When Toni and Bat caught the train to return to Boston, the Maxims did not comment on the obvious fact that they would be sharing a roomette. They were in fact traveling as Mr. and Mrs. J. Batista, as their luggage tags indicated — because railroads in 1947 would not allow an unmarried couple to share a roomette.
"They like you," Toni said as she waved at her parents through the window.
"I tried," he said.
"Well, they do like you," she said. "They do. They've bought the idea of our marriage. Not one hundred percent, but ... no parents ever accept one hundred percent the marriage of a son or daughter to some stranger they did not choose. Of course" — she grinned wickedly — "if they knew I go down on you, they'd kill you."
"We should just go ahead and marry," he said. "Then we could live together."
"Soon ..." she whispered, glancing one more time at her parents on the platform as the train pulled away. "We have to let them give me a wedding."
Toni could not move in with him in his apartment in Lexington, but she spent hours there almost every day. She spent as little time as possible in her college living quarters — only from 1 a.m. to dawn, as the rules demanded. She kept most of her clothes in Lexington, most of her books, and her two portable typewriters.
She had two portable typewriters because she had one that typed Greek characters. During her senior year she wrote a thesis for a class in public ethics, in Greek. She won the award for the best senior thesis of the year. The title was Δεμοκρατια εσχατη τυραννις, a quotation from Plato that translates "Democracy passes into despotism."
Bat was proud of her. Dave made him prouder by marveling over her Greek typewriter and her Greek thesis. Dave encouraged Bat to go to law school, and Toni joined in that. It would be a fine career for him. Besides, he needed focus. He had been thinking of law school anyway. His mother, too, urged it. He applied for the fall class in 1948 and was admitted. So far as Bat was concerned, everything was settled.
7
"We can buy a house," he said to Toni one afternoon in the spring. "Or lease an apartment in Boston." He grinned. "We can't go on living with Dave. I'm going to accelerate law school, go all summer and so on, and graduate six months earlier. Then — New York. Or would you rather live in Connecticut?"
"Bat ... What about my thing in Washington? I told you it's almost certain I'm going to be appointed an aide to Senator Spessard Holland."
He stiffened. "You mean, even if we are married, you —"
She nodded. "Of course. It's what I've wanted to do. I've planned for it, studied for it. Washington is where a person may be able to make a difference."
"What about children?" he asked.
"I don't want to have any children for a while. I want to see what I can do. Then ... There'll be time. I'm only twenty-two."
"The perfect time for children," he said.
"I didn't say I want to wait ten or fifteen years. But I didn't come to college to learn to be a housewife. That's what my mother and my stepmother are. There are more important things in this world than shopping for groceries and doing laundry and playing golf. An arrangement can be worked out, Bat. An element of it is that I'm not going to have children for a few years."
"And that's that," he said, his voice rising to a testy sneer. He got up and walked across the room. "That's the way it's gonna be, huh? You've decided."
"There is nothing we can't discuss," said Toni.
"Except that our marriage would be subordinate to your 'career'," he scoffed.
"Oh? Well ... hasn't your father's marriage — and his affairs — always been subordinate to his?"
"No. I'm not that contemptible norteamericano asshole!"
"Really? Tell me how you're going to be different."
"My ... 'father' — That man whose biology is in me, and nothing else? All right. From what I know of him, all his life he has subordinated everything to his career — his love for my mother, his love for his wife, his home, his friendships ... everything. Time says he has a daughter who never saw him until she was fourteen years old. He has a son who hasn't seen him yet. He wouldn't marry my mother. He married another woman, then walked away from her, and she divorced him ... and then he married her again. I love you, and —"
"I love you, Bat," she interrupted. "But I'm a person too. If we are going to marry, we'll have to work out something that recognizes that."
"I do recognize it."
"Then don't ask me to move into a house or apartment in Massachusetts and be there waiting for you every evening when you come home, with a roast in the oven. I'm going to Washington. I am going to Washington."
He sighed. "I guess we'd better put off marrying. For a while. Till I graduate from Harvard Law. Till you ... do whatever it is you think you have to do."
"If I didn't love you so goddamned much, I'd tell you to go to hell," she muttered. "I ought to. If I didn't love you, I would."
"I love you, too," he said.
Toni nodded. "So maybe it will work out some way. Listen, I have to be in Washington on June sixteenth. I'm going to be down there all alone, missing you so much. Come down that weekend. Promise me you'll come down that weekend."
"Sure. I'll try," he said.
She understood that meant he wouldn't. And he didn't.
12
1
BAT? WHY BAT? BECAUSE YOU'VE USED THE NAME Batista?"
Jonas and Bat were together in Bat's Porsche 356. Bat had told him that moving into a hotel floor in Acapulco was foolish, that he could live in a comfortable house in a good neighborhood here in Mexico City, for a fifth of the cost. Besides, privacy and security and communications would be easier from the city than from Acapulco.
Jonas had accepted the idea. It seemed to him that his chances of establishing a good relationship with his newfound son would be improved if he accepted the boy's suggestion about something important.
Using his contacts in the local real estate industry, Bat had found a place he thought suitable. He was driving Jonas out to have a look at it.
"I didn't make a choice of names," said Bat. "Here in Mexico I am thought of as Cord. In the States, where they don't understand the Spanish tradition of using both parents' names, I am thought of as Batista because it's the last name in the string."
Jonas sat as far as he could to the right in the somewhat cramped little car, so he could study this son of his. He found the boy bland. No, that was not right. He found him enigmatic. His life seemed to have left no mark whatever on him, and he stared at the road and the traffic ahead of them with the innocence of a young man who'd had no experiences in this world at all. Jonas looked for the mark of a soldier who had been grievously wounded, and he didn't see it. He looked for the curiosity, or maybe the resentment, an illegitimate son might feel toward the father who had abandoned his mother — and he didn't see that, either.
"You understand, I didn't know your mother was pregnant."
Bat glanced at him. "Would it have made any difference?" he asked.
"Yes — Yes, goddammit, it would have. It sure as hell would have made a difference."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Bat dryly. Neither the hard raised voice or the "goddammit" had penetrated his calm. He whipped the little car in and out in the heavy traffic.
Jonas changed the subject. "You know why I'm in Mexico, of course."
"Yes. I read the newspapers."
"I'm not a fugitive from justice," said Jonas.
"Maybe from injustice," said Bat.
"It's political."
"That's how I read it," said Bat.
Jonas nodded. "You understand about it, then?"
"I'm sure I don't have all the information. From what I know —"
"I'm probably pretty much what my reputation says I am," Jonas interrupted. "But I'm not a goddamn crook. I really am not."
"You don't have to convince me," said Bat dryly.
For a minute or so Jonas stared at the road. Then he said, "I treated your mo
ther ill. I'm glad to see she's happy. She would not have been with me. You know? You know enough about me to understand that. Don't you?"
"Don't try to justify yourself," said Bat without taking his eyes off the traffic. "You don't need to. And if you did need to, you couldn't. She made up her mind about you a long time ago. Even now, you contacted her only because you think she might have some influence you can use, with her uncle."
"You've got your mind pretty well made up," said Jonas. "I couldn't justify myself with you, either. The fact I didn't know you existed makes no difference."
Bat glanced at his father. "Exactly," he said.
Jonas leaned against the right-hand door of the car and scowled at his son. The boy was more of a Cord than he had suspected.
"Changing the subject, I do have to ... hide."
"Why?" asked Bat. "Officially, the Mexican government doesn't know you're here. Unofficially, it won't acknowledge it. That can be arranged for very little money. Besides, I sense the American government has become bored with the chase. There have been editorials saying the government surely has something better to do than hound you. What did those editorials cost you, incidentally?"
"Jonas ... Bat. You know too fuckin' much."
Bat smiled at last. "A man can get along in this world knowing nothing. Or he can get along — maybe no better — trying to know everything."
Jonas stared at his son and nodded. "Like I said, you know too much. I didn't buy any editorials. I just fed those papers information."
"It would have been more direct to buy them," said Bat.
"So you're cynical, too."
"Cynical is another word for realistic."
Jonas grinned. "You inherited something from me — and from your grandfather. You — you wouldn't mind using the name Cord?"
"Here in Mexico, I am Cord. It is only in the States that they have that confused."
"And everyone knows you're my son?"
"Everyone."
Jonas closed his eyes for a moment. "Everyone but me. I didn't know I had a son. Are ... are you married?"
"No."
"Have a girl? A prospect?"
"Maybe. Not really, I guess. I thought I did, but she's a career woman."
"Meaning what?"
"I asked her to marry me, and she accepted. Then she was appointed an aide to a United States senator and went to Washington. Three years ago. I've seen her a couple of times since."
"I'm glad to hear there's some way in which you're a damned fool."
"Meaning what?"
"Either you were a fool to ask her to marry you in the first place, or you were a fool to resent her wanting a career of her own. Which was it?"
"It's personal," said Bat glumly.
"Fathers and sons tend to discuss personal things with each other," said Jonas.
"I wouldn't know about that."
"Neither would I," said Jonas. "My father never talked about anything personal with me, except to raise hell with me about something or other. It was only after he died that somebody told me he once said he loved me."
Bat took his eyes off the road and looked at Jonas. He frowned and shook his head.
"If I'd known I had a son —"
"You didn't ask."
"I didn't guess."
"It may be just as well," said Bat. "I'm not sure I could have coped with you."
"But you can now, hmm?" Jonas asked.
Bat smiled. "Well ... We'll see."
"Are you going to handle this business with the Mexican government for me? I mean, letting me stay in the country and so on."
"I'm a very new lawyer. My firm can handle it."
"All right. You've brought in a client. I'll have a variety of legal problems for your firm. But understand something. Anything that's personal and confidential, I want you to handle it. You have a stake in it, you know."
"What's that mean?"
"You're my heir, you damned fool. What did you think?"
"Heir?" Bat asked, tossing up his chin. "I learned in law school that you can't refuse a legacy, so that you have to pay inheritance taxes even if you don't want the inheritance. You have to accept the inheritance and pay the taxes out of it, before you can get rid of it. But don't do me any favors until I decide if I want them."
2
Mexico City was a city of startling contrasts. Downtown, high-rise office buildings rose above broad avenues. Out a little, people lived in what had to be the world's most squalid slums. The villa Bat had found was located in as pleasant a suburban neighborhood as Jonas had ever seen.
The house had a red tile roof above ocher stucco walls. In the Mediterranean style, it faced the street and its neighbors with windowless walls. All the windows opened on its central courtyard, affording views of a green pool inhabited by large goldfish that swam placidly among lily pads. The goldfish were so tame you could reach down in the water and pick one up. Chameleons scampered among the shrubs, wary of the sharp-eyed birds that watched them from branches and occasionally swooped down and caught one. The rooms were all large, with dark wood floors and white plaster walls. The furniture was heavy, most of it upholstered with leather of various colors, from black to coffee-with-cream tan. The villa suited Jonas very well.
A man and wife worked as household staff: the woman as cook, maid, and laundress, her husband as gardener and houseman. They lived in a suite of rooms at the rear of the house.
Bill Shaw stayed with him and occupied a room on the south side. He had brought Jonas's telephone scrambler, and they attached it to the house line, Jonas called for Angie, and she came down.
Bat came to see him nearly every day, so often that Jonas began to wonder if he came to see him or to see Angie. The young man was not subtle about his admiration for his father's woman. He stared at her legs. It amused her, and she would allow her skirt to creep up. When she noticed him staring at her breasts, she would shrug and thrust them forward. Their little game amused Jonas at first, then ceased to amuse him.
Bat suggested they go to a bullfight on Sunday afternoon. "It's not one of my favorite spectacles, but everybody should see it once."
He bought them good seats in the shade, where they were surrounded by happy aficionados. A noisier and more exuberant crowd sat in the sun on the opposite side. The spectacle was, as Bat had said, something everyone should see once, for the color and the horses and the brassy music, if not for the killing of bulls.
Angie sat between Jonas and Bat, drawing honest stares. She wore a white dress and a white picture hat. She sat with her legs crossed at the ankles, the way finishing schools taught; and no one, especially not Bat, guessed that her finishing school had been a women's reformatory. She studied her program for some time, then turned to Bat and said, "I hope the score is matadors seven, bulls one. I think the bulls should be entitled to win occasionally."
After the first fight, a group of American tourists got up and left. One of the women had fainted — or pretended to — when the bull's blood gushed from its neck. One of the men, wearing a panama hat, a light-blue suit, and white shoes, proclaimed indignantly that bullfighting was no sport and was brutality practiced to entertain brutes.
"¿Que quiere usted decir?" Bat asked innocently: What do you mean? He judged his group looked norteamericano, too, and he wanted the angry Mexicans seated around them to think they weren't. The tourist in the panama hat shot him a hard look as he bustled by. Bat turned to the Mexicans sitting around them, turned up his palms, turned down the corners of his mouth, and shrugged. The people laughed.
In the second fight, Angie got her wish. The matador was gored and thrown. The bulls did win occasionally.
"It's no secret that I'm in Mexico City," Jonas said to Bat as they waited for the third fight. "Someone knew how to find me."
"Who?" Bat asked.
"A man by the name of Luis Basurto. Ever hear of him?"
"I've heard of him," said Bat. "What's he want?"
Their conversation was interrupted by the
cry of a boy selling chewing gum and candy. "¡Chicle! ¡Chocolate!" — Cheek-leh, Choco-lawt-eh.
"He wants to interest me in investing in a Mexican hotel deal."
Bat shook his head. "Basurto is a crook."
"That simple?"
"That simple. Are you interested in investing in a Mexican hotel?"
"Well, I bought The Seven Voyages," said Jonas. "I'm going to make it pay, too. I'm looking for at least one more."
"There's no legal gambling in Mexico."
"Well, that's what —"
"¡Chicle! ¡Chocolate!"
"— that's what Basurto says he can take care of."
"I expect he can," said Bat dryly. "But it would be damned risky. What would happen is, you'd invest in the hotel and pay him a fee to do whatever he does to get officials to look the other way; and then as time went by he'd up the fee and up it again, claiming the locals were demanding more. He'd take a percentage off you. If you didn't pay him what he wanted, he'd have you raided. He'd have you closed down. That's the way he works. He invests nothing, but he takes a percentage."
"I imagine there are ways of handling him," said Jonas.
"He'd have you at a disadvantage. This is his turf, you know. Anyway, why buy into trouble?"
"Well, he's coming out to see me. What do I say to him?"
"Say, 'This is my son Jonas Enrique Raul Cord y Batista, a lawyer with the firm of Gurza y Aroza. That firm will be advising me.' Basurto won't even make the proposition. He'll just pass the time of day and say he's pleased to have met you. And good-bye."
"¡Chicle! ¡Chocolate!"
"There will be others besides Basurto," said Bat. "Some of them entirely legitimate. They will invite you to invest."
"Do you want to vet them for me?" asked Jonas.
"I'll be happy to."
3
After a week, Angie returned to Las Vegas. After she was gone, Sonja called, asking Jonas to come to Cordoba and spend a weekend at the hacienda. Bat would drive him. Jonas agreed, and on Friday afternoon Bat picked him up in the Porsche. He gave him an exciting ride, at speeds sometimes greater than 160 kilometers per hour.
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