The Assignment (20 page)

He turned the machine again, looked at the unreadable script, and crumpled up the paper.

“Damn,” she said.

“Excuse me.”

They both jumped, and Manuel thrust his hand under his jacket.

It was López who had spoken.

“Excuse me,” he said again. “When I worked in the aliens’ department we had a machine just like that.”

They stared at him. He was sitting as usual by the wall with his hands on his knees.

“I was convalescing then,” he added. “Shot in the foot.”

“Then perhaps you can help?”

“It’s possible,” said López.

Ten minutes later the machine was working, but after a hundred or so copies the first stencil tore. Manuel stood by the wall and looked on while she typed another. She worked swiftly, apparently enthusiastic and happy, and her breasts moved beneath her dress. She had a spot of ink on her temple, and when she raised her hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead, the ink was rubbed into a long black streak.

She brushed by quite close to him, softly and supplely. Like an animal. She fixed the stencil and adjusted the paper. She brushed past him again. When she came back, he put out his hand and held her arm.

“Danica.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes were large and dark gray and questioning. At first. Then she nodded and put the pile of paper down.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m coming.”

He held her by the arm and led her through the other room, across the corridor, unlocked the door, and went in.

He did not think. Not about López. Nor about Behounek. Nor about anyone. Or anything.

He turned on the light.

She looked at him seriously and pushed aside the hair on her forehead with her wrist.

“Yes,” she said.

He took her by the shoulders and kissed her. Her lips were thin and soft and alive. Slowly she moved her head and opened her mouth. He felt her tongue. She was with him, next to him. Her body soft, melting against his.

Then they let go. He took off his jacket and shoes and unfastened the gun.

She unfastened the top two buttons of her dress and then stopped.

He reached over and unfastened the third. The fourth. He pulled the dress down over her shoulders. Touched her naked breasts. Looked at them. Small and well formed. The
mark had almost vanished now, only a faint blue shadow. Her nipples were dark brown and hard.

He began to take off his shirt.

She looked at him. Suddenly she said: “Hell. No. It’s no good.”

He was utterly dismayed.

“Why not?”

“The usual. How could I forget?”

He stared at her.

“It’s no good. It’s not good for me. Hurts.”

She seemed just as dismayed as he.

“It sounds quite crazy,” she said, “but I really had forgotten.”

“But later?”

“What do you mean, later?”

“Well, when it’s over. Then?”

“Of course. At once.”

“Sure?”

She laughed and put two fingers against his mouth.

“I swear,” she said.

He laughed too.

“You realize, I really do want to,” she said.

“Undress.”

She gave him a questioning gray look.

“I’ll give you a shower. There’s lots of water in there.”

He pulled down the zipper of her dress.

She was wearing only two garments apart from her sandals and was ready before he was. They looked at each other.

“You’re naked,” she said.

“So are you.”

“You’re awfully hairy.”

“So are you.”

“Only there,” she said.

She drew her fingertips through the close black hair.

Above the hairline was a circular bruise.

She stood in the shower, at first with her hands on her knees. He slowly poured two jars of water over her.

“My hair too,” she said.

Then it was his turn. He shivered and thought that the water could not have been all that cold.

They dried themselves and went into the bedroom. She lay down on the bed and looked at him as he shut the door and came back.

“You’ve a fine body.”

“So have you.”

“I’ve long legs and good feet. Otherwise I’m not much.”

He leaned over the bed and kissed her.

“Sometimes I get an inferiority complex,” she said. “Me, who’s supposed to be so tough and hardened.”

“When?”

“When I see people like that woman today. Silly.”

They looked at each other again.

“Do you want me to do something to you?”

“I can wait,” he said.

“I didn’t ask you what you can do. I asked you what you wanted.”

He lay down beside her and raised his arm.

“No,” she said. “Don’t turn out the light.”

Soon afterward she said: “I’ll lie on your arm.”

He lay still, with her wet hair against his shoulder. Her body was cool and pleasant after the shower. Clean.

He thought: When you are lying down you seem tall and fully grown, but when you are dressed you seem so small. At the same time slender and firm as only boats and certain women can be.

He said: “How many pulls will a stencil stand, by the way?”

“A thousand, but hush. Don’t talk about it. Don’t even think about it. Not now. Think about me. Think about yourself. This is our only chance.”

She pushed her fingers through his hair, and laid her hand flat on his stomach.

“Well,” she said. “Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

She lay still, immobile … After a while she said: “Good?”

He said nothing. He gripped her. Her shoulders. Her breasts. Her stomach. Thrust his fingers through the tight hair. Came nearer.

“You’re a little afraid of me, aren’t you?” he said.

She raised her left leg a little and laid it across his. Knee to knee. Foot to ankle.

“Only a little,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I’m lying on my right arm. It hurts.”

She sat up.

“Can you see me now?” she said.

“Yes.”

“I can see you too.”

He nodded.

“Look then, because I’m going to turn the light out now.”

She knelt up and put out the light. She bent down in the darkness and kissed him with her open mouth. He stroked her lightly from hip to neck with his right hand, feeling her skin. He lay with his hand on her head without holding on to her. She began to move, at first imperceptibly. She slid the tip of her tongue over his lips and chin. His throat and on down his chest.

“You’re fine,” she said.

He took hold of her hips and raised her. She was light and lay astride now, on all fours. Over him. He held her feet firmly. He let go. Slowly he stroked her calf and thigh with his right hand. She moved her knees. More comfortable, she thought, with her heels against his ribs. So open, and he stroked her, his fingertips moving in an elliptical curve.
Searching for the sensitive place. Finding it as one finds things in the dark.

“Good?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Really good?”

“Yes,” she said. “Really. You’ll soon see.”

Near to breaking point. Very near. Very very near.

Breathing. Lying still. A long time.

She moved and changed her position in the dark. She put on the light. She half lay, propped on her elbow, looking at him. Stroking his lips with her fingertips.

“It must have been a long time ago for you,” she said.

“Yes, quite a long time.”

“What do you mean by quite?”

He had to think.

“Nine or ten days. But not so long for you?”

“No, not so long ago.”

“How long?”

“Three days ago. No, four.”

“The officer?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“No one you know. He’s called Ramón.”

“Do you know him? Well?”

“Fairly.”

“It wasn’t the first time?”

“Not at all.”

“Was he good, Ramón?”

“I like him. That’s the main thing.”

“Did he make that bruise?”

“Which one?”

“On your stomach.”

“Yes.”

“And the officer?”

“Yes, but that was earlier.”

“Was he good too?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t exactly like him.”

“But you slept with him?”

“Yes.”

“Then it was all wasted then?”

“It’s seldom completely wasted when you sleep with someone.”

“Do you always live like this?”

“More or less. Not always. In spasms. Do you disapprove?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

She lay down, putting her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest.

“It wasn’t like that before,” she said. “Not in the beginning. But it’s become like that. I’ve become involved twice, seriously you know, and all that. But it didn’t work. Always ended with me hurting those I really liked. So I was scared of getting involved, and to avoid it I began to live like this. Now I don’t think I could get involved again. But I don’t know and that’s why I’ve been hesitant in this case, the Manuel case.”

She said this in an intentionally comical tone of voice and he could not help laughing. Then she said: “That’s what I’m like. What are you like?”

“Little different.”

“Are you unfaithful to your wife?”

“As you see.”

“Often?”

“Now and again, but not often.”

“With a lot of women?”

“No, definitely not with a lot. And I don’t like talking about it.”

“You’re fine,” she said, “anyhow.”

“So are you. How do you feel, though?”

“Awful.”

“What are you scrambling about for?”

“Cigarettes.”

She lay still beside him, smoking. She said: “Do you feel awful too?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing to what we’ll feel the day after tomorrow.”

After a while: “Listen—we must get to work now. Mustn’t fall asleep.”

“I’d almost forgotten.”

It was true. He had almost forgotten.

He rose and dressed, and she said: “Haven’t you a thinner suit than that one?”

He shook his head.

“Then I’ll get hold of one for you tomorrow.”

He fastened on the gun and picked up his jacket. She was still lying naked on the bed, stretched straight out.

“Aren’t you going to get up?”

“Yes, but do me a favor will you?”

“What?”

“Go and get my tampons out of my bag.”

López was sitting in the revolving chair. Manuel took the two steps across the corridor, gripped the doorknob, and turned it. Then he got scared and jerked back. He put his hand on the walnut butt and pushed open the door carefully. Then he thought how foolish he must look from behind and he straightened up and walked in. He took the bag with him. She was still lying on the bed.

She looked for the box in the bag, went into the bathroom, and came back. She walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. Thirty seconds later she was dressed and had even had time to pull a comb through her hair.

At half past two, fifteen hundred copies of General Larrinaga’s message to the people were stacked in the safe.

Fernández was there, slinking around the walls in his rubber-soled shoes, like a caged wild animal.

They had worked hard and were tired, the heat still heavy and oppressive.

“Come on, let’s go home,” she said. “I mean, you can come home with me. If you want to, of course.”

Manuel hesitated for a long time.

“No,” he said at last. “Someone must be here.”

“Yes, of course. I’m a bit haywire sometimes.”

“Can’t you stay here?”

Her turn to hesitate.

“No, not really. I can’t. No.”

“Good night. Listen—it’s late. Wouldn’t you like the revolver? If you’re scared?”

“I’m not afraid.”

It was the morning of the eighth day and Manuel Ortega was again awakened by Fernández leaning over him with his hands on his shoulders.

He had not taken any sleeping tablets the night before and awoke at once.

“The lady is here and says it’s something important.”

“Which lady?”

“Her, ours, Señora Rodríguez.”

“Let her in then.”

Danica came in. She was smoking and wearing the white dress.

“Hullo,” he said. “Thanks for yesterday.”

“Thanks to you too. Sixto wants to meet you.”

“At this time? And who is Sixto?”

It was half past five. Neither of them had slept for more than two hours at the most.

“He’s the regional leader here in the Liberation Front.”

“What does he want? To shoot me?”

“Hardly. But I’ve no idea. Just got a message about it twenty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t he come himself? Or phone?”

“He’s still on the wanted list and doesn’t dare use the phone. Hurry now.”

Ten minutes later they were on their way. Danica Rodríguez drove and Manuel Ortega sat beside her, with Fernández in the back. They passed through the police barrier at the southern entrance, drove past the barracks, and turned off
onto a gravel road which led across a stony littered field to the so-called southern sector.

Danica drove very well, swiftly and with intuitive skill. Manuel looked at her sideways and saw that a tiny wrinkle appeared just above the ridge of her nose when she was concentrating on the uneven road.

“How deeply are you involved in these circles?” he said.