Raimundo got to his feet.
“I’ll feed him, soldier. He stays with me. Come on, Mr. Savanto, let’s go see what Nick’s cooked up for us.” He cocked a mocking eye at me. “I’ll have him here at 14.00.”
That suited me. The less I had to do with this goon the better I liked it.
I watched them walk off towards the line of distant palm trees, then I went back to the bungalow.
The next three days are of no interest to record: they followed the same pattern. Raimundo delivered Timoteo to the gallery at nine o’clock every morning, took him away to eat at noon, brought him back at 14.00 and took him away at 19.00. During this time Timoteo shot, used up a lot of ammunition, did what he was told, often badly and sometimes better than badly.
I had to contain my impatience and control my temper when he started on the moving targets. He either shot ahead or behind, but after some hours he began to hit a few beer cans that were being conveyed along at the slowest speed the machine would operate at.
Lucy continued to paint the bungalow. She no longer asked about Timoteo. She had no chance of seeing him anyway. Our personal feelings for each other had suffered a knock. We were both too goddam polite to each other, and we had long minutes of complete silence that hadn’t come into our lives before.
I knew she was worried sick and she was hurt, but I kept telling myself that when this was over it would be forgotten and we would get together again as before.
After the third day I became more aware that time was running out and I began to turn on the heat. It wasn’t good enough for Timoteo to hit two beer cans out of five as they crept along the belt. He had to sharpen up his ideas.
I gave the wheels driving the belt some machine oil and advanced the motor.
The cans jolted along at three times their previous speed. He fired off forty shots without hitting a can.
Exasperated, I shouted at him, “Shoot ahead ! All the time you’re shooting behind !”
I didn’t believe anyone could sweat the way he sweated. He was trying all right, but his reflexes were those of a cripple.
He kept shooting, kept missing, and I could see by his desperate expression he was becoming hysterical.
“Okay, stop.” I turned to Raimundo. “Take him away. Let him relax.” I switched off the motor. “I’ve had enough of him for today.”
Raimundo stared at me, his black eyes evil.
“He hasn’t time to relax, soldier. Mr. Savanto is coming to check on him the day after tomorrow. You’ll be the one who’ll need to relax if he isn’t doing better than this.”
I would have to be deaf not to catch the threat in his voice. So I kept him shooting until dusk, but it was a waste of ammunition. He hit three of the beer cans out of a hundred shots. By then he was in no condition even to hold the rifle.
“That’s it,” I said in disgust. “He can’t shoot any more. Take him away.”
I was sweating myself. If Savanto was coming in forty-eight hours and expected to see something for his money, time was certainly running against me.
When they had gone I returned to the bungalow. I could smell onions frying. I found Lucy in the kitchen, preparing a curry… one of my favourite meals and the one thing she could cook well.
“Hi!”
She looked over her shoulder and gave me a ghost of a smile.
“Through for the day?”
“Yeah, I’ll take a shower.”
“It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
“It smells good.”
She nodded and turned back to the stove. I eyed her for a brief moment, feeling depressed and wanting to touch her, but there was no invitation to touch her in that stiff slim back. It’ll work out, I told myself. It’s got to work out.
After the shower, I put on fresh slacks and a shirt.
We had dinner. The curry was good : just the way I liked it, but I didn’t have much appetite: nor did she.
“He’s bogged down on the moving target,” I said. “It’s going to be a miracle if I ever make this sonofabitch shoot.”
She moved the food about on her plate with her fork. She didn’t say anything.
“His father is coming to check on his progress the day after tomorrow.”
That got a reaction. She looked up, her eyes widening.
“Is he?”
“Yes. I wish I hadn’t taken this job, Lucy.”
“You still have six days.” She put down her fork. “You can’t expect to make all this money without working for it. That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”
“That’s what I said.”
Then followed another of our long, depressing silences.
“I forgot to tell you,” she said. “Colonel Forsythe came for his lesson. I told him the school was closed.”
“Did he take it all right?” I couldn’t care less about Colonel Forsythe or any of my other pupils.
“Yes.”
Again a long silence.
“I guess it’s too hot to eat,” T said and pushed my plate away. She had scarcely eaten anything.
Without looking at me, she got up from the table and went out onto the verandah. From force of habit, I turned on the TV set. A blonde with a mouth as big as a bucket was yelling about love. I turned the set off.
Through the open window, I saw Lucy walking towards the sea. I hesitated for a moment, then went after her.
Side by side, and in silence, we walked along the deserted beach.
After a while, I reached for her hand, but she didn’t reach for mine.
By lunch-time the next day, I knew there was going to be no miracle.
For three solid hours, Timoteo fired at the moving cans, using up ammunition and hitting none of them. He was trying all right, but his reflexes seemed to be paralysed. Even when I slowed the moving targets down again to a crawl he still couldn’t hit them.
Finally, I took the rifle out of his sweating hands.
“Sit down, Tim,” I said. “Let’s talk.”
He stood there, his head lowered, his face grey and drawn. He looked like a bull with the pies in, waiting for the blade.
“Tim !” I barked at him. “Sit down ! I want to talk to you!”
The snap in my voice brought his head up. The despair and the hate in his eyes shocked me. Then he turned and moving like a zombie, he walked out of the gallery and into the hot sunshine. He hesitated for a moment, then set off with his slow, shambling stride towards the distant palm trees.
I looked at Raimundo who was sitting on one of the benches, watching me.
“That’s it,” I said. “I’m quitting. I know when I’m licked. He’ll never make it. I want to talk to your boss.”
Raimundo flicked his cigarette away.
“Yeah, it’s time to talk to the boss.” He stood up. “We’ll go and talk to him now. I’ll fix your car.”
I knew this was the end of my dream of owning fifty thousand dollars and I realised with a sense of surprise, I didn’t care. No money was worth what I had gone through during the past days. If I had had only Timoteo to handle I might have had some regrets even though I had learned the hard way he was beyond teaching, but it wasn’t only Timoteo. Because I had been hypnotised by the thought of all that money, I was spoiling my marriage.
“I’ll meet you at the bungalow,” I said.
I found Lucy in the kitchen, preparing the lunch.
“I’m seeing Savanto now. I’m returning the money. In a few hours we will be rid of them all,” I said, coming to rest by her side.
She stiffened, staring at me.
“What happened?”
“I suddenly realised I need this job like I need a hole in the head,” I said quietly. “He’ll never learn to shoot. I’m quitting, and we’re going back to square A.” I grinned at her. “I won’t be long, honey, I’m getting the money.”