The Hermit

  – The corpse?

  – The dead girl in Beatrizia’s coffin. Who was she?

  Erhard stiffens. They must have found Bea’s body in the flat.

  – She was the one you had killed at my place in Majanicho. The prostitute. I saved Bea from you. That’s what I did.

  Emanuel Palabras laughs. It unsettles Erhard, because the information genuinely seems new to Palabras – And how did that turn out?

  – But I wasn’t the one who killed her. It was you and your son and your disturbed henchman, Juan Pascual.

  – From what Michel Faliando told me, you were the one who turned off the respirator. Even though he told you not to.

  – She was suffering. She wasn’t going to make it.

  Palabras must have gotten his clutches on the doctor, Erhard thinks.

  – Who is deciding who lives and who dies now?

  – You’re manipulating my words.

  – Don’t we all?

  – So what now? Are you taking me out on the sea and throwing me overboard? You might as well. Whatever happens, the story will come out. A journalist is writing it as we speak.

  – I do have an urge to drown you, I admit. Not me personally, of course. Charles. It would make everything easier. But Charles’s leg still bothers him, and, in spite of everything, I don’t wish you any harm.

  – Juan Pascual says otherwise. He tried to strangle me earlier tonight. On your orders.

  – You’re not listening to me. I have nothing to do with this Pascual. And I’ve not asked anyone to kill you. I admit that I asked my friend at police headquarters to arrest and interrogate you, but I also got you out again. You said nothing to the young policeman. I couldn’t have asked for more loyalty from you. I’d hoped you would hop on the boat this afternoon and we could get you to Morocco so you could live with a sweet little lady in a clay hut, but then you suddenly bolted. You ran from Charles and got a horrible haircut, and then you were gone. Next time I hear from you you’re bloody raving mad and telling me I’m behind everything.

  – You hired Juan Pascual, and you hijacked your own ship so you could get the insurance money. You killed your own son and gave me his goddamn job so you could keep an eye on me. You would have killed Beatriz, too, if you’d known she was alive.

  Palabras sighs. – Show him, he tells Charles.

  Charles nudges Erhard towards the red door. They enter a large room illuminated by another powerful lamp, on the ceiling, which throws light like in a brooding box. Like curious cats, the Maasai girls follow, clinging to Erhard and giving off an aroma of incense.

  There is a wheelchair and an IV rack in the centre of the room, along with another chair. A person is sitting in the wheelchair. Her head is fastened to the headrest, and her bathrobe is wet with drool. A moment passes before Erhard realizes that it’s Beatriz. His heart thumps. At once confused and happy, miserable and angry. He thought he’d seen her for the last time in the flat. He’d said his goodbyes. And yet here she is. Resurrected. Or resuscitated. There’s no respirator. Instead she’s breathing great gulps of air, as if the air is thin, and her head jerks up and down. She’s trembling.

  Erhard can’t speak.

  – Hello. A distant, tired voice behind the wooden door.

  But Erhard sees only Beatriz. What she is. What he’s turned her into. Her body, her name, her life. Everything is gone. Because he heard a voice that said Help me, let me go.

  Palabras rests a hand on her shoulder. – Faliando contacted me because he was worried. Smart of him. He told me everything. That you’d hidden her, washed her, and everything else. Impressive, but also rather deranged, if you ask me. I’ll never understand why you did it, but you must have had your reasons. You didn’t fuck her, that much is clear. The doctor checked.

  – I don’t owe you an explanation.

  – You could at least do your job and not get involved. When will you understand? I gave you an opportunity. But you destroy everything for yourself.

  – Hello?

  The voice again. This time it’s accompanied by a heavy pounding on the door.

  Palabras makes a sign to Charles to do something. – I thought you’d taken care of him?

  – He should’ve gone out like a light, Charles says.

  – Who’s in there? Erhard asks, starting towards the door.

  – Hello? Erhard?

  Erhard recognizes the voice now. It’s darker and gruffer, as if unused for months. But there’s no doubt about it. It’s his.

  – Raúl? Raúl, what the hell?

  – Erhard!

  Charles blocks the door and fumbles to unlock the large, black padlock. – Be quiet! I’ve told you to be quiet.

  – Why’s he in there? Erhard asks, staring uncomprehendingly at the lock.

  – Let me out, Erhard! Make them let me out.

  – What the hell’s he doing in there?

  – Stay out of it, Palabras says angrily, poking his cane between Erhard and Charles to block him. But Erhard’s already on his way over. He covers his head with his arms and throws himself against Charles with all his might. Unable to steel himself for the blow, the big man slams against the door, popping it from its hinges. Erhard and Charles tumble in a heap to the floor, and in the light filtering into the dark, narrow room Erhard sees Raúl – a changed Raúl wearing a tracksuit, with a beard and long, wild hair. He reminds Erhard of a thin, sinewy version of Saddam Hussein on the day he was pulled from the cave in Adwar. With a confused glimmer in his eyes and a crazed expression. Raúl glances at Erhard and Charles a moment, then uses Charles’s cast as a launching pad and rushes from the room, as if he’d been waiting for just this opportunity. Erhard tries to stand, but has difficulty breaking free from the big man howling in pain beside him. His cast is broken apart, and his leg – paler than the cast – is sticking out. He shouts something Erhard doesn’t understand. For the first time, Erhard wonders if the man is French or Flemish or something else. His skin is lighter than most Spaniards’, his hair less curly.

  Now on his feet, Erhard hears Palabras yelling at the Maasai girls for help.

  – I’m coming, Charles says.

  Erhard turns to see Palabras lying on the floor, his mouth and beard bloodied, looking weak and old. The Maasai girls put on his glasses, but they sit crookedly on the bridge of his nose. They hand him his cane, which had apparently been flung to the other side of the room. One of the girls also has blood on her lips. Charles hobbles towards them as if tugged along by an invisible rope.

  – Let him go, Carlitos, Palabras says with difficulty. – No boat leaves the island tonight, so he can’t go anywhere until tomorrow morning. He’s a good swimmer, but he knows… that he can’t swim that far in the condition he’s in.

  Charles stares at Palabras, then limps out the door.

  – Carlitos, stop! Unable to shout, Palabras extends his hand. – Bloody obstinate employees doing what they please. He’s always wanted to give that boy a thrashing. He’s had his urges curbed these past few weeks, but he gets itchy every time there’s an opportunity.

  – What the hell are you doing? Raúl’s your son. Why were you keeping him locked up? Didn’t he want to go along with your plan?

  – Be quiet, you fool. You understand nothing. The boy’s behind everything. Don’t you see? I’ve tried to protect him, to keep him away. I love that dumb boy, but he can’t do anything right. He can’t even steal from his own father.

  Erhard stares at Palabras, trying to determine whether the man is speaking the truth or concocting more lies. Palabras’s dark eyes behind his slightly smudged glasses seem tired, almost dry, as if he hasn’t blinked in several minutes. – So what are you telling me? That Raúl was the one who hijacked the ship?

  – Not him personally, but he was behind it. He knew the people who could get the job done. Someone helped him, of course.

  – Juan Pascual?

  – You keep talking about this man. I’m talking about the big fish. Hardened old men, I should
say. Los Tres Papas.

  One of the girls brings Palabras a glass of milk, which he quickly and soundlessly gulps.

  – I thought you were one of Los Tres Papas.

  Palabras hands the glass back to the girl and tries to laugh, but raises his hand to the wound on his mouth instead. – I wanted to be. Once. But they were too small-scale for me. Everything they do is illegal. I’d rather mix it up, get the best of both worlds.

  He gestures at the Maasai girls as if they understand what he means. Maybe they do.

  – So if it’s Los Tres Papas, what about Raúl?

  – Raúl is Raúl. When he was a boy, he stole my wallet and bought a cigar-cutter for me made of gold. He’s always been like that, seeking to impress in all the wrong ways. But you helped him, you took the sting out of his pranks, made him stop and think. For some reason, he loved everything you said and did. But that girl over there, she made everything worse. He points at the wheelchair and what is left of Beatriz. – Because of her, he demanded more and more. More money, more power, a better job. He hated that job. Do you understand what I’m telling you? So I was warned. I feared this would happen. I tried to give him something to do, so he wouldn’t do anything foolish, but then, well, this happened.

  – She wasn’t the one. She never asked him for anything.

  – Quién sabe. Palabras throws up a hand. – The boy suddenly got too big for his britches, and he got stupid.

  Erhard doesn’t know what to believe. – So Raúl collaborated with Los Tres Papas on the hijacking?

  – He carried it out for them, the little shit.

  – How did you find out?

  – When he began to speak badly of you. Saying that he knew you were working under the table and helped Los Tres Papas dispose of that double-crosser Federico Molino.

  – Why did he say that?

  – Because he wanted someone to put you in the hospital, I think. He knew that if he did it I would help you, and it would get messy. So he tried to convince me to deal with you.

  Erhard settles in the chair beside Beatriz.

  – Why?

  – I didn’t understand, either. I told him that I would look into it, but instead I began to investigate him.

  – And?

  – We sensed something was wrong when Mario, Charles’s nephew, saw Raúl driving out to your place, even though you were at Raúl’s flat. He pushed some girl off your roof.

  – Mario? Thin guy with big teeth? Erhard recalls the young man who sat across from La Mar Roja the morning he ran into Raúl.

  – He’s not built like Charles, that’s for sure.

  – So Charles, or this Mario, went to Raúl’s flat, beat up Beatriz, and dragged Raúl out here?

  – Not quite. We didn’t find out about Beatriz until you called the police. We followed Raúl when he and that other asshole returned to the flat and left a short time later. They were very busy, racing from the basement towards the harbour, obviously headed somewhere. When Raúl was alone in the car, talking on his mobile, Charles and Mario got ahold of him. We dragged him onto a boat and brought him here.

  – The other guy was Pesce, Juan Pascual, Erhard says, mostly to himself. – What about the photo from the airport? The one the police mentioned, of Raúl on his way to a plane? And the passenger lists?

  – Let’s just say we helped them out.

  Erhard wants to follow that train of thought, but it’s pointless now.

  Raúl didn’t go abroad. He was here. There was no doubt. He came home from Majanicho after having killed Alina and, in a frenzy of anger and frustration, took everything out on Beatriz, bashing her skull right where he knew she was vulnerable. Hoping it was enough, he’d shoved her into the wardrobe.

  – You need to take care of her. Erhard points at Beatriz. – It’s your duty as a father-in-law. No matter what. See to it that she gets to a good hospital. Make sure she gets proper care.

  – You can’t make demands of me, says Palabras. Unconvincing.

  – To some degree, I can.

  Charles returns, his entire leg now jutting from the cast. – The boy’s down near La Rasca. He’s found a rowboat. I heard him shouting at Old Jorge.

  – What about the motor boat?

  – He didn’t see it.

  – So why don’t you stop him?

  – You told me to let him go.

  – Not if he’s fleeing the island!

  – Fuck, Charles says. He turns and leaves.

  Erhard drags himself out of his chair and runs after him. He hears Palabras shouting, but the darkness quickly swallows the sound. It’s getting late. The air is warm, grey in the moonlight. He scans for Charles’s white cast and his torch, which skitters like a finger across piano keys. They don’t follow the path, but cut across rocks instead. Twice Erhard slips and falls in his bare feet, struggling to keep pace with Charles. Every step on the sharp rocks hurts, but he forces himself forward.

  The coastline is around two hundred metres below Erhard; though the water is relatively calm, with just the faintest breeze from the south-west or west, the breakers seem unsteady. Erhard notices a few small cabins further down the coast, and he hears voices shouting from within them. Somewhere nearby, he hears shrill yelping from the Maasai girls, who’re searching for each other in the darkness. Charles makes his way towards the cabins, calling out, Where did he go? and waving his torch.

  If Raúl is rowing out of the little bay, Erhard thinks, then he’ll head south-west. But the current will push him out to sea east of the island. Rowing against the wind on the open sea will be difficult. It will take time and energy to circumvent the narrow peninsula. But he’s probably angry, and that will give him the strength to row like a madman for the first few hours.

  Instead of continuing towards the cabins, Erhard turns northward and picks up the pace. The moon is now behind the island, and everything is dark, so he uses his intuition and sets his feet down uncertainly, hoping they’ll find purchase in the soft earth. The crashing of waves tells him where the water is, and a gentle rustling indicates loose gravel and stone to his left. Judging by the sound of his bare feet against the rocks, the rock bed extends a little way.

  He reaches the isthmus. From here, there’s water on either side of him, and the rocks appear in varying shades of black. He moves carefully to the edge of the isthmus and gazes across the bay. It sounds as though Charles is trying to get another boat in the water. There’s the putt-putt of an engine failing to start, followed by the word Fuck!, and then finally the engine roars to life.

  The boat heads into the wind, southward. He sees Charles out on the water with his torch, and even though the light carries surprisingly far, it’s clear that he’s searching in the wrong area.

  The voice he heard cursing came from somewhere ahead of him. From here there’s no more than five metres of the isthmus remaining. Beyond that point, it merges with the wide, black Atlantic Ocean and there’s no land from there to Africa. Erhard continues cautiously, trying not to fall. Above the chop of the engine he hears a strange thumping sound. Like clogs kicking a bucket, driftwood ramming a pier, or a man who doesn’t know how to row a boat.

  Raúl Palabras is attempting to row the boat away from the rocks, his arms and oars all a-jumble. He pushes and paddles. Off in the distance, the motorboat’s engine begins to slowly fade. But Raúl’s movements become more and more desperate. Erhard studies the landscape, considering which rocks he can step on to get to the rowboat quickly, but at that instant Raúl gives his rowboat a powerful shove and it drifts four or five metres into the current. In the faint glow of the moonlight, Erhard watches Raúl arrange the oars in the oarlocks and put all his weight into his rowing. It’s slow going, but soon enough he’s past the last big rocks and outcroppings, and nearly indistinguishable from the dark water.

  Erhard wonders if he should call out for Charles in the motor boat. But he can no longer hear the engine. With a little luck, Erhard’s shouts would be heard down at the cabins. But since C
harles is out of earshot, too much time would likely pass before anyone from the cabins could relay the message to him by boat.

  Erhard scales down the rocks, then feels the cold water on his feet. He lowers himself into a squat, then into the water, and his trousers quickly become wet. And his t-shirt. He walks along the craggy shore, but even that soon disappears, and he starts swimming towards the spot where he last saw the rowboat. The waves, which seemed like small ripples from above, now resemble hills crashing on top of him, and he struggles to inhale and hold his breath so as not to swallow too much water. He’s not a good swimmer, but he’s always been strong and durable. Yet now he feels the past few days on his body. For a moment he feels strong, but as soon as he’s free of the rocks he’s overcome by exhaustion and the fear of swimming out into the darkness. If only he could see the rowboat, it would be easier, but he can see nothing.

  He has nothing to believe in now, he has no reason to be in the water, and yet he can’t help but continue. To stretch his arms and shoot his body through the water. The water seems cooler, and the waves – now free from Isla de Lobos – are taller and saltier. He considers calling out to Raúl, appealing to their friendship and asking him to pull him into the boat. But he’s certain that his shouts will only make Raúl row harder. He has nothing to gain by plucking Erhard out of the water. Their friendship is over, if it ever was anything more than a boy’s attempt to replace his father.

  It nearly strikes him in the head.

  Something hard and black that suddenly flies past him. He lifts one arm and just manages to avoid the blow. It’s a section of broken oar, the paddle and twenty or thirty centimetres of the shaft, water-logged and heavy. But it floats, and Erhard thrusts it ahead of him, using it as a paddle, his energy restored. He knows now that Raúl’s not getting very far. The wind will carry Erhard, and maybe with this oar he’ll manoeuvre closer to Raúl. With his feet, he begins to splash wildly. He can’t hear the splashing, but the waves feel livelier, and some of his exhaustion abates.

  The rowboat is close now, he can hear it, and also that strange thumping sound again. Briefly, over a wave, he spots the rowboat, then it’s gone, then it appears again. It’s approximately ten metres away from him. Raúl has lost his orientation, or he can’t control his boat, because he’s now facing Fuerteventura. He’s sitting sideways to Erhard, who’s swimming closer and closer. Soon Erhard hears Raúl cursing and talking to himself, shifting his oar from one lock to the other.