Chapter III: Part 3

"Well, well," the waiter said, "today is very nice and sunny. Very nice." He walked into the kitchen.

"I have a perfect itinerary," Hall said. "Old San Hermano first; that's the historic colonial part of the city. Then, at noon, we take the funicular railway to the top of the world for lunch. And after that--well, well, well, as the waiter said."

They walked about San Hermano all morning. Hall showed her through the old fortress of the Duke of La Runa, which the government had restored after Segura was overthrown, told her about the early colonial history of the city. They sat on the old sea wall for a few minutes, while Hall pointed out the Moorish and Spanish details of the stone houses along the sea drive above the wharves. The youngest of the houses was a century old; the tile friezes along their bellies had all been imported from Spain in sailing ships. Jerry watched the sun do magic tricks of blue and purple on the surface of the houses. They wandered through the old market places, deserted that day, but colored by the little stalls along the sidewalks. Hall bought a large spray of gardenias for the girl from an itinerant vendor.

"Where are those beaten-silver things you told me about?" she asked.

"Later," he said. "There's plenty of time for that."

"Where do we go now?" Jerry asked. "My feet are killing me."

"From now on we ride." He found a taxi parked near the Cathedral, and they rode to the funicular railway terminal at the base of Monte Azul. He told her how the railway was built by Segura, as they rode. "But it was when the Tabio junta threw the Seguristas out that the damned cable cars meant anything to the people of the country themselves. You see, Jerry, Segura gave the concession on top of the mountain to one of his thugs. The new regime opened it up to the little guys. And wait till you see what they did to the grounds."

They shared the cable car with an old water colorist, and two other young couples. "My God," Jerry exclaimed, when she saw the route the cars followed, "it's like climbing hand over hand up a sheer cliff!"

"Don't worry. It's perfectly safe. In a way, though, I'm sorry this is such a clear day. On a cloudy day, the tracks just vanish into the soup up there, and you feel that you are being towed into the clouds."

The cars climbed for five miles, creaking, whining, grunting, but steadily pushing on toward the peak. From the opened windows, Jerry could see the Moorish villas at the base of the mountain, then their red-tiled roofs, then the miles of scraggly wild orange trees. The sweet, heavy odors of their blossoms filled the car.

"Oh, look," she said, "the town is getting smaller. And the sea is growing bluer."

"Wait until we get off," he smiled. "Then you'll really see something."

The old artist took out a sketch pad, studied Jerry's excited face, and made some quick strokes with a charcoal stick. Hall winked at the old man. "_Hola, viejo. Que pasa?_"

"_La mujer es muy bonita._"

"_Muchas gracias_, Senor. _Es verdad._"

"What are you saying to him?" Jerry asked.

"He said you are very beautiful and I said that's the Lord's gospel truth. He's sketching you, I think."

"Can we buy it if it's good?"

"I'll speak to him later. Up there."

The car stopped at the terminal on the man-made plateau about a thousand feet from the actual tip of Monte Azul. A wooden rail ran along the edge of the plateau for about a quarter of a mile. Within the rail was the funicular terminal, a souvenir stand, a tiny post office, and a large open-air restaurant.

"Let's eat," Hall said. "You get hungry as a horse up there."

They took a table with an enameled orange top near the rail. Large barbecue pits hugged the mountain side of the restaurant, and under a shed roof three cooks presided over a row of steaming pots. From their table, they could see the mile-deep belt of mountain flowers which had been planted in the days of the dictators and expanded by the democrats. There were flowers of every shape and color, but orange was the color which spoke most frequently in the cultivated beds. Below the flowers, the mountainside seemed to be daubed with various shades of green and brown. "But usually," Hall said, "the mountain is blue. Almost as blue as the sea."

Jerry looked down at the sea. "I've never seen such a deep blue," she said.

"I know. This is the bluest water in the world." He hissed for a waiter. "I'm going to order a hell of a meal, young lady. A side of barbecued beef and some corn cakes the like of which you never tasted and--just trust my judgment."

"Can we get drinks here?"

"They have a white wine that beats anything in France."

The food was good and the wine was potent. When they were done eating, Jerry wanted more wine. "No more wine," Hall smiled. "Nibble on this cheese, and while you're nibbling I'm going to order a punch I've just composed in honor of this day. Let's call it Punch _Para Las Mujeres Bonitas_."

"Whatever that means," Jerry said, dreamily.

"Oh, it's wonderful. Black rum and passion-flower juice and tamarinda and wild cherry juice and--just wait. I'll be right back." He walked across the plateau to the outdoor bar and had a long discussion with the attendants.

Jerry was staring into the sea when he returned. "You know?" she sighed.

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking that I've been looking at the sea and not thinking at all."

"Cigarette?"

"Uh huh. Thanks for taking me up here. It reminds me of something nice, but I can't think of what."

"I know," Hall said. "The minute you get here for the first time you feel as if you've known this place all your life."

The waiter brought a pitcher of scarlet punch and two tall glasses to the table. Hall paid the check, and added a package of American cigarettes to his tip.

He filled the two glasses, tried a sip from his before handing one glass to the girl. "Let's see how this strikes you," he smiled.

"It's delicious!"

"Finish it and then try walking," Hall said, dryly.

"We'll try walking later." They finished the punch in the pitcher, and then Jerry looked at her face in a pocket mirror.

"Oh, Mr. Hall," she sighed. "It ate away what was left of my lipstick and I think it gave me a red nose and I suppose I should powder and paint but I won't."

"Madam," he said, "you are under the influence."

"I may be high, sir, but I'm not drunk."

Hall got up and took her arm. "Shame on you, nurse," he said. "There's still a thousand sights to see up here."

"Lead on," she commanded. "We'll see who's potted."

Hall pointed to the edge of the restaurant. There was a mountain path at that end, a graveled path leading into a park of streams and cypresses. They followed this path until the forest closed in around them, and they were alone.

"My feet," Jerry said. "These shoes were not meant for serious mountain climbing."

"My lady." Hall spread his brown gabardine jacket in the moss bank adjacent to a small stream. She took off her shoes and stretched out on the jacket, her hands clasped under her head.

"You know," she said, "if I weren't so full of food I'd take my stockings off and dip my feet in the creek. I just haven't the strength to move."

Hall lit a cigarette, put it in the girl's mouth. "If you ever dipped one of your dainty gringo toes in this burbling frigidaire," he said, "they'd hear your screams twelve miles out at sea."

Jerry sat up and hummed the tune of "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf." She took off her stockings, started to edge down toward the stream. "Here, help me up." She extended a hand to Hall, who pulled her to her feet. "I'm going wading."

There was no scream when Jerry stepped into the water. Her breath just stopped. She yanked her foot out of the stream as if it were a blazing inferno, hopped around on the dry foot with tears in her eyes, and then lay down on the jacket.

"Well, anyway," she said, when she could catch her breath, "I didn't scream."

"No. You were brave." He took out a large handkerchief, started to rub the foot which had been in the water.

"I never thought I'd wind up here when I left New York," she said.

"When do you go to work?"

"Tomorrow, I guess. The President is a pretty sick patient."

"Does Ansaldo think he can pull him through?"

"He didn't say."

"Did he find out what's the matter with Tabio?"

"Not yet. That's what he's doing today."

Hall wanted to ask her further questions about Ansaldo, but he was afraid to betray his interest too openly. "Let's cut it out," he laughed. "This is a party, and we're talking shop."

The girl sighed in contentment. "Oh, that's nice," she murmured. "I don't care what we talk about, as long as we stay here."

"Like it here?"

"Right now, I wish I could stay here forever." She had her hands clasped under her head, was talking to the tips of the cypresses as well as to Hall.

"Why don't you?"

"It's like Shangri-La," she said. "We should both be two centuries old. How old are you, Hall?"

"Thirty-six."

"I'm twenty-eight. Honest. Not twenty-one. Twenty-eight. In two years I'll be over the borderline. Then I'll be an old lady. But right now I'm not going to lie about my age."

"Right now I don't think you could tell a lie. Not even a white lie."

"No fair, Hall. First you get me drunk--only I'm not high any more--then you take me to Shangri-La. Can I call you Matthew? Or is it Matty or Matt the women in your life call you?"

"My friends call me Matt."

"My friends! There's no Mrs. Matt?"

"No. Never has been."

"I had a husband, once. Only I divorced him and became a nurse."

"That when you left Ohio? Or was it Indiana?"

Jerry turned her eyes from the cypresses and looked at Hall, who sat at her side, his face over hers. "Ohio," she said. "How did you know?"

Hall bent over and kissed her lightly on the lips. She neither resisted nor returned his kiss. "You sweet dope," he said. "I'm a Buckeye myself. Cleveland."

"I'm from Columbus."

"Pleased to know you, Miss Columbus. Did you know you have green eyes and there are little gold stars in each eye?"

"Nope."

"Nope. Sweet dope. No one ever told you."

"He calls me names!" Jerry sat up and put her arms around Hall's neck. "He calls me names." She put her slightly opened mouth against his lips and pulled him closer, and together they sank to the ground. They lay locked in the one kiss, the girl's full breasts pressing against Hall's chest.

"Don't," she whispered, "please. Ah, don't. Ah, Matt. Darling."

He found her lips again. They were trembling, and he could feel the tremors which started in the pit of her stomach and rose to her shoulders. "Please, Matt," she broke from his grip and turned her face to the ground. "Darling," she said, biting then kissing his hand. He put his arm around her and kissed the back of her neck. She shuddered deliciously. "Let's get up," she said.

"We're alone here," he said.

She smiled and kissed his hand. "I'm getting up," she said. "Let me sit up, Matt."

"Sure," he said. He sat up with her. She ran her hand lightly over his face, brushing the scars, the flatness of his nose.

"Gorilla," she said, and she kissed him softly on the mouth. "You tore off one of my buttons, you ape."

"Hello, Miss Columbus," he said, speaking with a Spanish accent. "It is a very nice day today. Very sunny."

"Yes," she said.

"Still want to stay here forever?"

"Uh huh. Do I look too messy?"

"No. Your hair could stand some combing."

"Will you get me some more of that punch?"

When she had combed her hair, they stood up and he took her hand and they walked back along the graveled path.

"Can we phone to town from here?" she asked. "Doctor wanted me to check in at about five."

"Going to work?"

"Don't know yet."

They had their punch. The light danced in Jerry's hair, gave it the same orange tint which dominated the flower beds. "I forgot to tell you," Hall said. "You're beautiful."

Jerry swirled the scarlet drops on the bottom of her glass. "You don't know a thing about me," she said.

"What should I know?"

"Nothing. But can I tell you, anyway? I want to, Matt."

"I want to know."

Jerry sighed. "I told you I was married before, didn't I? It didn't take."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not really from Columbus. That is, my home town is nearer Columbus than to any other city, but it's just a hick village in the sticks." She told her story in very few words. High school, and then three years at the State University, and then marriage to a small-town high-school principal some years older than herself. After five years of small-town married life, Jerry came into a small inheritance, left the schoolmaster, and went back to get her degree. "I wanted to study medicine," she said, "but I didn't have enough money, so I took up nursing instead. The idea was to earn enough as a nurse to go back to medical school."

"What happened?"

"New York happened. I couldn't take hospital regimentation, and some of the doctors were so anxious to sleep with me that they got me some snap jobs. You know, sitting up with rich lushes and hanging onto the girdles of deserted dowagers who wanted to jump out of windows and handing the right scalpel to society surgeons while they carved out a million-dollar gut."

"It must have paid well."

"Too well."

"And so you became a glamour girl."

"That's a pretty cruel way to put it, Matt. I'm not really a dope, you know."

"I know."

"I guess I just stopped thinking because I was afraid to think."

"Where does Ansaldo fit into the picture?"

"I came with him because I admire his skill as a doctor. I can learn things by working with him. He's fantastically good, Matt."

"How long do you know him?"

"Not long. He came to New York about six months ago to operate on a drunk who'd been my patient for months. The patient had fallen down a flight of stairs on my day off. Ansaldo invited me to be one of the nurses when he operated on the patient's spine. Are you interested in operations?"

"A little. Why?"

"It was amazing. I thought I had seen some good surgeons at work. But Ansaldo is more than good, Matt. He's great. After that first operation, I was his nurse for all of his New York operations. And naturally, I jumped at the chance to come along. I'm a perfectionist, Matt. Some day, some day soon I hope, I'm going to go back to medical school. I've been saving every spare penny I could. And what I'm learning from Ansaldo couldn't be taught in any school."

"You amaze me," he said, honestly. It was hard to doubt her. He prodded her for details of Ansaldo's skill. She answered him earnestly, and with increased enthusiasm.

"But wait," she protested, finally. "I don't see why I should be telling all about myself. I haven't talked like this to any man for years."

"I haven't listened like this for just as long," he laughed.

"But it's not good, I know," she said, her voice abruptly breaking. There were tears in her eyes, and she turned away. "I've gone and made a fool of myself."

"Why?"

"I know," she said. "You probably have a wife and nine kids in New York. I bet you carry their pictures in your wallet."

"Do I?" Hall handed his wallet to Jerry. "Look for yourself. Take out every picture."

There were three photos in all. The first was of Bird, his wife and their baby. "My publisher," he explained.

There was a sepia photo of Hall pointing the lens of a camera at a bomb crater in Madrid. "London?" Jerry asked.

"Yeah," he said. "London."

The remaining photo showed Hall talking to an aged couple on a road packed with refugees. "France?" Jerry asked.

Hall shook his head. "No. Belgium." Again he lied. The picture had been taken in Spain.

"Don't hurt me, Matt," the girl said. She was dry-eyed now, but saddened. "Don't hurt me later."

"I won't hurt you," he said. He wondered at that moment if he would be able to avoid hurting her.

"Are you really alone?"

"Alone?" He did not laugh. "God! I'm the loneliest sonofabitch in the whole world."

The girl smiled again. "I have half a mind to believe you," she said. "Shall we get started back?"

"O.K. It's getting late. Have dinner with me?"

"I don't know, yet. Would you call the hotel and ask if there are any messages for me?"

"There's a phone in the souvenir stand."

The girl bought a batch of picture sets while Hall was on the phone. "Do we eat?" she asked when he came out of the booth.

"No. They want you in the Marti Memorial Lab at the University at seven."

"Shucks."

"I phoned for a driver to meet us at the bottom in twenty minutes. We still have time for a drive around the nicer parts of New San Hermano."

They went to the terminal to wait for their car. The ticket agent glanced at Jerry and then he reached under his counter and brought up a large envelope. "Senor," he said, "the painter left this for the lady." It was the sketch of Jerry, wide-eyed and happy as the car climbed Monte Azul. In the lower right-hand corner was an inscription Hall translated for her. "To a charming visitor--a memento of her visit to our free city. Horacio."

"It was sweet of the old man," Jerry said. "Tell the guy to thank him for me, will you?"

"I already did. But this is fantastic. An original Horacio water color is worth a baby fortune. This sketch is valuable, Jerry."

"Didn't you recognize him?"

"Never saw him before in my life."

Big Pepe was waiting for them with his LaSalle when they reached the bottom of Monte Azul. "How good are you with tourists?" Hall asked. "I want to show the senorita New San Hermano."

"I can drive you with my eyes closed," Pepe said.

Hall laughed. "Keep your eyes open. And your four wheels on the pavement," he said. "Or I'll kill you with your own gun."

"I have no fears of you," Pepe said. "Get in."

Hall held onto Jerry's hand as he described the sights that rolled by their window. Big Pepe handled the car like a model tourists' chauffeur. It rolled along smoothly, not too quickly, and when Hall tapped him on the shoulder he would stop, the motor running softly while Hall made his explanations to Jerry.

At six, Hall and Jerry agreed to have one last drink before parting for the night. "Let's ask the driver, too," he suggested. "He's a nice guy."

"Sure. So are you."

"Pepe, how about joining us for a drink at that bar near the Libro del Mundo?"

Pepe turned around and grinned at them. "With many thanks," he said. "I will join you."

"If we don't all join our ancestors first. Watch the road, you Asturian murderer!"

"I take it," Jerry laughed, "you were telling him to keep his eyes on the wheel."

"You're learning the language, _muchachita_."

They found an empty table on the sidewalk. Hall and Jerry had Scotch and sodas. Big Pepe ordered coffee. He was very happy to be with them. He beamed continuously at the girl, and to Hall he swore that never had he seen a more magnificent woman. "Of course," he purred, "she could stand more meat, but for a gringo, she is most magnificent."

"He says you're a sight for sore eyes," Hall translated.

"Then tell him to look at my face."

"The woman thanks you," Hall said.

Jerry pointed to the bar. "There's the little Dutchman," she said.

Androtten was standing alone at the bar, a wine glass in his hand.

"I'll call him over. He's a lonesome bastard too."

The Dutchman was delighted to see Hall. "This is indeed a damn surprise," he said. "Join you at the table? Happy as hell to join you, Mr. Hall. Ah, the nurse of the great doctor. Tell me, nurse, do you think the doctor could cure my rheumatism?" This, he made clear by his gesture of holding his side in mock agony and groaning, was meant to be a joke.

Hall translated the joke for Pepe.

The driver nodded. "I understood most of it," he admitted. "One doesn't drive American tourists for a century and learn nothing."

"Aha," Hall said. "Pepe knows a few words of English, it develops."

Jerry turned to the driver, smiled sweetly at him. "Tell me," she said, "did you ever have your eyes scratched out?"

Pepe grinned, shrugged his huge shoulders. "Did the senorita say I have nice eyes?" he asked Hall.

"No, Pepe. She said your eyes can bring you trouble."

The Asturiano closed his eyes and drew his finger across his throat, making the appropriate sounds. "I understand perfectly," he said.

"Let's sit down one of these days," Androtten said to Hall. "I am willing as hell to give you the damn story of what the Japanese did to me in Java, if you are still damn willing to listen."

"Oh, I am. Anxious as hell, Mr. Androtten." He explained to Big Pepe what had happened to the little man. Pepe's face instantly reflected his deep sorrow.

"I hate to break up this nice party," Jerry said, "but I have to go to work."

"Can we take you back to the Bolivar, Mr. Androtten?"

"Not just yet. I have a damn appointment here at seven."

Hall put some money on the table and followed Jerry to the car. "I forgot to tell you," he said. "There'll be a government car waiting to pick you up at ten to seven."

"The poor man," Pepe sighed. "The cruel Japanese!"

"It's been a wonderful day, Matt."

"When do we repeat it?"

"Can't tell. I'll leave a message for you tonight when I get back."

Hall ate alone after Jerry went to the laboratory, and then wandered around the dark streets of the waterfront, thinking how he could organize his work. That was the damned job, always. Planning your moves. Deciding exactly what it is you're after and then organizing a method of getting it. The letter to Santiago. That was a good start. With luck, there would be an answer in a week. But was a week too far away? How sick was Tabio, and could he hold out for another week? And anyway, was Ansaldo a fascist?

The face of Varela Ansaldo would not leave Hall's mind. Maybe Fielding could find out something, anything. At this moment, Fielding was probably eating a little crow with his dinner at the British Embassy. But would they tell Fielding anything? Did they know anything? And who the hell was Fielding and how in hell did he get the dope in his reports? _No, my fine impertinent friend, I am not a British agent._ He was the father of Sergeant Harold Fielding who hopped out of the wicker pony cart and picked up one of those thin rifles and died at Jarama.

Santiago's answer. There was the best bet. If the boys in Havana had no dope, at least they would tell him who to contact in San Hermano, and it was a safe bet that when Pedro de Aragon (or would it be a love letter from Maria de Aragon?) wrote, the letter would lead him to someone who would know Souza and Pepe Delgado. They were O.K., but just a little cautious, and this business of squiring Ansaldo's nurse would not set too well with them unless Ansaldo was not Gamburdo's man at all.

Hall was turning a corner when he first noticed the little man walking in the shadows of the opposite sidewalk. A little man in a black suit and a dirty stiff straw hat. Hall slowed his steps, waited for the man in the straw hat to walk closer to the yellowed street light. The man slowed down, too. Hall kept walking. He headed for an avenue, found a cab, told the driver to take him to La Perrichola. He looked around to see the little man get into the other cab at the stand.

"I changed my mind," Hall told the driver. "Take me to the Ritz instead."

He walked slowly into the lobby of the Ritz. It was one of the more modern hotels in New San Hermano. He found a phone booth and called Souza. "Where's Pepe?" he asked.

"Right outside. Do you need him?"

"Very much. Tell him to pick me up near the back entrance of the Ritz. I'm too drunk to trust a strange driver."

Souza laughed. "You Americans," he said. "Pepe will be there in five minutes."

Hall went to the bar, had a short brandy. The little man was sitting behind a potted palm near the street doorway, his face buried in a magazine. Hall looked at his watch and walked to the elevator. "Sixth floor," he said.

He walked through the sixth-floor hall, took the back stairs to the fourth floor, and then looked out of the window at the landing. Big Pepe's LaSalle was parked near the servants' door. Hall listened for the sound of footsteps on the stairs above him. Quietly, he walked to the basement, nodded at a waiter relaxing on a bench near the door, and walked slowly to the LaSalle.

"_Que pasa?_"

"Trouble. Drive a few blocks down and then come back slowly toward the front of the hotel."

"Sit with me," Pepe said. He tapped the pistol in his pocket.

"No." Hall got down on the floor of the back part of the car. "And take your white hat off."

The car shot down three streets, then Pepe turned the corner, rode a block, and started to crawl along the street on which the main entrance of the Ritz opened. "Souza said you were in trouble," Pepe said. "He says you are not a _borracho_."

"I was followed. Watch for a little man in a black suit and a stiff straw hat. Park a block from the entrance to the Ritz and keep your motor running."

"_Claro._"

"I think he tried to sell me perfume this afternoon when I was walking with that nurse."

"She needs no perfume," Pepe said.

"She is not my woman," Hall said.

"Did you see that other woman who came with the doctor?" Big Pepe snorted violently. "I hate _maricones_," he said.

"I hate them too, Pepe. Did you know that Franco is also a homosexual?"

"They are all _maricones_. Hitler, Franco. They are all the same."

"_Putas y maricones_," Hall said. "_La Nueva Espana!_"

Big Pepe cleared his throat and spat out of the window. "Arriba Espana." Hall could feel the low, toneless laugh in the Asturian's throat.

"I think I see your dog," Pepe said. He described him for Hall. "He acts as if he lost something."

"Me."

"Falangista?"

"I don't know. Ever seen him before?"

"Who knows? _Mira!_"

"I can't look. What's he doing?"

"Hiring a car."

"Follow him. But ..."

"_Mira, chico_, that I can do with my eyes closed. And he won't know me for the offal on the streets."

"Don't lose him."

"I'd sooner lose my _cojones_." He started the car, slowly. "I am magnificent at this," he said.

"Good."

"During the war I did this all the time."

"When he stops, watch where he goes but don't stop yourself. Keep going after he stops."

"Don't worry," Pepe said. "I am not new at this."

"Very good."

"That girl with the nice hair, _companero_. Why don't you take her into your bed some night? I think she would be very good there."

"Forget the girl."

"That will be very hard."

"Where are we?"

"Still following the little dog. We're moving toward the Plaza."

"Pepe. The Englishman's son. Did you know him?"

"He was very young. I only saw him once. He was very brave, _companero_. The Centro Asturiano sent flowers to his father when the boy was killed. He died for the Republic, you know." Pepe slowed the car.

"What's the matter?"

"He's stopping. We're on the Calle de Virtudes. He's going into a cafe. I'll keep going."

The car covered another block. Pepe turned the corner and stopped. "You can sit up now," he said.

Hall saw where he was. "Which bar did he go to?" he asked.

"El Siglo. There's another cafe next door. You can sit behind a hedge at a table there and watch El Siglo. I have done it many times. I'll park the car across the street and watch for you."

"Do you think we can do this alone?"

"Why not?"

"What do we have to do?"

"Who knows? It is the little dog's next move."

"But could you get some friends now?"

"Yes. How many?"

"A few. I'll keep an eye on El Siglo."

"All right," Pepe said. "But we shouldn't lose the little dog."

"That is a chance we must take. If we lose him tonight, we will follow him tomorrow. He will be in my footsteps again."

"That is true," Big Pepe said. "I will be back soon." He drove off down the back street.

Like El Siglo, the cafe where Hall found a table near a boxed hedge on the sidewalk faced the entrance to the apartments of the Presidencia. The lights were on again in the fourth floor. Hall wondered if the doctors were poking poor Tabio at that moment.

He ordered a pot of coffee and sat back to watch the entrance to El Siglo. A newsboy sold him a late paper, but Hall gave up trying to read it after a few minutes. He bought a box of wax matches and some cigars, turning his back to El Siglo when the tip of his first match flared into flame.

Less than ten minutes after Hall started his vigil, the little man in the straw hat walked out of El Siglo and sat down behind the wheel of a Renault parked at the curb. He sat alone in the car, his face turned toward the Presidencia. Hall looked nervously up the street for a sign of Big Pepe. He jotted the license number of the Renault down on the margin of his newspaper.

There was still no sign of Big Pepe.

The man in the Renault pressed the squeaky rubber horn twice. Another man walked quickly out of El Siglo and got into the back seat of the Renault. Hall squirmed in his chair and looked vainly for Big Pepe. The passenger was Wilhelm Androtten.

Hall watched the Renault start to move up the Plaza. It rode around the entire Plaza, and, as it started to pass the cafes again, Hall saw that it was following a black limousine which had just left the Presidencia after picking up two passengers.

The black limousine was doing about thirty, picking its way out carefully in the half darkness of the old city. As it passed directly in front of Hall's table, one of the people sitting in the back seat lit a cigarette. In the light of the match, Hall could see that it was Varela Ansaldo.

He had to wait another ten minutes for Big Pepe, who returned with two young men. "We lost him, Pepe."

"_Hijo de puta!_ I told you."

"Relax. I know who he works for. We can find them on our own terms now. I saw them."

"Who?"

Hall looked at the two young men sharing the front seat with Pepe. "Introduce me to your friends," he said.

Big Pepe grinned. "That is your right," he said. "This is my nephew Miguelito, and this is Juan Antonio Martinez. They're school teachers." The last he said with almost boastful pride.

The teachers were both slim lads in their early twenties. Hall shook their hands and got into the back of the car. "Let's drive out to the beach and talk," he said.

"No," Miguelito said. "It would not be wise. There are too many strangers there."

His colleague grunted. "Your pistol, Miguelito," he said. "Take it out of your pocket. It is digging a new hole in my arse."

"They talk that way all the time," Pepe said, tolerantly. "But they are very educated."

"I am sorry if I talk like a worker," Juan Antonio said to Pepe. "My father was only a miner. I apologize, Your Eminence."

"He is joking," Pepe said. "Miguelito, you are a Bachelor of Arts. Tell me, do workers joke, too?"

"Quiet, both of you," Miguelito said. "_Companero_ Hall will think we're all crazy."

Hall laughed. "I've seen boys like you before," he said.

"We were too young to go then," Juan Antonio said. "But if they try it here, the streets of San Hermano will run with blood before we let the fascists win."

"Juan Antonio is a Communist," Big Pepe said.

The boy did not deny it. "Remember my words," he said, "the flag of the Falange will never fly over San Hermano."

"Not if we are still alive," Miguelito added.

"Will you listen to these children?" Pepe asked. "As soon as you turn your back they put on the _pantalones_ and make the noises of a man!"

"This little dog of a fascist who followed you," Miguelito said, "who is his superior?"

"I don't know, _companeros_. It could be Hitler...."

"It could be Franco," Big Pepe said.

"He said that," Juan Antonio said. "He said Hitler, didn't he, Miguelito?"

"Quiet," Miguelito said. "This is no joke. You said you saw him with his superior?"

Hall smiled at the boy. "Listen, _chico_," he said, "men with more pistols than you have tried to put words in my mouth before. All they got from my mouth was my spit."

"_Ole!_" Juan Antonio punched Miguelito's shoulders with glee.

* * * * *

Souza was reading a fat book at his desk when Hall returned to the Bolivar. He greeted the boys with familiarity. "They are reliable," he said after they left.

"I know. I was sober when I called you before. But tonight your reliable boys nearly drank me under the table trying to find out who was with the little dog."

"The one who followed you to the Ritz?"

"The same one. They also told me that you are President of the Hotel Clerks Union."

"I am."

"Got a cigarette? Thanks. No, I've got matches." Hall looked around to see if he and Souza were alone. Quietly, he said, "Androtten was the man I saw with the little dog."

Souza's face grew grimmer. "I don't think I am surprised."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know. But I don't trust him."

"Maybe this will help you." Hall handed him the license number of the Renault. "It's the number of the car they used."

"It will help," Souza said.

"What time did Ansaldo get in?"

"He did not get in, yet. Why?"

"Androtten was following his car, I think."

"Androtten is out, too."

"Maybe we have something."

"You have a message in your box." It was a note from Jerry. She was going to work all day and had to attend a party at the American Embassy in the evening. But she would call him in the morning.

"I am watching her," Hall explained.

The trace of a smile flitted across the long face of the night clerk. "I know," he said. "Pepe told me."

"I'll kill him," Hall laughed. "I'm going to bed. Leave a note in my box about when they get in."

He went to his room. When he turned on the light, he saw that a note had been slipped under his door. It was from Jerry. "Thanks for a lovely day," it said. "I will call you before I leave for the lab."

_Chapter five_

He was dreaming of the crowds in the bull ring at Badajoz, but there were no bulls on the sand. It was the day of the massacre, the day when the Portuguese troops herded the _milicianos_ and their families and handed them over to the waiting _franquistas_ on the Spanish side of the border. It was the day the _franquistas_ shoved the Republican families on to the sand of the bull ring at Badajoz and set up the heavy machine guns in the boxes and fired away until every human being on the field lay choking and dying in his own blood. In his dream Hall saw grand ladies in mantillas in the boxes that day tossing roses and perfumed kerchiefs to the animals at the machine guns, and in his dream he even knew that the perfume on the kerchiefs came from a certain shop in Barcelona.

Then Hall spotted a crowd of German and Spanish officers in another box and he leaped at them, his right hand gripping the ugly clasp knife in his pocket. There were nine officers in the box, four of them Nazis and one a gaudy Italian colonel and the rest were Spanish fascists in capes and one of them wore a Requete beret, although his cape carried the golden embroidered five arrows of the Falange. They began to flee from their box in a panic, but Hall managed to get a quick look at one of the Spaniards and then flung his knife at the Spaniard's retreating back. Then the bells began to toll in the churches and carabineros left their machine guns and ran barehanded after Hall but the clang of the bells started to blot everything out and the church bells of Badajoz blended into the steady drone of a smaller bell in Hall's ears and he awoke to the phone bell which had abruptly brought him back to San Hermano.

"Did I wake you up?" It was Jerry.

"Yeah. What time?"

"Stop groaning. Wash your face and I'll call you back in five minutes."

Later, she asked him if he had been having a bad dream and he said it had been closer to a nightmare in technicolor. "About the war?" she asked, and he said it had been about the war.

"Darling," she said, "I wish you never have another nightmare as long as you live."

"Thanks," he said. "Do we have breakfast together?"

"No. I'm leaving with the doctors in a few minutes. Work all day."

"Dinner tonight?"

"That's out, too. I have to go to a party with the doctors at the American Embassy."

"Good. I was invited, too. I'll see you there." There was a long pause at the girl's end of the wire, and Hall said, "Jerry? Are you still listening?"

"Sure," she said.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You're a darling. I've got to hang up now. I've got to be out of here in ten minutes."

"O.K.," he said. "See you tonight."

He reached the lobby at half-past eight. There was no message in his box, and he could see that Jerry's key was already in the cubicle. "I'll be in the dining room if anyone phones," he told the day clerk. He bought a paper from a boy standing near the entrance of the Bolivar and went in to eat.

Hall was having his second cup of coffee when Androtten entered the dining room. The little Dutchman smiled happily when he spotted Hall.

"Good morning, good morning," he shouted. "Hell of a nice day, no?"

"It's nice and sunny," Hall said. "Eating alone? Take a chair."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Hall. Damn nice of you."

Hall wanted to shove the incongruous hells and damns down the pink face of the Hollander. "Not at all," he said. "I like company." But the beaming Dutchman brought goose pimples to his spine this morning.

"Excuse me," Hall said, rising. "I'll be back in a minute."

He went to the desk, picked up a pad of cable blanks and an indelible pencil. Then, at the table, he sat with pencil poised over the pad and smiled at Androtten. "Mine is a funny business," he said. "When you get to the capital of a country you can't go right to work, you know. Far from it, Androtten. First you smooch around the town like a prowler, talking to taxi drivers and bartenders and ..."

"Pardon my ignorance, Mr. Hall. But _smooch_? Is it a real word or journalists' slang?"

"I guess you'd call it slang. I mean you have to mingle with the little people to get an idea of the currents."

"And when you get this idea?"

"When you get the idea, you can go to work." Hall wrote the name and address of the editor of one of the big weeklies in the States on the blank. "Vice-President Gamburdo is man of hour here today," he wrote. "Tomorrow may be man of hour in all Latin America. Arranging for interview. Can you use? Matthew Hall."

"And now you are working?"

Hall turned the blank around so that Androtten could read the text of his cable. "I'll let you in on my secret," he laughed.

The Dutchman read the text. "Interesting," he said. "Damn interesting."

"I'm afraid it's just routine."

"Oh, never that." The Dutchman sighed. "When such vital personalities as Senor Gamburdo are routine to you, Mr. Hall, I imagine that my story has only a small chance of ever being told. But I suppose that is merely as it should be."

"Hell, no, Mr. Androtten. I'll tell you what we'll do. As soon as I have my interview with Gamburdo, we'll sit down and have our chat and then I'll query the _Saturday Evening Post_ or _Collier's_ and whatever they offer we'll split down the middle."

"You make me happy as hell, Mr. Hall. But please, money is no object. Please keep all of the money."

Hall shook his head. "We'll fight that out later," he said. "Cigar?"

Androtten demurred. His heart was not strong enough for cigars that early in the morning, he explained. "In Java I was healthier than an ox," he said. "But the damn Japanese ..." He let the rest of the sentence remain unspoken.

Through the open window of the dining room, Hall saw Pepe's LaSalle drive up to the Bolivar.

He excused himself with an "I'll be seeing you," and walked out to the desk. He handed the cable blank to the day clerk. "Send it press rate collect," he said.

Pepe had a message for Hall from Souza. Ansaldo had returned to the Bolivar at 3:14 A.M., twenty-three minutes before Wilhelm Androtten. They had both left calls to be awakened at eight in the morning.

"That all Souza said?"

"That is the complete message."

"Well, it's something, anyway." The papers said that Ansaldo was to spend the morning at the bedside of President Tabio.

"Where to?"

"Gobernacion Building. But not right away. Drive somewhere where we can have a coffee together. I'd like to talk to you first."

Pepe took him to a little workers' restaurant on the edges of the business section of New San Hermano. It was evident that he had had little sleep.

"Tired?" Hall asked.

The driver whistled, softly. "Like a corpse," he admitted.

An amused grimace distorted Hall's face. "What a corpse!" he said. "Why didn't you tell the boys who followed the teachers and me from the cafe last night to be better than the little dog?"

"You saw them?"

"I kept tripping over them all the way home."

Pepe thought it was very funny. "They pledged their lives to protect yours, the bunglers. Reliable, but clumsy."

"I am not angry," Hall said. "I am grateful."

"For nothing," Pepe protested.

"Pepe, do you know why I came to San Hermano?"

The big Asturian shrugged his shoulders. "You never told me, or Fernando. Miguelito and his friend said you have the mouth of a clam."

"Do you want to know why?"

"I never question friends. You are a friend."

Hall looked up at Pepe Delgado and wanted to tell him how much he reminded him of the best of the men he had met in Spain, the best of the officers and _milicianos_ who never, even in the heat of battle, forgot the feelings and the sacred _dignidad_ of their fellow men.

"Mother of God!" Pepe laughed. "Don't look at me as if I were that girl with the red hair."

"You are a good _companero_," Hall said. "In a few days, perhaps I can tell you."

"I never ask questions of friends," Pepe said.

"I know. Did Souza tell you what I told him last night?"

"No. Only about when Ansaldo and Androtten came back."

"Can you reach Souza today?"

"Of course."

"Then listen. Tonight, he must find some excuse for moving me into the room next to Ansaldo--if there is such a room. Do you think he can do it?"

Pepe grabbed the check for the coffee, refused to relinquish it to Hall. "This is my table," he said with quiet dignity. He also refused to discuss his fee for driving Hall around San Hermano for days. "_Manana_," he laughed. "But about the room. I think Fernando can arrange it. The wife of the owner of the Bolivar is a member of the Centro Asturiano. She is also a first cousin of Dr. Gonzalez."

"I hope he can do it," Hall said.

"_Hola!_" Pepe boomed. "_Que tal?_" He exchanged loud pleasantries with a chauffeur who came in and sat down at a table in the corner.

"A Gallego," he explained to Hall. "But otherwise a pretty decent man."

"There are many decent Gallegos," Hall said.

Pepe whistled through his teeth, shook the limp and dangling fingers of his right hand, and looked behind his back. Hall grinned. Pepe's gesture was as old as Spain.

"Listen, Pepe," he laughed, "we have much to do. And all in a very short time. I am going to see the Press Secretary in the Gobernacion. I am requesting an interview with Gamburdo."

"Gamburdo is a _cabron_," Pepe said.

"I know. In my eyes he is an _hijo de la gran puta_. But for the present I want Gamburdo and his friends to think that I am an admirer of the _cabrito_. Clear?"

"I think I understand."

"Good. Tell all of this to Souza when you drop me at Gobernacion. When can you see him?"

"I will try to see him at once."

"_Bueno._ Let's go, then."

In the car, Hall had a fresh idea. "This young Juan Antonio, the teacher. Is he really a Communist?"

"Yes."

"Member of the party?"

"Of course. He writes for _Mundo Obrero_ regularly."

"Good. If you see him, ask him to go to the Communist headquarters and from there to telephone a friend. From there, understand? Tell him to call any friend. No, wait. Make it a friend in the office of _Mundo Obrero_. I want him to denounce me to this friend as an admirer of Gamburdo and an enemy of Tabio."

"But why?"

"I have an idea that Gamburdo has made some changes since he became Acting President," Hall answered. "If he has, he's got some Cross and Sword bastards listening in on all Communist phones."

"It is possible," Pepe said. "I will discuss your idea with Juan Antonio."

"Talk him into it, Pepe."

Pepe stopped the car in front of the Gobernacion building. He promised to meet Hall at the Bolivar in two hours.

Hall entered the polished marble corridors of the Gobernacion. There was a popular song about this building. Hall thought of the words, written by no known poet, and yet so well known in the nation that it had become the unofficial anthem of the Hermanitos in the guerrilla armies which had fought the Seguristas. Even today, after nearly three decades, San Hermano youngsters learned the words from slightly older playmates when they were barely old enough to play by themselves. Somehow, the kids of the city sang a slightly less ribald version of the ballad of the _edificio magnifico_ which cost the nation over twenty million pesos and which, the song maintained, supported a village full of Don Augusto's whores and bastards.

"I want to see the Press Secretary," Hall told an attendant in the right department.

"So do I," the attendant laughed. "He resigned last week."

"Didn't anyone take his place?"

The attendant was a very old man. He leaned back in his chair and with an eloquent look gave Hall to understand that he had completely lost patience with the visitor. "_Chico_," he said, "no one could take Don Pascual's place."

"Please, _viejo_, I am in a hurry. Is anyone trying to take Don Pascual's place?"

"Ha!" The old man shifted in his chair. With withering scorn he raised his arm and pointed a handful of gnarled brown fingers at a door marked _Prensa_. There were many other men in San Hermano who pointed to things with just that gesture. Hall recognized the gesture at once. He had seen it for the first time in Geneva, when Anibal Tabio rose to make that gesture toward the pile of captured Italian and German military documents with which the Spaniards had tried to impress the League.

Hall smiled with compassion at the figure of the old man imitating the gesture of his idolized President.

"Go in, go in," the old man said, petulantly. "Go in and see that burro of a dolt who is _trying_ to take Don Pascual's place."

"And has this burro a name?"

"The burro has a name. It is Valenti. Now you made me say the unspeakable name! Please, _chico_, in the name of my sainted mother and the Educator, go away!"

The old man's attitude told Hall more about what Gamburdo had already done to the Press Bureau than he could have learned in a week of routine digging. He handed the old man a cigar and a box of matches and walked through the door to Valenti's office. He found himself in a small anteroom facing a dark-haired girl pecking genteely at the keys of a typewriter with creamy fingers whose long nails were painted a deep blood red. She was immaculately groomed and pretty.

"I would like to see Senor Valenti," he said.

"Your name, Senor?"

So you had voice training, too, he thought. "Matthew Hall," he said. "I am a journalist from New York."

"How nice!" The secretary switched to English immediately. There was only the slightest suggestion of an accent to her English, and over the faint Spanish intonations she tried to impose the broad a's of something resembling the Oxford drawl. "It is quite a relief to speak English during office hours, really." She pronounced it as "re-ahl-y."

"Yours is a very good English, Miss ..."

"Vardieno," she said.

"Pick it up in school in San Hermano?"

Miss Vardieno made a mouth of disdain. "Heavens, no!" she said. "Dad sent me to finishing school in the States. Stuffy old place, but charming in its own Adirondack way. Besides, I could always sneak down to town for a week-end when it became too boring."

"Of course," Hall smiled. "Nothing like good old New York to work off a bore."

"And how! What brings you to this forsaken village?"

"Pan American Airways," he laughed. "There's a flight out of Miami every two days they tell me."

The girl laughed with him. "O.K.," she said. "I asked for it. I'll find out if Mr. Valenti can see you now." She pushed her chair back and got up, pausing mid-way long enough to give Hall a fleeting look at her breasts with a casualness she had never learned in the Adirondacks. But Hall had eyes only for the pendant which dangled at the end of a thin platinum chain. When she sat at her desk or stood erect, Miss Vardieno's Cross and Sword emblem sank neatly below the neck line of her blue New York dress.

"There are so many lovely sights in San Hermano," Hall sighed as the girl walked into the private office.

She was in the private office for quite some time. Emerging, she had regained her finishing-school poise. "I am so sorry," she said. "Mr. Valenti is tied up in a conference that will last for hours. Our Congress opens in five days, you know, and what with the situation being what it is, Mr. Hall, it is the feeling of the Press Director that it will be impossible for any writer to obtain an interview with Mr. Gamburdo until after the Congress convenes."

Nice going, he thought. "An interview with the Vice-President? But how did Mr. Valenti know that was what I wanted?"