The Hermit

by Thomas Rydahl

  – Fine, she says, setting her wineglass on the table. – It’s better that way.

  – Do you mean that?

  – You’re a no-good louse, that’s what I mean. My boy trusts you more than anyone… Even me. And now you’re just abandoning him.

  Erhard stiffens. – I’m not abandoning him.

  – Oh, no need to explain. I knew this would happen. First Lui, and now you.

  Erhard doesn’t know who Lui is, but he guesses that it’s Aaz’s father or some other significant person in his life. – I never made any promises. I’m a… a taxi driver.

  – No you’re not, you bastard. You’re a, you’re a…

  He knows what she means. – I’m not his father.

  They fall silent.

  He watches her lock the door behind her.

  – Let me drive you, he says, and kind of hopes she’ll say no.

  – No thanks.

  – Mónica, I didn’t know you felt this way about us.

  – You’re blind to what’s right in front of you.

  – I’ve been busy the past few days, I’ve been…

  – You’ve been out playing detective. Trust me, I’ve called your office. Your secretary doesn’t know where you’ve been. She tried to cover for you.

  She’s right. He has been playing detective. When it comes right down to it, he’s just a tired old man.

  – You want to ride with me? he says. – My car’s right around the corner.

  – And you can stop pretending to be a gentleman, too. She starts walking towards the road, probably heading to where the Puerto bus stops. The bus Aaz isn’t allowed to take. – You’re not as friendly as you look.

  – We had a good, um, time recently. What happened?

  His legs are longer than hers, but she moves swiftly and he’s forced to trot beside her like a desperate street peddler.

  She says nothing. When they reach the road she stops abruptly, and a lorry rumbles speedily past them.

  – Nothing happened, Erhard.

  – What about all that talk of yours that you liked quiet men?

  – That’s just something women say to get quiet men to relax, to talk. No one likes quiet men. Not even quiet women.

  – I can drive you wherever you want to go. The bus might not be here for another hour or two.

  She glances at her slender wristwatch. The road is deserted. The attendant at the petrol station watches them. Tuineje is one of those towns tourists don’t dare visit. The people who live here prefer to be left in peace, but they’re too afraid to leave civilization behind. Erhard would hate to live here. He’d rather have the genuine article: the life, stench, and colour of the city or the silent, empty expanse of desolate country.

  – OK, but I still think you’re an asshole.

  They walk to his car. He wants to open the door for her, but he doesn’t. They climb in, and he drives towards Puerto. When he asks her where she wants to go, she says downtown, close to Juan Tadeo Cabrera.

  Erhard feels an urge to explain why he should no longer drive Aaz, but he’s afraid to make her even more uncomfortable. Besides, she’s too upset, and she takes things personally. Still, he can’t help himself. The words stumble from his mouth. – It’s for Aaz’s sake, he says. – And yours.

  – What kind of ridiculous excuse is that?

  – If something happened to him, it would be… it would be unforgivable.

  – You’re scaring me, Erhard. What do you mean?

  – If someone were to mistakenly… or if someone wanted to hurt me… if he were to… or if my car… or… I don’t know.

  – What are you talking about?

  Her voice trembles with anger bordering on hysteria. She starts to hyperventilate.

  – Stop, he says. – Nothing’s going to happen to him. That’s why I’m telling you all this. He’s not going to get mixed up in anything. Nor will you.

  Her eyes are wet and smeared. He finds some Kleenex in the glove box.

  – It’s just a precaution, he adds. For now. Once this is all over, maybe I can drive him again.

  – No, she says. – No more. The boy… He’s been through so much. He doesn’t need any more part-time fathers or people who let him down.

  Welcome to reality, Aaz, Erhard thinks.

  – What if we tell him that I’m on a trip? That I won’t drive him for a few weeks?

  Erhard hates it when he tries to solve problems and comes up with a solution he himself doesn’t even like.

  – All or nothing. And since you’ve just told me that you’d be putting him in danger, the answer is self-evident.

  – I didn’t say he’d be in danger.

  – But that’s what you mean, isn’t it?

  – I don’t know, Erhard says.

  But deep down, he knows that’s exactly what he means. If Ema is Emanuel Palabras, and if Emanuel is somehow behind the hijacking of the Seascape Hestia, and if he’s given his gorilla orders to kill Erhard, and if he’s exiled his own son or whatever the hell happened, and if he’s tricked Erhard into his position as director for God knows what reason – perhaps to keep an eye on him, which means that Palabras knows as well as Erhard that right now Emanuel Palabras’s name is all over this case – then Erhard is in danger now, and so too are Aaz and Mónica. Or maybe he’s blowing things out of proportion, and maybe it’s just a coincidence that it was Emanuel Palabras’s cargo that disappeared. It’s possible that Beatriz mouthed Emanuel’s name because she wanted to speak to him. It’s possible that Palabras offered the directorship to Erhard because he’d earned it.

  – I just mean… I need to get some things under control. It would be better if I focused on them for the next few months. As soon as I’ve managed that, I can drive Aaz again. I promise.

  – So you’re telling me he’s not in danger, but you’d prefer to have it your way. Other children might understand that, but not Aaz. He needs you. He… He thinks the world of you. One can’t just pick and choose one’s friends.

  – Are you saying that, or Aaz?

  – Listen. When you act like this, we’re just not interested in your company. We’re through. You’re not to drive Aaz any more, you’re not to stop by just because you happen to be in the neighbourhood, and you’re not to invite us to dinner. I’m letting you go.

  They arrive in Puerto. Mónica’s remark would’ve been better timed had she been getting out of the car at the same time, but they’re racing along at fifty miles per hour.

  – And if you haven’t already figured it out, she says, if you’re worse at catching signals than some broken antennae on some shitty TV, then I have a date now, right now. With a man who is handsome and successful and… nice.

  – Close to Juan Tadeo Cabrera, you said? Which end of the street?

  – Are you a taxi driver again?

  – I promised to bring you, and that’s what I’m doing.

  She rummages feverishly in her purse and throws some bills and euros on the floor. – Then here’s your money, you asshole. Keep the change. We want nothing from you.

  – Didn’t you tell me that there wasn’t room for a man in your life? What did I misunderstand?

  – Oh for God’s sake.

  They are stopped at a red light; she opens the door and leaps out, dashing across the street as a car honks its horn behind Erhard. He watches her go, but when she turns the corner, he doesn’t dare follow her.

  For a moment after the light turns green, he makes no effort to drive and lets the car behind him honk. He stares down the street expecting the sea to swallow vehicles, shops, and the chain-smoking washer woman on the corner with her laundry basket and two dogs. Maybe the entire island will flood and the earth and everything on it will be rinsed clean. Beginning with him.

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  64

  He arrives at the office and heads down the corridor as if he expects a group of men in sunglasses to jump him at every door. He doesn’t know where else to go – and he figures Palabras won’t try
anything here. Surely it’s no coincidence that they attacked him at home.

  Just as he’s taken his seat and regained his composure, Ana enters. She’s working late on a Saturday. If Marcelis was here, they would probably be shagging.

  We’ve got problems, she says, then proceeds to explain how three drivers are criticizing the deal they’d struck with the harbour. They are arguing in the courtyard. Where’s Marcelis? he wants to know. At home, she says, and the look on her face suggests that she’s called him several times. For a moment he wonders whether it’s some kind of ambush. Perhaps Palabras and his sunglass-wearing friend are waiting for him down there. But the secretary seems genuinely shaken.

  He follows her to the workshop. She sizes him up strangely, as if there’s something she wants to tell him. But she says nothing, and once they reach the courtyard he loses interest.

  He’s spoken with these three men a few times. They’re standing off to the left side of the workshop, puffing out their chests and gesturing wildly as four or five others look on. Gustavo, a dark-skinned man with a beard, was to pick up a customer down at the harbour. By request. But Luís – loudmouthed, slightly cross-eyed Luís – apparently believes that Gustavo should have to park in the queue like everybody else. Manni somehow agrees with both Luís and Gustavo, or maybe he’s got an entirely different opinion altogether, because he’s standing between the two men and yipping at them as if they’ve misunderstood something. He might be trying to mediate between them by working them into a lather. It’s a heated confrontation that appears mere seconds away from breaking into a full-blown fight.

  – I remember you, Luís Hernaldo, Erhard says. They hadn’t noticed him arrive, and they turn to him, surprised. – I remember how you were the one always saying that good drivers earned the regular customers. We need to be where the customers are, you said. Isn’t that so, Luís?

  Luís eyes Erhard. – What’s your point, Hermit?

  – Now Gustavo is you, and you are me. Ambition comes with youth, justice with age. Isn’t that what people say? Erhard has sidled between the three men. – Thanks, Manni, Erhard says, shaking Manni’s hand, deliberately formal. As if to say, Management is now officially involved. Manni shrugs, then lumbers to his car.

  – I’ll give each of you one minute to tell me what happened. This isn’t a trial. You won’t get to defend yourselves, just explain your position. You first, Luís. You’ve got seniority.

  Erhard doesn’t care about seniority, but he knows that many drivers do, feeling that they merit respect, especially after years of working in a low-status occupation. And he knows that Luís – who loves everything about General Franco, big-bosomed babes in cheap magazines, and watching boxing matches on the widescreen TV down at the Yellow Rooster – needs to hear this sort of thing. It helps him to relax.

  He listens to their accounts. What becomes clear is that Gustavo simply provided good customer service. The customer had been in Gustavo’s taxi before, and liked him; he’d gotten his mobile number, and he’d specifically called to request a pick-up at the harbour when the ferry from Lanzarote arrived. Luís says it’s disloyal of Gustavo, that it’s against the rules the drivers have established; they’re supposed to share customers. This is an old argument, but Erhard can tell that, for Luís, much more is at stake. He doesn’t feel cheated, he feels dumb.

  – You raise a good point, Luís, Erhard says. – If anyone has sacrificed for the system, it’s you. Surely you’ve rejected many of these kinds of rides yourself in order to be loyal to the rest of us.

  Erhard knows, of course, that he’s manipulating Luís. Luís never turns down a customer. He has very few regulars, and those he has are mostly whores or sick people, who pay him extra to be picked up whenever they’re in dire need of a lift. While Erhard talks, he keeps his eye on Gustavo. It’s difficult to read his face.

  – At the same time, Luís, you also provide the best customer service that you can.

  – We don’t want to lose revenue because of a few cheaters, Luís says. Again. Some of the others grunt in agreement.

  – No. Instead, you hope for even more, Erhard says, watching Gustavo blink, confused.

  – Exactly, some of the drivers say.

  Luís looks around as if victory is his.

  – It’s only fair that everyone gets more when a good driver does the work.

  – That’s right, the drivers say, even though a few have begun to sense that the argument is headed in a different direction. But not Luís. Like a union boss who’s just won a settlement with the company, he shouts, YES!

  – I would like, this company would like, to put three euros in the communal pool for every driver who calls in a customer. Which is to say that drivers like Gustavo, who have a big network, can now earn money for those of you waiting in the queue.

  Silence. Gustavo stares at Erhard, puzzled, a hint of a smile in his eyes.

  – Good idea, one of the other drivers says.

  – Where will the money come from? another says.

  – We’ll just have to find the money somewhere, Bilal says. He’s a mechanic, but he’s got more business savvy than most of the others.

  – That’ll be my problem to deal with, Erhard says. – It won’t affect you. Trust me, I’ve been in your position. I want to make sure this is a good place to work, and it’s only the beginning. I’d like to change other things as well. But is this a compromise you can accept, Luís?

  Luís has no other choice but to say yes. Though he doesn’t seem to understand the math, or what it means for his wallet. But since the others are excited, he nods at Erhard, then steps out of the circle.

  Erhard walks over and shakes Gustavo’s hand. – I hope you know you’ve made the right choice. Drivers should never be punished for good customer service.

  – But you’re not giving out bonuses for it, either. You’re just giving the others a cut to wait on customers?

  – Yes, because they don’t know any better. When you start bringing in fifteen to twenty euros more a month for them, things will change. You’ll be their hero. Everyone wants to be the benevolent provider. What’s important is that you don’t stop doing what’s right.

  – What if a driver picks up someone who’d hailed him but calls it in saying it was on request? Will you pay three euros without checking?

  – I haven’t thought it completely through, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Maybe you can help me find a solution?

  Gustavo laughs, then turns serious. – I’ve only been a cabbie for three months and you’re asking me? The only reason I’m driving is to earn a little extra cash on the side.

  – On the side of what?

  – I’m a musician.

  – Drummer?

  – How do you know?

  – The way you move your arms. They seem a little more dexterous.

  Gustavo laughs again. – If you want my help, I’m happy to do so.

  – I’ll come get you next week, and then we’ll discuss all this.

  Erhard heads back to his office. It’s not until he reaches the stairwell that he realizes Ana is still behind him.

  – You took care of that rather well, she says softly.

  – Does that surprise you?

  – A little. Marcelis hates Luís.

  – Everyone hates Luís, but he’s been a taxi driver for more than twenty years.

  – Marcelis would have fired him.

  – And that would have been a mistake.

  – Where will you find the three euros?

  – No idea. I thought I’d peruse our agreements with local businesses. Maybe we can squeeze more money from them?

  – We’re already more expensive than TaxiVentura.

  – And so far as I know, they sell too low.

  – Marcelis isn’t going to like it if you don’t know where the money’s coming from. Just letting you know.

  Erhard is suddenly invigorated. He takes two steps at a time, forcing the younger Ana to jog after him.
<
br />   – You have a meeting with Alphonso Suárez this afternoon, she says once she catches up to him. – At 5.30.

  – Isn’t it too early for that? The casino hasn’t even been built yet.

  – I don’t know. Marcelis was the one who asked me to schedule the meeting. And it had to be on a Saturday, because Suárez likes to go out on Saturdays. Marcelis said it was important to strike a good deal.

  It’ll be another two years before they’ve completed construction. Such long-term planning is beyond Erhard’s comprehension. – OK, he says, closing his office door. For the first time, he feels an urge to study the accounts folder, which is lying on the table. For the first time, he feels an urge to be the director.

  But when he sits down at his desk, his unease returns.

  During the ten minutes his involvement in the drivers’ argument lasted, he hadn’t thought about the incident in his flat. But when night falls and he has to leave the office, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Unfortunately, there aren’t too many possibilities available to him. One by one he has shrugged off fragments of his old life, and there’s not much left. It’s his own fault.

  He needs to find a new place.

  He can’t stay in the flat. His downstairs neighbour is surely keeping tabs on him, and who knows how many men they’ll send next time? He can’t stay at his own house, either. All that he once appreciated about that place – the isolation, the distance to his neighbours, the whistling of the wind – is very much a disadvantage when one is being hunted by thugs and murderers.

  Miza, Solilla. The only two people remaining in his life, the only ones who trust him, who would let him sleep on their sofa if he asked. But he doesn’t want to involve them. Not the way it’s going now. Who knows what will happen when Palabras and the man with sunglasses grow even more desperate? It’s kind of embarrassing to tally up his friendships and only get to two, and it’s not like he’s close to either of them. Until recently, he’d felt that he had more friendships than he could spare, but now they’ve all ground to a permanent halt. He’s a superficial person, he thinks, who never ventures to that level where things become meaningful. Usually, this recognition triggers one of his more unbridled benders; he’ll find his keys in one place, his wallet in another, and himself in yet a third. But today, such a thought holds no appeal to him. Today he’d rather be wide awake and miserable than numbed by Lumumbas.