“I vote for surrender,” Pablo said. He put his hands over his face. The movements of his shoulders showed he was weeping. For himself? For the dead? For shame?
Doctor Plarr thought: the desperadoes! That is what the papers would call them. A failed poet, an excommunicated priest, a pious woman, a man who weeps.
For heaven’s sake let this comedy end in comedy. None of us are suited to tragedy.
Pablo said, “I love this house. I had nothing else but the house left when my wife and child died.”
Yet another father, Doctor Plarr told himself, are we never going to finish with fathers?
“I vote for killing Fortnum now,” Aquino said.
“You told us they were bluffing,” Father Rivas said. “Perhaps you are right. Suppose eight o’clock comes and we have done nothing-they still cannot attack us. So long as he is alive.”
“Then what do you vote for?” Aquino asked.
“For delay. We gave them till midnight tomorrow.”
“And you, Marta?”
“I vote with my husband,” she said with pride.
A loudspeaker-so close that it must have been set up among the trees outside-spoke to them, again in the voice of Perez. “The United States Government and the British Government have refused to intervene. If you have been listening to your radio you will know I am telling you the truth. Your blackmail has failed. You have nothing to gain by holding the Consul any longer. Send him out of the hut before 08.00 hours if you wish to save your own lives.”
“They insist too much,” Father Rivas said.
Somebody was whispering beside the microphone. It was unintelligible-a sound which grated like pebbles drawn back under a wave. Then Perez continued. “There is a dying man outside your door. Send the Consul out to us now, and we will try to save your friend. Are you going to leave one of your own people to die slowly?”
No Hippocratic oath demands suicide, Doctor Plarr told himself. In his childhood his father had read him stories of heroism, of wounded men rescued under fire, of Captain Gates walking out into the snow. “Shoot if you must this old grey head” was one of his favourite poems in those days.
He went abruptly into the inner room. He could see nothing in the darkness there. He whispered, “Are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“How does your ankle feel?”
“It’s all right.”
“I will bring a light and change the bandages.”
“No.”
Doctor Plarr said, “The soldiers have us surrounded.
You mustn’t give up hope.”
“Hope of what?”
“There’s only one man who really wants your death.”
“Yes?” the indifferent voice replied. “Aquino.”
“And you,” Charley Fortnum said, “you! You want it.”
“Why should I?”
“You talk too loud, Plarr. I don’t suppose you ever talked so loud at the camp, even when I was out farming a mile away. You were always so damned discreet, weren’t you, in case the servants heard. But the time always comes when even a husband has his ears open.” There was a sound of scrabbling in the darkness as though he were trying to pull himself upright. “I always thought” there was some code of honour for doctors, Plarr, but of course that’s an English notion, and you’re only half English, and as for the other half…”
“I don’t know what you heard,” Doctor Plarr said. “You must have dreamt it or misunderstood.”
“I suppose you thought to yourself what the hell does it matter, she’s only a little tart from Mother Sanchez’ house. How much did she cost you? What did you offer her, Plarr?”
“If you want to know,” Doctor Plarr said in a spurt of rage, “I gave her a pair of sunglasses from Gruber’s.”
“Those glasses? She was fond of those glasses. She thought they were smart, and now they’ve been smashed to bits by your friends. What a swine you are, Plarr. It was like raping a child.”
“It came more easily.”
Doctor Plarr had not realized how close he was to the coffin bed. A fist struck at him through the dark. It caught him on the neck and made him choke. He stepped back and heard the coffin creak.
“Oh God,” Charley Fortnum said, “I’ve knocked the bottle over.” He added, “There was still a measure left. I’d kept it for…” A hand groped across the floor, touched Doctor Plarr’s shoes and recoiled.
“I’ll bring a light.”
“Oh no, you won’t. I don’t want to see your fucking face ever again, Plarr.”
“You are taking it too hard. These things happen, Fortnum.”
“You don’t even pretend to love her, do you?”
“No.”
“I suppose you’d had her at the brothel, and so you thought…”
“I’ve told you before-I saw her there, but I never had her.”
“I’d saved her from that place and you’ve begun to push her back.”
“I never intended this, Fortnum.”
“You never intended to be found out. It was cheaper for you, wasn’t it, not having to pay for your fucks.”
“What good do scenes like this do? I thought it would be all over quickly and you’d never know. It’s not as if she or I really cared for each other. Caring is the only dangerous thing, Fortnum.”
“I cared.”
“You’d have had her back. You would never have known.”
“When did it begin, Plarr?”
“The second time I saw her. At Gruber’s. When I gave her the sunglasses.”
“Where did you take her? Back to Mother Sanchez?” The persistent questions reminded Doctor Plarr of fingers pressing the pus out of a boil.
“I took her to my flat. I asked her in to have coffee, but she knew very well what I meant by coffee, Fortnum. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else sooner or later. She even knew the porter at my flat.”
“Thank God,” Fortnum said. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve found the bottle. It’s not spilt.” He could hear the sound of Fortnum drinking. He said, “You’d better save a little for later in case…”’ “I know you think I’m a coward, Plarr, but I’m not much afraid of dying now. It’s a lot easier than going back and waiting at the camp for a child to be born with your face, Plarr.”
“It’s not how I intended things,” Doctor Plarr repeated. He had no anger left with which to defend himself. “Nothing is ever what we intend. They didn’t mean to kidnap you. I didn’t mean to start the child. You would almost think there was a great joker somewhere who likes to give a twist to things. Perhaps the dark side of God has a sense of humour.”
“What dark side?”
“Some crazy notion of Leon’s. You should have heard that-not the things you did hear.”
“I wasn’t trying to hear-I was trying to get off this damn box and join you. I was lonely, and your drugs don’t work any more. I’d nearly got to the door when I heard the priest say you were jealous. Jealous, I thought, jealous of what? And then I heard and I got back on to the box.”
In a distant village Doctor Plarr had once been forced to perform an emergency operation for which he was not qualified. He had the choice of risking the operation or letting the woman die. Afterward he felt the same fatigue as he felt now, and the woman had died just the same. He had sat down on the floor in his exhaustion. He thought: I’ve said all I can. What more can I say? The woman was a long time dying or it seemed so to him then.
Fortnum said, “To think I wrote to Clara telling her you would look after her and the baby.”
“I know.”
“How the hell do you know?”
“You aren’t the only one who overhears things. The joker again. I overheard you dictating to Leon. It made me angry.”
“You angry? Why?”
“I suppose Leon was right-I am jealous.”
“Jealous of what?”
“That would be another comic twist, wouldn’t it?”
He could hear the sound of Charley Fortnum drinking again. Doctor Plarr said, “Even one of your measures won’t last forever.”
“I haven’t got forever. Why can’t I hate you, Plarr? Is it the whisky? I’m not drunk yet.”