Southern Seas (27 page)

‘Pepe, Pepe, don’t run off like that.’

Bromide drew alongside with his shoeshine box.

‘Come and have a glass on me. Whatever you fancy. I’m rich, thanks to you.’

‘I’ve got a date.’

‘Give her two from the front, and two from behind—with my compliments.’

‘It’s not that kind of date.’

‘Pity. You know, has it ever crossed your mind how little we men have, compared with what women need?’

‘On occasion.’

‘And doesn’t it make you want to weep? When I served as a cavalryman under General Muñoz Grandes, I once had it off with a woman six times in one night. But she could quite easily have done it another six times. And that was my best night ever. Women are superior beings, far superior.’

He left Bromide pondering his male inadequacies. He picked up his car, so that he could travel at an easy pace towards San Magín. As he approached the posh part of town, he was surrounded by mothers driving to collect their kids from school. The Stuart widow must have driven like that, day after day, to pick up her children. Then they grew up and set off for Bali. Or limbo.

Ana Briongos arrived on the bus and was obviously relieved when she saw Carvalho. She was the first off, and hurried to meet him.

‘Thanks for taking me seriously.’

They began to walk. You could almost hear the sound of the words that were piling up in her head. She looked at Carvalho, hoping for some gesture that would prompt her into speech. But he seemed lost in thought, and trailed along as if he had all day and all night to walk and be silent.

‘Why did you go to my parents’ house?’

‘This is the second time today that someone’s telling me I shouldn’t come here. They should put up a sign on the main road: San Magín—Prohibited Area.’

‘You don’t know the damage you’ve done by coming here, and the damage you might still do.’

‘You could say that the damage has already been done.’

‘My parents are just two old people who are scared silly about everyone and everything. That’s just the way they are.’

Carvalho shrugged his shoulders.

‘Don’t go and see my brother.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s not worth it.’

‘I’ll decide that once I’ve seen him.’

‘My brother isn’t a normal kid. He reacts unpredictably—like a child. A violent child. He’s been the whipping boy all his life. My mother always hated him. She’s wicked. She has that absurd, petty nastiness of the poor. And that’s all she’s got—the only thing that gives her any personality. My father has always been intimidated by her. He’s had to pay for the sin of Pedro’s birth.’

‘This is some scenario!’

‘He was only seven when they put him in a home for the first time. He’d stolen money from one of the neighbours to buy a few odds and ends. He came back two years later, behaving worse than ever. He was nine by then. The shops are full of books which say that adults should treat children with respect. But at nine years old, my brother was just fodder for my father’s rage and my mother’s broom handle. They sent him away again when he was eleven. Have you any idea what it’s like in the Wad Ras reform school?’

‘I come from a different generation. I grew up with the threat of being sent to the Durán Home.’

‘In spite of everything, he’s always thinking of the family. He’s always seen himself as one of us. The minute he has a few coppers, he spends them on my parents or his brothers and sisters. He’s eighteen years old, now. Just eighteen.’

‘Just four or five years younger than you.’

‘He’s quite different, though. If he’s done anything wrong, his whole life is to blame.’

‘What has he done?’

‘What are you after? Do you have to be one of those creeps who come sticking their noses into a world that isn’t theirs?’

‘Like Stuart Pedrell. Like your Antonio. He was another one sticking his nose into a world that wasn’t his.’

‘Nothing compensates me for the pain of Antonio’s death. And it does hurt. Here.’ She pointed to her belly. ‘But it was inevitable.’

‘What happened?’

‘Why don’t you just go away? What are you looking for—weak victims for an easy victory? Is that the way you like it?’

‘What can I say? I’ll admit to the role you’re casting me in. I’m my masters’ servant, just like you are. But I don’t like victims, easy or otherwise. They are simply the consequences.’

‘They’re people—and in this case, they’re people I love and people who could be destroyed. Sometimes I can still see my brother as a child, when he didn’t know that he carried the guilt for my mother’s humiliation. I can see his little face, and then I suddenly see it twisted out of shape by all the brutality that he’s had to go through.’

‘It’s in the logic of the case for me to meet your brother, and I always follow my cases through to the end—to what
I
regard as the end. When I’ve finished, I leave things in the hands of my client. I tell them what I know, and the client decides. The police would take him before a judge. But in my work, the client is the judge.’

‘A rich, hysterical old woman who doesn’t know the meaning of the word suffering.’

‘She’s rich, but not old. And everybody knows what it means to suffer. You have a lot going for you. You belong to the social class which has right on its side and spits it in everyone’s face.’

‘I tried to help him. I used to tell him don’t do this, Pedrito … don’t do that …! When I was away from home, I was always in fear. What would Pedro do? And when I returned, he’d always done it. They always found some reason to hound him into a
corner. I used to wait for him outside school, so that he’d go straight home and not do something stupid on the way. Can you imagine how the police treated him when they came about the motorbike business? How they treated us? To make things worse, I had a political record. Do you know how they treat delinquents at the police station? In prison?’

‘I didn’t create the world, and I don’t want to be everyone’s conscience. That’s too big a role. I presume you didn’t call me just because you wanted to tell me your brother’s life story.’

‘I wanted to stop you meeting him.’

‘You won’t succeed.’

‘Do you know what will happen?’

‘I can guess.’

‘Isn’t that enough to stop you? Why don’t you wind your investigation up? Tell your client whatever you like. It’s in her interest too, for me to keep my mouth shut.’

‘You can sort that out between the two of you.’

She caught him by the arm and shook him vigorously.

‘Don’t be stupid! Something terrible could happen. If I talk to you and tell you everything … would you still go and see my brother?’

‘I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth. He’s the one who has to tell me. Don’t be silly—your conscience would never forgive you.’

Carvalho walked ahead, while she stood frozen at the crossroads, one hand held out towards him and the other clutching her jacket pocket. She ran level with Carvalho, and they walked on in silence.

‘How easy it would be, just to clear out of here!’

‘This place and its people would go with you, like the tortoise carries its shell.’

‘I’m not thinking of leaving. You might find it strange, but I don’t think I could manage anywhere else.’

‘If it’s a boy, don’t give up hope. Some men have produced
excellent results. In the future, men will be better than women. I’m sure of that.’

‘I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl. I’ll love it just the same.’

‘One of my first jobs was at a local primary school. It was an old neighbourhood with quite a history, but the people were a lot like the people who live here. One of my pupils was a dark, sad-eyed boy, who had the gestures of a wise old man. He always talked as if he was excusing himself. One day, I met his mother at the school gates. She had the gestures of a wise old woman. She also always talked as if she was excusing herself. She was very beautiful, even though she had white hair. The child could have come out of any part of her body: from her arm, her breast, her head … She was a single mother at a time when there was no longer any reason. The war had been over too long to serve as an alibi.’

‘And what happened?’

‘Nothing. I left the school and never saw them again. But I often remember them, and I sometimes have an odd feeling that the boy had white hair too. I was still young then and masturbating a lot. Some nights, I masturbated thinking of that woman.’

‘What a pig!’

‘Nature is nature.’

He was wearing denims and a black plastic jacket decorated with rings, zips and metal studs. Shoes with heels that gave extra inches to his nervous body; hands stuck deep in large jacket pockets; a neck arched high as if to spy on a threatening world; short, sleeked hair and the face of a young stallion. He looked at Carvalho and bent his head in a way that suggested he did not want to see him. A movement of his shoulder beckoned Carvalho to follow.

‘We can’t talk here. Let’s go somewhere quiet.’ He walked ahead in sudden spurts, as if every step were a whiplash. ‘Take it easy. No need to rush.’

Carvalho did not reply. Pedro Larios turned back every so often and smiled: ‘Not far to go.’

As they turned a corner, the dark loneliness and San Magín backstreets fell around them. A church was outlined against the moon. The voice of Julio Iglesias came from a nearby jukebox. Carvalho and Pedro Larios stopped in a pool of light from a street lamp that swayed in the breeze. Pedro kept his hands in his pockets. With a smile, he looked left and right, and two young men emerged from the shadows to stand beside Carvalho.

‘It’s better to talk in company.’

Carvalho sized up the body of the man on his left. He was strong, and his eyes were opaque, as if he had no wish to see what was around him. He wasn’t sure where to put his hands. The one on the right was more like a child. He looked at Carvalho with a curled lip, like a dog before it bites.

‘Have you lost your voice? It was loud enough in my folks’ place. Too loud.’

‘Did these two help you?’

‘Help me what?’

‘Kill the guy who was going around with your sister?’

He blinked. The three looked at one another.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t go too far, mister,’ said the kid on the right. ‘Watch what you’re saying.’

‘Listen, I don’t know what my dad told you, but you’d better believe what
I
say. You were snooping too much for my liking, because I don’t like snoopers.’

‘He’s got a snooper’s face,’ said the kid.

‘Let’s finish him off,’ interrupted the Hulk.

‘I don’t like guys who stick their noses where they’re not welcome. My friends don’t either.’

They took two steps forward. Carvalho was now within reach, and behind him lay the wall of a building site. The kid was the first to take a knife out. He waved it under Carvalho’s nose. Pedro’s seemed to be open even before it came out of his pocket. The Hulk threw back his shoulders, lowered his head, and made ready with his fists. The kid lunged at Carvalho with his knife. The detective ducked back to dodge it. While Pedro attacked from the front, the Hulk threw a punch at Carvalho that just grazed him. Carvalho managed to kick the youngster, who howled and doubled up in pain. He parried the thrust of the Hulk’s body, and pushed him against the advancing Pedro. He had no time to reach for his revolver before the kid blindly returned to the charge, hurling a stream of insults. Carvalho caught his arm and twisted it until it cracked. The kid screamed in pain:

‘The bastard! The bastard! He’s broken my arm!’

The other two looked at the useless arm. Pedro rushed wildly forward and left a fine cut down Carvalho’s cheek. The Hulk then found new courage and rejoined the fray. With clasped fists and a flash of his knuckledusters, Carvalho dealt him a backhander that immediately opened four gashes on the Hulk’s face. Carvalho toppled him, punching his head and face with a swift one-two action, but as he went over, the big one grabbed Carvalho’s legs and brought him down.

‘Kill him! Kill him, Pedro!’ shouted the youngster.

Pedro tried to plunge his knife among the writhing bodies. Carvalho emerged on top, pulling the Hulk’s head back by the hair, and put his knife to his throat.