He didn’t spare a moment’s glance for Jahn but walked slowly over to Bartolomeo and stopped in front of him.
“You’re Casal?”
“His son,” said Bart, feeling uneasy. He had to put his head back slightly to look Faber in the eyes, not something he usually needed to do.
“You’re his son?” asked Faber, and emotion made his chin wobble.
“Yes,” Bart confirmed.
The giant took one more step, opened his great arms, and flung them around the young man. He clasped Bartolomeo to his chest and didn’t let him go for several minutes. Bartolomeo felt as if he had been swallowed up. Held so close to this peaceful colossus, he felt that nothing bad could happen. When Faber loosened his embrace, his eyes were moist with tears. Only then did he turn to Jahn and offer his hand.
“Good morning, Mr. Jahn. Pleased to see you again.”
A few moments later, they were sitting at the table with a jug of wine. Faber’s wife brought him a bowl of milk, and throughout the conversation he dunked pieces of bread in it and fished them out again with a soupspoon. In his hand it looked as if it belonged to a doll’s tea set.
Jahn began, cautiously, “Listen, Faber. You must be aware that a long time has passed since they did you such harm.”
No reply.
“And you must also be aware that things changed some while ago.”
“They did? I don’t know. I don’t go out. What’s changed?”
“People are sick and tired of the Phalange, understand? If there’s a revolt, they’ll be with us.”
“Why would they be with us? They did nothing when I was pulling that cart and folks threw filth at me.”
“They were afraid,” Bartolomeo put in. “Afraid of being arrested, beaten up, killed.”
“You’re right there,” Faber agreed.
“And then,” Bart went on, “then they thought perhaps the Phalange wasn’t such a bad thing after all. It would put the country in order. They’d wait and see. So now they do see —”
“And they see it wasn’t a good thing,” Faber finished the sentence. He needed to have everything put into plain words.
“Exactly. They see it wasn’t a good thing, and they’ll support us. Are the horse-men ready to fight on our side?”
Faber put his spoon down on the table and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, looking awkward. “Us horse-men, we don’t like killing.”
“No one likes killing,” said Bart. “But we have to defend ourselves. You saw what they did to you — to you personally and your people. You can’t have forgotten!”
Faber looked at him with his large, moist eyes. “I know that, but we’re used to putting up with things, we are. We’re strong but we don’t like fighting.”
“Those of your age, perhaps, but that’s changed too. I made a friend at the boarding school, a horse-man like you, and I can tell you it wasn’t a good idea to cross him. The horse-men have learned not to let themselves be humiliated, I assure you. We’re going to need your strength, Mr. Faber, the strength of all the horse-men. Without you we’ll be defeated for the second time.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Faber mumbled unhappily. “Who’ll command us?”
Jahn, who had said nothing for some while now, looked at Bartolomeo and gave him an encouraging nod.
“I will command you,” said the young man firmly. “You can count on me.”
As he spoke those words, he felt that his father was there beside him, almost as if he were physically present at the table with them. He felt convinced that his father heard him and approved of what he said. His throat tightened.
“I will command you, with Mr. Jahn. I’ll be back here with you when the moment comes. Until it does, build up your health again and talk to your people. You know how pleased they’ll be to see you up and about. They must all be ready on the day, and it’s up to you as their leader to convince them and gather them together. Prepare them to fight, Mr. Faber!”
At seventeen Bartolomeo didn’t have the necessary experience to lead the horse-men himself, and he knew it. But that was not what Jahn expected of him. He had brought him here because his name was Casal, because he knew how to handle words and find arguments to persuade the huge horse-man to emerge from his state of depression. And Bart had indeed found them.
“You’ll have something to eat, won’t you?” the large woman asked them.
“A good idea, Roberta,” Faber agreed. “You must be hungry, coming all that way. You came from the capital?”
They had no time to reply, for a child of about eight rushed in, clung to the woman’s apron, and whispered something to her. His nose was running.
“There’s another black car driving into the village,” Roberta told the three men.
“Who’s in the car, my boy?” Jahn asked.
“Two thin gentlemen, sir,” said the child, proud to be asked in person.
Jahn was on the alert. “Did they ask you any questions?”
“Yes, they asked if I’d seen you.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“I told them I wasn’t allowed to say. Then they said they’d give me money to tell them.”
“And did you tell them?”
“No. I said your black car had gone on!”
Jahn swore. “The Phalange. I thought I’d shaken them off. Those idiots drove on at random and now they’re here. We’ll have to hide.”
“Go up to the bedroom,” the woman suggested. “I’ll tell them there’s no one here.”
Jahn, Bart, and Faber quickly climbed the stairs, while the horse-child, beaming, opened his hand. “Look, Roberta, see how nice they were! I didn’t tell them anything and they gave me the money all the same!”
The room upstairs was half filled by the large unmade bed where Faber had been lying only an hour ago. The other furnishings consisted of a wardrobe with one door missing and a rush-seated chair where, no doubt, Roberta sat to watch over her husband during the day.
Jahn went to the window and cautiously moved the curtain aside. The car drove slowly past without stopping. A minute later it came back downhill at the same slow pace.
“They’ve found my car. Now they’re searching,” said Jahn, “asking the way to Faber’s house, and they’ll find it too. We should have hidden somewhere else.”
But it was too late now. They heard the sound of car doors slamming and knocking at the door. The three men sat on the bed so as not to make the floor creak by standing on it. Jahn shook his head, furious with himself for putting Faber in this situation and dragging Bart into it too. Automatically, Faber had put his pillow on his knees and was kneading it. He looked uneasy. Bart made himself calm his breathing. From below, they heard Roberta’s anxious voice as she opened the door.
“Good day, gentlemen.”
“Where’s Faber?” barked one of the two men, without bothering to give a civil greeting.
“Not here,” moaned the poor woman, terrified. “Gone out.”
Then she uttered a cry. Faber clenched his fists at the sound. He hated the idea of anyone hurting his Roberta.
“He’s upstairs! Go and get him!” bawled the man.
“Upstairs? Oh, not there, not at all!” cried Roberta, in a voice so obviously intended to mislead that in other circumstances it would have been funny. The horse-women were no better at lying than their children.
“Go and get him, I said!”
“He’s not well,” said the poor woman, contradicting herself. She didn’t know what to do now to protect her husband, and her helplessness made her cry. She was sobbing as she climbed the stairs.