“Blimey,” Janey said, for she had been on the periphery of this conversation and saw Manfred’s face redden as though from a choking fit.
Steadman said, “Your father was a Nazi.”
“That’s not news, ducky. The Huns were all Nazis,” Janey said, looking at Manfred eagerly — something horrible and gloating on her big plain face and the way her tongue was clamped between her teeth in her eagerness to know more. Sensing a secret about to be revealed, she wore an expression like lechery.
Manfred said, “My father was not healthy. He was wrong in the head.”
“He was in the SS.”
“Not the SS, but the SA, the Sturm Abteilung. But so what? Why blame me for my father?”
Protesting, saying vaht and fazzer and uttering the German words, attempting defiance, he sounded weak and emotional.
“He was captured,” Steadman said. “He was in a prison camp.”
“In Russia, working in a labor camp for the mines,” Manfred said, “until the mid-fifties. Ten years after the war was over, the Russians released him. You know nothing of this. It was hard for us!”
“That wasn’t the end,” Steadman said. “After he got sent home he couldn’t adjust.”
Manfred said, “You don’t know me! How can you know this?”
Now, with Manfred’s clamor, the whole room was watching.
“And he killed himself,” Steadman said.
“Why are you bringing this up? Can’t you see he’s upset?” Sabra said. “We were supposed to be having a drink for our despedida.”
“You asked for the truth,” Steadman said. “Manfred hates his father. He hates all fathers. He hates all authority.”
“And that doesn’t matter either.”
“His hatred has made him contemptuous. He hates you all. He is positively subversive.”
Manfred stared at Steadman with glistening eyes and sour insolence as the others waited for more.
“He’s a thief.”
“This is a lie,” Manfred said. “I am important in my country. I know the biggest scientists. I am a writer on drugs and ethnobotany. I am a journalist in the States. Americans know my name.”
Steadman ignored him and said calmly, “Those thefts you attributed to the Indians in the village and the people in the hotel. Your binoculars, your knife, your traveler’s checks — that was Manfred. He stole something from each of us.”
Janey said, “Is this true, Manfred?”
“Is a lie.”
But just that denial and the way he swallowed and sulked seemed the clearest proof of his guilt.
“I’m not missing anything,” Sabra said.
“He knows your Social Security number,” Steadman said.
He surprised himself with his own fluency, for he said these things without being aware of knowing them. And time was irrelevant, for nothing was hidden and he seemed to have access to the past in perfect recall. He knew everything that he had seen, and beneath each surface, as though in a state of controlled ecstasy — Sabra fussing in her wallet and Manfred staring hard at her clump of cards, the Social Security card on top, giving her full name and number.
“He memorized your numbers. He has one of your American Express card numbers too, but there’s a credit limit,” Steadman said. “He has all your details. He can do a lot with them. Ever hear of identity theft? He can open an account in your name. He can access more of your information on the Internet. He can get a lot of money out of you long before you realize it. That’s why he’s leaving tomorrow. By the time you get back to the States, your cards will be maxed out.”
The room was silent except for the coarse scraping sound of Manfred’s breathing through his nose.
“I’m going to ask the hotel to go through his room,” Hack said. “If they find my knife and Janey’s binoculars, I’m calling the police.”
“Go ahead, look,” Manfred said, with energy the others took to be bluff. But he stood up and seemed to be edging toward the door, as if to prevent anyone from leaving.
“You look worried, Herr Mephistos,” Wood said.
Hack said to Steadman in a slurry drunken way, matey, slightly cockeyed, “I don’t know how you knew this, but if you can prove any of it, there’s something in it for you.”
Steadman said, “Maybe it’s better not to look for the things that Manfred stole. I mean, what he said is true — he has quite a lot of influence.”
“He’s a thief. You said so.”
“You’re a thief, too,” Steadman said.
Ava said, “Darling, please,” as Hack bristled, stepping back, looking as though he were about to take a swing at Steadman, who was still seated impassively in an armchair. He stared straight ahead, looking through Hack’s face.
“You’ve been sleeping with Sabra,” Steadman said.
Sabra gasped and stood up and denied it. Wood went close to her and said, “Beetle?”
Janey started to cry, saying, “I knew it!”
Hack made a dive for Steadman, but was body-checked by Manfred, who simply stepped into his path and tipped the lunging man aside. With this new revelation, Manfred was attentive to Steadman, who seemed to know everything.
“It’s probably been going on for years,” Steadman said. “For all the time you people have been taking trips together. Maybe it’s the reason you’ve been taking the trips.”
“Get this guy out of here before I fucking kill him,” Hack said.
Wood said, “If there’s any truth in this, Hack, I’ll take you apart.”
“What a muggins I’ve been,” Janey said, sobbing.
Hack said, “Can’t you see he’s trying to start trouble?”
“But you’re a cheat too,” Steadman said to Wood. “You told me about your business, but your figures don’t add up. That can only mean that when you paid off all your partners you were cooking the books so you could sell the company for an inflated price. That’s just one instance. You are incapable of telling the truth. Every time you say a number, it’s false. That book you claimed you wrote was written by some students you hired and ripped off.”
“Bullshit,” Wood said.
“All you’ve ever done is screw people and play with a stacked deck,” Steadman said. “So it’s kind of appropriate that your wife is a liar too.” Sabra said, “No, Wood, it’s not true. Don’t believe him.”
But her protests were drowned out by Janey, who had slumped to a sitting position on the floor and was sobbing loudly like a big sorrowing child.
“This is the saddest one of all,” Steadman said, still facing forward, speaking in a confident monotone. “Poor little Londoner, lost in America. She’s having a nervous breakdown and doesn’t even know it. Her husband is fucking her best friend. Both of them are lying to her. She thinks she’s going crazy.”
Janey was murmuring “No, no, no.” Wood was glaring at Hack. Sabra’s eyes were blazing. Manfred was smiling at the confusion, looking vindicated, and he loomed over Steadman like a protector.
Hack said to Ava, “If you don’t get your boyfriend out of here I will fucking destroy him.”
After all these revelations, spoken with assurance, Steadman rose to go and staggered slightly. Now grasping absently for something to help steady him, he seemed uncertain. He groped forward, seeing a different room, and then hearing Ava—“This way,” she said — he stumbled and fell.
“What’s with him?”
“He’s blind,” Manfred said, almost in triumph, as though Steadman belonged to him. “He can see nossing.”
Sabra looked at Steadman with wonderment, searching his eyes. She moved her hand back and forth before his face. Steadman did not blink. “I was right,” she said in a hollow voice. “He doesn’t know anything.”