by Jack Tollers
Chapter Sixteen
Jimmy and Victoria
Jimmy cursed once again. He just couldn’t understand the anonymous officials that had decided not to send him over to the Islands where there was a real war going on. It was quite unintelligible. After all, the military authorities had decided to shorten the military cadet’s year and if by now he was a fully recognized C. O., why on earth didn’t they send him over to fight, for God’s sake. Or at least, he thought, give him a posting down south of the country where so much was going on. He walked despondently through the streets of Buenos Aires and cursed them all again. It was a rather bleak midday, the overcast weather making him shudder as he imagined how much worse it probably was over there in those remote islands. The worst part was to think—and he couldn’t refrain a feeling of envy every time he remembered it, which was about a dozen times every hour—that Peter was already there, the lucky blighter. Even Suter had been mobilised with the 12th Regiment. But not Jimmy, no sir. He bitterly remembered what he had been told at the Military School.
‘Some officers absolutely have to stay on, you know. Otherwise, who’s to see to the training of the rest of the cadets over here?’
But the captain’s eloquence was quite lost on Jimmy who thought that at least they could’ve asked around a bit. He was sure that more than one of his comrades-in-arms would in fact be rather relieved if they heard that they were not being mobilised. He well knew that there was more than one white feather among them, and the chances were that several of them would now be posted to the Falklands, God damn it. He kicked a dustbin with frustration and won a reproachful look from a passer by. He wasn’t using a uniform, for his commission that day had been limited to fetch some papers from Telam, the State Press Agency that was rendering the official—and, to all purposes, only—version of all events in connection with the war. He did not know what the contents of the big brown envelope he had to take back to the School were about, but by the looks of the seedy looking chap in a black suit that had handed them over to him, it was surely a matter of no importance. That thin old bureaucrat could easily have worked for Pravda, he thought. He cursed generally everything and everyone, as he trudged down Florida Street among the indifferent throng. He tried to think differently but he found everything he saw around him and everyone he met quite hateful. All that ongoing jingoismespecially irritating was the mix of bombastic triumphalism and superficial charlatanism that seemed to pervade it all, with the trash the media endlessly repeated and the yellow press publishing the most incredible stories, religiously read by people who ended arguing over military strategy in a perfectly ignorant way. And this was going on at every corner, in every bar, in every school, club, office and family meal. And these, he reflected, represented the better part of his countrymen for, after all, at least they cared. This was war and real people were getting and would get hurt over there. But then it seemed to him that large portions of his countrymen just went on with their business—theatres and restaurants were as full as always; there were hundreds of Argentines, he thought, that were more worried about the outcome of the World Cup than about the war. People that just didn’t care about anything or people that cared about silly things, people that just carried on as if nothing serious was going on. And on top of it all, it didn’t look as though Argentina would win the war despite the obvious strategic advantages.
‘Not a chance, buddy, not a chance,’ Thomas had said the other evening. Jimmy had gone over for dinner to his house in Belgrano—there was a noisy little idea at the back of his head that there was always a chance of encountering Victoria over there. But no, and after dinner Thomas and he had talked long into the night about the Falklands war.
‘There’s no way we can win this war against the Brits, so let’s just pray that at least we win one or two battles and don’t make too much a hash of—’
‘What do you mean, not a chance?’ Jimmy had interrupted with a piece of wishful thinking, ‘I think Argentina has more of a backbone—I don’t know, I mean... perhaps our men have more mettle than meets the eye.’
‘Perhaps,’ Thomas had conceded, ‘but after World War II it isn’t a question of pluck any more than nerve, you know, the English are professional soldiers, do you know what that means? I tell you, we haven’t a chance.’
And it wasn’t lack of patriotism on Thomas’s part, Jimmy thought, just cool intelligence to see what there was to see, that was all. A matter of calling a spade a spade.
‘In addition, Argentines don’t know how to organise themselves. They can’t organise the Army, they can’t organise the country, and they certainly can’t organise their ideas, let alone their feelings. I’m telling you, there’s no way we can come out on top this time. No amount of jingoism can compensate Britain’s long tradition of administrative efficiency and outright genius when practical issues are at stake,’ Thomas vigorously shook his head. ‘A nation of shopkeepers, Napoleon called them. But at least very efficient at that, one has to admit, as eventually even Napoleon himself must have acknowledged I dare say. You only have to look at the mountains of red tape over here that make so many decisions fall apart, solutions melt away, clever ideas go down the drain.’ He half snorted with disgust. ‘No, my friend, and I’m not even starting on England’s distinguished educational record, general war experience and technological superiority.’ He quickly finished his drink and put his glass on the kitchen table with a bang, ‘I’m as good an Argentine as the next chap and don’t like to admit any of this, but there it is. And then, if we’re not to indulge in stupid reveries just remember what sort of man is the crazy, improvised and stupid drunk who runs the show in this country.’ He shook his head angrily.
‘Well, Churchill was quite a bit of a drunkard himself, for that—’
‘Ha, ha. Sure was, but we can’t even begin to—’
‘I know, I know. What I’m getting at is that we do have clear tactical advantages with all those troops already stationed on the islands, and the British face very complicated logistics before even beginning to think of setting foot on one of the beaches. If you bear that in mind, I think that we stand quite a chance of actual—’
‘Throwing them back into the sea?’ Thomas laughed hollowly and served himself some more wine. ‘An unlikely possibility, I’m telling you. Not that it didn’t happen in Gallipoli—by the way, one of Churchill’s many blunders—but then, those cliffs were quite unassailable and the Turkish soldiers had better training than our poor soldiers from the compulsive military service.’ And with a smile he added as an afterthought, ‘They were trained by the Germans.’
‘But all military manuals say that you need to have a numerical superiority of three to one before even thinking of setting up a beachhead.’
‘True—unless you happen to be fighting Argentina. When the English finally choose a beach, you can put your shirt on it, I bet there will be no Argentine defences waiting for them. Those islands are small but there are just too many possible beaches they can choose as a beachhead, mark my words.’
And so on. One way or the other, Thomas had finally convinced Jimmy that the war was lost even before it had begun, even if they both thought it gave Argentina a chance to show the world that it wasn’t just another typical Third World country and that its combatants were excellent soldiers notwithstanding some glaring shortcomings. To a certain extent, the first Air Force excursions seemed to bear this out but Jimmy was uncomfortable with the future.
He bought a newspaper to find out what the last news was and decided to go and have lunch somewhere where he could peacefully peruse it. Most of the places he tried were up to the brim, full of office workers talking away at the top of their voices. He saw an old man waving his hands this way and that in what obviously was a mimetic account of warplanes clashing in the air. He left in a hurry and cursing again, turned off Florida, walking down the less hectic Tucumán street until he found a cafe where there were fewer people. He sat by the window. After asking for a sandwich
he spread the newspaper on the little table and was about to start to read it when a green dressed girl passed by. The thought crossed his mind that the girl had looked very much like Victoria.
What if...? he thought in a flash. Leaving his coat on a chair, he rushed out and ran after her, calling her by her name. The girl turned round with a surprised look on her face and greeted him with a smile.
‘Oh, hello, Jimmy,’ she looked at his flustered face with large blue eyes, ‘This is quite a coincidence, isn’t it? What are you doing over here? It’s rather cold to be without a coat don’t you think?’
She was wearing a very elegant green Loden overcoat her Granny had bought for her in Austria and Jimmy could see her dark glossy hair, playfully entangled in its lapels. He also fleetingly got a look at her blue jeans and high boots and thought, once again, that she was somewhat unique, that he would never get to know another girl like that, whatever happened.
‘Do you have time for a coffee?’ he earnestly asked, ‘I was having a bite at that Bar over there,’ he pointed to the rather withered joint, ‘But we can always have something in a better place, if you want.’
Victoria laughed lightly and shook her head. For a desperate moment, he thought he was being rejected.
‘No, that place seems perfectly all right to me. I’ve already lunched but we can always have a coffee. What are you doing in B.A. without a uniform?’
Presently they were chatting away over the little coffee table, Jimmy telling her all about his useless commission and his failure to get mobilised.
‘The fact is,’ he said dejectedly, ‘it seems as though my whole life is as much of a failure as it could possibly be.’
‘Nonsense,’ Victoria replied, ‘Mummy always used to say to us that no one knows what life is worth or what’s in store for us.’ She smiled, ‘I’ve remembered that always and it’s done me more good than all that silly self-help gibberish people gobble up nowadays.’ She shook her head, ‘All that rubbish about self-esteem, I ask you.’ She drank a sip of coffee while Jimmy listened fascinated. For the sake of it, he said he hadn’t understood what Victoria’s mother was getting at.
‘Well, it’s like being in a film. If you think that you’re the star, every time the lime-light goes on to someone else you feel disappointed and that your presence is quite unnecessary. But that of course is because you’re not seeing the whole film, that’s all. At times you may feel like a very expendable extra, but the film won’t be complete without you.’ She smiled. ‘The paradox being that only by being self-centred can people actually deceive themselves as to their importance. They are important, everyone is, but not in the way they sometimes figure.’ She frowned at the newspaper that was on a corner of the table. ‘It doesn’t depend on what one feels, but on what one sees, I think—and for that you have to forget yourself, I don’t know if you’re following, never mind your self-esteem or whatever.’
Jimmy would have liked her to keep on elaborating, but she suddenly came up with something quite different.
‘Have you heard anything about Peter lately?’
‘Nope. No news at all. The last I heard was that he was stationed with the 12th Regiment at a place called Goose Green where there’s an air field, next to Darwin.’ He grinned at Victoria, ‘Apparently Charles Darwin was there at some point, studying a very peculiar type of fox he had discovered. In those days the only English resident was a certain Mr. Dixon who,’ he laughed, ‘apparently had enough reason to have the Islands under the Union Jack.’
He asked Victoria if she would have another coffee but she shook her head.
‘Anyway, I’ve been looking at the maps, and it doesn’t look like a dangerous place to be—at present. I’d bet that their mission there would be to protect the air field and eventually counter any landings from the sea,’ he frowned. ‘From what I gather, unless he’s very unlucky, he should be all right. Did he write to you or something?’
Victoria shook her head and looked out through the windowpanes onto the grey street where the throng had dwindled a bit. It looked rather cold out there.
‘No. We had agreed not to write to each other for some time,’ she waved her hand vaguely, ‘but I thought the situation warranted a breach,’ she smiled. ‘Anyway I don’t suppose he’ll have the time now that he’s in a war zone, even if he wanted to reply. And then—’ she broke off the sentence.
‘What? And then what?’
‘No. I don’t know. Maybe the Army’s postal service isn’t working properly. I believe they’ve stationed over nine thousand troops on the Islands, you know...it must be a mess.’
‘Uh-uh.’
For some time they were silent, Victoria smoking one of her black cigarettes, her eyes on the empty coffee cup and Jimmy unabashedly admiring her good looks. After all, he thought, it was the first time in his life that he had Victoria all to himself. Had her? he reflected. Not a chance chum, unless you do something. He sighed and drew strength, as it were, from her presence.
‘Have you heard that I went up to see him at Mercedes last summer?’
‘No,’ she looked up with interest, ‘I did not.’
‘Yes, well. I took the train one night after having something of a row with Thomas and went straight to tell Peter,’ he looked away from her through the Bar’s window. ‘Apparently the news had made its way onto the grapevine and was becoming uncomfortably public, you know... it wouldn’t have been right if he actually got wind of it all second hand.’
‘Got wind of what on earth? What on earth have you two been talking about?’ Victoria asked suspiciously, her feminine curiosity getting the better of her.
‘Well...’ he hesitated, ‘uh, you don’t happen to have another of those dreadful black cigarettes you prefer?’
‘I thought you didn’t smoke,’ she said while she handed the pack and lighter and waited.
‘Only in an emergency,’ Jimmy smiled.
Victoria remained silent. She surmised what was coming and didn’t feel entirely comfortable.
‘Well, the fact that I’m in love with you.’ He said it bluntly while looking straight into her troubled eyes. They seemed to him like the southern seas in a storm.
There was a pause while Victoria looked away from him. But she knew she had to say something.
‘Well,’ she spoke slowly looking back at him, ‘I’m sure I'm flattered. Thank you very much and all that. But even so, I'm afraid there’s nothing I can do about that.’ Her voice wavered a bit, but she had clearly made an effort to repress the inevitably censorious tone, the trick done by lifting her last words and giving them an interrogative slant. All the same, Jimmy felt cold shivers down his spine.
‘That’s exactly what Peter said.’
She looked up, taken by surprise. ‘Did he say that?’
‘Uh-uh. Apparently you two are on exactly the same wavelength and, well—there’s nothing I can do either, but wait until I get over this.’ He shook his head and smiled sadly. ‘I’m having a hell of a time, you know.’
‘So are all of us,’ Victoria assented, ‘We all of us are having one hell of a time. Argentina, 1982, will be something to forget.’
There was a pause, and Jimmy felt curiously relieved. His spirits had lightened up somehow even when events weren’t turning out, to say the very least, too favourable for him.
‘Yes, one hell of a time,’ he nodded. ‘Even Peter, I can tell you,’ he looked at Victoria intently, ‘When I went on this visit to Mercedes he actually told me he had had a nightmare or something...’ he shook his head, ‘On top of it all.’
‘What sort of a nightmare?’
‘Well, I don’t remember all the details—one tends to be rather inattentive when the next bloke comes along wrestling with all the nonsense attached to dreams—but I do remember he had dreamt that he was dying on a battlefield...’
Victoria’s face showed acute concern and he instantly regretted having brought this up. Hang it! Me and my big mouth, he thought. The girl was visibly
affected by the story.
‘But there was no talk of war in those days, was there?’ she asked.
‘No, there wasn’t. But he guessed something was cooking because of his surprising change of destination from Covunco to Mercedes. And he knew it was on account of his knowing English quite well, so... as a matter of fact he actually guessed we were going to war, even if he couldn’t be quite sure with whom.’
‘A premonition,’ said Victoria hoarsely.
‘Yes, well, I don´t know,’ Jimmy shook his head, ‘I don’t believe in these things myself, and even Peter tended to disregard the whole thing as a product of his temperature. He had had that dream the night before I arrived, so, uh, well anyway, as a matter of fact I don’t think anyone can attach any importance whatsoever to it.’
‘Uh-uh, all the same...’ Victoria reflected with a frown on her face. ‘I’ll feel much better when all this is over.’
‘The war and everything...’
‘Yes. The war and everything.’ She smiled at the last word knowingly.
There was another pause and once again Jimmy regretted having referred to Peter’s nightmare. And now Victoria budged a bit, as if preparing to leave. He decided to change course then and there.
‘D’you know who sent you those roses?’ he asked suddenly with a malicious grin.
The unexpected turn in the conversation caught her unawares. ‘What roses?’ And then, she suddenly remembered, ‘Not those roses someone sent to my Granny’s place ages ago?’ She had forgotten all about them and if she actually had remembered the episode now and then, she had shrugged it off thinking there must’ve been a mistake somewhere. She looked at Jimmy with wide eyes, took her lower lip between her teeth with wonder, and then released it to ask ‘Don’t tell me it was you, was it?’
‘Yup,’ Jimmy laughed.
‘But, but... I mean, we hadn’t even met in those days, and how did you know my Granny’s address, and what was the idea anyway?’
‘Hold on, hold on, old girl, wait a sec,’ he faked confusion and distress. ‘One at a time, and I’ll tell you.’
He did. But in the end, after sorting out the circumstances, Victoria asked him again why on earth he had done such a thing.
‘I don’t really know. It’s just one of those things that come up,’ he smiled wanly, ‘An inspiration you may say.’ He laughed shortly. ‘Anyway that fateful day I was so glad to see Peter in such an amorous mood, it was a lovely springtime morning, and he had described you with such enthusiasm... I suppose I was infected. And then, maybe, I thought, you were sad about something, so just in case, you know... “Red roses for a blue lady”.’
Victoria looked at him quite mystified by all this.
‘A song by Dean Martin.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I mean, not the song, the roses...’
‘Well, I thought that those roses would help Peter on his way to conquer you, if and when you ever met again. Little did we know that that very night...’
He laughed in such a way that Victoria couldn’t quite stop laughing too. She eyed him curiously and asked him if he had ever told Peter.
‘No, as a matter of a fact, now that you ask me, I never did.’ He gave another short laugh. ‘I suppose I was rather ashamed at the time, and later on I sort of pushed the whole incident to the back of my mind... oh I don't know.’ He called for the waiter thinking that it was high time to get back to the Army Academy with the infamous brown envelope. He paid the bill and helped Victoria with her coat.
On their way out, she asked him why he was bringing up the story now. They stood talking on the sidewalk where it was getting colder by the minute.
‘Well, I don’t know. I suddenly remembered. You don’t send roses to an unknown girl and just forget. I’ve been lumbering along with this heavy burden for the better part of two years and,’ he sighed, ‘I don’t know. I’m giving myself away as much as I can. I’m fed up with all these secretive attitudes. So, well, I told Peter that I’m in love with you, and now I’ve told you. No more secrets. I’m in love with you, and you’re in love with Peter, that’s all. Life is life and now I’ve only to wait... see how it all sorts itself out. As your Mum used to say—what was it?’
‘No one knows what life is worth or what’s in store for us,’ she quoted again, ‘You never knew what was in store for you when you sent those roses, did you?’
For a second, Jimmy looked up with a glimmer of hope. He shook his head.
‘I certainly didn’t.’
‘I knew there had been a mistake somewhere.’