Tango (32 page)

A group of policemen came out of the shop and walked slowly towards the car nearest him. He realised that he was too close. Two of the policemen put their hands to their caps as the wind gusted.
They seemed concerned with someone in the centre of the group. When a driver opened the car door the interior lights came on and William recognised Ricardo. He was handcuffed to one of the
policemen who held a truncheon in his other hand and every so often jabbed it into Ricardo’s stomach. He didn’t appear to jab hard but it was enough to make Ricardo double up each time,
only to be jerked upright. Instead of putting him in the car they took him round to the front and forced him to his knees so that his face was inches from the headlights. The driver switched them
on. They held him so that he had to kneel upright, his arms twisted behind him and his head pulled back by his hair. One of the policemen slapped his face and another, with a slow casual movement
as if he were tossing a log on to a fire, laid his truncheon across the lower part of Ricardo’s back. Ricardo cried out. Behind them the soldiers carried boxes to and fro.

They were asking questions. William caught odd words and phrases. Two or three were repeated, interspersed by slaps and blows. Ricardo was half crying, half choking. They were asking where
William was and where the secret signals were sent from. Ricardo kept saying he didn’t know, then was hit again. The blows to the body seemed to cause the most pain – the kidneys,
William supposed, in that part of his mind that went on thinking whatever happened.

A gust of wind sent one of the policemen’s caps tumbling down the road. It stopped three or four yards from William. The others laughed. As the hatless one walked down the road, William
flattened himself in the doorway. The man approached slowly, calling over his shoulder to the others. William pressed himself harder against the door, wishing he hadn’t seen what he had seen,
wishing fervently that he had not come that far forward, that he was at home in England, going to work every day on the train, cocooned in routine. Another gust rolled the cap a couple of feet
nearer. He felt like crying out, kicking the hat, running. He could hear the policeman’s boots on the cobbles. The policeman picked up his cap, laughed and shouted to the others. William
caught the smell of the man’s breath. He had not been so frightened since childhood. The policeman’s steps receded. William stayed as he was, upright and unseeing. As he became less
fearful he felt more ashamed, as if he had abandoned and betrayed Ricardo. He knew he had not but that did not lessen the feeling. The selfishness of his fear made him wretched and bitter.

He heard a car start and pull away and when he looked again there were only two police cars and the lorry. He slipped out of the doorway and walked back down the street – wanting to run
the moment he turned the corner but not letting himself. He felt guilty about Ricardo. He thought of Ricardo’s daily evasions, his laziness, his complacency, his arrogance, his pride, but it
did not make it any easier. If Ricardo had been kept informed the scheme probably would have worked. Instead, no one had thought of him and now he was going through all that.

He headed for the club. A few heavy drops of rain fell, the wind lessened, the streets were still deserted. As soon as he reached the square he looked carefully round for patrolling soldiers or
policemen, but there seemed to be no one. The windows of the club were lit, the curtains drawn back, the front door open, though the other buildings in the square were either unlit or tightly
shuttered. The few cars were parked where they had been. No sounds came from the club.

William approached. It was unnecessary and stupid, he knew. Probably he was walking into a trap but he felt he had to know, almost as if in atonement for his own freedom. He stood outside the
main door and looked in. If they were waiting for him they could grab him now, he thought as he stepped forward. Inside were overturned chairs, a couple of broken bottles, an up-ended table. The
sofas and armchairs were still in place but both the bars were in disarray. Spirit bottles had been wrenched from their holders, shelves ransacked. His footsteps sounded loudly on the big bare
floorboards. In the dancing room a towel of the sort used in the massage rooms lay across the piano. On it was a woman’s black shoe. Coffee cups and saucers were on a couple of the tables and
lying on the stage was a broken violin, its halves still joined by the strings. He stopped walking and listened: the only sounds were the rattling of the sash windows.

He went upstairs, not bothering to tread quietly. If there were anyone waiting, he wanted them to know he was coming. After climbing the main staircase he went along the corridor and up the
narrow one that led to the massage rooms. He could hear before he reached the top that some of the air-conditioning units were still on. Most of the room doors were open. Two towels were on the
floor and a man’s sock lay on the top stair.

He looked in each room. Two still had water in the baths, in one the shower was running. He turned it off. The school clocks said nine-forty. There was something touching about the way the time
still faithfully announced itself after everything else had stopped.

He went to the room where he had been with Theresa and sat on the edge of the bed. He wanted more than anything to talk to her. He always had, but there had been so little time. He felt that the
room should somehow suggest to others the significance it held for him. It should have a special feel, an atmosphere, but it was like all the others. The noise of the air-conditioners reminded him
of Box’s EE(C). He hoped he would remember how to work it. He would go while it was dark because he couldn’t risk entering the grave in daylight. He no longer minded about getting into
the grave; it was the living he hid from now.

He didn’t hear the footsteps until they were close. They were slow, as his own must have been. He sat without moving. If this was it, then it was it. There was nothing to do but wait. The
steps came closer. He looked down and didn’t look up until they stopped at the door.

When he did he felt his face change. ‘You’re all right?’

‘Yes.’

‘I was so worried, I thought you’d been arrested.’

‘Not yet.’

She stood in the doorway looking exactly as when he had seen her last. She was obviously, wonderfully, all right. Her manner, though, was listless and her expression remote.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘Manuel Herrera was in the palace with his driver. He heard about it before anyone got to him. He alerted the security police and there was a fight and they freed the generals. Everything
is finished.’ She spoke as if without interest. ‘There is a state of emergency and they have told all the people to stay indoors. Everyone is being arrested except Carlos. They
don’t know how involved he was but even when they find out I think they will not arrest him yet because he is popular with the people. They will keep him president and prisoner.’

‘How did you get away?’

‘I was with Carlos and so I was not arrested. I walked out the way we came in with your car. The soldiers on the gate recognised me and let me through. I left Carlos. They will find out I
was involved and then he will not want me again, so I left him first.’

‘What is he doing – Carlos?’

‘Whatever Herrera tells him. He is scared now, he is with his wife and children.’

‘Have they arrested many?’

‘Everyone who was here. That is why it is empty. They think it was planned here: Ines, the girls, Ricardo, El Lizard, everyone.’

‘I saw Ricardo. They had taken him to my shop, looking for me.’

‘They will torture them all.’

He got up. ‘We must hide.’

‘I will go to my family and warn them. They can hide. It’s better that I am found. Then they might leave my family alone. But you are British. You can leave, your embassy will
protect you.’

‘They won’t.’

‘They shot your friend.’

‘Arthur?’

‘With machine guns. He had taken the colonel’s sword to protect Ines and the girls when the soldiers wanted to rape them. He would not put down the sword and so they shot
him.’

‘Dead?’

‘Afterwards they took Ines and the girls away.’

‘Poor Arthur.’

‘If he is dead he cannot be tortured.’

‘Come with me and we’ll run away. Then we can marry. Sally has left me.’

‘She has left you?’

‘With an American called Max. He’s in the CIA and she’s run off with him. I think they’re leaving the country, too. We could do the same.’

She came forward and put one hand on his arm. ‘Poor William.’

‘It’s all right, I don’t mind. It’s all right.’

‘You do mind – it is in your face.’

‘No, I’m sad for Arthur and Ricardo and all the others.’

‘You must not ignore yourself.’

He took her hand. ‘But what about you? We must do something.’

‘Perhaps the CIA will rescue us and the Americans come. That is our only hope.’

‘They seem to be going rather than coming.’

She let go of his hand but continued to stand close. ‘Shall we undress?’ She smiled slowly at his surprise. ‘Always you say you want to talk to me. You cannot really talk with
a woman unless you make love with her. Your conversation is unfinished.’

‘Make love now?’

‘If you want to talk.’

He undressed, this time without self-consciousness. When they were naked she knelt by him and unpinned her hair.

‘When I first saw you in the covered market that day,’ she said, ‘I thought you were a priest. You looked so serious. But you had a kind smile.’

‘I was frightened of you.’

‘Why?’

‘You were too beautiful.’

‘Does it worry you that I have been a prostitute?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you still like me?’

‘I love you.’

‘I will not be a prostitute any more.’

‘Come away with me. I will look after you.’

She smiled. ‘First you must talk to me.’

Later she sat up suddenly. ‘Why do you love me? Is it because I’m beautiful?’

He propped himself on one elbow. ‘That and something else. I want to go on talking to you, on and on.’

‘I have never really loved any man.’

‘Why not?’

‘Perhaps my banker, a little. He was kind.’ She stretched out her arms and looked at them; the upper parts were slightly plump. ‘Did you like making love with me?

‘Yes.’ He was worried by the question. ‘Yes, I did. Very much.’

‘
Really
like?’

‘Yes, really.’

‘I don’t think you did, not really. I think you were too worried. Is it long since you made love with your wife?’

‘Many months. I’m sorry it was over so quickly.’

She looked along her outstretched arms, rotating them slowly. ‘You should not worry about such things. It takes time to know someone. Men are always in such a hurry. Also, perhaps I am
like a fantasy for you.’

He sat up. ‘No, it’s not that, it never has been. It’s you I like, yourself, ever since you spoke to me. It was speaking that did it.’

She smiled and took his hands in hers. ‘You look like a priest again. We can be friends and then maybe I will love you. To be friends is the big thing. All my life I have thought if I can
find a man to be my friend, I will stay with him. But normally I cannot be friends with men. They do not want it. They want the sex, they want me for their mistress and that is all.’

‘We will be friends. I will take you away, anywhere. We will send money to your family. You must come with me.’

‘I have never been anywhere. You will get fed up with me and then you will send me back.’

‘I won’t. I won’t ever get fed up, I will always look after you. I like to have someone to look after.’

‘You will miss your wife and she will come back.’

‘She won’t, not now. Our marriage was dead for a long time. Anyway, she never wanted me to look after her. She never wanted me to do anything for her. I think she never wanted me at
all.’ He felt as if his marriage had ended years ago. Theresa listened with downcast eyes. Her dark eyebrows arched strongly and evenly. He pulled her forward and kissed them. ‘We will
hide and then we will go away together.’

She shook her head. ‘It is not possible.’

‘Why not?’

She looked up. Her eyes were impregnable, as in the cemetery when he had told her he was married. ‘Things do not work for me.’

He argued, pleaded, insisted. More in her tone than her words, he had felt the brush of the wing of despair – the outer feathers merely, but it was as if they had darkened the corners of
his vision. He felt he was arguing with her to stay alive and his words became more impassioned as he became more fearful. She remained calmly negative. There was no hope for her, she said. She had
always known that. Her life might be short, but he would grow old. She was not a magician but some things she knew and was nearly always right about. This was one. She was not sad – it was
God’s way. It made no difference what she did but at least she had done something for her family. She hoped she would be with God and the Blessed Virgin.

‘You want this,’ he said. ‘You’re talking yourself into it.’

She stroked his face. ‘Poor William, I am making you miserable. But you are really my friend?’

‘Yes, I keep telling you.
Yes.
’

She kissed him. ‘We will be friends for all our lives.’

It was some time later that the soldiers came. She heard them first and broke away from him, her eyes hard and glittering. ‘It is now. It is happening.’

‘What?’

‘They are coming. It is what I knew – it is starting.’ She grabbed his hand. ‘You will always be my friend?’

‘Yes, yes.’ He sat up.

‘We will be friends in heaven.’

‘Yes, don’t worry, don’t worry.’ He was still trying to reassure her when the door opened.

The soldiers paused but only for a moment. They had none of the embarrassment which had afflicted those who arrested the generals. There were five or six of them, clumsy but purposeful. They
pulled Theresa and William away from each other, the one in charge excitedly repeating, ‘Search them, search their clothes, search them.’