Lunch with the Generals

by Derek Hansen

  The boy wept, face in his hands.

  ‘You saw a man, Roberto, and your mind saw another. I have been to Anders Peterson’s apartment many times. I know the street. I know the alleyway. I know the steps. It is not possible to recognise anyone from where you were hiding. The street lights are not bright enough.’

  ‘No! I saw you! I saw you clearly. You ran past me up the steps.’

  ‘Roberto, you saw a man run up the steps. Why you insist on giving him my face I don’t know.’ Eduardo was angry now, exasperated. ‘I didn’t run up any steps. I was on a plane coming back from Jakarta.’

  ‘No! You were there.’

  ‘No, Roberto. Now you are wrong and you must accept it. I am prepared to forget this conversation ever took place. But if you persist I will get angry. Besides, why on earth would I ever hurt Annemieke? She is my wife. We love each other.’

  ‘You wanted to punish her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she was seeing another man.’

  ‘Was she?’

  ‘Yes. You know she was. The man Anders.’

  ‘Roberto, you must stop this nonsense. Anders is a good friend. I asked Anders to look after Annemieke while I am away. That is all.’

  ‘No! That’s not how it is!’

  ‘Yes, Roberto, it is. Come, let me drive you home. It is time you stopped all this nonsense.’

  Eduardo looked at the boy beside him. He was crumpled against the seat, sobbing softly. He looked pathetic.

  Eduardo started the car.

  ‘One thing, Roberto. I must warn you. I will forgive your ramblings. But I don’t want you to say a word of this to anyone. To anyone, you hear? Particularly Annemieke.’

  ‘It’s too late.’

  Eduardo’s heart stopped.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I told Annemieke everything. Tonight … at the hospital.’

  Eduardo felt his body grow cold.

  ‘Did she believe you?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Maybe.’ A note of triumph crept back into Roberto’s voice. ‘I know what I saw, Eduardo. Now you will have to live with her suspicions for the rest of your life. Every time she looks at you she will wonder. Every time she looks at her face in the mirror. Every time you get into bed together. Doubt will nag at her for the rest of her life. She will never be sure of you again. And you, you will never be sure either. You will never know what she believes. And every time you look at her, you will be reminded of what you have done to her, and what you did to my mother and father. For the rest of your life you will be reminded. For the rest of your life. That is your punishment, Eduardo Gallegos. That is your punishment, Jorge Luis Masot.’

  Eduardo pulled up outside the boy’s house. Roberto opened the car door and fled into the night.

  ‘Yes,’ said Milos thoughtfully. ‘That is what happened. Revenge is a terrible thing, but who can argue that it wasn’t deserved?’

  ‘Revenge!’ Neil turned on Milos. ‘What sort of revenge is that? You think that is punishment enough? You think that fits the crime? That’s no punishment to a bastard like Eduardo. If that man could live with the knowledge of what he did to Rosa and Victor, then he can live with what he did to Annemieke. Why not? That’s not punishment! That’s not revenge! Do you think Rosa would be satisfied? Imagine if Rosa was looking down from the heavens. Would she now rest in peace, satisfied that Eduardo had finally got what was coming to him? Satisfied that justice was done? No! Would you? Would I? No! She would want more! Her soul would cry out for justice and justice demands more! Roberto was a wimp and his revenge was wimpish. Justice demands more!’

  ‘Neil is quite right, Milos. Justice demands more. Justice demands that Eduardo pay for his crimes, and pay in full.’ Ramon groped for his glass. ‘Some more wine, perhaps? My throat is dry and, Milos, you interrupted before I had concluded my story.’

  ‘There is more?’

  ‘Yes, my friend, there is more.’

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Annemieke and Eduardo once again made the long anxious journey to the Feldman Clinic. That first time Annemieke had known in her heart that the trip would be successful. This time there were no such feelings, and she was prepared for the worst.

  Yet Dr Tannen saw things differently. The incisions were clean, almost as if they had been done by a scalpel, and that helped. He claimed a seventy percent success where they had expected none. It was not joy Annemieke felt, but relief. Relief that she would not be banished once more to the shadows. Certainly, the spark had gone from her smile forever and, with it, a degree of her self-confidence. But at least she could still smile. She could still smile.

  They never discussed Roberto’s revelations. Annemieke did not dare, because in doing so she would have to admit to her infidelity, and perhaps she would also have to face the horrible truth that the man she had married was a monster. Suspicions and doubts lingered. But Annemieke found it hard to reconcile Roberto’s accusations with the man who was her husband. Eduardo did nothing to give substance to Roberto’s claims. No husband was ever more supportive or understanding or loving. Yet Roberto had spoken with conviction, and revealed his pain and humiliation when he had no need to speak at all. Unless … unless … he was telling her the truth.

  Annemieke lived two lives, one which she shared with her husband, and one which she shared with the dark suspicions which inhabited her lonely hours. Sometimes, with the passage of time, doubts and suspicions can wither for lack of sustenance, and perhaps this would have been the case with Annemieke and Eduardo. But for Rosa.

  Rosa returned. And she demanded retribution. She came to Eduardo as his head lay on the pillow alongside Annemieke’s. She walked along the line of prisoners towards him while her butchers waited for her to choose their victims. But this day, as the butchers stropped and sharpened their blades, Rosa had only one victim in mind. She stopped in front of him. She smiled, a sad bitter smile. And, this time, she spoke to him.

  ‘Was it not enough to betray and destroy me? Did you learn nothing? Is there no room in your heart for anyone but yourself?’

  ‘Forgive me, Rosa,’ Eduardo pleaded. ‘Rosa, I beg you! Forgive me! Rosa!’

  She turned towards the men in their bloody aprons.

  ‘A heart so selfish does not deserve to live,’ she snapped. ‘Take it from him!’

  ‘No, Rosa, no!’ he called after her as they dragged him away. ‘Rosa! Rosa! No! Rosa!’

  Annemieke heard the words clearly. How could she not? Eduardo was shouting, screaming.

  ‘No, Rosa! Please! Ten piedad! Ten compasión! Forgive me! Have mercy, Rosa! No! Rosa!’

  ‘Rosa!’ … the name she had never wanted to hear from her husband’s lips. ‘Rosa!’ … the name that confirmed Roberto’s story. ‘Rosa!’ … the name that brought home the truth about her husband and that night outside Anders’ apartment.

  She reached over to her bedside table. For what? Something! Anything! Her hand closed around Eduardo’s Mont Blanc pen, which she’d borrowed and left as usual uncapped. She clutched it in her hand like a weapon.

  ‘No!’ she screamed. Then stabbed it into the face of the monster beside her. He screamed, but she ignored him. He fought her, but she fought back, stabbing, stabbing, stabbing, until he fought no more, and the blood from his sightless eyes splashed over her. She fled the house.

  She thought she’d killed Eduardo, but she’d sent him to live in hell instead, tormented by the belief that Rosa had reached back from the grave and through Annemieke exacted her revenge. His nightmare became reality, his reality his nightmare. He was trapped forever in the dungeon of his blindness, trapped forever in his worst fears. There was no escaping Rosa now. Never again could he open his eyes and admit the light that would drive away her shadow.

  ‘My God! Oh my God!’ Milos could not look at the man who was his friend, even though he knew Ramon could never see him. Then none could speak. Tears ran down Lucio’s cheeks but he was oblivious to them.

  ‘Is
this the justice you wanted, Neil?’ It was too much for Lucio. He could not bear his grief in silence. He blamed Neil. It was Neil who had pushed for this final, terrible chapter. ‘Look at this man before you! Is this the justice you wanted? You tell me to my face. Is this what you wanted? Does our friendship of the last four years mean nothing to you?’

  But Neil was unrepentant.

  ‘So,’ he said finally. ‘So that is what happened. That is how you lost your sight. I can’t pity you, Ramon. You deserve all you got. Probably more.’

  ‘The pity,’ said Milos sadly, ‘is that you told this story. That you chose to tell this story at all.’

  ‘Yes why, Ramon?’ pleaded Lucio. ‘Why did you tell this story?’

  ‘It’s all right, Lucio, it’s all right,’ Ramon said soothingly. ‘I asked you all not to judge me too harshly, yet to a man you have. Do you honestly believe I could be this monster Eduardo Remigio Gallegos? Do you think so little of me?’

  ‘Are you saying this story is not true, that you invented the whole thing? If so, then I don’t believe you!’

  ‘No, Neil, I am saying no such thing. I am only saying that I am not Eduardo or Jorge, and never was.’

  ‘Bullshit! You’re a lying bastard!’

  ‘Enough! Enough, Neil.’ Milos adopted the manner of their unofficial chairman. ‘Think for a change. Over the past four years there have been many occasions when we have fallen prey to Ramon’s tricks and games, no? Does it not occur to you that this whole sorry affair might just be another of his tricks? Think! Let me ask you this, Ramon. Are you such a good storyteller that you can confess your terrible past and have us doubt the truth of it? Or invent a story and have us question the fiction? Are you, Ramon?’

  ‘Yes, Milos, if you believe this story to be fiction, then apparently I am. However, I maintain it is a true story. But maintaining it is true does not implicate me in a confession.’

  ‘Then why did you change the ending? If you had not changed the ending I could convince myself that you were not this man Eduardo. But you changed the ending. Why did you do this if you did not have something to hide?’

  Ramon reached towards Lucio and felt for his shoulder. He let his hand rest there.

  ‘Lucio, my friend, I did not change the ending. That is precisely the ending I intended. It was a fine embellishment, I think. And I should thank you all for your help in making it work.’

  ‘This is preposterous, Ramon. You are preposterous.’ Once more Neil raised his voice, and it echoed around the empty restaurant. ‘You went too far and you trapped yourself. You can sweet-talk as much as you like, but you can’t talk your way out of this. You are Eduardo, Ramon, and you will never convince me otherwise.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Ramon evenly. ‘You have evidence for this assertion? Would you care to share it with us?’

  ‘Why did you not deny it when we first accused you of being Eduardo?’

  ‘Why spoil a good story?’

  ‘Oh, you laugh, Ramon, you can play the funny man. But the truth is, right from the very beginning, in describing Eduardo you described yourself.’

  ‘I have explained that. We are about the same age, we share similar origins, mine somewhat more humble, of course, and we both went to university and studied English. On this basis, I am not just Eduardo but a million other Argentinians.’

  ‘And the printing?’

  ‘Argentinians are as addicted to newspapers and magazines as Australians. Again, I have told you this. Millions read them, thousands work on their production.’

  ‘What about the way you behaved? Your words can deceive but your body language tells us otherwise.’

  ‘Oh really, Neil. Are you suggesting that storytellers may not use actions or gestures to underscore their story? Would you strip me of this most fundamental of devices? Really!’

  ‘There is the matter of your blindness.’

  ‘Ah, Neil, you are as blunt as ever. Still, it has taken you four years to ask. A car accident, Neil, a car accident. If I can be accused of anything, it is in having the poor taste to weave my disability into my story. But the choice was not mine. As I have told you more times than I can recall, my story is true.’

  ‘You are preposterous!’

  ‘Yes, Neil,’ cut in Milos. ‘He is preposterous. He has always been preposterous, no? He uses his blindness as a weapon. You’re the one who pointed that out. He always maintains his stories are true, yet we cannot look into his eyes to see if this is so. Perhaps this story is no more true than the others, in which case we have no right to accuse Ramon of anything. On the other hand, if his story is true, we should take our time and consider all the evidence before we make accusations. It seems to me Ramon has deliberately led us down pathways we were too eager to pursue. Perhaps it is we who were blinded. Perhaps it is we who should be embarrassed.’

  ‘I hear many “perhapses”, Milos. Let me add another. Perhaps I should leave you now so you can sort through the “evidence”. What was it your beloved Goethe wrote? “Truth like God does not exist, only the search for it”?’ Ramon stood to leave. Milos handed him his cane.

  ‘Truly, you are impossible!’

  ‘Would you have it any other way, Milos?’ Ramon chuckled. His back was straight, his head high. He appeared victorious, not defeated, and they could not help but notice. But was this more of his play acting? ‘Gancio will see me to the door. I’m sure he will have no difficulty finding me a taxi. Till next Thursday, then?’

  He bent forward and extended his hand. All three men hesitated, but finally each shook his hand in turn.

  ‘Till next Thursday,’ they chorused.

  Excerpt from Lunch with Mussolini

  DEREK HANSEN

  Spring 1945: The quiet of a northern Italian village is shattered by an explosion of gunfire as eight innocent women are gunned down. But why have they been executed now, with the war almost over and the Germans standing to gain nothing from further reprisals?

  Fifty years later, the daughter of one of the victims finds the German officer who ordered the executions living under an assumed name, and sets out to avenge her mother’s death.

  ‘It is no coincidence that two great novels linked with the Second World War have come out of Australia … Keneally’s Schindler’s Ark and now Derek Hansen’s Lunch with Mussolini.’ Glasgow Herald

  ‘Derek Hansen take a bow. You have written one of the most entertaining, gripping and powerful novels of the year.’ Sunday Telegraph

  ISBN 0 7322 7543 1

  Excerpt from Lunch with the Stationmaster

  DEREK HANSEN

  The eagerly awaited third novel in Derek Hansen’s bestselling ‘Lunch’ series.

  Lunch with the Stationmaster takes us back to Gancio’s restaurant. It is a Thursday and, as usual, Ramon, Lucio, Milos and Neil have gathered for their weekly lunch appointment. It is Neil’s turn to take the floor—except that Milos steps in and demands to tell his story. He has no choice in the matter, he says: ‘This story has already been too long awaiting the telling. It must be told now. Time is running out. It is not just an obligation but a repayment of a debt.’ With those words he hooks the three other men—and Derek Hansen hooks his readers.

  We are taken back to Hungary in the 1940s, a time when Jews are persecuted and rumours of the terrifying death camps are circulating. This is a novel with huge range, set within a real historical landscape populated by figures like Adolf Eichmann and the Russian and Hungarian secret police. It is also a love story set during a time of turmoil and separation, a story which begins in Hungary and seeks its conclusion in Australia.

  ISBN 0 7322 7508 3

  About the Author

  DEREK HANSEN is a former advertising man who walked away at the peak of his career to fulfil a lifelong ambition to write novels.

  His first novel, Lunch with the Generals, became an immediate bestseller, followed by Lunch with Mussolini and Sole Survivor. Lunch with the Stationmaster is his sixth novel and the third in the Lunch series
.

  Derek Hansen’s work has also been published in America, Europe and the United Kingdom. He is married, has two adult children, and lives on Sydney’s northern beaches.

  Praise

  ‘[Lunch with the Generals] is a rare book and a rare story that blazes life and death and love from every page … the style sparse yet detailed, the sign of a brilliant storyteller’.

  — The Courier-Mail

  ‘Derek Hansen take a bow. You have written one of the most entertaining, gripping and powerful novels of the year.’

  — Sunday Telegraph on Lunch with Mussolini

  ‘Another fine effort from Hansen, with complex characters from wartime Germans to Italian fascists to Australian widows’.

  — The Courier-Mail on Lunch with Mussolini

  ‘Derek Hansen has a knack for making the immediate past come alive with contemporary pain’.

  — Canberra Times on Sole Survivor

  Other Books by Derek Hansen

  Lunch with Mussolini

  Sole Survivor

  Blockade

  Perfect Couple

  Lunch with the Stationmaster

  SHORT STORIES

  Dead Fishy

  Psycho Cat

  Copyright

  HarperCollinsPublishers

  First published in Australia in 1993

  By William Heinemann Australia

  This edition published in 2014

  by HarperCollinsPublishers Pty Limited

  ABN 36 009 913 517

  A member of the HarperCollinsPublishers (Australia) Pty Limited Group

  www.harpercollins.com.au

  Copyright © Derek Hansen 1993

  The right of Derek Hansen to be identified as the moral rights author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000 (Cth).

  This book is copyright.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.