It's Just Lola (34 page)

“The sign says they’re closed,” called the shopkeeper from across the street. 

“When will he be back?”

“After the war
,
maybe.  Nobody goes touring with U-boats out there.
  That’s what he does, you know.  Gets a bunch of rich folk with nothing
better
to do
with their money,
and takes them off to Australia or some such.
”

She
wanted to sit on the step and cry, but the shopkeeper already thought she was illiterate
; she didn’t want him to think she was insane as well
.  She lifted her chin and walked back the way she had come. 
She walked for a long time with no particular destination in mind.  When her feet began to hurt
and her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten for hours
, she looked around and recognized the street.  It was near the hotel where they had stayed when they first arrived.  She
’
d walked these streets every day for weeks.
  At least she could rest her feet in the lobby.

“Señora
Atkins
, what
’
re you doing here?”  The lifted eyebrow added, “without your husband.”

“Unfortunately, my husband
’
s been...in an accident.”  Lola was
unwilling
to tell the clerk in this obviously rundown hotel that
James
was dead.  “We have to get back to Peru as soon as possible.  I thought perhaps, because he knew to come here, that you
might
have some knowledge of international travel.” 

“I’m sorry
about
your husband,
but
I can’t help you.” 

Lola’s
eye fell on the frayed cuff of his not-so-white shirt.
  She took
some
money from her handbag and put it on the counter.  “Perhaps you know someone who could give me the information I need.”  The money disappeared as though by magic.

“No passenger liners are running because of the blockade, but
ask about
coast crawlers.”

“
C
oast crawlers?”

“Small
ships
that haul freight and a few passengers.  They’re small and stay very near the coast where the water isn’t too deep.  They don’t
have
a schedule
, and
only stay in port long enough to load or unload cargo.  You’d have to be in Valparaiso ready to go and check the docks every day.”

If that was what she had to do, she’d find a way to do it.  She went home and told Inez to pack what they would need for the trip home.  Anything non-essential they would give to Cook to sell or keep.  The next morning she set out once more, this time for the
British Embassy. 

“My name is Lola
Atkins
,” she said in careful English, “and I would like to see the Ambassador.”  Half an hour and four employees later, she was introduced to Secretary Smythe, who spoke to her in perfect Spanish.

“Señora
Atkins
, we don
’
t have an Ambassador in Chile, but Sir Francis William Stronge is our Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary.  He represents the Crown in Santiago.” 
Lola wondered
if
she could remember all that. 
“We
’
ve been informed by EFE of the unfortunate accident.
  Our deepest sympathy for your loss.
”  He bowed his head slightly. 
“Minister Stronge will see you now.”

The Minister
did not look up from his
writing when they entered. 
After a few seconds, he
blotted the paper
and
rose
,
extend
ing
his hand to Lola. 
Thankfully,
Secretary Smythe remained in the room.  Despite her efforts to memorize what she had to say, she was not confident that her English was good enough to communicate her thoughts.

Once they were seated, the Minister folded the paper he had been writing and gave it to Lola.  “This is a letter requesting safe passage for you.  I understand you
’
re from Peru and I assume you wish to return to your family.”  The Minister was speaking to her in English while the Secretary murmured a running translation.  He then echoed the same phrases of condolence that the Secretary had used.  He expressed his dismay about the accident that had befallen her husband.

“That
’
s why I came today, to tell you that my husband’s death was not an accident.  I know that you are here to protect your citizens, and it
’
s my duty to my late husband to make you aware of the circumstances surrounding his death.” 
Taking her cue from the Minister,
Lola spoke
in Spanish
directly to Sir Francis,
and
she heard the Secretary repeating her sentences in English.

The Minister frowned.  “I
’
m sure you
’
re mistaken Mrs.
Atkins
. 
T
he Minister of Foreign Affairs himself
told me
your husband was buried in an avalanche under tons of rock and ice.”

“
W
ith all due respect, the Minister of Foreign Affairs was sitting at his desk in Santiago when my husband died.  Yesterday I spoke with a man
who
witnessed the events surrounding the death of my husband.  He
is certain my
husband was
shot
dead before the avalanche started.”

The Minister gave Lola an indulgent smile.  “Even if that unlikely story were true, men are often hit by stray bullets from hunters.  Either way, it was an unfortunate accident.”  There was a sound of finality to the Minister’s words. 

Lola took the slim volume from her handbag.  “I
have
proof, written in his own hand, that he feared for his life.”  She opened the book and began to read slowly in heavily accented English. 

“May I?” asked Secretary Smythe, extending his hand.  Lola handed him the journal, pointing to the paragraph she had been reading.  He read the passage aloud, and Lola looked expectantly at the Minister.

“Don’t you agree that those words are grounds for investigation?”

The Minister’s frown deepened and his face reddened. 
H
is tongue flick
ed
out beneath his moustache and moisten
ed
his lips
, reminding
Lola
of
a snake.

“Madam,” he
said
, “I
’
m sure you know Great Britain is at war.”  Lola gave a short nod.  “Chile has declared neutrality.  The British Embassy, representing one of the combatants, is in a precarious position.  I
’
m sure you can appreciate what a delicate matter it would be to broach such an unpleasant subject with the Chilean government, or any of its departments, such as the National Railway.  It would only disturb an already strained relationship.”

Lola couldn’t believe her ears.  “So you intend to do nothing?”

The Minister raised his eyebrows.  “What you
’
ve shown me
only proves
that your husband harbored suspicions.  What good could come of pursuing this?
Forgive me, but it wo
n
’
t bring your husband back
, and i
t
might
anger our host country.”

Lola made no attempt to contain her anger.  “Sending a warship into a neutral harbor to sink a disabled vessel flying a white flag wasn
’
t thought to anger the host country, but seeking justice for the possible murder of one of your subjects just
might
arouse their anger?
  T
he sinking of this ship
caused
my
family
to
become prisoners in
our
own home
—
warned that it was no longer safe for us to appear in public because we carry a British passport.” 

The Minister
’s red face betrayed his anger.
“
That’
s a perfect example of the harm done by rumors.  The
Dresden
was refueling in that harbor.  Refueling a vessel of war is a clear violation of the rules of neutrality.  The white flag was a ruse to allow the crew time to escape and plant explosives.  It was
not
the British, Madame, who sank the ship.  The Germans scuttled their own vessel rather than surrender it to us.” 
T
he Minister rose.  “And now if you
’
ll excuse me, I have much to do.”

Lola had no choice but to leave the office, trailed by Secretary Smythe. 

“At least you have a letter of safe passage,” he said quietly. 

“And I’m sure
it’
ll protect
us
from the blockade,” said Lola.  “I
’
m sure
British
captains always
ask
if anyone onboard has a letter before sink
ing
ships.” Lola hid her face in her hands and began sobbing.  The Secretary steered her into his own office and handed her a handkerchief. 

Lola
felt overwhelmed.  She
had to choose
between two frightening
and dangerous
possibilities:  stay
ing in Chile as a virtual prisoner
in
her home, or p
lacing herself and her children in mortal danger
on the sea
from b
oth British and German
vessels of war
. 
She’d thought that the words of the journal would give the British officials a reason to look into the death, and more important to her, she had hoped they would understand the danger she was in and
protect her
by
help
ing her return to Peru
. 
Lola struggled to regain her composure
.
When Secretary Smythe returned carrying a tea tray,
she
was sufficiently composed to accept a steaming cup gracefully. 

“Your concerns about your husband’s death put Minister Stronge in a
difficult
position.
 
Part of his anger is frustration at not being able to act in the matter. 
I
’
m freer in my movements than the minister.  Would you entrust your husband’s journal to me?  I may be able to use it.”

“Use it?  How?”

“As you suggested, to make discreet inquiries.” 

“Couldn’t you just take the last page or two? 
Alongside the
engineering scribbles
there are personal observations I’d like to keep
.”

“No.  Those scribbles, as you call them, are very valuable.  Without those, the pages don
’
t look genuine.  I need the entire journal.” 

Lola hesitated. 
“You can
hear
the relevant details if you talk to Raul.  It should be easy to find a man named Raul that went on the mission. 
He
made sure I understood what he
was saying
about the death of my husband
,
in spite of the anger of Señor Jimenez.  I’m sure he’ll help you.”

Smythe
shook his head.  “Something written in your husband’s own words would
corroborate his account
.  Without it, Raul’s story would be just that—a story.”

“
But
, as
the Minister
said,
the journal merely describes suspicions.” 

“If you value your husband’s memory, please.” 

Why did Smythe say that?  Lola was suddenly reluctant to hand over the journal. 
T
he EFE might
want the journal for
information
about the rail lines, but
what about the
British embassy?
 
Lola
covered her expression as she
dabbed at
her eyes
with
a
lace handkerchief.

“Señor Smythe, I
treasure
my husband’s memory, and this is the only thing I have that he valued.” 
She
dabbed at her eyes
again
.  “I don’t know how I’ll manage now.  I must find a way to get back to my family in Peru.”
 
Smythe looked unsure of what to say.  Lola
decided
to be more explicit.  “As long as I’m in this friendless country, this journal is the only consolation I have—the only evidence that I was once happy here.”