Tomorrow in the Battle Think on Me (41 page)

“Yes, the Bombay Brasserie, I know it,” I said, I couldn’t not say it.

“How do you know that?” said Deán, displaying his natural capacity for surprise, his nostrils flaring, suggesting vehemence or perhaps inclemency.

“You told your wife when you called, she remarked on it, she asked if I knew it.”

“I see, and you do, do you?”

“I have dined in its vast colonial-style rooms on a couple of occasions, a pianist in evening dress sits in the foyer, and there are respectful waiters and maîtres d’hotel, and huge ceiling fans winter and summer, it’s a very theatrical place, rather expensive by English standards, but not prohibitively so, a place for friends to meet and celebrate or for business meetings, rather than for intimate, romantic suppers, unless you want to impress an inexperienced young woman or a girl from the working classes, or your wife or your mistress whom you never or almost never take out (the wife stuck at home in Conde de la Cimera as she is every night, although tonight she has company for what is clearly a romantic supper, the mistress usually stuck in her apartment, but who, today, is on a trip, a trip paid for by someone else, a trip she was obliged to make) someone likely to feel slightly overwhelmed
by the setting and to get absurdly drunk on cocktails and Indian beer, Bombay Sunset, Bombay Skyline, Pink Camellia, Bombay Blues, someone you won’t have to take to some intermediate place before hailing a taxi with fold-up seats and going back to your hotel or your flat, someone with whom there will be no need to speak after the hot, spicy supper, you can merely take her face in your hands and kiss her, undress her, touch her, framing that bought, fragile head in your hands in that gesture so oddly reminiscent of both coronation and strangulation, I thought all this while I was standing in the shadows looking at the planes hanging from the ceiling of the child’s bedroom and while Marta Téllez was still ill but not yet dead, they would be there now, in the room next door, the planes would be watching over his sleep while they prepared for that night’s weary, anachronistic foray, that tiny, ghostly, languid battle, hanging by threads, the inert, passive oscillation, tomorrow, despair and die.”

“Yes, I like it immensely,” I said. “I’ve been there on two or three occasions, some time ago.”

“It’s recommended in all the guides,” said Deán earnestly, as if making some excuse. “I took her there, we drank and laughed quite a lot despite what would happen the following morning, the drink would help her get to sleep that night, as it would me, I would take her to the entrance of the hospital, I’d wait outside in case there were any problems or she got into a panic, a couple of hours she’d told me, although it was unlikely that anything unusual would happen, she was a nurse and she had seen it all before, nurses get very depressed, it’s only logical, although, obviously, it’s not the same having it done to oneself. I found it odd that they didn’t want to take her in before or keep her in afterwards, for a night, a few hours, but she knew better than me, she had made all the arrangements from her clinic here, it worked out cheaper hospital to hospital she had said. She could get by in English, so can I.”

“I read English at university,” I said; it was an absurd remark that Deán ignored. I poured another whisky, he let me do so, he continued as if he hadn’t heard: “That night I took her back to her hotel in a taxi after supper, we both chose not to go up to either of our rooms, there was
something in her body that would not be there the following day and it was best not to be reminded of it. She didn’t seem particularly affected by it or she pretended not to be, the cocktails must have helped, she even seemed contented, affectionate, perhaps my promises made up for everything else. At the door of her hotel, she gave me one of those grateful kisses, how can I put it, an enthusiastic kiss, I felt sure that she would bear me no ill will for that awful experience. I walked back to my hotel, a short distance away, and then I called Marta from my room to confirm that I had arrived safely and to find out how things were, she didn’t say she was having supper with you or anyone, I thought she was alone with the boy, and you really believe that there was no premeditation, you’ve got a nerve.” Deán was still standing, he stopped talking and stood there looking at me, I saw a hint of cruelty in his frank eyes, he struck a match and lit the cigarette that he had cadged from me, as if he didn’t want to get sidetracked down the other possible route that our conversation might take, he had dismissed it from the start; then the glint disappeared. “The fact is I didn’t sleep well that night, I slept badly, I kept waking up, I blamed myself and Eva, but not Marta, although I thought about both of them, what was happening in London was happening because Marta existed, there are certain spaces in one’s life that are occupied, which is why people do everything they can to create a space for themselves or to replace instantly those who leave (“You didn’t sleep very peacefully on the island, then, on neither of your two nights on the island did you have a quiet night’s sleep,” I thought. “But the rustle of your own sheets here didn’t reach you either, sheets I never touched, nor did the clatter of your own plates bearing Irish steak and ice cream, or the clink of your glasses filled with red wine, or the rattle of death, or the boom of anxiety, or the creak of malaise and depression, or the buzz of fear and regret, or the sing-song hum of weary, much-maligned death, you heard only the traffic driving on the wrong side of the road and the tall red buses, the night-time bustle and the reverberating chatter in various languages at the Indian restaurant, and the echo of other, possibly mortal, sing-song voices: you speak of your Eva in the past tense”). If I had known, if I had known that night what you knew (“I knew it, you fool, because I saw it and experienced
it and I was afraid and I could do nothing to stop it, I was a witness to it and I took her in my arms so that she might die as well as possible, I wasn’t the one who should have been by her side,” and again I addressed him as “tú” as I had at the entrance to the restaurant in order to insult him the way one does in one’s thoughts, his complaint, which sounded like a reproach, irritated me, he had gone off with Eva to resolve his affair without Marta’s knowledge, what did he expect).” Deán came over to the armchair, which matched the sofa, and he sat on the right arm as if he had lost his footing on the slippery snow, I had seen him falter like that before, indeed more dramatically than that, at the open grave, he got spattered with the earth dug up by the gravedigger, it spattered his raincoat. Even sitting down he was still very tall, he didn’t cross his legs, he kept them straight, he seemed to me more vulnerable in that position. “If I had known, everything would have been different in London, I would never even have allowed her to go to the hospital the following morning, there would have been no reason to, a brother or sister for Eugenio and a new mother, why not, given the circumstances, you love things and people according to what you have or haven’t got, according to the spaces they leave, our needs and desires vary according to what we lose or to whether we are abandoned by someone or dispossessed, the same goes for our feelings too, as I’ve already said, irrevocable decisions can be taken and, in part, that’s the basis for everything, we base them on incompatibilities and on what we need at the time.” He was contradicting himself about feelings or perhaps, before, he had been speaking for Eva and, now, he was speaking for himself.

“I’ve told you already,” I said, “I didn’t dare to call you twice, I lost my nerve after talking to the porter. There wasn’t anyone called Deán there, for all I knew there might be no Ballesteros there either. In fact, I don’t know that I achieved a great deal by finding out what your last name was.”

“How did you do that?” asked Deán.

“There were letters around, I looked for one from the bank.”

“At least you’re resourceful, not everyone would have thought of that.” He was calling me “usted” all of a sudden, an unexpected sign of respect, a moment of belated hesitancy, or perhaps he had
picked it up from me. But it only lasted a matter of seconds, after a few sentences, he reverted to “tú”: “Look, I’m not blaming you for anything, I’m just telling you what happened because I didn’t find out in time, how I spent those hours, quite a few hours, during which I was in a state of complete misapprehension. I’m not even blaming you for having left the child alone, for example, as an embittered, resentful widower might do: nothing happened to him and it would be wrong to accuse you of what might have happened but didn’t, everything depends on the end result, doesn’t it, and that includes everything, even if it’s only an instant in time, one particular action varies depending on the effect it has, a bullet that hits the target is not the same bullet if it misses, nor is a blow with a knife if it fails to strike home, it’s as if we had held nothing in our hand and yet we acted as if quite the opposite were true, we’re always so full of intentions, I wonder if they really are what count or precisely what do not count, it’s also true that sometimes we have no intentions, maybe you didn’t (“A yes and a no and a perhaps and, meanwhile, everything has moved on or is gone, the misery of not knowing what to do and of having to act regardless, because one has to fill up the insistent time that continues to pass without waiting for us, we move more slowly: having to decide without knowing, having to act without knowing and yet foreseeing, and that is the greatest and most common of misfortunes, foreseeing what will come afterwards, it’s a misfortune generally perceived as quite a minor one, yet experienced by everyone every day. It is something you get used to, we take little notice of it”).” Deán stubbed out his cigarette before he had finished it and, as he did so, he slid down on to the seat of the armchair, now he was almost at my height, his shirtsleeves resting on the arms of the chair and his tie looser, although, even then, he lost none of his composure. “But things did happen here” – he continued, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the whole sordid tale, it had nothing to do with me, but that man was telling me the story, he had chosen me to listen to him, perhaps it did have something to do with me, to some degree – “I wonder if things would have turned out the same if you hadn’t been in that bedroom with Marta.” And he gestured with his head towards the corridor that led to the bedroom, I knew the way. “I don’t mean her death, but
I wonder if, then, she would have called someone when she felt ill. Perhaps not me so as not to alarm me when I was so far away, but her sister or a friend or a neighbour or a doctor, to ask for help. I wonder if she didn’t call because she was with you, perhaps she hoped that it would pass and you could resume the party (“You’re mad, how can I possibly phone him, he’d kill me,” I thought, “that’s what Marta Téllez said to me when I suggested she should warn this man in London, Deán may be right, she might have called someone if I hadn’t been here. But that wouldn’t have saved her, it would only have saved him from his enchantment, his shadow, given what he’s been saying”). Things happen, it’s true, it always happens to someone and not to others, and those it happens to bemoan the fact that it does (“And even if there’s nothing, something moves us, it’s impossible for us to remain still, in our place, the only safe option would be never to say or do anything, and even then: inactivity and silence might have the same effects, produce identical results or, who knows, even worse ones, as if vacuous resentments and desires, unnecessary torments, emanated from our very breath. The only solution is for everything to end and for there to be nothing”). It doesn’t matter, it happened to you and to me, and more especially to the two women. The following morning, I went to the hospital with Eva, it was a good hospital, with everything as it should be, not too far from our hotels, Sloane Square, Sloane Street, towards the river, I’m sure you know the area, all very nice and clean. I didn’t go in with her, there was no need and she preferred it that way, I told her that I would be in a café opposite, reading the newspapers, I would stay there just in case she needed something suddenly, she’d be a couple of hours at most, not long, it’s the least I could do, I had put off a work engagement until after lunch, there would be time for my other meetings the following day, we were to be there for three nights, we wouldn’t go back until Friday, each with our own ticket, we had booked them separately though on the same flight, we thought it best to do things that way. When I said goodbye to her, I saw how pale she was, I noticed for the first time that she was frightened, perhaps she regretted what she was about to do, but it was too late now. I gave her a hug, I kissed her on the cheek. ‘It’ll be over soon,’ I said, ‘I’ll be thinking of
you all the time, I’ll be right here.’ I watched her disappear into the crowd in the foyer, hospitals are even fuller than hotels, she was wearing a long overcoat, a headscarf and pair of low, rather childish shoes. I bought several Spanish and English newspapers and sat down in the café, it was a pleasant morning, cold but clear, not that the weather was likely to last in London. Contrary to what I had said, I tried hard not to think about her and about what would be happening, but I ended up keeping my promise despite myself, it imposed itself on my thoughts albeit bereft of images, I have no very clear idea of what happens in these cases, nor do I want to. The truth is that I was thinking about similarities, but we won’t go into that.” Deán raised a hand to his forehead, he rubbed his forehead with his stiff fingers as if he had an itch, then he put one hand over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had just removed his glasses, only he didn’t wear glasses. “After one endless hour, I couldn’t stand it any longer, I couldn’t bear sitting there trying to read a newspaper that I wasn’t in the least bit interested in. I got up, paid my bill, walked slowly across to the hospital, went hesitantly into that foyer crammed with people waiting or passing through and coming and going, it was swarming with people, an enormous clinic, I saw Eva’s counterparts, they’re always busy, she would have felt at home with them. I went over to the reception desk and in my acceptable English I asked where I could wait for Eva, Eva García, I said, I spelled the name, she was having an operation, I hadn’t been able to get here earlier to be with her, I lied (“And now I too will have to remember that surname together with that first name,” I thought). I was upset and a bit worried, I didn’t want to do anything or change anything, I just wanted to be near to her, so that she would see me as soon as she came out of wherever she was, there were several floors. The nurse asked me when Eva had come in, I said an hour ago, she asked if it was an emergency, I said it wasn’t, it was an operation that had been arranged beforehand, she had been given an appointment for that morning. ‘That’s not possible,’ she said, while she searched the computer, presumably for the name García. ‘If she had an appointment for an operation today, we would have taken her in yesterday anyway,’ she said. ‘It’s not a serious operation,’ I explained. The nurse
looked up and asked me what I was afraid she was going to ask me: ‘What sort of operation is it?’ I didn’t want to use the word, I said, translating literally: ‘An interruption of pregnancy’, I don’t know if there is a more suitable euphemism in English, but she understood anyway, and said: ‘That’s impossible, they would have taken her in yesterday, I’m sure.’ She again searched on the computer, tapping the relevant keys to find the list of people who had been taken in yesterday, I suppose, then the same thing happened to me as happened to you, I suggested that she should also look under the surname Valle, which was her second name. Eva García Valle. ‘There’s no García and no Valle, either yesterday or today,’ she said firmly after consulting the screen, ‘there’s no one in the hospital with those names.’ ‘Are you sure?’ I insisted. ‘Absolutely,’ she said and cleared the list from the screen, there was no arguing with her. She sat there looking at me. ‘Are you her husband?’ she asked. I don’t know if that was a momentary flash of humanity or a desire for gossip; since Eva wasn’t there it made no difference to her what I was. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘thank you,’ and I withdrew, she watched me with her neutral eyes. I waited in the foyer not knowing what to do, watching the doctors and the nurses and the patients and the visitors pass by, I wondered if perhaps Eva had registered under another name, but that was impossible, they would have asked to see her papers. I noticed a particular door through which visitors kept disappearing, I followed them, I saw a large room, apparently a waiting room, again it was chock-a-block with people sitting on battered armchairs. I peered in, I glanced around. I was confused. And then I saw her in the distance, Eva was sitting there, eyes downcast, having taken off her overcoat and scarf, as I got closer, I saw that she had her legs crossed and was reading a magazine, she seemed quite calm, there must have been some delay, I thought, that was why she hadn’t yet registered. But I thought other things too as I approached her. She was reading a glossy magazine, a weekly, she didn’t look up until I was by her side, brushing against her with my coat, I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘What are you doing here?’ I said; I wasn’t sure whether to add ‘Haven’t they admitted you yet?’, but I didn’t want to give her an easy way out or tempt her into more lies. She jumped, a whole hour had passed since we had parted, for me, it had seemed
like a century, she became flustered, she placed a hand on my forearm, she immediately closed the magazine, she tried to stand up, I prevented her from doing so, my hand on her shoulder, I sat down beside her, I gripped her wrist, I repeated, this time angrily: ‘What are you doing here? In reception they told me that your name isn’t even on the list, what is all this about?’ She looked away, her eyes glazed over, she couldn’t speak, as if she were choking, she said nothing. ‘So there’s no operation, then?’ I said. She shook her head, her eyes glittered, but there were no tears. ‘There’s no abortion, no pregnancy, nothing?’ I said. She picked up her scarf from the chair beside her and burst into tears, covering her face with the scarf. We left there at once, walking quickly across the foyer, I still had my hand on her wrist, almost dragging her after me.” Deán paused to take a sip of his drink, the first in ages, momentarily covering his mouth again.