Tango

by Alan Judd

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes. It does not look capable of resolution but I’m sure it could be if the right words were spoken. The problem is, how to get them spoken?’

  There was a vindictive gust of wind and another shower of fine spray hit the sides of their faces. William saw with satisfaction that Manuel was discomforted; he stepped with un-soldierlike hesitation on the treacherous shingle and once or twice he shivered. He was waiting for a response. William, who enjoyed the weather and felt the cold less than most people, let him wait.

  ‘Shall we turn round?’ suggested Manuel.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were in a hurry.’

  ‘I am not, but I do not wish to keep them waiting.’

  Manuel spoke almost crossly and there was another pause. He glanced at the sea, to which he was now closer than William. It was a thick menacing brown, a sign of more rain in the hills, and the waves fell upon the beach with sullen repeated spite.

  ‘What is important is that you should not interfere,’ Manuel continued, in a tone that was more crisp and curt. ‘Do your job, by all means – we don’t mind that – but don’t interfere with what is happening here. If you do, I cannot answer for the consequences.’

  ‘I don’t want to interfere.’

  ‘Good. Then we can agree.’

  ‘But I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘I think you know, Señor Wooding. You were at school with the president. That is fine. Naturally, you wish – perhaps for old times’ sake or perhaps to help your business interests – to be friendly with him. That also is fine. But let it stop there. Our president is a young man who is still feeling his way. Do not plot with him, Señor Wooding. The masses – the people of our country – would be very unhappy if he were to lose his way and it would be very inconvenient for many people, including yourself. It would not help the cause of social justice. You enjoy special protection because of your friendship. Please do not abuse it. Do you understand what I say?’

  Manuel ignored the spray now, watching for William’s reply. William felt the nervousness he had so far kept at bay. His stomach tightened but he remained determined. ‘I hear what you say.’

  ‘You see, our country has had bad government for many years, for generations. Now we have a chance to bring good government. We will do anything – anything – to succeed. We will take any help we can from whoever will give it. We will pay any price to make sure that our country has the right sort of government for ever.’

  ‘What if the people don’t want it?’

  ‘The people will not sabotage what is in their best interests. Neither will anyone else, Señor Wooding.’

  Back at the car Manuel’s manner was cheerful and offhand. He said farewell like one who had just played and won his weekly game of squash. William was pleased to see how wet he was down one side.

  ‘Thank you for the walk,’ he said. Manuel showed his big teeth again, and shut the door.

  William continued on his way. He expected to be overtaken by the car but wasn’t. When he reached the point where the road turned inland he looked back. The black Mercedes had reversed until it was now opposite Señor Finn’s hut. William smiled to think how little change they might be getting out of him.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Are you all right?’

  William started. ‘Yes, I was looking out of the window.’

  ‘You haven’t done anything else since you got in.’

  ‘Lot to think about. This big order from the Ministry of Information as well as all this . . . you know . . . funny business.’

  ‘Oh yes, the funny business. How’s it going?’

  The entryphone rang. Sally answered it before William could move. He hadn’t, in fact, been thinking about work or about Box’s business. He’d been trying to decide what he should tell Sally about Theresa. The more he thought about it the less it seemed there was to tell. It amounted to: I am in love with the prostitute I told you about and have proposed marriage to her. She has not said that she’s in love with me and I don’t think she wants to marry. In fact, I’m not sure she’s speaking to me at present. I thought you should know.

  It wouldn’t do; yet it was lodged like a great lump in the middle of his forehead and any other thoughts had somehow to find their way round it. Moreover, the idea of leaving Sally lost all credibility in her presence. In the abstract it was something he could contemplate but when he was with her it was impossible. She was Sally, as familiar to him now as he was to himself, a part of his life, not a separate section that could be hived off – privatised, as it were – but integral. It would feel like an amputation of half his nervous system.

  She came back from the hall. ‘It’s Max, my boss. He’s dropping some books off. I ought to give him a drink, do you mind? We can eat later.’

  ‘Of course not. In fact, I’ve got to go out. More funny business.’

  ‘More? Getting a bit much, isn’t it? You’ll be working for them full-time soon.’

  She sounded as if she didn’t mind and so he described very quickly what he had to do that night. She was neither resentful nor jealous, which made him feel more guilty.

  ‘So you’ve just got to drop this woman off at the palace?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, if you’re not back by the time I eat I’ll put your dinner in the oven.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Max Hueffer was a tall academic-looking man with black hair, chiselled features and large heavy-rimmed spectacles that seemed to do all the self-assertion necessary. His voice was quiet and his manner assured. William felt he might well have been shaking hands with a successful international lawyer or a distinguished specialist in nervous diseases. Max said he was very pleased to meet William, he’d heard a lot about him.

  William asked Max where he came from.

  ‘Wyoming.’

  ‘Wyoming.’ William rolled the word round his mouth. ‘I’ve never met anyone from Wyoming.’

  Max smiled. ‘Not many people have. Not many there and not many leave it.’

  ‘It’s a romantic name. It feels good to say it. I’d like to go there.’

  ‘William, don’t be silly.’ Sally was by the cupboard and she looked round with an excited smile. ‘You’re never romantic about places.’

  ‘I am about places I’ve never been to.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Max. ‘Don’t chew him up. It is a romantic name and it is a romantic place. Big and beautiful. You should go there some day.’

  Max had a whisky. William was in no hurry and so he had one, too. Sally had a gin and tonic, something she rarely did. For a while she and Max talked about the books Max had brought and about the school, where one of the courses was proving troublesome. Max turned courteously to William.

  ‘At least in your business it’s not so much people you’re dealing with as things,’ he said. ‘People are trouble. You’re better off with things.’

  ‘Except that the people who are supposed to be working for me are all on strike at the moment.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Well, they don’t work directly for me, that’s part of the trouble. Because of all these new laws I’ve got no control.’

  ‘Bad position to be in. What happened?’

  William told him. Max was a sympathetic and informed listener. He asked intelligent questions and made sensible pronouncements. William described his visit to the factory and the apparent element of political control. It struck him that Max might be a useful source of more information which he could report to Box.

  ‘Things are coming to a head,’ said Max.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I reckon the Sovs and Cubans might move in seriously pretty soon if nobody does anything. And where they move, they stay. It’s not a question of opposition. Once they’re here there ain’t any. Unless someone does something to stop them pretty damn quick.’

  ‘Who could do that – the president?’

  Max shrugged. ‘Not sure he’s got th
e freedom to manoeuvre. He’s the joker in the pack, that’s the trouble. No one knows how strong his position is, nor what he really wants. Including him, I guess.’

  William would have liked to have told him what Manuel had said that evening, but he could not do that without revealing how he knew Manuel and why Manuel had spoken as he did. Box would not have approved of bringing the Americans in on the affair. ‘What does your embassy think? Ours doesn’t seem to have much of a clue.’

  Max grinned and touched his heavy glasses. ‘You know what embassy people are like – so scared of being wrong you have to practically beat them up in a corner before they commit themselves to anything more than another drink.’ Sally laughed. ‘But I did get one of the political section guys to tell me the other day that they wouldn’t be surprised if half of them were expelled soon. There’s been a lot of anti-US propaganda and it’s increasing. It all fits a pattern.’

  William finished his whisky and said he had to see a client. Max stood and said he supposed he’d better be getting along, too. William urged him to stay, to have one more whisky, like the embassy people. Max laughed and agreed.

  ‘Won’t be long,’ William said to Sally, ‘but don’t wait.’

  She smiled. ‘I’ll put it in the oven.’

  It was another wet night, still blustery, with very little traffic and hardly any people. The tree-tops swayed and sheets of old newspaper were blown about the streets. At the corner by the city’s only vegetarian restaurant, recently gone out of business, a broken billboard swung to and fro like the sail of an abandoned yacht. A black cat crouched to avoid it before disappearing into the grass behind. Flower baskets suspended from the lampposts jerked and twisted precariously. It was as if the city had abandoned itself.

  There were cars parked outside the club, though, including Theresa’s Dodge which had not moved since William’s attempts to start it. Not much light showed through the curtains but the house gave its usual impression of shabby comfort and warmth. William noticed for the first time the size and proportion of the Georgian-style windows. Someone had said that El Lizard lived in the roof. That seemed appropriate.

  She was standing in the hall talking to a group of people. When she saw him she broke off, picked up her handbag and fur coat from a chair and hurried towards him. She wore a black dress that seemed both tight and loose, simultaneously suggesting and accentuating the contours of her body. It was held in at the waist by a thin gold belt.

  ‘All right?’ he asked.

  She nodded. They hurried to his Datsun, their heads bent against the squalls. Her presence in his car made him confident again. Once more everything became possible. ‘I can’t believe what I’m doing,’ he said. ‘I can only do it because it doesn’t feel real.’

  At first it seemed she was more interested in her fingernails. ‘That is how to do it. Keep it from being real.’

  ‘But it is real, isn’t it? What we do matters.’

  ‘It’s only what we do. It’s only a part. God sees the rest.’

  She had to direct him to the palace. It was on the hill beyond the cathedral not far from the parliament building and the gaol. There was plenty of time and he drove slowly through the wet deserted streets.

  They stopped at some traffic lights. ‘I’m sorry about this afternoon,’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘You are so English.’

  ‘For apologising?’

  ‘For stopping.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Sorry.’ The lights were still red. He drove through them. He kept forgetting – rather, had never properly acquired – the local custom of treating traffic lights as optional.

  ‘I stopped at a pedestrian crossing once,’ he said, ‘and a policeman told me off. I also tried to cross on one and got told off again for nearly being run over.’ The rain drummed on the roof of the car. ‘But I am sorry, I really am. I never meant to deceive you.’

  ‘Don’t talk about it now.’ She stared straight ahead. ‘Tell me about England. Does it really rain all the time like this?’

  ‘Not all the time, not even most of it. But in parts of the west it rains a lot. They have a saying – when you can see the hills you know it’s going to rain, when you can’t, you know it is.’

  ‘Your prime minister is very strong.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What would you like me to ask the president – for your spy work?’

  ‘You don’t need to bother, really. I’m only an amateur spy. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It makes it better for me if you tell me something you want to know.’

  ‘Ask him, then, whether the Russians and Cubans are really taking over and whether that is what he wants. Is the People’s Party really a communist party? But be careful. Manuel Herrera warned me this afternoon.’ He described his visit to Senor Finn. ‘Ask him what Manuel Herrera does.’

  ‘Herrera is dangerous,’ she said. ‘Even the army is frightened of him. People who do not agree disappear. He controls the president’s guard and has many informers. The army don’t like it but the officers can do nothing because it is Herrera and the Chief of the Police, Paulotti, and another general, Quinto, who control everything. Ines was told this by the officers she was with. Also Paulotti and Quinto come to the club sometimes.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For us.’

  The palace was not a very impressive building. It was partly barracks and much of it was anyway invisible behind the walls. Carlos’s letter had said they were to enter at the back by the garages and stables. The streets around were broad and empty, laid out during the few years when the city aspired to international status. It took some time to drive all the way round the walls.

  At the back a pair of large wooden gates led into a cobbled courtyard. Some soldiers were leaning on their rifles with unaffected nonchalance. When William pulled up, one of them strolled over, catching his rifle butt on the cobbles.

  ‘We are the interpreters who have come to interview the prisoners,’ William said.

  The soldier had a boy’s face and an expression of premature indifference ‘Qué?’

  William said it again but still the soldier didn’t understand. He replied in a thick, incomprehensible accent. Theresa leaned across and spoke rapidly and harshly.

  ‘Sí,’ said the boy. ‘Wait.’ He ambled back to his comrades.

  ‘These are peasants from the north,’ she said. ‘You have to speak to them hard, otherwise they don’t understand. They know no politeness and if you speak politely it is like a foreign language for them. They have not heard the words said like that before.’

  ‘Peasants, are they?’ William wasn’t sure he had seen a real peasant before, unless the street-traders counted.

  ‘Animals.’

  ‘You don’t like them?’

  ‘I know them.’

  The soldier left his comrades and ambled to the guard room inside the gate. Presently a big square sergeant came purposefully towards them. He wore a sub-machine gun like a necklace and trod indifferently through the puddles. When he reached the car he bent down with one hand on the roof, letting the muzzle of his gun knock twice against the door frame. He pointed with his other arm.

  ‘Straight through and turn right to the exercise yard. Someone is there for you.’

  ‘Gracias,’ said William.

  The sergeant left them without a word.

  ‘They don’t understand “gracias”,’ Theresa said.

  The only light in the exercise yard came from an open door-way. William drove towards it. He heard a series of small, perhaps nervous, movements at his side and glanced across. Theresa was looking at herself in the vanity mirror.

  She turned to face him. ‘Do I look all right?’

  ‘You look very beautiful.’

  She remained facing him. ‘Do I make you unhappy?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘You must not be. All this has nothing to do with me. It is not me. You must remember.’

  ‘You make me more happy than unha
ppy.’

  ‘I cannot promise anything. You must undersand that. Will you wait here for me?’

  ‘If he lets me.’

  They stopped outside the lighted door. Inside, well back from the rain, was the slim figure of Carlos. He leaned against the green-painted wall, his arms folded. He wore a white jersey and blue jeans which made him look very youthful. His slack mouth seemed less out of place with casual clothes and his expression was alert and humorous. William thought, resentfully, that he looked pretty all right, too.

  ‘This is an unusual way for the president to receive his guests,’ Carlos said, ‘hiding from his own guards in his own palace.’ He smiled briefly at William but his eyes were on Theresa. ‘They all think I’ve gone to bed early. I had to cross two courtyards without being seen by my own sentries. It was not easy but never mind. We are here.’ His speech sounded prepared. He stood back for Theresa and touched her lightly on the elbow, indicating that she should walk on. As she passed he smiled directly into her face.

  William remained by the door. Carlos made to follow Theresa and then hesitated.

  ‘Wooding, you can wait, can you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you. Leave your car where it is and come with us. I will show you where.’

  It was a long corridor, freshly painted and harshly lit with white neon lights. Theresa’s heels rang out on the stone. William felt each reverberation in his breastbone. There were carpeted wooden stairs and a door, then a room with a table, a number of wooden chairs, two armchairs and a sofa. On the table were magazines and newspapers. Two doors led off the room. Carlos opened one to reveal a small hall and two further doors.

  He turned to William. ‘If you wait here. We’re going in’ – he hesitated, slightly awkward – ‘the other door through here is a lavatory if you need it.’ He opened the nearer one for Theresa and she entered without looking back. ‘No one should bother you. If they do, say you’re waiting for your turn with the prisoner. This is the waiting-room of the officers’ medical centre. It’s all you need to know.’ He glanced to confirm that Theresa was out of sight and then, holding the door to with one hand, put the other on William’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, my friend, for this service. I shall find a way to reward you. We shall not be long. Normally, of course, I should want all night’ – he smiled – ‘but this evening has been difficult to arrange. You will find newspapers on the table.’