Tango

by Alan Judd

  She dried her hands on the red towel. ‘I must go back to Carlos and start with him. When the bath is ready, you can get in and wait. But you must lock the door and you’ll have to get out to let me in.’ She put her right arm through his and smiled. ‘William, don’t be so serious. It is not a terrible thing, a massage. It is quite nice – really.’

  ‘I was thinking about our plan,’ he lied. ‘Are you sure they’re all being massaged?’

  ‘Now I am, yes. At first Manuel and Ines were left behind. I don’t know why. She was to go with him, he must have known that, and I thought it wasn’t going to work, you know, because he wouldn’t come with the others, but when I came out from Carlos I heard Ines laughing in the room next to mine so it is all right. She laughs very loudly. I don’t know what he was doing to her.’

  ‘You are fond of Ines, aren’t you?’

  ‘She is my friend.’

  He glanced along the corridor when he let her out. All the doors were closed. The only sounds were the hum of the air-conditioners and the noise of water running through the pipes. She signalled to him to go back and walked quickly towards the room at the end.

  He finished undressing. The water was very hot beneath the bubble bath and he ran some cold. It was the first time for years that he had been in a bath without reading. He lay back. The water soothed and comforted him. He moved his hands gently through it, shaping mountain ranges of foam. The pleasant sensation added to his growing sense of unreality. Even the small thought that perhaps it was he who was being set up and not the generals, that perhaps the security police were going to burst in upon him and drag him dripping and slipping from the building, did no more than ripple his composure. If it would happen, it would happen; probably it wouldn’t. If it did it would be because Theresa had betrayed him. And if she betrayed him – well, then anyone was capable of anything and there was no longer any hope. One may as well give up.

  The tap on the door, just audible above the air-conditioner, was unlikely to be the security police. He wrapped the towel around himself, keeping it as high as possible so as to cover more of his stomach. He also scooped up foam and put it on his chest, hoping it would distract attention. She was now in a thin white dressing gown of silk or some imitation, with black underwear beneath it. Her hair was still up.

  ‘I’ve started him off,’ she said. ‘He’s in the bath. It is extraordinary. What is going on, you would think it would put him off, but not at all. He is not interested, he wants only one thing. It is very irresponsible.’ She rubbed her arms and looked at the air-conditioner. ‘That thing is so cold but we have to have it on because of the condensation. Can we put something over it?’

  ‘I’m sure we can.’ He looked around for something.

  ‘Your towel. Why are you wearing it, anyway? Were you expecting someone else?’ She smiled.

  He gave her the towel. She moved one of the chairs and stood on it to fasten the towel over the air-conditioner. She was unable to manage both corners of the towel simultaneously so he got up on the chair beside her.

  ‘Can’t the air-conditioner be adjusted?’ he asked.

  ‘No, they are cheap ones.’

  Twice they thought they had fastened it and it blew back over their heads. They laughed and once, when the chair nearly tipped, she clung to him. Eventually the towel stayed in place and they climbed down.

  ‘Get in the bath,’ she said. ‘We must be quick. I cannot leave him long.’ She took off her dressing-gown and stood in her underwear, stockings and suspenders. ‘He insists on this,’ she said apologetically. ‘He likes me to do it with him in all this. I would rather be naked.’

  William got into the bath. She seemed not to notice his body. Probably she had seen so many. She took off her underclothes and joined him, sitting between his legs and facing him. With a quick expert movement she slid her legs behind his back, then pulled his head forward and wet his hair with a sponge. She put soap on the sponge and began gently washing his arms, shoulders and chest.

  He closed his eyes while she squeezed more warm water over his head. ‘I haven’t been bathed since childhood.’

  ‘It’s a nice thing to do for someone.’

  ‘Nice to have it done.’

  ‘Better with people you like. Lie back.’ She washed the rest of him.

  ‘How many of these do you have to do in a week?’ he asked.

  ‘It depends. Not so many recently and now, since Carlos, none. I can keep myself for him. But when I first started, I had to do it for whoever wanted, like the new girls now. It’s quite hard work if you have several in an evening.’

  ‘It must be.’

  ‘It’s better when you can choose. Sit up.’ She climbed behind and knelt against him, her thighs supporting his back.

  ‘Close your eyes.’ She washed his hair, her fingers splaying across his scalp.

  ‘I wish I could do something as pleasant as this for you,’ he said.

  ‘I like to do it. Women get pleasure from pleasing men. Provided they like them.’

  ‘Some women wouldn’t like to hear that.’

  ‘They are bobos, estupido. Prudes. They have no pleasure in being women.’ She kneaded his shoulders with her thumbs and knuckles, pressing hard into the loosening muscle. ‘Stand up. I must be quick.’

  She unhooked the shower attachment, tested the temperature and held it above his head. Water and shampoo streamed down his face.

  ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Can you hold me?’ She put one hand on his shoulder and got upon the sides of the bath, a foot on either edge. He held her by the hips. She swayed against him a little, laughing. Once she nearly slipped and he had to grip her wet hips tightly. When she had finished she got nimbly down. ‘I must go to Carlos. Can you prepare for the next part? Empty the bath and put the lilo on the floor here, where I am, and cover it in hot water and soap so it is all slippery.’ She began drying herself.

  ‘Right.’ He wanted to be businesslike. ‘Both sides or one?’

  ‘You can only lie on one.’

  ‘And me?’

  ‘You?’

  ‘What should I do about myself?’

  ‘Don’t do anything. Stay as you are.’ She put on her underclothes. ‘But lock the door.’

  ‘Why are you so worried about the door if they’re all doing this? They won’t want to come out.’

  ‘Sometimes they want more than one girl or they want to see what the others are doing. They are generals, remember. But it is unlikely today. They are very full and lazy. They will just lie there and the girls will have to work very hard.’ She opened the door carefully and looked round it before slipping away.

  Being alone and naked in a windowless room was even more like how he imagined prison to be. He wondered how long the generals would be imprisoned, what Carlos would have done with them. Presumably nothing too unpleasant. There was no need for firing-squads or anything like that, though he could imagine that Carlos might have a vicious streak. He cleaned the bath thoroughly and got to work on the lilo. Twice he slipped on the wet tiled floor when the lilo moved as he scrubbed it. He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed simply to cover it with hot soapy water so that it would be welcoming, or whether there was also a cleansing function. He opted for the latter, not knowing who might have been there before.

  Afterwards, wanting the towel back on, he balanced on the chair and tried to unfasten it from the air-conditioner. He had got one end off when he heard Theresa’s knock. Trying to get down quickly, he slipped and fell to the floor, hurting his elbow and hip.

  She was solicitous, predicting bruises. They righted the chair and both stood on it again to reposition the towel. Her skin was wet and where the dressing-gown touched her body it clung. When she took it off he could see that her underclothes and stockings were soaked.

  ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘The same as with you but Carlos likes me to keep these on. I told you. I don’t like it and it’s uncomfortable when they’re wet.’ She took them off.
‘Can you make the lilo wet again? It’s drying.’

  He held the lilo still with his knees, kneeling modestly so as not to present his buttocks to her. It must, he felt, be the least appealing of all his unappealing aspects.

  ‘Lie on your stomach,’ she said.

  He lay with his chin on his hands. The dips and swellings of the lilo beneath him were teasing. She filled a red plastic bowl with more soapy water and knelt beside him, rubbing him gently from neck to heel with her wet hands.

  ‘This is more than pleasant,’ he said, feeling he should say something.

  ‘I’m sorry I have to be quicker than I like.’

  ‘Carlos is impatient for more?’

  ‘Yes. Also, I listened at some of the other doors. They are getting on quite fast. We don’t have much time.’

  ‘You’ll tell me when I have to signal Arthur? I’ll need to get dressed, you see.’

  ‘I think you will.’ She laughed and tipped some water over his back. It trickled swiftly down his sides and formed a stream down his spinal column. The remainder she tipped down her own back, her head bent forward and one hand protecting her hair. Then she lay on him, her back against his, and began moving slowly up and down. She pressed quite hard with her shoulders and slid her buttocks backwards and forwards over his, aided by the soapy water. Her hands gripped the sides of the lilo and her knees were raised so that she could push with her feet. Twice she slid right down the backs of his legs and up again.

  She rolled off him and picked up the bowl. ‘Turn over.’

  It was an effort to move. He was very comfortable and bits of him had been pressed into the declivities of the lilo. He heaved himself inelegantly round while she put more hot water in the bowl. He surveyed the unwelcome spread of his belly, now – thanks to the lilo – adorned by red weals. Her stomach had dips and hollows where his bulged. She smiled as she covered his front with water and then did the same to her own, dipping both hands in the bowl and running them over and under her breasts and down her belly.

  She lay on him, her hands against the sides of his face. Her elbows rested on the lilo and she pushed herself up and down while he rested his hands lightly on her shoulders.

  ‘This is body massage?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do most people have this?’

  ‘Usually, unless they are poor. But not many poor people come here.’

  ‘And do they – you know – is it just massage usually?’ He winced. One section of the lilo had deflated and his coccyx was being ground against the tiled floor as she moved.

  ‘It depends on the man and on the girl. Sometimes the man doesn’t want to, or can’t, and sometimes he is horrible and the girl has enough money for the week and so she will not. But if she likes him – well, you know, even if he has not much money.’ She slithered the length of his body, down and up. ‘Or perhaps the girl is tired. It is quite hard work if you do it properly. There is not really time for more than three in an evening because she has to get dressed again and put on her make-up and everything.’

  She rotated her pelvis into his. He held his breath as his coccyx was rotated in turn on a crack in the tile. He didn’t want her to stop but his mind was focused almost entirely on the pain.

  ‘Most of the men who come here are married?’ he asked.

  ‘Nearly all. And they tell their wives they are going for massage and that it is only massage, it is not sex.’

  She turned over again and slid up and down on her back. Then, with the adroitness which he felt rather than saw, she turned about, slid her legs between his and lay back so that they were like open scissors meeting, crotch to crotch.

  The relief of pressure on his coccyx was blissful. She rotated tantalisingly. He stared at the ceiling. ‘Their wives must know,’ he said.

  ‘Of course. The men always lie to their wives and the wives lie to themselves.’

  ‘Do the wives really mind, do you think?’ It was pleasing to talk dispassionately, as if nothing else were happening.

  ‘Yes, they mind. How can they not? But you cannot change men. The only wives who do not mind have no longer any interest in their men, but even they would have minded once.’ She sat up. ‘I must go, I have been too long. What is the matter?’

  ‘It’s all right – it’s just – you see, the thing went down and when you pressed there—’

  ‘But you should have said.’ She got up, laughing. When he stood she examined his coccyx. ‘Yes, there is a mark. It will bruise. Now you will have three, with your elbow and hip.’ She sqeezed his hand. ‘You are silly, William. You must be more careful when you take your clothes off.’

  ‘I shall. Now, what next?’

  ‘Put away the lilo and the bowl. Next we move to the bed.’ She began putting on her underclothes.

  ‘You’re going to do the same with Carlos now?’

  ‘Yes. It hurts me, you know, the bra hurts my breasts when I press on them.’ She fiddled with the strap. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, for him to want me in my underclothes? Perhaps he will start wearing them. Some men are like that. He will be very impatient now. He cannot bear to be kept waiting.’

  William tidied up when she had gone, making everything neat and exact. He straightened the red cover on the bed but did not get on it. He wished again there were no mirror above. Perhaps they could get under the cover to do whatever was done next. There didn’t seem very much left to do, short of doing it. Perhaps that was it. She was now doing with Carlos what she had been doing with him. Could she be intending to make love with them both? Or was she prepared to do all this with him because she felt sure she wouldn’t be forced to go on and do more? He realised with some surprise that he no longer minded very much one way or the other. He wanted to make love with her, of course, but it no longer upset him to think that he wouldn’t, or even that she might be doing it with Carlos. Yet he believed he loved her. He longed to help, to surprise, to please, to feel her dependent, to care for her. But the sex, the simple sheer sex, didn’t seem important in the way it had.

  He was still musing when she knocked. She slipped in and put her hands on his arms. ‘You are unhappy. What is the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. I was thinking.’

  ‘You have bad thoughts?’

  ‘No, no. I always look like this when I’m thinking. My face relaxes.’

  She gripped him. ‘No more thought. We must act.’

  She explained that when she had left him she had found that Carlos had been out of his room, looking for her. Fortunately, he had not gone far, because he had become intrigued to know what Manuel and the two generals were doing. He had listened at one or two of the doors – luckily not theirs – and had heard that things were well under way. One door had been unlocked so he had opened it and peeped in unobserved. What he had seen had so amused him that he had had to retreat to his room, doubled up. Only there could he laugh. He was still laughing when she got back. He was on the lilo now. She had left him because she had said she must give the signal, but he had made her promise she would be back in time to finish him off. If he was not finished, he would be angry and then he was quite capable of upsetting the whole thing. But the others were now at their most vulnerable stage; they would be helpless and humiliated. William must tell Arthur.

  She was still gripping his arms as he pulled her to him and kissed her on the lips. She neither resisted nor responded. When he stopped she moved her head back.

  ‘You must hurry.’ She went to the door. ‘You must be quick. Don’t forget your clothes.’

  ‘No. I’m sorry I kissed you.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ She hesitated as if to speak again, but turned and went.

  William dressed quickly. When he put his foot on the chair to tie his shoelace he felt the whole of his leg shake, though in himself he felt calm and fatalistic. It was everything else that seemed to be getting out of control.

  Box was alone in the smaller bar, a dark room with racing prints on the walls, and an open fire. He was co
ncealed behind a German newspaper but was obvious by his polished shoes – his special shoes, William remembered. There was a glass of whisky on the table.

  ‘All right,’ said William. ‘They’re ready.’

  The newspaper remained still. William shut the bar door. ‘We’re okay, it’s me.’

  Box lowered his paper. ‘Open the door.’

  ‘Isn’t it better closed?’

  ‘Looks odd.’

  William opened it. Someone was playing the piano again. ‘Right. They’re all ready but we’ve got to move fast.’

  ‘Important to stick to operational procedures even when they seem unnecessary. Perhaps especially then, so that the habit sticks. You should have waited for me to speak.’

  ‘Okay, but we’d better get moving.’

  Box folded his paper. ‘Never show haste. Important to reassure the troops. If you panic, they’ll panic. The essentials of a good officer are a cool manner, a reliable wristwatch, a steady blow on the whistle and an exemplary death on the parapet. It’s all a matter of setting the tone. The men will do the rest themselves.’

  William could see only one glass on the table. There was no sign of a bottle. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ Box downed the whisky. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes. I just think we’d better get a move on, that’s all.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s only nerves. They make good servants but bad masters. You’ll get the better of them as you become more experienced.’ He stood and stretched.

  ‘I just think we should hurry, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s how it takes you. Try not to think about it. Pretend we’re doing something quite different. But keep your eye on the ball.’ He put the newspaper under his arm. ‘Keep close to me. We may need your Spanish.’

  On the way out Box waved his newspaper imperiously at El Lizard, who nodded and smiled. William felt a spasm of guilt. The man was shortly to have his club invaded by soldiers and his most prestigious clients arrested. He was to be unwitting host to a coup or a revolution or counter-revolution or whatever it would be called. On the other hand, there should be no violence and it should be good publicity for the club. Carlos would no doubt continue to patronise it and the new generals and ministers would doubtless continue where their predecessors had left off. William smiled back.