The Assignment (19 page)

7. The Citizens’ Guard is right when it tries to protect and retain the enterprises and material culture which have already been created in the province. They are also right when they, within reasonable limits, wish to represent the interests of the landowning classes.

8. The Liberation Front is right when it asserts every person’s right to employment and education, tolerable living conditions, and wages which are more or less in reasonable proportion to the work done and likewise are roughly comparable with the wages of workers in other parts of the Federal Republic and in other countries.

9. In view of the foregoing, neither side has the support of the government or the armed forces.

10. Nevertheless, both sides should be awarded the legal right to represent the interests of their own respective social classes, on condition that armed activities are suspended.

11. Because of the people’s low level of education, it is too early to institute universal suffrage. An interim government should therefore be set up with an equal number of representatives from each side and an equivalent number representing the federal authorities.

12. The education system should be expanded immediately. Also the health services. New living quarters should replace the present substandard housing around the capital of the province.

13. The wage system for mine, estate, and industrial workers should immediately be adjusted according to the
standards outlined above. Likewise regulations for working hours should be instituted.

14. The inhabitants’ demand for land of their own should be met at once; not a difficult task. On the other hand, any idea of rapid and comprehensive agricultural reforms would be premature.

15. The Federal Police should be withdrawn and in the future should be used only for purely police purposes.

16. The army should take over responsibility for law and order, but not until the present Military Governor and the present High Command are removed and replaced by nonpolitical officers.

17. The present situation in the province is degrading, both for the people who live here and for the country as a whole. The measures suggested in points 10–16 should therefore be carried out immediately.

Orestes de Larrinaga           
General. Provincial Resident

There was an eighteenth paragraph in the text too: All political ideologies should be permitted. Similarly every person’s right, regardless of color, creed, or class, to a basic education and a decent standard of living should be secured by law.

It had, however, been garnished with several question marks and finally struck out altogether.

“But this is magnificent,” said Danica Rodríguez. “Elderly reactionary discovers the majority of the human race and produces a three-point plan. This is dynamite.”

“Yes, it’s dynamite,” said Manuel Ortega.

“What are you thinking of doing with it?”

“Publishing it,” said Manuel Ortega.

“Now?”

“Yes, as soon as possible.”

“They’ll take any measures to stop you.”

“Which ‘they’?”

“The Citizens’ Guard, the army, the police, the lot.”

“Let them try.”

“How are you going to publish it?”

“We’ll have to think of a way.”

“Yes,” she said. “We must think of a way.”

She stood behind him and scratched her short black hair.

“One even sweats in one’s hair,” she said. “It really does feel damned awful.”

Manuel drank a glass of lemonade and wiped his face again with his soaking handkerchief.

“Francisca de Larrinaga didn’t appear to sweat at all,” he said.

“No, if one lives here all one’s life one gets used to it.”

Quite unexpectedly she added: “D’you think she’s beautiful?”

“Not very.”

“But attractive?”

“No, not at all.”

The incorrigible Fernández let out an astonished grunt.

“Give me the papers and I’ll make a few copies,” said Danica Rodríguez. “Otherwise something idiotic might happen to us.”

“You think of everything.”

She leaned over his shoulder and picked up the General’s proclamation. As she did so she brushed her lips over his ear and he felt her nose against his temple.

“Yes,” she said. “I do think of all sorts of things, but even so, I’m mostly wrong.”

She went out and he watched her go. When he shifted his look he saw that Fernández was watching him with a mixture of doubt and pleased consternation in his eyes. At that moment López came in, hung up his black hat, and sat down on the chair by the wall.

It must be twelve o’clock then.

Two hours later he had finished his speech and he went in to the next room to get it typed.

“I don’t think they’ll accept this,” said Danica Rodríguez.

“Who won’t?”

“The Liberation Front. The guarantees aren’t good enough. They daren’t trust the government and first and foremost they don’t trust you.”

“They should,” said Manuel Ortega.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Well, the main thing is to get in contact with them.”

“You can easily do that.”

Half an hour later she had finished the typescript and brought it in. At the same time she brought two copies of General Larrinaga’s proclamation.

“I made three,” she said. “I’ll keep one myself.”

He nodded, folded one of the papers up, and put it in his pocket. As he took out his wallet he noticed that the leather was soft and damp and had begun to acquire a slightly pungent smell. He put the other copy in an envelope, sealed it, and went over to the man in the chair.

“Will you keep this for me until tomorrow?”

López nodded and put the envelope into his right inner pocket.

Manuel Ortega sat down at his desk and thought. The heat and the low air pressure worked against even his ability to think. Now and then it was as if whole sections of the system of cells in his brain turned numb and were put out of action. It was a long time before he succeeded in coming to a decision.

In the meantime Behounek called.

“Everything calm?”

“Yes, but the Communists are dropping a leaflet signed by the Liberation Front. It’s a long time since they did that.”

“What do they say?”

“It’s well put together, I must say. That damned Carmen
Sánchez … Yes, they’ve got it all, the blasting details, the wells, the riots the day before yesterday, the Santa Rosa affair …”

“I think you should keep very quiet about that, Captain Behounek. Later on you’ll certainly have to explain yourself further.”

“Yes, yes, but what worries me is how it ever got out at all. Someone must have been careless somehow. Perhaps … yes, I’ll have to check up on it.”

He sounded as if he were talking to himself.

“Where do they get their leaflets printed?”

“Here somewhere, God knows where. You see, they don’t need a printing plant, but just set the text by hand and print it on one of those little hand presses—proof presses, I think they’re called. We’ve found and confiscated eight or nine of them, but there are evidently several more around. They’re small and easy to hide.”

“I’m broadcasting at five o’clock.”

“Good. I’ll listen to you.”

“Would you check that the broadcast goes out over the loudspeakers in the workers’ quarter?”

“Of course. I’ll see that the loudspeakers up at the mines are switched on too.”

Manuel Ortega thought for a moment.

“I’ll be giving a more detailed speech tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“Apropos of that, is the telephone working?”

“Only locally.”

“I’ve noticed that. But why not further out?”

“The line is cut somewhere up north. The fault doesn’t seem to have been found yet. The line is evidently cut somewhere near the border anyway, perhaps not even on our side. I’ve sent a cable about it.”

“Could it be due to partisan activities?”

“Possibly.”

The conversation ended. Manuel finished his glass of lemonade, looked out at the deserted square and went in to Danica Rodríguez.

“Reserve broadcasting time for ten tomorrow morning. And inform the Chief of Police that I’ll be making another important speech then. Tell him that the loudspeakers in the workers’ quarter and at the mines are to be switched on.”

She looked questioningly at him.

“Are you thinking of …”

“Yes,” he said, tapping on the pocket containing his wallet.

She smiled and stuck out the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

Mischief, he thought conventionally.

Then he said: “But that’s not enough. Do you think there’s a printer who can be persuaded to do a couple of thousand copies?”

“No,” she said. “Definitely not.”

He looked at her legs and feet. She followed his gaze and smiled. The same smile as day before, narrow and eager and with a glitter behind her half-closed eyelids.

You damned little …

His thoughts were broken off by the telephone and he left her at once. It was Colonel Ruiz, who carried on a long and involved conversation about the transport of the water. He spoke very formally and what he said was almost totally lacking in interest. Manuel asked only one question.

“How many vehicles are working at the moment?”

“Twenty-five. Three army, sixteen requisitioned, and five more private. One being repaired.”

Manuel said “thank you” and replaced the receiver. Behounek had been right as usual.

But then he thought: No, not as usual. Behounek had not been right. Behounek had
not
been right. Behounek must not be right. Behounek had never been right. In essentials Behounek had never been right.

A short while later Danica Rodríguez came in with a cable which ran:
HOW IS CONFERENCE GOING STOP COMPLETE GUARANTEES GIVEN STOP COOPERATE CLOSELY WITH BEHOUNEK ZAFORTEZA
.

He threw the paper into a drawer in his desk and went to change his clothes. He noticed that five jars of water were standing in the shower. He was being looked after in spite of everything. When he went back, he thought: This time I won’t be afraid. This thing with the door is a foolish complex which I must get rid of.

But he still automatically thrust his hand under his jacket as he turned the doorknob. The room was hot and white and terrible.

He went to the radio station at half past four. Just as he was on his way out he was stopped by Danica Rodríguez.

“I’ve had an idea,” she said. “I’ve found an old duplicating machine in one of the rooms. I think it’ll work. We could do a couple of thousand copies on it.”

“Tonight?”

“Of course. I’ll get some ink and stencils and paper.”

“Then you’ll be here when I get back.”

“Of course.”

The temperature in the radio station was beyond belief. The technicians were working in shorts and had put wet towels on the backs of their necks. The woman at the controls was sitting with her feet in a bowl of water. The announcer, who had great red heat patches on his face and arms, shook his head and said: “We’re all from the north and haven’t been here long. Most of their own people were wiped out in the rioting in March last year when the right-wingers blew up the old radio station and set fire to it.”

“I didn’t know that. Why did they do it?”

“There were a couple of Communists on the staff here, I think. They fixed up ghost broadcasts for the Liberation Front several times a day. That was before the government crisis
and before the Federal Police came here. It seems to have been pure Wild West then.”

“But it’s better now.”

“Yes, it’s fine now. But one never gets used to the heat. This place is faultily built, like everything else in this rotten part of the country. The idiot who planned it forgot the ventilation.”

Manuel looked around the studio. Although the building was brand new, the ceiling had cracked and the plywood had warped in the heat.

“We’ve thrown away the thermometer. If we could actually see how hot it was in here we’d have a stroke. Well, we’re lucky they haven’t television here, with its lights and all that jazz,” he said philosophically.

Manuel Ortega was forced to take off his jacket. He sat at the table with its green felt cloth, dressed in a shirt with the collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up, striped suspenders and a revolver in a shoulder holster.

The anouncer stared incredulously at the Astra.

As Manuel waited for the red light, he looked at López and felt utterly foolish.

The light went on and he began to read. It was all over in two minutes.

“That sounded fine,” said the announcer nonchalantly. “Though we’ll adjust your
s
’s down a little next time. In fact, we can do your new recording direct and take a bit of time over it and then we’ll know once and for all what adjustments are needed for your voice. Then we’ll put that tape out over the air every hour.”

The man was obviously quite indifferent to the political implications and hardly conscious of the seriousness of the situation.

“That’s good,” said Manuel Ortega to himself. “He’ll do.”

When he got back to the Governor’s Palace, he asked Danica Rodríguez: “Did you hear the broadcast?”

“Yes. The guarantees are still not good enough.”

His announcement had been very simple. He had said that the government had assigned to him the task of arranging a meeting of reconciliation between the Citizens’ Guard and the Liberation Front, and that complete guarantees were being assured for the delegates’ personal safety. Finally, he had urged the two parties to make themselves known through authorized messengers.

“Well, we’ll see,” he said.

Danica Rodríguez did not reply. She had gotten paper, stencils, and tubes of ink. The materials were all lying on her desk, and at the side stood the duplicating machine, a dusty old-fashioned model which no one seemed to have used for the last ten years.

A moment later she said: “It doesn’t work properly.”

She had typed a few sentences on a stencil to try it out. The result was scarcely encouraging.

Manuel Ortega looked dejectedly at the machine. He was not mechanical-minded and felt nonplused. As if that were not enough, the woman shook her head and said: “I’m no good at all with mechanical things.”