The Three Sentinels (21 page)

‘Don Mateo, suppose you told me to make a rotten locker for the launch. I would not refuse, but I would make a good one. That is the only way I can work.’

‘Of course. You are a man of honour.’

‘It is a shame that you were not here when the old field was closed down.’

‘Thank you. But I am here now. Tell me frankly—what have you to gain? I have got for you what you wanted.’

‘No! Without oil, yes.

‘But the Sentinels exist.’

‘And our women and children? Those that rot here?’

‘As you said, there are people without decencies. That is why there is such a thing as forgiveness.’

‘There is too much in this world, Mr. Manager. If it is to move there must be an end to forgiveness.’

‘Doña Catalina would not have agreed with you.’

‘That may be, but she was a saint.’

‘I have heard it said that there is something of that in you, too—wrong way up.’

‘Who said that?’

‘Believe me or not—González.’

‘González learned his lesson. So there has been no more violence.’

‘Lorenzo?’

‘I do not want to know anything of Lorenzo.’

‘But you can’t help it, Don Rafael. And there will be more Lorenzos if you and I cannot understand each other.’

‘I will never sit down with Gil Delgado.’

‘It isn’t necessary if you will sit down with me. Delgado wants to remain an oil worker. You and yours do not. All we have to discuss is the land and the water and more capital if
you need it—a committee of the Mayor, Thorpe, ourselves and Uriarte perhaps and anyone else you choose.’

The mention of Uriarte broke the spell. Rafael shied away from all prospect of negotiation. Nothing could be done until he had got rid of El Vicario and his hands were clean.

‘Don Mateo, this is my duty, and, believe me, I have no pleasure in it.’

‘But you will meet me again?’

‘Of course. You came alone as you said.’

‘So did you.’

A tactful reply. Mat kept to himself the fact that he had spotted a match lighting two cigarettes among the sand hills. Any way he had been sure of Garay, though doubtful how far the man could
ensure the obedience of his followers.

‘I? That means nothing!’ Rafael answered angrily.

That extraordinary husband of Catalina! The tactful reply had been a bad mistake. Garay had been made to feel the lesser man. He was always at the mercy of genuine conscience. It was not the
kind of inferiority complex which one could foresee and reckon with.

‘Meanwhile, a bit of advice! Keep your guards on the Charca!’

Rafael was surprised and out of his depth. That seemingly simple remark needed someone like Gil to translate it. Don Mateo knew of the landing of El Vicario and must know that he had not left.
What else did he know? Perhaps it was a trap or perhaps he was afraid that El Vicario was at large with the explosives.

‘Why not you?’ Rafael retorted. ‘Put some of your clerks up there! They can look at their collars and ties in the water.’

‘It’s obvious why not. Your men would suspect that I was holding the Charca in order to destroy it.’

‘But now we know it is not your policy.’

Mat realised that he should never have mentioned the Charca. Another mistake! He had hoped to find out from Rafael’s reply whether El Vicario was safely dead or not. Such sparring for
position was stupid when the bond of sympathy existed and was half admitted. He took refuge in honesty.

‘Look! We both know there are secrets we cannot yet tell and we both know what about. Leave it so—but it’s the devil that neither of us can trust the only man who
counts.’

‘You feel that, too? But you are the General Manager.’

‘What does that matter? And you are a good carpenter. We do what we think we must and it is never enough to win.’

‘That may be true, Don Mateo, for there are times when I do not see how either of us can lose.’

Rafael walked back with him as far as the town to keep his men from showing themselves prematurely. He felt more peace in himself. If he called off the boycott—he allowed himself the
‘if without admitting any intention—it would not be surrender to the Company but an agreement with Don Mateo. Both avoided the subject, talking a little of neutrals whom they liked,
such as the Mayor and Dr. Solano, and then of Chepe’s future—a difficult subject for Mat since any mention of grants and apprenticeships implied the continued existence of the Company.
He was content to say cautiously that wherever he might be he was always ready to be consulted.

At the tank farm Rafael stopped and held out his hand. He would have liked to go on talking and perhaps have a drink with his enemy, but he could not be seen in the street on such friendly
terms. Don Mateo appeared to appreciate that, and went on by himself into the lights of the quayside where he had left his car. He was slightly bent with weariness and no longer the bold figure
which had come out of the night. Rafael could not have said what it was he wanted for him—at any rate some more human form of relaxation than the society of all those crooks up the hill.

Antón and his men joined their leader, all asking at once what the manager had to say of Gil Delgado’s swindle. Their curiosity seemed irrelevant. For Rafael the original object of
the dialogue had slipped away into unimportance.

‘That? A bribe! We are better without it. A thing of other oil companies, friends, who are as dirty as the Union.’

He walked on to his house, expecting to find Chepe in bed, but the boy was still up and waiting for him. He seemed to have eaten very little. His large eyes were darker than usual and his neck
seemed too childishly fragile to hold up his head.

‘Where have you been, papacito?’

‘Talking to your friend, Don Mateo.’

‘And what happened?’

‘Nothing. Why?’

‘Nothing at all? You promise?’

‘I promise. You have no need to be afraid, Chepe. I would trust myself with Don Mateo anywhere. You know what a true man he is.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘About you, little one, sometimes.’

‘What did he tell you?’

‘Such a lot of questions? For one thing he told me that you will be a man to be proud of.’

‘Will he always be in Cabo Desierto?’

‘I hope so, Chepe.’

Rafael caught himself up sharply. He didn’t hope so. One could hardly imagine Don Mateo renting a bit of land from the community and settling down.

‘That is something we will see,’ he added at once. ‘And if he is not here I can send you to London with a little note saying “this is Chepe”.’

‘But he would know it was Chepe.’

‘No, he wouldn’t—not when you are taller than your father with smart shoes!’

The child laughed and laughed. Rafael did not think his remark all that funny, but he was aware that some sort of cloud had blown over. Chepe was obsessed with killing. That was his own fault.
Yet surely he could never have believed his father in danger from his other hero, Don Mateo? When he went into the bedroom to see if his son was asleep and to adore him like a silent shepherd if he
was, he noticed that the vile rag which he held against his cheek was missing. Well, if he had lost it, that accounted for his puzzling mood. He must remember to ask about it in the morning.

He did not remember, having El Vicario on his mind. The man was no use—a phrase Chepe had solemnly used some time or other—but he did not deserve a bullet in the back of the neck.
The only other way out was to steal a boat and let him take his chance. El Vicario could not go far wrong if he was over the horizon before dawn and thereafter kept the coast in sight. And what he
said to the lumps of dung who paid him mattered to nobody but himself.

When Rafael reached the Company Farm to attend to his prisoner’s daily requirements, he found Uriarte deep in discussion with Thorpe. Uriarte was nervous, naturally enough, and not at all
pleased to see him; but Thorpe at once dragged him into the conversation. That was like Sr. Thorpe—always expansive and impulsive and on tip-toe. One could never begin to dislike him.

‘Now, here’s a man who will want a bit of land of his own!’ Thorpe said.

‘No, Mr. Superintendent. When the Company is no more I shall work for the community.’

‘Rafael, I cannot understand why a man like you doesn’t see sense. The Sentinels can’t just disappear.’

‘But they will give no oil.’

‘You’re crazy! You’ve won all along the li’e—frightened that bastard Birenfield off, chucked out your lousy Union and got a General Manager whom you all
like!’

‘What I think of Don Mateo has nothing to do with it.’

‘By God, it has I You know very well that he could give us all a happy field again with your own houses and the right to work on the land.’

‘He cannot give back our women and children whom the Company killed. I have much respect for you, Mr. Superintendent, but it is you who will not understand.’

‘Listen! If it’s just the women, it’s about time you knew the truth.’

‘What truth? We have enough of excuses and apologies. The Company refused to let their husbands back and they were all alone and terrified of the police.’

‘I wish to Jesus they had been!’

‘More lies from Birenfield and the Union?’

‘Not from them, friend Rafael. From your Catalina and my wife.’

‘I am listening.’

Rafael heard the story in a turmoil of emotion. The Company not to blame? But it doubled the blame and smeared filth over the lot!

‘Did you know this, Don Manuel?’

‘Not I, Rafael! Nobody knows it.’

‘And you believe it?’

‘Man, from anyone else I wouldn’t. But neither of the Thorpes would invent what Catalina said.’

Yes, that was true. Though there was no echo at all of Catalina in Thorpe’s words, this must be what she had heard from the women. Rafael asked whether González knew.

‘Of course not! No idea of discipline! He never knows a thing about his men and is full of information about everyone else.’

‘And Don Mateo?’

‘I told him long ago. Now do you see? Your poor martyrs were a lot of dirty whores!’

There was no end to disillusion. The murder of Lorenzo, Gil Delgado, the money and now this. Don Mateo had been right to say nothing. He at least saw that this sordid story made no difference to
the reason for the boycott and that the only effect would be to send widowers like Antón running wild with knives among guilty and innocent. The police deserved it. They might still get it.
That depended on whether bloodshed could bring about the defeat of Delgado and the Company or not. But nothing mattered except that the oil should never flow again. All that remained clean was his
own determination that it should be never.

‘Look, Rafael!’ Thorpe said reasonably. ‘You are alone. You have no support beyond a bunch of toughs without a brain in their heads. Even Chepe doesn’t approve of
you.’

‘Take care!’

‘No dramatics, friend! It’s nothing serious. Only some sort of doll he has which he gave to Don Mateo.’

‘Why?’

‘God knows. My wife didn’t tell me. Just affection, I suppose. Perhaps it was all he had to give.’

‘Then there is nothing left to me at all.’

‘Well, you may think that, but no one else does. How about that bit of land and a home you need never worry about and watching your strip of the corn grow while the rest of us are sweating
it out for the shareholders?’

‘Don Manuel, may I go to the house and see how my potted plant is doing?’

‘Here is the key, Rafael. The Superintendent and I are going down to the edge of the beach where the water gate needs repair.’

Rafael opened the trap door, savagely wishing that he had brought the automatic instead of leaving it on the rafters of his house, safely out of Chepe’s reach. If there
were anyone who was useless, it was El Vicario. But the man had advanced beyond the symmetry of a chess board and laid out in lime and soot a silhouette of Cabo Desierto, at once recognisable from
the exaggeration of the tank farm, the refinery and the Three Sentinels. Such humanity disarmed the gun that wasn’t there. He must have had long practice in cell art.

‘Any time you want to get rid of me, mate,’ he said, ‘I would prefer some other death to starvation.’

‘You think this is a restaurant?’

‘If it is, it’s a long way from the kitchen.’

Uriarte had concealed a fresh loaf and slices of meat in a locker. Rafael tossed them down to his prisoner and sat on the edge of the hatch silently watching him eat.

‘You are not careful enough,’ El Vicario said with his mouth full. ‘One jump and I could catch your feet and pull you down.’

‘A lot of good that would do you!’

‘One never knows. Something might present itself. I presume you would be missed. The trouble is: I don’t know by whom.’

‘Nor do I.’

‘Depressed this morning, mate? I have observed that the usual cause is being deprived of all possibility of action.’

‘You are right. Everything would be simpler if I had you killed.’

‘Short and sharp never cures anything.’

‘It does not take long to dig a grave.’

‘But what a waste!’

‘How a waste?’

‘All that gelignite. Why not blow up the General Manager?’

‘Give me something else to serve for him!’

‘I believe I mentioned the Sentinels.’

‘And I told you it was impossible.’

‘When you watched me open up those boxes, did you see me put one by itself? That was my personal property, not the Union’s.’

‘Your clothes? I saw a belt in it and some socks.’

‘Not clothes, mate. That is what we call a necklace and I know of no neck it will not cut.’

‘There would be no more oil ever?’

‘I should imagine not. Frankly I have no idea what would happen, but I should take care to be far away at the time.’

‘Far away? You can’t! One match and Pouf!’

‘Friend Rafael—I believe that is your name?—things go off when I tell them to and not before.’

‘How do I know that you will not escape?’

‘Two good reasons. One is that you will be holding my gun—yourself, please, not one of your more excitable assistants. The other is that I should enjoy the job. The crown, perhaps,
of a career. But there is a difficulty.’