The Hermit (51 page)

Erhard wants to stand up and do something, but he can’t. He continues to lie there, stiff and immobile, feeling weeks of exhaustion weighing him down on the bed, extinguishing everything.

‌

‌THE LIAR

‌18 February–22 February

63

Daylight. It’s not morning, more like early afternoon.

He crawls out of bed.

He’s got to get going. Down to his car, then on the road. Although he reeks of urine, he doesn’t care to waste time with a shower; he washes his face with scalding water and runs his hands through his hair. There are sausages and olives in the fridge. He tosses them in a duffel and takes the lift directly to the basement. He trots to his car, jumps in, and speeds out onto the highway, through the Dunes, away from the city.

He drives all day, trying to come up with a plan.

He’d prefer to go to the police. He feels this childish need to cry it all out. Let them catch the criminals. It’s grown too big and dangerous for him. When it was just Raúl, Beatriz, and Alina – and the doctor, the forensic technician, the sailors on Tenerife, the images of the boy in the cardboard box – he could handle it then. But not now. Not with Emanuel Palabras, guerrillas, violence. Christ, even the
thought
of the man in sunglasses makes him want to vomit. But he can’t go to the police, of course, because he can’t tell Bernal anything without telling him about Alina and Beatriz. Then he would be in another heap of trouble.

But he’s too afraid and too disorganized to think of anything coherent. Usually he drives around Esquinzo and back through La Pared and up along FV-605. Not today. He’s never been on these roads, and to kill time he drives slowly. Late in the day, he circles Tuineje a few times, then finally tanks up the Merc at a petrol station in town. He asks the attendant if he can use the loo, but they don’t have one. Go around back, he’s told. But Erhard doesn’t want to go around back, where some cats are busy devouring the carcass of a large bird. The attendant prattles on about the rain. – The gods have it in for us today, he says, taking Erhard’s money without giving him change.

– Don’t they always? Erhard says.

Mónica lives right here.

Idling in his car, he stares down the potholey road leading to her house. He needs to speak to someone. Especially someone like Mónica, who’s a great listener. He doesn’t know what he’ll tell her, or what will happen when he opens his mouth, but he’s afraid of what will happen if he
doesn’t
tell her. He has the feeling that he if he doesn’t tell someone, he’ll fall apart.

At the same time, he’s afraid. Of involving her. Of leading the man right to her door. Of her being harmed because of him. After parking the car around the corner where it can’t be seen from the main road, he walks to her house.

When she opens the door, she’s confused. She hadn’t expected him.

– Did we have an appointment?

– I was in the area.

– OK, she says, stepping aside so he can enter.

It’s dark and untidy inside the house. Quite different from when he drops off Aaz on Wednesdays. The curtains are closed, and there are clothes scattered on the sofa, which she gathers up and tosses in the bedroom. It occurs to him that she might spend a lot of time picking up the house before Aaz’s weekly visits. He’d thought the house was always spotless. With fresh flowers and a smooth, wrung-out dishcloth by the kitchen sink, but maybe she only does that once a week. For her son. Or maybe even for Erhard.

She scrutinizes him. – Well, here we are.

– I was in the area.

– Right, but it’s not Wednesday.

– May I sit down? He plops into a dining chair. On the table is a deck of cards and a half-empty glass of red wine. – Are you playing Solitaire?

– Not really.

Only now does he realize how well dressed she is. She’s wearing a dark-blue dress and tights, and her blouse is so revealing that he can see her cleavage and a necklace with a small anchor attached. She must be on her way out, downtown, probably to dinner. He wants to have her again, like before but more desperate this time, one final time, inside the house, in every room, loud.

– What do you want? she says sternly.

– I just thought I’d stop by to chat.

She laughs. Not a good sign. – You want to chat. It’s bad timing.

– I realize you’re about to go out.

– I’m just so tired of waiting.

– Excuse me?

– I’ve waited, but I won’t any more.

Erhard recalls a memory: his parents talking about him though he sat right beside them. – I don’t follow, he says.

– Isn’t that the problem? I’ve waited for something to happen between us. Then something happens and nothing changes. Five days of silence. At my age it’s too much. I don’t want any part of it. I’m moving on with my life.

– I didn’t know you were waiting.

She laughs again. Not a pleasant laugh. The she drains her glass of red wine. – Oh, Erhard. Let’s not fight.

– Why would we?

– What did you want to talk about?

– It’s not important. Some other time.

– Tell me, Erhard.

– Not now.

– Tell me or I will… I will…

He doesn’t wish to mention Beatriz now. Doesn’t wish to get Mónica involved. – I can’t drive Aaz any more. It’s like you said. I need to get away, take care of some things, and I can’t drive him any more. Just can’t.

– Fine, she says, setting her wineglass on the table. – It’s better that way.

– Do you mean that?

– You’re a no-good louse, that’s what I mean. My boy trusts you more than anyone… Even me. And now you’re just abandoning him.

Erhard stiffens. – I’m not abandoning him.

– Oh, no need to explain. I knew this would happen. First Lui, and now you.

Erhard doesn’t know who Lui is, but he guesses that it’s Aaz’s father or some other significant person in his life. – I never made any promises. I’m a… a taxi driver.

– No you’re not, you bastard. You’re a, you’re a…

He knows what she means. – I’m not his father.

They fall silent.

He watches her lock the door behind her.

– Let me drive you, he says, and kind of hopes she’ll say no.

– No thanks.

– Mónica, I didn’t know you felt this way about us.

– You’re blind to what’s right in front of you.

– I’ve been busy the past few days, I’ve been…

– You’ve been out playing detective. Trust me, I’ve called your office. Your secretary doesn’t know where you’ve been. She tried to cover for you.

She’s right. He has been playing detective. When it comes right down to it, he’s just a tired old man.

– You want to ride with me? he says. – My car’s right around the corner.

– And you can stop pretending to be a gentleman, too. She starts walking towards the road, probably heading to where the Puerto bus stops. The bus Aaz isn’t allowed to take. – You’re not as friendly as you look.

– We had a good, um, time recently. What happened?

His legs are longer than hers, but she moves swiftly and he’s forced to trot beside her like a desperate street peddler.

She says nothing. When they reach the road she stops abruptly, and a lorry rumbles speedily past them.

– Nothing happened, Erhard.

– What about all that talk of yours that you liked quiet men?

– That’s just something women say to get quiet men to relax, to talk. No one likes quiet men. Not even quiet women.

– I can drive you wherever you want to go. The bus might not be here for another hour or two.

She glances at her slender wristwatch. The road is deserted. The attendant at the petrol station watches them. Tuineje is one of those towns tourists don’t dare visit. The people who live here prefer to be left in peace, but they’re too afraid to leave civilization behind. Erhard would hate to live here. He’d rather have the genuine article: the life, stench, and colour of the city or the silent, empty expanse of desolate country.

– OK, but I still think you’re an asshole.

They walk to his car. He wants to open the door for her, but he doesn’t. They climb in, and he drives towards Puerto. When he asks her where she wants to go, she says downtown, close to Juan Tadeo Cabrera.

Erhard feels an urge to explain why he should no longer drive Aaz, but he’s afraid to make her even more uncomfortable. Besides, she’s too upset, and she takes things personally. Still, he can’t help himself. The words stumble from his mouth. – It’s for Aaz’s sake, he says. – And yours.

– What kind of ridiculous excuse is that?

– If something happened to him, it would be… it would be unforgivable.

– You’re scaring me, Erhard. What do you mean?

– If someone were to mistakenly… or if someone wanted to hurt me… if he were to… or if my car… or… I don’t know.

– What are you talking about?

Her voice trembles with anger bordering on hysteria. She starts to hyperventilate.

– Stop, he says. – Nothing’s going to happen to him. That’s why I’m telling you all this. He’s not going to get mixed up in anything. Nor will you.

Her eyes are wet and smeared. He finds some Kleenex in the glove box.

– It’s just a precaution, he adds. For now. Once this is all over, maybe I can drive him again.

– No, she says. – No more. The boy… He’s been through so much. He doesn’t need any more part-time fathers or people who let him down.

Welcome to reality, Aaz, Erhard thinks.

– What if we tell him that I’m on a trip? That I won’t drive him for a few weeks?

Erhard hates it when he tries to solve problems and comes up with a solution he himself doesn’t even like.

– All or nothing. And since you’ve just told me that you’d be putting him in danger, the answer is self-evident.

– I didn’t say he’d be in danger.

– But that’s what you mean, isn’t it?

– I don’t know, Erhard says.

But deep down, he knows that’s exactly what he means. If Ema is Emanuel Palabras, and if Emanuel is somehow behind the hijacking of the
Seascape Hestia
, and if he’s given his gorilla orders to kill Erhard, and if he’s exiled his own son or whatever the hell happened, and if he’s tricked Erhard into his position as director for God knows what reason – perhaps to keep an eye on him, which means that Palabras knows as well as Erhard that right now Emanuel Palabras’s name is all over this case – then Erhard is in danger now, and so too are Aaz and Mónica. Or maybe he’s blowing things out of proportion, and maybe it’s just a coincidence that it was Emanuel Palabras’s cargo that disappeared. It’s possible that Beatriz mouthed Emanuel’s name because she wanted to speak to him. It’s possible that Palabras offered the directorship to Erhard because he’d earned it.

– I just mean… I need to get some things under control. It would be better if I focused on them for the next few months. As soon as I’ve managed that, I can drive Aaz again. I promise.

– So you’re telling me he’s not in danger, but you’d prefer to have it your way. Other children might understand that, but not Aaz. He needs you. He… He thinks the world of you. One can’t just pick and choose one’s friends.

– Are you saying that, or Aaz?

– Listen. When you act like this, we’re just not interested in your company. We’re through. You’re not to drive Aaz any more, you’re not to stop by just because you happen to be in the neighbourhood, and you’re not to invite us to dinner. I’m letting you go.

They arrive in Puerto. Mónica’s remark would’ve been better timed had she been getting out of the car at the same time, but they’re racing along at fifty miles per hour.

– And if you haven’t already figured it out, she says, if you’re worse at catching signals than some broken antennae on some shitty TV, then I have a date now, right now. With a man who is handsome and successful and… nice.

– Close to Juan Tadeo Cabrera, you said? Which end of the street?

– Are you a taxi driver again?

– I promised to bring you, and that’s what I’m doing.

She rummages feverishly in her purse and throws some bills and euros on the floor. – Then here’s your money, you asshole. Keep the change. We want nothing from you.

– Didn’t you tell me that there wasn’t room for a man in your life? What did I misunderstand?

– Oh for God’s sake.

They are stopped at a red light; she opens the door and leaps out, dashing across the street as a car honks its horn behind Erhard. He watches her go, but when she turns the corner, he doesn’t dare follow her.

For a moment after the light turns green, he makes no effort to drive and lets the car behind him honk. He stares down the street expecting the sea to swallow vehicles, shops, and the chain-smoking washer woman on the corner with her laundry basket and two dogs. Maybe the entire island will flood and the earth and everything on it will be rinsed clean. Beginning with him.

64

He arrives at the office and heads down the corridor as if he expects a group of men in sunglasses to jump him at every door. He doesn’t know where else to go – and he figures Palabras won’t try anything here. Surely it’s no coincidence that they attacked him at home.

Just as he’s taken his seat and regained his composure, Ana enters. She’s working late on a Saturday. If Marcelis was here, they would probably be shagging.

We’ve got problems, she says, then proceeds to explain how three drivers are criticizing the deal they’d struck with the harbour. They are arguing in the courtyard. Where’s Marcelis? he wants to know. At home, she says, and the look on her face suggests that she’s called him several times. For a moment he wonders whether it’s some kind of ambush. Perhaps Palabras and his sunglass-wearing friend are waiting for him down there. But the secretary seems genuinely shaken.

He follows her to the workshop. She sizes him up strangely, as if there’s something she wants to tell him. But she says nothing, and once they reach the courtyard he loses interest.

He’s spoken with these three men a few times. They’re standing off to the left side of the workshop, puffing out their chests and gesturing wildly as four or five others look on. Gustavo, a dark-skinned man with a beard, was to pick up a customer down at the harbour. By request. But Luís – loudmouthed, slightly cross-eyed Luís – apparently believes that Gustavo should have to park in the queue like everybody else. Manni somehow agrees with both Luís and Gustavo, or maybe he’s got an entirely different opinion altogether, because he’s standing between the two men and yipping at them as if they’ve misunderstood something. He might be trying to mediate between them by working them into a lather. It’s a heated confrontation that appears mere seconds away from breaking into a full-blown fight.