‘Viva Pedrissimo!’ shouted von Igelfeld at last. ‘Viva el Moviemento! Viva el pueblo Colombiano!’
These were very appropriate sentiments, and the words were well-chosen. The guerrillas, who had now consumed more wine, were encouraged to shout out further complimentary remarks, and von Igelfeld waved again, more confidently this time. Then he returned to the study, the cries of Viva! ringing in his ears. He had noticed a very interesting book on Dolores Quinta Barranquilla’s shelves, and he intended to read it while Pedro and his new-found friends got on with the business of the revolution. Really, it was all very tedious and he had had quite enough of military action. It had been very satisfactory being applauded by the guerrillas in that way, but the satisfaction was a hollow one, he thought, and was certainly much less rewarding than being elected a Corresponding Fellow of the Academy.
Von Igelfeld sat in the study until lunch time, reading the book he had discovered. There was a great deal of bustle about the villa, and several armoured cars and trucks arrived outside during the course of the morning. He thought of complaining to Pedro about the noise, as it was very difficult to read while all this was going on, but he eventually decided that he was a guest at this particular revolution and it would be rude to complain about the noise which his hosts were making. He would not have hesitated to do so in comparable circumstances in Germany, but in Colombia one had to make allowances.
Shortly before lunch was served, a helicopter arrived. Von Igelfeld watched it with annoyance from his window. Was it an Italian helicopter, he wondered, made in Count Augusta’s helicopter factory near Bologna? He would ask at lunch, not that he expected to find anybody who knew anything about it, but he could ask. Several men in uniform stepped out of the helicopter and there were further cries of Viva! and even more bustle. Von Igelfeld returned to his book.
He was called to lunch by Dolores Quinta Barranquilla. He had not seen much of her during the morning, and she now appeared in a fresh outfit, a fetching red bandana tied about her neck and secured with a large emerald pin.
‘I do hope that you’re not too bored,’ she said airily. ‘Pedro and I have been very busy indeed. That was a General arriving in that helicopter. He says that the capital is falling – useless provincials – and that the Government is on the point of capitulation to the Moviemento. It’s all happened before, of course, and it doesn’t make much difference in the long run.’
‘But I thought you said they were ruthless guerrillas,’ said von Igelfeld, inserting a bookmark in the book. ‘You implied that they were worse than anybody else. I heard you. You said that. You did.’
Dolores Quinta Barranquilla shrugged. ‘Circumstances change. Look at Pedro himself. He’s really rather well-educated. He knows how to behave. I see no reason why he shouldn’t be in the Government. Nobody can run this country, so it may as well be Pedro and his friends who don’t run it.’
Von Igelfeld thought about this for a moment. ‘I was wondering about leaving, Señora Dolores Quinta Barranquilla,’ he said. ‘I must say that I’ve enjoyed being at the villa, but I do have to return home, you know.’
‘But of course,’ said Dolores Quinta Barranquilla. ‘There will be no problem over that. Of course we shall miss you, dear Professor von Igelfeld. I’ll speak to Pedro. Perhaps you can go back to Bogotá in the helicopter, once the city has finally fallen. I don’t expect you’ll have to wait all that long.’
‘That would be very satisfactory,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘I think I have had enough history for one day.’
‘I shall talk to dear Pedro about it,’ said Dolores Quinta Barranquilla. ‘He’s very reasonable, you know. All he wants to do is to help. There are men like that, you know. Not many, of course. But they do exist.’
The kitchen, which had excelled itself the previous night, again rose to the occasion. Further dusty bottles of wine were located in the cellar, and the cook, who was the elder brother of the manservant, retrieved his finest ingredients from the larder, including porcini mushrooms that had been preserved since the days of Dolores Quinta Barranquilla’s father and were approaching their peak of flavour, pickled beans, and dried fish from Cartagena. Von Igelfeld was hungry from the morning’s exertions, and thoroughly agreed with the observation made by Cinco Fermentaciones that battle sharpened the appetite. He made a mental note to mention this in a letter to Zimmermann, who would not be in a position to contradict the proposition and would undoubtedly be very impressed. Indeed, there were few people in von Igelfeld’s circle who would be able to make such a comment, a thought which gave von Igelfeld some satisfaction.
There were two extra guests at the lunch table. Von Igelfeld sat next to the Colonel who had surrendered, a charming man, he thought, who had a strong interest in the history of the Jesuits in South America. Then, on the other side of the table, was the General who had arrived by helicopter. He was a large man in a bottle-green uniform on which numerous military decorations had been pinned. He appeared distrustful of Pedro at first, but after the first course they became involved in a protracted political debate which seemed to bring them closer together. The General drank more wine than was necessary, thought von Igelfeld, and he hoped that he would not be at the controls of the helicopter if they were to go back to Bogotá that afternoon.
The Colonel had been informed of von Igelfeld’s central role in that morning’s encounter, and was full of praise for his courage and accuracy with a rifle.
‘I realised immediately that the odds were unequal,’ he said. ‘That shot you fired went straight through the peak of my cap, just like that. I knew that if you could place a bullet so accurately, we would have little chance.’
‘I am glad that we avoided bloodshed,’ said von Igelfeld modestly.
‘I only wish that our own professors were so brave,’ remarked the Colonel. ‘I cannot imagine that they would be much good. But then, I suppose you haven’t met many of them.’
‘Oh, I have met them,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘There were a number at a meeting of the Academy of Letters which I recently attended.’
The Colonel put down his knife and fork and turned towards von Igelfeld. ‘The Academy? In Bogotá? You’re a Member?’
‘I am a Corresponding Fellow,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘I have only been to one meeting so far.’
The Colonel looked thoughtful. ‘As a Corresponding Fellow,’ he began, ‘would you be entitled to propose new Members, I wonder? Would you be entitled, do you think?’
Von Igelfeld looked down at his plate. He was becoming used to South American ways and perhaps there was no point in protesting. If this was the way in which the country worked, then he should perhaps accept it. No one person can change the mores of an entire nation.
‘I should be pleased to propose you, Colonel,’ he said. ‘I am sure that your scholarship merits it.’
‘Oh, thank you! Thank you!’ enthused the Colonel. ‘The Academy! Thank you so much.’
‘Not at all,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘We can pick up the proposal papers when we get back to Bogotá. Then I shall sign them immediately.’
‘You’re an excellent man,’ said the Colonel. ‘Now would you like a further glass of wine? I must say that the Señora keeps a wonderful cellar, doesn’t she?’
Their conversation was interrupted by Pedro, who rose to his feet, glass in hand. One of his men had slipped into the room and had whispered a message. Pedro, having dismissed him, made a sign to the General, who nodded.