Perry Scrimshaw's Rite of Passage (30 page)

‘
What? That I
was stuck in there? Well I escaped. And what sort of inspector are
you? The whole city’s after me and you don’t even know! You’re
getting sauced in a bar!’

‘
It’s Sunday,’
Niels said defiantly, ‘it’s my day off!’

‘
So why run
when you saw me?’

‘
I thought you
might hurt me.’

‘
And why might
I want to do that? Come on, tell me.’

‘
Look,’
Saldrup glanced up and down the lane, ‘what happened to you…it was
out of my hands.’

‘
And that
money you found on me at
Julio
station was my nine months of hard toil, money I
earned through the sweat of my brow, money put aside to earn me a
bloody passage home! I bet
that
found its way into your hands alright.’

Saldrup went to say something
but no sound came.

Perry shook his head. ‘You make
me sick. Did you spread that money round the department? Or keep it
for your own grubby self?’

Niels Saldrup was silent, his
head hung down. Perry could smell the stench of whisky on his
breath.

‘
Then there’s
this,’ Perry unfolded what was left of the letter he’d received
from Saldrup in prison. It was tattered, the ink run but he pointed
to the words, ‘Right here – “
I have my
doubts about your guilt,”
and then,
“I regret that there is little I can do.”
Tell me inspector. What sort of person steals from
an innocent man and leaves him to rot in prison?’

Saldrup pulled a hankie from
his pocket and held it over his face, as if too ashamed to look at
him.

‘
You’re a
spineless piece of shit.’

From underneath the hankie,
Saldrup squeaked.

‘
What was
that?’ he asked.

‘
I’m
sorry.’

‘
Sorry just
won’t cut it,’ he yanked the hankie to the ground, ‘you’re a
blinkin’ sop you, how much have you had?’

‘
Don’t hurt
me, please!’

Perry took a step back, giving
Saldrup some room.

‘
I could. But
I’m a man of God now. He helped me escape see. And now I’m going to
give you the chance to do right by Him and me, to earn
forgiveness.’

Saldrup looked to the Heavens.
‘What must I do?’

Inspector
Niels Saldrup’s place was on
Piedras
, a half dozen blocks from the
bar. They’d not gone far when they ran into a pair of patrolling
policemen. Perry tensed up, keeping close to the side of the
inspector. All it would take would be for the inspector to change
his mind and that would be that.

‘
Buenas
noches inspector.’

‘
Buenas
,’ he mumbled in
reply.

Perry exhaled and realised he’d
been holding his breath as the policemen passed.

‘
Well done,’
Perry said when they were safely out of earshot. He didn’t trust
Saldrup one bit; he was drunk and an emotional wreck but he’d
managed to get through to him. Now he had to make sure the spell
held.

At the next
crossroads they ran into some more police, and Niels Saldrup passed
the test again, but Perry still didn’t feel safe, he doubted he
would until he was far away from here. He strolled in time with
Niels, strange to be walking for a second time that day with a
cloak of irreproachability afforded by a respectable companion. He
thought of the archbishop, how would he react when he found out
he’d brought two fugitives to have tea with President Pellegrini?
So embarrassed that he would probably do everything in his
considerable power to see to it that the President never found out.
And maybe just maybe Martín would get his pardon. They
reached
Piedras.

‘
Right,’ Niels
pulled out his keys and opened the front door, ‘wait in the hallway
will you, I just need to explain to my wife that we have a
guest.’

‘
You’re
married?’ Perry said with surprise, he’d figured Niels for a
solitary figure.

‘
A daughter
too.’

Perry scuffed his feet on the
mat, crept into the hall and rested his ear on the door. Niels was
talking to a woman in some gooseberry language that he couldn’t
make head nor tail of. Whatever she was saying, it didn’t sound
like she was happy. He stepped back into the hallway and Niels
opened the kitchen door.

‘
Have you got
any food?’ Perry asked.

Niels motioned to the kitchen
table where two places were set.

‘
She always
makes plenty.’

Perry entered
the kitchen and saw who
she
was. Mrs Saldrup had dirty blonde-grey hair and
the type of contorted face that persuaded a man to spend his time
in a bar rather than home. A small child bounced up and down on her
knee. She looked too old to have conceived it, but he wasn’t about
to risk his fragile alliance with Niels by asking.

‘
Hola,’
Perry said and she replied
with a curt nod and shooed the child off her knee.

‘
She doesn’t
speak much Spanish I’m afraid. Or English for that
matter.’

Perry took a seat at one of the
places and Niels the other. Mrs Saldrup rose and busied herself at
the stove, ladling steaming liquid into two bowls. She placed the
bowls down in front of them with a cob of crusty bread ripped in
two. Onions, carrots and greens swirled around three islands of
dumplings. Niels’ wife took off her apron and threw it on the
counter, scooped up the child and left the kitchen.

‘
Where’s she
going?’

Niels shrugged. ‘Upstairs I
expect,’ he got up from his seat, ‘I need some coffee with this,
want some?’

‘
Can I trust
her?’

‘
Of course!
She’s my wife, how can you ask me that?’

‘
What did you
tell her about me?’

Niels placed a kettle on the
stove. ‘I told her you are a witness in a trial and you need a safe
place to stay for a couple of days,’ he returned to his seat.

‘
And to that
she said what exactly? She seemed a bit…huffy.’

‘
Oh, pay her
no mind, she’s always like that,’ Saldrup replied
wearily.

He heard
floorboards creaking upstairs.
Good, at
least she’s not out on the street running to the police.

‘
Come on,
let’s eat,’ Saldrup said.

Perry dipped the bread in the
broth and tore off a soggy bite with his teeth. Delicious. He
greedily lopped off a slither of dumpling, equally good. They ate
in silence until the kettle began to whistle.

After dinner, Niels showed
Perry his room, a simple but clean space on the third floor.

‘
I’ll need
some more clothes tomorrow,’ Perry said, looking down at his
ill-fitting suit.

‘
I’ll bring
some,’ Niels said, ‘goodnight.’

Alone, Perry
went to the window and bunched the curtain to make a hole the size
of an overhand knot. It was raining again, lightly now. Dots of
lamplight, moved down the street, fuzzy in the drizzle, the outline
of an overcoat and some black beasts on leashes. They’d surely
search every hovel, lodging house and warehouse on the
costanera
looking for
him. He hoped Santi and his family had made it out of the city in
time. He let the curtain fall back.

Perry undressed and rested his
tired head on the pillow. He could barely digest the day’s
happenings. Since his first confession something had changed within
him. If before he was unsure about whether or not there was a God,
he was now positive to the very core of his being; there had to be.
It was a God who didn’t often make sense, a God that taught during
months and years, not hours and days. And knowing that He existed
was enough to feel that there was some higher justice. He got out
of bed again, knelt on the floor and clasped his hands over the
mattress, squeezed his eyes shut and prayed, offering only his
thanks.

The next day, Perry stayed in
his room reading an English language copy of Moby Dick he’d found
in a bookcase on the landing. He avoided the kitchen, not wanting
to pique Mrs Saldrup’s interest in him. It was about lunchtime when
he heard a noise outside the door to his bedroom. He hadn’t heard
anyone coming up the stairs.

Panicked, he
quietly got out of bed and tiptoed to the window and slid it up as
gently as he could. The everyday noise of a bustling
San Telmo
barged into the
room. He looked down at the horses and carriages below. Such a drop
would kill him. There was a knock-knock on the door. Terrified and
without any other ideas he slid under the bed. Maybe they’d think
he’d climbed out the window. He waited five minutes.
Ten.

When fifteen
minutes had passed he took himself out from under and tiptoed to
his door, pressing his ear against the wood. He couldn’t hear
anything. Painstakingly he eased the door handle and opened it a
crack. There was nobody there. On the floor was a tray laden with a
bowl of green soup, a ham roll and a vase complete with yellow
flower. He rubbed his face with his hands.
Get a grip.

From the window, Perry saw
Niels arrive home at six. He rushed downstairs. The inspector had a
bag with him and hung his coat on a peg.

‘
What’s the
news?’

‘
They’re
deploying every spare man to the manhunt.’

Manhunt. It made Perry think of
men with rifles out in the woods taking pot shots at him.

‘
And
Santi?’

‘
The other
fugitive? No news.’

Perry pumped his fist with
glee. ‘Good on you Santi.’

Niels reached into his bag and
pulled out a newspaper and handed it to him.

‘
Front
page.’

It was
La Nación Argentina
newspaper
and Perry instantly thought
of Martín marshalling the Press to get these copies
done.

Perry had made the
newspaper.

He read hungrily to see how
much was known. He homed in on his own name alongside Santi’s and
then started at the top, reading the whole thing again, the vague
details about their escape – their disguised but no mention as
what, and no reference at all to the Archbishop Aneiros or
President Pellegrini.

‘
It’s the talk
of the city. You might need to wait a week or two until it all dies
down.’

‘
No, the
sooner I get out of here the better. There’s a boat, the Hamburg
line, this Wednesday. You’ve got to get me on it.’

‘
But how
Perry? There’s police all over the docks, checking every passenger
onto the ships, you’ve not got a chance.’

‘
You went down
there yourself did you? To the docks?’

‘
Yes,’ Niels
chewed his lip, ‘on my way home in fact.’

‘
And who
exactly were the police checking?’

‘
The boat
passengers.’

Perry groaned. ‘How thoroughly?
Were they checking every single passenger’s documentation?’

‘
In the
Steerage and Second Classes, yes.’

‘
Really?’
Perry let the thought bloom. ‘What if-’

‘
-No,’ said
Niels, ‘you can’t be serious?’

‘
Have you got
a better idea?’

‘
But Perry -
the money! It’s too much, I have a family to feed!’

‘
Come on
Niels, how much did you take off me? This isn’t about the money.
It’s about doing right.’

‘
And how would
you ever pass for a-’

‘
-for a what?
A gentleman?’ Perry plastered his hair down to one side and did a
waddling walk. ‘How do you do?
Enchanted
,’ he did a mock bow,
‘see?’

‘
This is a
very bad idea.’

Wednesday
morning: and the streets of downtown Buenos Aires teemed with
morning business. Cartloads of produce were en route to
San Telmo
market, pony
breath misting the air. Myriad specimens of local man were heading,
inevitable as tributaries, to the same final destination;
the
Madero
docks.

On
Piedras
street a coach
took a right onto
Méjico
, rumbling past the
sharp-suited shipping insurers, the chandlers, stocky porters,
shipping brokers, dockers, police and barrow-boys en route to Dock
Two. The coach ran steady into the docking area, past the porters
and dockworkers gathered in flocks on the
esquinas
, taking steaming mugs to
their mouths between smokes, and into the very heart of the
dock.

The coachman pulled the mare up
behind a rank of some fifteen or so other coaches and hopped down
from his post. He twisted the door handle with his gloved hand and
swung it wide. A black and silver cane emerged first, finding
purchase on the ground and out stepped a rather fine looking young
man, with top hat, woollen frock coat and a rich indigo cravat.

‘
What a
charming morning!’ Perry said, adjusting his cravat.

The coachman inclined his head,
clearly not understanding Perry’s English. All the better.