As he marches in step with his comrades across the reclaimed marshland of West Flanders, he feels as if he is daydreaming. Something about the percussion of studded boots and the hollow clink of bayonets against mess tins hypnotizes him. His legs and arms alone are doing the marching, without any conscious effort on his part. He also feels as if he is being carried along on a human river, his own marrow subsumed into that of the body of men moving inexorably forward together with momentum, strength and purpose.
The raucous singing starts again – ‘Three German officers crossed the line. Parlez-vous’ – and Andrew sings as lustily as any of the men he is with. He welcomes the distraction and enjoys the novelty of using vulgar, barrack-room vocabulary. ‘Three German officers crossed the line. Parlez-vous.’ Though sweat is running down his face and stinging his eyes, it is the sweat of exertion and heat, not fear. Andrew feels no fear as he marches. ‘Three German officers crossed the line, fucked the women and drank the wine. With an inky-pinky parlez-vous. ’Though the skies are overcast, the weather is humid and this means that the column needs regular breaks. When they stop alongside a destroyed railway track, Andrew’s thoughts return immediately to the CSM’s icy words: ‘Right, lads, we’re going up the line.’ For Andrew the fear is nebulous, no more than a vague tightening of the gut, but it is fear all the same. He is, and knows he is, a frightened man.
He takes off his helmet and dabs his brow with his sleeve. The men around him remove their haversacks and sit down with their backs to a dry stone wall, enjoying its warmth as they pass around canteens of water, light up Woodbines and swish with their hands at the ever-present horse flies. Inappropriately, they are looking out over a wildflower meadow of dandelion, white clover and cow parsley. Only the distant bark of guns and the sight of two observation balloons swinging on their mooring ropes ruin the illusion that this is an ordinary agricultural landscape in high summer.
As they resume the approach march, they pass between two growling minotaurs, a battery of rail-mounted howitzers manned by gunners stripped to the waist. Each thud is preceded by a hiss and followed by a tongue-flick of fire. Andrew has never heard a noise as loud in his life. It fills the world to its very edges, and he can feel each vibration resonate through his chest, so much so that he fears his heart might stop. Fear again. His ears are still ringing half a mile farther on when they encounter a team of pack mules. They are up to their hocks in mud. Soon afterwards they come to a dump of empty eighteen-pounder shell cases. Chalked on the side of one of them, as each row of men points out to the row behind them, are the words. ‘To Willie with compliments!’ This sight lifts their spirits and, when two Sopwiths skim overhead towards the enemy line, they break out into spontaneous cheering and raise their helmets. By the time they reach the mouth of a shallow trench a yard deep, Andrew is almost breathless with excitement.
CHAPTER FOUR
Quito. Present day
FLIGHTS TO QUITO ARRIVE AT NIGHT, BETWEEN A DARKLY FORESTED volcano to the west and a precipitous canyon to the east. As their 747 began its descent, Nancy and Daniel strained their eyes for a first glimpse of the city. They could make out the Guayllabamba River briefly, reflected in the moonlight, then the blackness became absolute as they entered a steep-sided valley. A minute later the city lights appeared below them as abruptly as a meteor shower.
Their hotel, a colonial building with a flaking stucco façade, was in the Centro Histórico, near the church of El Sagrario, and because Nancy’s Spanish was fluent and Daniel had been to the city before, their ride there, in a taxi that reeked of stale cigarettes and warm leather, was direct.
They were intrigued to see the front desk lit by candles. The receptionist, a woman with hollow eyes and a despondent manner, explained that the power lines to the building had been damaged during El Niño the previous day, but that they were now being repaired. Another storm was forecast, she added, blowing her nose into a tissue.
‘Will that delay our flight tomorrow morning?’ Daniel asked.
‘We’re booked to take the seaplane from the Guayllabamba River to the Galápagos.’
‘I shall find out for you, señor,’ the receptionist said, staring at the poppy in the lapel of Daniel’s jacket. ‘Now, if you will follow me.’ She picked up a candlestick and led the way to the stairs. ‘The lifts are not working,’ she explained.
Nancy and Daniel looked at each other, shrugged and picked up their bags. ‘We have cable TV,’ the receptionist continued as she opened the door to a double room. ‘You can get the CNN, when the power it come back.’ The receptionist used her candle to light the wick of an oil lamp on their side table. It guttered momentarily, filling the lamp’s glass balloon with soot and the room with the smell of paraffin. With a whooshing sound, it caught brightly. ‘There is a fridge in the cupboard,’ the receptionist continued. ‘It will work again when the power it come back. I put in there the champagne your friend he order.’
‘What champagne?’ Daniel asked. ‘What friend?’
Nancy opened the fridge. It was empty apart from a dusty bottle of Moët et Chandon with a card hanging from a string about its neck. She reached in for it. ‘ “Happy anniversary. Yours ever, Wetherby.” Wetherby? The music prof? That Wetherby?’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Daniel said, reading the card for himself.’ That is so sweet of him. I told him I was bringing you here as an anniversary surprise.’
‘How lovely! You must ring and thank him.’ Nancy turned to the receptionist. ‘How do you make an international call?’
‘You dial nine, then your country number. But the phone line, that is also down.’
As she checked her mobile for a signal, Nancy tried to catch Daniel’s eye. He was trying to avoid hers, his shoulders heaving. When the receptionist left they both started laughing. Nancy checked her watch. ‘We’re five hours behind, right?’
Daniel tapped his watch face. ‘Yeah, so it’s the middle of the night in London. Text Dad to let them know we arrived safely and he can read it in the morning.’
A minute later the mobile beeped again. Nancy read the text out. ‘Night Mum.’ Nancy replied by texting: ‘Get back to sleep! Love you. And call me Mummy.’ The message that came back said:‘Luv u 2. Will ring in AM.’
While Nancy unpacked, Daniel showered. When he emerged, towelling his hair, he poured two miniatures of Scotch. #8216;We’ll save the champagne for when the fridge it come back on. That reminds me …’ He dialled a number and listened. ‘His answering machine at work … Wetherby! It’s Daniel. Just ringing to thank you for the bottle of champagne. That was so thoughtful of you. Such a lovely surprise. And thank you once again for all your help with the zoology chair. I owe you big time. You’re a prince among professors. Anyway, big love, will tell you all about it when we get back.’ He touched the ‘end call’ button. ‘Some of the dons don’t get him, you know, but I’ve always found him to be …’
‘Eccentric?’
‘Old-fashioned. An acquired taste ... Water’s not very hot.’ Nancy was stepping out of her clothes and tiptoeing across the cold tiles into the shower cubicle. A hiss of water was heard, followed by a yelp. ‘Think I’ll wait for it to heat up,’ she said, appearing in the bathroom doorway, half in shadow, wrapped in a towel. ‘Look at this.’ She held up a strand of dark hair. ‘It’s gone frizzy and we’ve only been here a couple of hours.’ She lay down on the bed beside Daniel and wrapped his arm around her, placing the palm of his hand on the swell of her hip. The side of her face was resting on his chest and she could hear the thud of his heart. ‘What you thinking?’ she said, looking up.
He traced with his thumb the line of her jaw and the arc of her mouth before kissing her eyelids, chin, neck. She touched her lips to his and shifted position so that she was sitting astride his waist. She wanted to see his face as she lowered herself on to him.
Afterwards, as they were walking arm in arm across a cobbled square, Daniel asked: ‘Do you fancy tapas? Or …’ He couldn’t think of another Span
ish dish.
‘Tapas is fine.’
A church bell chimed eleven o’clock. Having slept – or rather having been sedated – for most of the flight, Daniel wasn’t feeling tired. On the contrary, the high altitude of the city was making him feel light-headed and energized. He took Nancy’s hand and broke into a jog. ‘Come over here,’ he said, half dragging her. ‘I want to show you something.’ A flashing neon sign announced the Equatorial Monument. ‘Here,’ he said, planting his feet wide apart. ‘Stand like I’m standing.’ Nancy hitched up her skirt so that she could straddle the line. ‘You are now standing with one foot on each hemisphere.’
In the glow of the streetlamps, Daniel took Nancy’s hand again and led her down an alley and across another square. Here they found a café lit by strip lights swinging from bare electric wires and sat outside where they could listen to the cicadas. The evening air was heavy with the smell of lime and, as they studied the menu, this made them feel hungry. Nancy ordered for both of them: tortilla, sardines and lamb meatballs in chorizo sauce for her, a vegetarian omelette and salad for him, and a carafe of red wine for them to share. They ate and drank in a friendly silence.
‘Look at the moon,’ Nancy said, dabbing her plate clean with a chunk of bread.
Daniel turned in his chair. The moon was full and had an aura the colour of marmalade. ‘Must be something to do with El Niño,’ he said.
‘Will we fly out over the rainforest tomorrow?’
‘Can’t miss it. The place is one big rainforest.’
‘Did Bruce give you enough sedatives for that flight too?’
‘I’m going to try it without. It’s just over an hour. Should be fine.’
‘He hates me, you know.’
‘Bruce? No, Bruce loves you.’
‘He hates me.’
Daniel thought for a moment ‘He doesn’t hate you. He’s scared of you.’
‘Me?’
‘Everyone is scared of you. You’re scary.’
‘Funny to think we were being snowed on this morning and now …’ Nancy yawned with her mouth closed and gazed at a small church across the square from them. ‘Dan?’
‘Yeah?’ He was stifling a yawn now, one triggered by Nancy’s. It was making the hinges of his jaws ache.
‘You know “the argument”?’
Daniel crossed his eyes. They had not discussed marriage properly since ‘the argument’ a year earlier. They had been dicing vegetables together when it started, listening to the rhythmic sound of the knives tapping against the counter top. Nancy had said, apropos of nothing, that she assumed they would end up married one day, ‘because that’s what people who love each other do’. Daniel had joked absently that, as far as he was concerned, ’love’ and ‘marriage’ went together like ‘hate’ and ‘guts’. She had called him immature. He had sighed. She had slammed the door behind her. That had been on her thirty-third birthday.
‘Yes, I know the argument,’ Daniel said.
‘Well, if we did get married, what difference would it make if it was in a church?’
Daniel’s religious intolerance, as Nancy wrongly – deliberately – called his intolerance of religion, was the main reason they had never married, or rather the reason they had never had the church wedding she, an occasional Catholic, wanted. ‘Exactly my point,’ Daniel said.
‘You know what I mean, Dan. What difference would it make? It’s just another building to you.’
‘Not now, Nance. Don’t spoil it.’
A firework illuminated the night sky. The couple looked up. A second one followed it, a starburst of orange and green. There was a fizzing sound before three fireworks popped and crackled simultaneously, showering the sky with lights. They lingered on the retina, long after the sky had returned to darkness.
‘Must be some kids messing about,’ Nancy said. ‘I don’t think there’s a fiesta.’
‘Pretty.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Look at them.’ A young Caucasian couple at a nearby table were kissing – leaning forward, returning to their seats, leaning forward again. The man had bleached dreadlocks and a sunburnt nose. He was wearing a T-shirt with the words WHAT WOULD JESUS BOMB? His girlfriend had sooty eyes and glitter-dusted cheeks. As she stood up, Daniel could see that the wicker chair she was sitting on had left imprints on the skin at the back of her legs. She looked fourteen.
Nancy gave them a sideways glance, grinned and crossed her eyes.
Daniel whispered, ‘What’s the Spanish for “Get a room”?’ He opened his wallet. ‘Do you remember our first date?’ He knew the answer. They had reminisced about it before. He nevertheless held up the business card Nancy had given him, along with a prescription for antibiotics, on his first visit to her dental practice ten years earlier. ‘ “Dr Nancy Palmer BDS (Lond.), LDS RCS (Eng.)”,’ he read out. ‘As you handed me it, I noticed your ring finger was bare.’
‘Still is.’
‘You told me to phone you if I had any problems, an obvious come-on.’
‘Not at all, there can be complications with root canal work.’
‘It was my wisdom teeth. You gave me stitches. They left me feeling like I had a mouthful of spiders. I remember I asked what I should do if I had any problems in the evening, after the surgery was closed.’
‘You were dribbling as you said it. Attractive.’
‘Yeah, but it didn’t stop you taking back the card and writing your home number on it.’ He turned the card round and tapped it.
‘Let me see that.’ She leaned over and took the card, looking at both sides. ‘God, I remember that number. I can’t believe you kept this. You’re so sad.’
‘You were being romantic.’
‘I was being a slut.’
Daniel slipped the card back in the wallet, behind a grainy black and white scan of Martha in the womb. ‘And three months later you were pregnant.’
They clinked glasses and looked across at the couple. The girl was laughing and throwing a strip of orange peel at her boyfriend.
Nancy said, ‘I still can’t believe you managed to keep this trip a secret.’
Daniel held up his hands in surrender.
‘It’s so unlike you …’ Tears were beading her lashes. ‘Had you really been planning it for months?’
‘Months and months. Can’t believe you didn’t rumble me.’
Nancy was shaking her head. ‘You know, I was sure you’d never mentioned your German cousins to me before, but I figured that that would be typical of you.’ She was laughing. ‘You sounded so … I can’t believe I fell for it … You’re normally such a useless liar … You know, I was really pissed off about you landing me with the Ninth Panzer Division.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m not sure which gives me more pleasure, the thought of going on holiday or the relief that your bloody relatives don’t exist … And I can’t believe the baby was in on it. Should I text her again? She can read it in the morning.’
‘If you want.’
She began to tap out a message. ‘No signal.’ Without looking up she added quietly: ‘I miss her. What if something happens to her while we’re away?’
Daniel had been avoiding this thought. Now a shadow passed over the square. It was irrational, he knew. He did not believe that what he willed was itself part of a larger will, something already written. ‘Nothing is going to happen to her,’ he said, trying to remove all traces of expression from his voice. ‘The baby will be fine.’ He made a signature sign at the waiter. ‘Fancy a brandy?’
‘Why not.’
‘I’ll ask them to bring one with the bill.’
Nancy studied Daniel’s face for a moment. ’I know you love me,’ she said.
‘Couldn’t love you more.’
‘And you know I love you, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Daniel reached across the table. ‘Give me your hand.’ Nancy’s hand met Daniel’s halfway, their fingers interlocking. ‘You mean it?’
*
Back at the hotel, the receptionist told them their flight had been delayed for one day because another storm was expected. Daniel slept fitfully and, the following morning, was awoken by the sound of shutters banging and rain slamming down on a nearby tin roof. Feeling nauseous – partly from jetlag and a hangover, partly from mild altitude sickness – he lay in bed until noon, contemplating the ceiling. The chatter of rain on palm fronds summoned distant machine guns to his ears. Nancy woke up only when the noise had stopped. ‘Did you hear the storm?’ Daniel asked.
‘What storm?’ Nancy said with a yawn as she removed earplugs she had been given on the plane. She swung her legs out of bed, removed her T-shirt and walked naked over to the balcony. There she opened first the heavy curtains, then shutters. The brightness of the sun made her shield her eyes. When they had adjusted, she took in the scenery below: a busy street that was starting to steam in the heat. ’What storm?’ she repeated over her shoulder above the sound of car horns, bicycle bells and equatorial frogs expressing their appreciation of the fresh rainwater.
Across the street an overflow pipe was running on to a rusty balcony and leaving a stain on the white wall. A cat was stretched flat on the red-tiled rooftop, enjoying the heat. Nancy looked down from the balcony to the walls of their hotel. The plaster was blistered by the sun and battered by the rain. A scooter was rasping and weaving over the cobbles below. In the silence that followed it, Nancy heard bells summoning the faithful. She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked across the town to the dome of the cathedral. ‘Nothing beats a church service in Spanish,’ she announced lightly. ‘Think I’ll wander over.’
‘Have fun.’
‘Will you come?’
‘I can’t.’
‘No one will recognize you.’
‘I would ruin it for you with my tutting and sighing and eye-rolling.’
‘That’s true.’
Nancy got dressed, gathered her shoulder bag and used her sunglasses as a hairband. ‘Afterwards,’ she said, making a bottle of suntan oil wheeze as she squeezed the last remaining drop from it, ‘I shall walk through the square in my floaty linen dress, trail my fingers in the fountain and enjoy the admiring glances of the local men.’
The Blasphemer Page 4