Estoril

by Dejan Tiago-Stankovic

  Urdăreanu again had to take charge. He took a deep breath and stepped forward. Effortlessly, he picked up the brunette and handed her over to Elena. Then he pulled the naked blonde off the toilet.

  Soon there were two naked young bodies in the big tub and a middle-aged woman rinsing them off with a shower hose, not gently the way a mother or lover might do it, but like somebody hosing down a dirty trough.

  ‘Girls, girls, you should be ashamed of yourselves! You, too, you old pervert!’ said Elena, yelling at the girls and at Ernest, who was helping her soap down the girls’ firm breasts and buttocks.

  Everything eventually settled down. Carol rose from his chair, holding his glass in his hand and the champagne bottle under his arm, and beckoned to Popov to follow him.

  The two friends sat down on the stoop of the side door to the villa, like two laggards in front of a church. Everything seemed more agreeable outside in the fresh air and silence.

  ‘Would you like a cigar? A Cuban cigar?’ the host asked his guest.

  ‘Wait, Your Majesty. I think I may have something you might like. I got hold of some green tobacco. First class; fishermen smuggle it in from Mauritania. It relaxes you. I’ll roll us each a cigarette,’ Popov offered, taking a case of tobacco and cigarette paper out of his pocket. When he finished rolling the cigarettes, each lit up for himself.

  ‘I am a lonely man,’ the king said, blowing blue smoke from his nose.

  The two tuxedoed men sat on the stoop in silence. Maybe for a minute, maybe for an eternity. They gazed out at the sea, into the night, as the sky slowly, imperceptibly, changed colour, as if somebody behind them was adding milk to the darkness, drop by drop. Popov broke the silence.

  ‘Your Majesty... Carol... I’d love to sit here with you longer but it’s time to get some sleep... I have to go.’

  The king choked on the smoke.

  ‘This is superb tobacco you’ve got here, Dušan.’

  They fell silent again. The only sound came from the soft rustling of awakening nature, the wind and the birds chirping. And then a cry ripped through the air. An unpleasant, inhuman screech. The two men looked in the same direction. A bird was prancing in the clearing in front of the hedges. Its neck thrust forward, it trailed a long tail, the way a king drags his long mantle in picture books.

  In the half-dark, the peacock was simply a silhouette, its beauty invisible, its dance merely disturbing the air. But with the first rays of the still pale sun, the bird, mesmerized by the attention, strutted like a cock waiting for a fight: it spread wide its tail on the ground and when each of its golden eyes was in place it slowly lifted the entire display and calmed down. As colour infused the monochrome dawn the light slowly changed. The royal blue of the peacock’s breast, the colourful fan of its gold-studded tail, and its royal crown began to blaze. Hidden in the semi-darkness between two burning cigarettes were two pairs of eyes that had never seen anything so beautiful. The king took a deep drag on his cigarette, waited for a second, and then exhaled it through his nose before speaking.

  ‘Popov, what do you think?’ He hesitated before finishing his question. ‘Do you eat those?’

  ‘What do you mean “those”?’ Popov did not understand.

  ‘Those,’ pointed the king.

  ‘The peacock...? Hmm... It must be gamey?’

  ‘That’s what I thought. You’d have to marinate it first...’ the king decided.

  TODAY IS TOMORROW’S YESTERDAY

  The warring sides are issuing assurances that ships sailing under the flags of neutral countries are not in danger. In town, especially in refugee circles, rumours keep circulating about new forms of transport. Basque fishermen are reportedly taking people to French Morocco at a more reasonable price, but nobody knows where or how to go on from Casablanca, or if they can stay there. South American ships, which until now have sailed to Rio, Buenos Aires and Havana, will reportedly start sailing to New York and Boston because trips to North America are more profitable now: the travel time is shorter, the tickets more expensive – the cheapest is three hundred and fifty dollars – and, most important of all, the ships have started coming back full of passengers. It is becoming increasingly clear that the United States will enter the war on the side of the Allies, and so German citizens are expected to start returning to Europe, via Lisbon of course.

  The Portuguese ship Mouzinho de Albuquerque is expected to sail to New York again. It has a capacity of 620 beds, perhaps more in the current circumstances, but nobody yet knows when it is departing or where the tickets can be bought. If, as they say, the Spanish freighter Navemar, which has been quickly converted into a passenger ship, joins the Mouzinho, Lisbon would be suddenly relieved of 1,200, mostly third class souls. Forged tickets for the two ships have been showing up on the black market, but the public has been warned and the fraudsters, two foreign nationals, have been arrested and taken to court.

  The only thing we can say with certainty is that the Excambion, a big, blue-hulled ship sailing under the American flag, sets sail today. The Excambion is moored at the pier where it was often berthed even before the war, when, as one of the famous ‘4 Aces’ ships, it took Americans on tours of the Mediterranean. Since there is no tourism now, the cruise liner has been engaged to transport refugees, with up to 200 first class beds.

  Relevant to our story is the fact that among the passengers sailing on the Excambion is a controversial couple: ex-King Carol II and Elena Lupescu. They are travelling incognito.

  * * *

  Ex-King Carol II of Romania had arrived in Portugal a few weeks earlier with a clear plan to get out of Europe as quickly as possible.

  Immediately upon arrival, during the first round of visits that Carol’s Court Minister Urdăreanu made to the Allied powers’ embassies, it had been made clear that soon they would not be able to count on obtaining entry visas for Great Britain, or even its colonies. He had a similar impression about the United States. The king reacted by changing his instructions.

  ‘Forget the big powers, Ernest. Find me somebody who won’t mind a loser like me and who doesn’t mind whose money it is.’

  This did not mean that Carol was now apathetic, just that he had had enough. After the unpleasantness of being held virtually hostage in Spain, Estoril felt like a spa. He was treated with the utmost respect here, but without too much pomp or ceremony, as if he were a real king on an unofficial visit to a friendly country. But it gave him no illusion of momentary power or value on the political market. He knew that his political and family history disqualified him from any such consideration. Still, he was aware, and with reason, that the social status he had by virtue of birth and wealth required that he be treated with a certain level of dignity.

  The question of dignity had been tested on his relative, the Duke of Windsor, whose situation, similar to Carol’s in many ways, had been resolved in this same place only a few months before. The fate prescribed for Edward sent out a clear message to everyone: if you violate the code of conduct defined by your social status, the fact that you are a direct descendant of Queen Victoria and a Russian tsar and closely related to all the rulers of Europe will not help you.

  The similarity between the two cases stemmed from the fact that both men had renounced their crown and were left without any actual power. Edward’s behaviour was the more arrogant. As soon as he was degraded to Duke of Windsor, which he experienced as a personal slight, he moved to France and married his mistress, the fatal Mrs Wallis Simpson. So it was that a commoner, an American, a woman twice divorced with both husbands still living, became sister-in-law to the King and Queen of England, and aunt to the princesses who were next in line to the throne. That same year, in 1937, Edward and Wallis paid a private visit to Germany where they were welcomed with great ceremony. They met Adolf Hitler and visited an SS division. The family dispute culminated last spring as France was falling. Disregarding the German advance from the northern front, Edward stayed in the South of France until London ordered him to ret
urn home. He placed himself at the disposal of the crown, offering to actively join in the fighting as captain of a ship, provided that his younger brother granted him a brief audience, no more than twenty minutes, and that he could bring along his wife. Not only did London refuse this blackmail, it did everything it could to make his stay in Portugal one long humiliation, from his first day to his last. The British embassy completely ignored its former sovereign, his family did not answer his letters, and Churchill communicated with him mostly by telegram, using the imperative, as if he were no different from any other conscript. Nobody was prepared to mention the Duchess, not even as Mrs Simpson.

  Carol had heard the story from a witness to the entire drama, a Portuguese banker who had hosted the Windsors during their stay in Portugal. Even taking into account the prejudice of the sleazy banker, Ricardo something, who was a great supporter of the Nazis, it was quite a story.

  ‘In the end, they simply informed him that he had been appointed Governor of the Bahamas.’ Edward took his appointment to a third-rate colony as an insult.

  Carol hoped to fare better. He figured that being a small monarchical fish would make it easier for him. He also knew that he had not done anything that would call for such severe punishment or for making an example out of him. True, Europe’s aristocracy was rather offended when he replaced his Greek princess with a commoner of dubious morals, but that was ancient history and had happened in better families too. On the other hand, he did not seek a place for Elena in the self-important tribe of European monarchs. As for Germany, Carol had himself met with Hitler, but only in a desperate attempt to save his country from war.

  Carol swallowed his pride, making it clear that he did not want to provoke anybody. He had no special wishes and he set no conditions. He did not pull strings. He did not exert pressure. He just wanted to be allowed to leave Portugal, that was all. He instructed Ernest to make it known that the former king wished to get as far away from Europe as possible and that he had enough money to guarantee that he would not be a burden to anybody. While they waited for an answer, he forgot his worries and enjoyed the Estoril Riviera with Elena.

  The first country to offer him its hospitality was Cuba. He expressed great delight upon receiving the invitation. The Americans, who until then had been silent, kindly issued him a transit visa.

  * * *

  A crowd of reporters and photographers was waiting for them at the dock, in front of the Excambion. The king was surprised because he had asked the Portuguese authorities to make sure that there would be no unnecessary publicity. True, the local press was not there; the crowd consisted mostly of foreign correspondents over whom the Portuguese censors had no jurisdiction.

  Stepping out of the limousine in dark glasses and simple summer dress, Carol and Elena walked to the ship’s ramp as if the crowd had nothing to do with them. As soon as the reporters spotted them, they rushed over. The attending policemen made sure that there was no contact, using their bodies and weapons to shield the couple from curious intruders, but they could not stop the photographers from snapping photographs or the reporters from taking notes:

  The ex-King of Romania and his concubine arrived at the dock in their shiny limousine and pulled up right next to the ship’s ramp. Paying no attention to representatives of the press, they were taken to their cabins on the top floor of the ship, to what is known as the royal suite. The Excambion is both a passenger and a freight ship, which is the best solution for royal passengers. According to sources in the port of Lisbon, Carol and Elena are taking with them approximately two wagon-loads of trunks and a whole mountain of hand luggage, boxes and suitcases clearly marked with the gold royal crest and stickers saying ‘His Royal Highness King Carol II of Romania, to Cuba via New York’. They are also taking several servants and members of their entourage, along with the ‘royal pack’ of seven dogs. Carol’s former Court Minister Ernest Urdăreanu made a statement to the press, saying that His Highness had wanted to embark on this trip without any fuss, but it was not to be. Thanking Portugal for its hospitality in the king’s and his own name, he explained that they were going to Cuba rather than some other country because of its neutrality and pleasant climate. ‘The king is still in need of some rest,’ Urdăreanu said. ‘Quite clearly, His Highness will not engage in politics while he is outside of his country,’ he confirmed. He did not mention Mrs Lupescu.

  * * *

  The royal couple was personally welcomed on board in the royal suite by the ship’s captain. Standing next to him were Gaby and Popov. When the king saw them his face broke into a smile.

  ‘How wonderful that you are here, my friends. It would be sad if you were not here to see me off...’

  They all sat down to drink to a bon voyage. Even Elena, holding her third glass of gin and tonic since the morning, smiled; and her smile was sincere, almost. They had not been chatting for long when a white-clad sailor appeared at the door.

  ‘Half an hour until departure. All visitors on board are kindly asked to slowly disembark.’

  Clearly moved by this moment of parting and by the attention his young friends had paid him, the king said:

  ‘Before you leave, let me say that I hope to see you again. Duško, if not sooner then in Belgrade, to celebrate the end of the war.’

  ‘That’s a deal,’ said Duško, holding out what looked like a wooden box. ‘This is for you. That green tobacco, from Morocco. It will make your voyage pass more quickly. And as long as it lasts, it will make you think of me every day.’

  ‘You, Duško, are a true friend. I too have something for you to remember me by,’ he said, putting his gold cigarette case in the palm of Popov’s hand.

  Duško did not know that he would be using that cigarette case until his dying day. He died of lung cancer at the age of seventy.

  ‘As for you, Gavriel, let me again invite you to come with me. I asked Duško to bring your passport. You’ve got a visa, like us. Be smart; reconsider.’

  The boy looked downcast and stared at the floor.

  ‘You know that I can’t. My father told me to wait for them here.’

  Carol now looked dispirited himself. Visitors should have already disembarked from the ship, but they could not leave the king looking so sad. And so Gaby turned to Carol and implored:

  ‘Please, Your Highness, give me an order that is reasonable.’

  Since the king did not answer, Gaby hesitated for a few seconds, heaved a sigh and turned to leave.

  ‘Wait!’ Carol said. ‘Since you won’t listen to me, I’m changing my orders. I order you to stay in Europe, but in my service. As an ambassador. Is that a duty you can accept?’

  ‘But I don’t know how to do an ambassador’s job,’ confessed the boy.

  ‘Duško will explain it all to you, won’t you, Duško? He’s a past master at these things.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Your Highness,’ Popov promised.

  ‘Well then, Gavriel, I appoint you my ambassador to the Old World,’ said the ex-king. ‘I take this opportunity to congratulate Your Excellency on your new appointment!’

  As befitted his new title, the boy bowed rather more ceremoniously than before.

  ‘I will keep you informed of our movements,’ Carol said, using the formal mode of address, in accordance with Gaby’s new status. ‘You can join my court whenever you wish, because by virtue of your appointment you are now officially a part of it. In any event, you can count on my help. That I hope is clear. And write. I will write to you as well. Don’t worry that I may have forgotten your request; I will do everything in my power when the time comes... As soon as the circumstances are right.’

  The sailor in white knocked at the door again.

  ‘Sirs, I’m sorry, but this is the last call for visitors to disembark.’

  There was only enough time left for them to shake hands. Once they were alone again, the king went back out onto the private deck in front of their sitting room. Elena was there, lounging on a deck chair in the shade. They
had a splendid view of the city, and across the calm waters of the river they could see the thin mist-shrouded strip of the Tejo’s shoreline. Even when he closed his eyes, the wind, the salt smell of the air, the screeching of the seagulls above, would not let Carol forget that he was on a ship.

  The dogs padded around, sniffing at the corners of their new territory. Urdăreanu had disappeared somewhere. Everything had settled down; only the occasional servant passed by. Carol rolled himself a cigarette and sat down to read the newspaper.

  He supposed that this was the last time he would see his two young friends. What he could not even imagine was that only a few years later he would return to this city, married to Elena, that he would live here in Estoril until the end of his life, and be buried in the family tomb of distant relatives, who came from here and whose own dynasty had also been overthrown.

  * * *

  ‘He must be very fond of you for him to have made all this fuss about you,’ Duško said to the boy.

  ‘The king is a lonely man,’ the child said.

  They walked to the car, lost in thought.

  ‘Today is tomorrow’s yesterday, isn’t it?’ the boy asked out of the blue.

  Popov stopped for a second, as if he needed time to solve the riddle.

  ‘Something like that... I suppose.’

  DULCE ET DECORUM EST PRO PATRIA MORI

  They phoned Ivan early in the morning, waking him up. Mademoiselle Maristela wished to speak to him. By the time the call was transferred the person had already hung up. That was a signal from the Abwehr that it was urgent. At two in the afternoon he was sitting at the roulette table, across from Elizabeth. He arrived at von Karstoff’s villa just after four.

  He found a politely reserved von Karstoff, which made him even more nervous and suspicious.

  ‘As you probably already know,’ the German started their meeting by saying, ‘since our last encounter the geopolitical situation has changed. The Kingdom of Yugoslavia has capitulated.’