had arrived. They were sitting in a restaurant, half shaded on the balcony, a cool breeze stirring the branches of an overhanging tree and rustling in the palm leaves. The bright light, the warmth, the throaty roar of traffic and the cries of unfamiliar birds reminded her with a jolt of her lost tropical childhood, the paradise from which she had been banished at the age of eleven back to grey old England and the purgatory of boarding school. She closed her eyes in pleasure, feeling the sun on her skin, when Bob’s words penetrated her dream.
‘We’re staying with the Richters, they’ve rented a house here, it’s very pleasant. I’m working for his company.’
Katie’s eyes flew open. ‘But I read about it in the papers, Nihal wrote something. He’s making missiles, isn’t he? He’s a crook.’
‘Most of what Nihal wrote was quite wrong. They’re not missiles, they’re rockets – launching systems for satellites.’
‘That’s potentially the same thing.’
‘That’s not his intention. Look, it’s work. I had to get a job – it’s only temporary.’
‘You shouldn’t have taken it. What good is it going to do your career?’
‘What he’s doing is quite legal. In fact, it’s an exciting concept, Katie. Of course he has enemies, because he’s threatening the status quo, but there’s enormous potential.’
Katie felt slightly sick. She didn’t want immediately to start rowing with him, as soon as she had stepped off the plane. She studied the menu. ‘I’m not interested in this kind of argument. I just wish you had told me what you were doing, that’s all.’ She stopped herself before saying that if she’d known, she would not have come.
After lunch Bob took her back to the large house on the Avenida Mariscal Lopez, a huge, colonial-style mansion set among trees, with green shutters and a lantern on the porch. He took her upstairs, to a spacious room overlooking the garden, and she flung herself on the large, antique bed. The journey had taken her twenty-two hours, changing planes at Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo, and she was exhausted. She fell asleep almost instantly, sleeping right through to wake up at dawn to a thin blue light filtering through the shutters and a cock crowing hoarsely from the garden.
Bob was lying asleep beside her, naked under the sheet, his skin tanned and smooth. Katie felt light-headed and very sick. She got up, went to the bathroom and stood over the sink, retching. Was it the meal she had eaten yesterday? Surely she couldn’t have picked up some stomach bug already? But she knew this feeling; she’d had it before. She realised with sudden shock that it was a very long time since her last a period.
She sat down heavily on a cane chair in the bathroom and tried to remember when it had been. She hadn’t given it a thought, with the move from Vienna, trying to find a school for Anna in England, worrying about Bob’s work. She knew that stress and travel often upset things, but she was not sure. She had been so tired, for three or four weeks now she had been feeling exhausted; she had put it down to disorientation and depression after moving from Vienna and all the trauma she had been through. But the moment she thought about it, she knew; she must have been suppressing it, not wanting to think about it. All the signs were there. In the mornings she had sometimes felt that characteristic twinge of nausea as she had poured the coffee at breakfast. How could she have been so stupid? It was well over two months. How could she not have thought of it before?
And if it was over two months, then it was Dmitry’s child. She remembered now when she had last had her period. It had been ending that day she and Mitya had made love at Schönbrunn. She had thought that had been safe; obviously it had not been. She stood up and crept into the bedroom, searching in her bag for her diary. She knew her periods came, on average, every three-and-a-half weeks; but there had been shorter intervals. Her cycle had always been irregular, one of the reasons, she supposed, why she had not got pregnant easily after Anna. She tried to remember when she and Bob had first made love again; it hadn’t been for at least a month after he found out about her and Dmitry, when he was with her in England. But it was possible. She supposed that she would know for sure if she asked a doctor; these days a scan could estimate the baby’s age quite accurately.
But what could she do? She got back into bed, lying beside Bob, trying to work it all out. If she was pregnant by Dmitry, it might be best not to tell Bob and to go and quietly have an abortion. But she’d been brought up a Catholic; she didn’t know that she could do this, and it was not as if she had found it easy to have a child. Then, should she write and tell Dmitry; perhaps he had a right to know. Or was that fair? And what would he do about it? Bob would, of course, assume it was his unless she told him otherwise. But surely he would recognise at once when the child was born that it was not his; or would he? Would she be capable of living such a lie?
If Bob knew the child was Dmitry’s, he would want her to have an abortion, and this she saw, she would not do; so if she told him, she would have to leave him; and then there was Anna. Then she thought, perhaps it won’t come to anything, anyway. Her last pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage. It might be best to say nothing to anyone until she was sure; there might be no point.
She rolled over in bed, unable to sleep, and dreading Bob’s awakening. A wind stirred the trees in the garden and through the closed shutters came the melancholy calling of some bird.
Katie crossed the street, coming from the doctor’s, and felt a wave of irrational joy sweep through her. The result of the pregnancy test had been positive. She had asked at one of the big hotels for them to recommend her a doctor, and, having found one, been examined and told that she was between eight and ten weeks pregnant, though it was impossible to be sure.
Her first impulse was to tell Bob she felt ill and simply go home, to buy herself more time to think, both about the pregnancy and what Bob was doing, and to try to make a decision. But there were several reasons why she rejected this. Going home would mean a major confrontation with Bob, in which things were likely to come out; it would be expensive, as she had a cheap ticket which she couldn't change. Also, she couldn’t face the thought of the journey so soon. And what would she do in England, with her mother watching her like a hawk? Her mother would be bound to notice something wrong. Perhaps she was better off leaving things as they were.
She went to have a lemonade in the Gran Hotel del Paraguay, and found a seat outside on the terrace. On impulse, she picked up some hotel paper and began to write a letter. She was writing to Dmitry. They had never been really honest with one another; neither of them had ever said what they had really thought. Perhaps it was a chance to say everything that they had left unsaid; perhaps he really had the right to know. She tried several times, agonising over every phrase, finally settling on the simplest version:
Dear Mitya, I’m writing to you because I have just discovered that I am pregnant. The child must have been conceived about the end of March. I am almost certain that it is yours. I have not told Bob; if I do I imagine he will assume that it’s his. I don’t know what I should do about it. At first I thought there was no point in telling you; I don’t want you to feel guilty or that you have to do anything. But perhaps it’s too important not to let you know and we have done too much harm to one another already by concealing things.
I find this letter hard to write. Sometimes I find it hard even to remember what you look like. I suppose this child, if it is ever born, would remind me. I have to confess that when it was confirmed that I was pregnant I was filled with joy at the thought that something positive might have come from our relationship. But perhaps it is not positive, perhaps it is another muddle. I was and still am comforted by the thought that had you died I might still have had something left of you.
I don’t know what else to say. I’m here in Paraguay with Bob for three weeks. I hope that you are well and getting on all right at work and that you will at least w
rite to me sometime to say what you are doing.
With love, Katie.
She took the letter to the receptionist, leaving the money for it to be sent express mail to Vienna. She asked the hotel if they could receive a letter or fax for her and they said yes. She scribbled a note that he could write to her or fax her at the hotel, sealed the letter in the envelope and handed it over.
At the end of the week, a week of unseasonal heat in which Katie had done what little sightseeing she could, Bob told her that he was going out to the Chaco to prepare for the rocket launch which was scheduled for next week. He said he thought Katie might be better coming with him than staying behind in Asunción.
‘How long would we be away?’
‘About a week.’
‘Is it safe there?’
‘I should think it’s a lot safer than crossing the road here in Asunción.’
‘But Bob, I don’t know if it’s a good idea.’ Katie couldn’t help herself; she was tearful and emotional. She went upstairs to their room and Bob followed her, his face anxious and concerned. He sat down next to her on the bed and put his arm around her-shoulders.
‘Honey, what is it?’
‘Bob, I’m pregnant.’ She blurted it out; she couldn’t conceal it any longer. Bob looked at her, astonished.
‘Oh, but Katie, that’s wonderful. Isn’t it wonderful? Aren’t you pleased?’ Then he looked into her face, and she saw doubt and suspicion suddenly cross his features. He said, ‘Katie? Is it… is it mine, or…’
The thought was obviously terrible for him to contemplate; he couldn’t bring himself to mention Dmitry’s name, and his face for a moment expressed the most horrible jealousy. Katie turned her face away from him. ‘I don’t know, Bob – I think so.’
‘You think? What exactly do you think?’
This was terrible; what was she to say to him? She had been to the hotel earlier that day; there had been nothing from Dmitry. ‘I just realised last week my period was late. I did the test…’
‘So you mean it was when I was in England, last month?’
‘I suppose it must have been.’
‘Then why aren’t you sure? What are you saying? You surely to God didn’t see him in England?’
‘No, Bob, no – of course not.’ She turned her tear-streaked face up to him, looking him full in the eyes. For some perverse reason she found that, although she was lying, she was angry with Bob for not believing her. But he believed her now. He took her hand in his. He said, ‘Then I don’t understand. Why aren’t you happy?’
‘I am pleased about the baby, of course I am. But it’s you, you’re never here, you’re just concerned with Wolf Richter and these crazy rockets.’
‘Look, come with us – you can see the launch too. It might be fun.’ He stood up and went to the window. ‘Katie, I know you don’t approve, but it’s not for long. A couple of months and I'll be through. It's not as bad as you think.’ He paused, and then his voice changed. ‘Please don’t mention this to either Wolf or Liliana.’
Katie sensed at once that he really meant this. ‘No. No, of course not.’
‘They might not appreciate it, and I am being well paid.’ Bob came back and lay beside her on the bed. ‘You’ll be coming with us, then? I don’t want to be away from you.’
Katie didn’t want to go at first; she thought it might be dangerous, and she didn’t want to become personally involved in this business; but on the other hand, she didn’t want to be left here in Asunción on her own. At dinner Richter too invited her to come and was at his most charming, so she accepted. Only later, when she sat and watched him talking to Bob, she had thought: he has a cruel mouth; I wonder why I never noticed it before. That is what his face is, cruel.
The night before they were due to leave, Katie packed her things together and wandered downstairs, out onto the veranda. It was filled with exotic plants; their scent was overpowering in the still air. To her left a parrot sat on a metal hoop. Katie caught a glimpse of Liliana through the palm fronds; she was lounging on a chair by the swimming pool. Katie was amused to note that the brightly-coloured fine silk dress and scarf she wore perfectly complemented the colours of the parrot.
The phone rang somewhere in the depths of the house. A maid came out and hurried over to speak to Liliana, then returned inside. Liliana spotted Katie and called her over. She patted the chair next to her and Katie sat down.
‘It’s the Americans,’ Liliana said. ‘They are ringing Wolfie every day now, they are putting pressure on him. I think it is very serious – they have too much influence here. But the President is very keen on the rocket project; he doesn’t want to stop it now, just when we are having such success; besides, the contract that we have with Paraguay cannot be cancelled.’
Katie stood up and said, ‘Any contract can be cancelled.’ She went and dipped her feet into the pool; little ripples spread out and the water splashed gently against the tiled edge. In the distance she could hear the faint roar of the traffic, and all around her the screeching of tropical birds.
Liliana shrugged. Then she said casually, examining her painted fingernails, ‘Who does Bob know at the American Embassy?’
‘I don’t know that he knows anybody. I suppose he might do. Why?’
‘I wondered… I saw him in a bar with this character from the US Embassy. You have to remember that everybody knows everyone else here, this is a very small place. It’s hard to meet anywhere without it being noticed.’ She continued to examine her fingernails.
Despite her languid attitude, Katie realised that Liliana was sharp and alert; she felt suddenly that she had under-estimated her. She thought, she is trying to hint at something; I have to pay attention to this. Something I can’t understand is going on. Everything is significant; everything that has happened to me since we met Wolf Richter in Paris has been significant. There is a hidden thread.
‘Did you remember?’ asked Liliana, looking up suddenly, her voice becoming brighter, ‘That people are coming this evening? It will be quite a party. You will join in with us, won’t you?’
At ten o’clock they were sitting around the massive table in the dining room. The room was lit by candles, suspended in the huge glass chandelier; the light was reflected in the large gilt mirror above the marble mantelpiece. There were two generals, who had arrived wearing their absurd white uniforms with gold braided epaulettes. There were a handful of Germans, introduced to her as the range controller, the computer systems manager, another engineer; even Weiland himself, looking frail but with glittering eyes. A blonde woman was sitting next to him, of such stunning appearance that she hardly seemed real.
Richter was clearly enjoying himself. The meal was superb; dish after dish kept arriving on the table, fresh fish from the Rio Paraguay, meat, game from the Chaco, everything beautifully garnished and arranged; there were three different kinds of wine; everyone was getting drunk. Katie did not know what to think. She was sitting next to a round, soft-voiced, middle-aged Paraguayan who spoke to her in English. He did not know the way things were going in Paraguay, he said. This talk of democracy was all very well but people did not always know what was good for them. His own career was at an end; he was retired now. He talked about his daughters and his grandchildren, about a visit to Europe many years ago. Katie, for lack of anything else to do, chatted to him amicably. She felt she was lucky to be next to him; he seemed by far the most civilised person there.
She glanced across the table. Richter was drawing parabolas in the air with his finger. The generals were laughing. He mimicked something crude. She looked at Bob; he, too, was laughing. But now Richter had got onto his hobby horse. He would sell launches to whoever could afford it, he said. Brazil, Argentina, Chile; once one had launched one satellite they would all have to have one. Katie looked round the table, at the men’s eager faces, at the women, silent, admiring. She thought, whatever am I doing here? How did I get into this? The Chinese had even shown interest, said Richter, the Indonesians, a
nd of course there were so many opportunities in the Middle East.
A hush fell over the table; everyone was listening to him now. ‘Der Himmel ist für alle da,’ he said, ‘The skies are there for everyone.’ He lifted his eyes and made an eloquent gesture in the air with his hands; for an instant his face, which in daylight had always struck her as being crude and heavy, seemed almost fine. They drank a toast; Katie picked up her glass. The poetry of the phrase was not lost on her, but then, nor was the philosophy. It was the same old argument, she thought; she was tired of it. What use in pointing out to Richter that the money would be better spent on roads, on hospitals, on immunisations? What was that to him? He was not interested in these things, she wouldn’t even waste her breath.
But Richter seemed to have read her mind. He was describing now the work they were doing on the land in the Chaco. First they had been flying in food for the workers on the project, but now they were drilling wells, irrigating the land, planting crops. They were achieving more in this small area than any of the UN development projects, he said. They were providing health care to the workers. The Indians liked them; they called them the ‘friends who put fire in the heavens.’ They had a sophisticated religion and mythology, the Guaraní, said Richter. Now he addressed Katie directly. Had she read anything about them? There were some works by a German anthropologist. Of course there had been talk about exploiting the Indians, but he exploited them a lot less than the Mennonites or the missionaries.
The Rocket Man Page 22