Law of Return (21 page)

“Don’t try,” Tejada interrupted wearily. “I still haven’t decided what to do after tonight. By the way, I told the manager we’d be staying for two days, but that I might send you two on ahead early.” He grimaced slightly as he added, “I assume I was correct when I said that my father-in-law was most anxious to return to Spain?”

“I . . . yes.” The professor smiled weakly.

There was an awkward silence. Then Elena said. “How did you find me?”

“Partly by accident,” Tejada admitted. He flashed her a brief smile. “I don’t spend
all
my time chasing after you to make sure you don’t get into hot water.”

Elena blushed and fell silent. “What
were
you looking for then?” she demanded, to cover her confusion.

Tejada hastily summarized his search for Manuel Arroyo, speaking in a mixture of Spanish and French for Meyer’s benefit. “I’m tempted to have the French arrest both of you,” he said. “I could say you were accessories to Arroyo’s flight, or to his murder. But extradition of foreign nationals is tricky, and it’s not a strong case. And, of course, the Germans might want to take Professor Meyer into custody. I’m not sure of their status here, but there does seem to be one next to every French policeman.”

Meyer had gone white. “If I am arrested,” he interjected, “I will be deported as a Jew. I beg you to believe this.”

The lieutenant shook his head. “It was just an idea. Alternatively, we can separate tomorrow. You can pursue whatever arrangements you had made.” As Meyer opened his mouth to speak again the Spaniard added, “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“What do we do now?” Elena asked, to break the silence that followed.

Tejada shrugged. “Would you like to go down to dinner?”

“No!” The professor and his presumed daughter spoke at the same time.

“Me either,” Tejada agreed. “And due to our lost luggage we don’t have the clothing for it. We could have a tray sent up.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Meyer said dryly.

Tejada shot him a sharp look. “Do you not eat pork, and all that?” he asked, half suspicious and half curious.

“I’m not worrying about keeping kosher.” The classics professor spoke with some amusement. “But Helena and I had a large lunch.”

“I didn’t,” Tejada said flatly. He turned to Elena. “Do you want anything?”

Elena knew that she ought to feel a horrible sense of obligation. The lieutenant had done so much already. It would be only courteous to refuse this further favor. She was not particularly hungry. But she found herself smiling and saying easily, “Thanks. Maybe tapas or something light. We did eat a lot earlier.”

In the end, Tejada ordered enough tapas for three. After the tray had been delivered, and the door had closed behind the waiters, Meyer stood up, shaking off the attitude of age and infirmity he had assumed for their benefit. “How much do I owe you?” He reached into his jacket.

“Nothing. You didn’t want any, remember.”

“I insist, Lieutenant. It’s a small price to pay for your kindness.”

Elena picked at a piece of bread, and listened to the men argue with the vague feeling that she should be taking part. She was, she knew, as much in Tejada’s debt as Meyer, and she was probably less impoverished than the professor. But it was an incredible relief to not feel responsible for once.

It was not a disagreeable meal, although conversation was minimal. All three were too tired to easily speak a foreign language, and all three appreciated the chance for quiet thought. But as the little plates were emptied, most of them by Tejada, the silence became oppressive. Finally, Meyer gave voice to their common thought: “Are we planning to get an early start tomorrow, then?”

Tejada frowned. “I’d hoped to pursue Arroyo further. If I take the two of you into the countryside, will you be able to get across?”

“Of course.” Elena spoke with forced cheerfulness.

“The less I know, the better,” the lieutenant said frankly. “But yes, we probably should get an early start tomorrow.”

There was another long pause, as each one thought,
If we
want an early start, it makes sense to turn in now
, and waited for someone else to say it. Finally, Tejada stacked the empty plates on the tray, and carried it to the door which he opened. He set the tray down in the hall, and then closed the door. “I suppose you’d better pick which room you want,” he said as he carefully locked the door.

Only the doorjamb got the full benefit of his mumble, but he had spoken in Spanish, and Elena accurately guessed that the question was aimed at her. “What was that?”

He started slightly to hear her voice directly behind him. Meyer stood behind her, in the doorway of their improvised “dining room” with the slightly anxious look he always had when they spoke Spanish together. “Which bedroom do you want?” Tejada repeated, acutely embarrassed.

“I don’t really care.” She was obviously embarrassed also. “They’re the same, aren’t they?”

“I guess. I haven’t really looked at the other one.” He headed for the unused room with a rush of relief, and inspected it minutely. Elena trailed behind him. Meyer, unable to follow their conversation and assuming that it did not concern him, retreated to the other bedroom. “Oh, look,” Tejeda swept aside the curtains. “This one has a balcony.”

“How nice! A sea view, the bellboy said.” Elena’s voice was determinedly bright.

“You should definitely take this one then.” Tejada spoke as if a balcony overlooking the sea was of the utmost importance for sleeping on a rainy night.

“You’re sure? If you and Professor Meyer would like it . . . ?”

“We’ll be fine,” Tejada assured her.

“Oh. Well, then—”

“Well . . .” Tejada echoed, acutely aware that she was standing between him and the door. “Well, good night, then.”

“Good night.” She moved aside to let him pass. His hand was on the doorknob when he heard her voice again. “Carlos.”

He froze. “Yes?”

“Why did you decide to help us?”

Tejada turned around and inspected her: a slender woman, not quite starving thin as she had been when he had first known her, but still giving the impression of an alley cat rather than a spoiled pet. Her shoes and the hem of her skirt were stained and muddy, perhaps from the rain. She was a woman who would never think to ask a guardia if he had ever killed but who would risk her life to help a man who was no kith or kin of hers. He thought of many answers, some of them having to do with Meyer, some with Germans he had met, and some even with his duties as a guardia civil. But this was Elena, and for Elena only total honesty would do. “Because you’ve got guts,” he said. “And I’d hate to see them eviscerated.”

Elena laughed, shakily. “Seriously.”

“Seriously,” Tejada said quietly. “You’re the bravest woman I’ve known. And most women wouldn’t take that as a compliment.”

“They don’t take courage as a compliment?”

Tejada smiled. “I could tell many women that they were
courageous
. Most of them wouldn’t appreciate being told that they had guts.”

“Well, I do. But it isn’t true you know.” Elena laughed again, but this time the laugh ended on a choke. “I’m scared all the time . . . no, not even scared exactly, just incredibly
tired
of having to be the one with guts all the time. Tired of having to be the one who knows the answers and carries out the plans and . . .” She choked again, without even the pretense of a laugh this time.

“And takes the responsibility,” Tejada finished. “And is always the grown-up.”

“Yes.” Elena looked at him, wondering. “Exactly.”

“We call it command responsibility,” the lieutenant said gently. “And if you were one of my men, I’d say that you handle it well enough to be officer material.”

“Thanks.” Elena was once more in control of herself, but she took a hesitant step toward him. “I suppose it’s not living up to my reputation, but I’d like a break now.”

“I know. That was why I helped out.”

She was chewing her lip nervously. He waited for her to speak, knowing that the wisest—and also the cruelest and most difficult—thing to do would be to end the discussion. Elena stared down at the carpet. It was a blue Persian, and she would remember the shapes of the shadows cast by the lamplight until her dying day. “Would you stay, for a little while? Just until I fall asleep? I don’t want to be alone.”

Tejada drew a ragged breath. “I’m not superhuman, Elena.”

“I know.”

There was a pattern of green leaves and cream-colored buds on the border of the carpet, and an ink stain near one of them. Elena memorized the shape of the ink stain in the moments while she waited for the sound of the lieutenant’s voice, or for the handle turning as he let himself out of the room, or for a cough, or for footsteps. There was utter silence and then a new shadow fell across the carpet, and Tejada’s arm slid around her waist. Elena raised her head and kissed him. And then the sequence of events became unclear. She was never sure afterward if she began inexpertly unbuttoning his shirt before or after he found the zipper at her waist.

Several hours later, Elena started out of an uneasy doze, choked by a fear that she could not immediately place. She forced herself to lie quietly, and did her best not to think about how she and the professor were going to make it back to San Sebastián. After a few moments, she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. But she remained resolutely awake. She inched a little closer to the warm, breathing bulk beside her, hoping that some of Carlos’s calm would rub off. To her immense relief, he stretched out one arm, and pulled her into an embrace.

“You’re not sleepy, love?” The voice was a warm, deep murmur, soothing in and of itself. It did not occur to Elena that he had not been asleep either.

“No,” she admitted. “I’m scared. Do you think we can really get away with this?”

“I don’t see why not.” The lieutenant forced himself to speak lightly. “I’ll tell my mother we eloped because my captain is a vulgar peasant and I couldn’t bear to have him play any role at my wedding, which is true, and I’ll tell my father and brother we eloped because I couldn’t bear to have my mother arrange everything, which is also true.”

“I didn’t mean . . . Wedding?” Elena’s tone changed abruptly as his meaning sank in.

“You’ve spent too much time among the Reds.” Tejada’s amusement was less forced now. “It’d be a nice thing if I didn’t intend to marry you now, wouldn’t it? Besides . . .” he ran a meditative thumb along the curve of her shoulder blade.

“Besides?”

“I think I’d like to marry you. Because . . .” The caress became less thoughtful and more definite.

Elena laughed in the darkness. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

Professor Meyer was embarrassed. His friendship with Guillermo Fernández was basically professional. He respected Fernández’s work, and he knew from their years of correspondence that Dr. Fernández was a man of liberal sympathies and considerable humor. Fernández’s response to his plea for help had shown him to be both generous and loyal. But Meyer knew nothing of his colleague’s religious convictions or opinions about the upbringing of children. Professor Meyer felt that fate had placed him
in loco
parentis
to his colleague’s daughter and it seemed like an ill return for Fernández’s kindness to throw her into the arms of a Fascist policeman. On the other hand, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. At least, Meyer thought glumly, shortly after the pair disappeared into one of the bedrooms, it did not seem to be against Elena’s will. Still, he was sure that her father would disapprove, and for the sake of his own peace of mind he wished that the wall between their rooms was considerably thicker.

The professor made a conscientious effort to lie down but he was too anxious to sleep, even after all the noise from the next room had died away. Fear magnified the patter of rain against the window and the occasional footstep in the hallway or overhead. He heard the murmur of voices when Elena woke, and heard her sudden laughter. Oh, no, he thought, despairing. Can’t they at least sleep through the night? He remained in his room for a few more minutes, with a pillow clamped firmly over burning ears. Then his embarrassment finally won out over fear and caution.