Never an Empire (25 page)

Now a true artist had come to San Juan and had he given him the respect and admiration he deserved? No, he had been forced to play the policeman.

The chief's eyes rose again and looked at the American who, on seeing them, was more than a little surprised for they were full of hate. This dramatic change in a man he thought of little or no consequence surprised him. This was someone to be ordered, directed and used as he might use a trained dog, and he had suddenly turned and bitten him. The American was angry but he was also cautious. First there had been this business with Carmen and the stranger, then there was what she'd said about the priest locking his door and wanting her out of his house, now the chief of police was acting up. Suddenly, out of nowhere, his plan which had been so near to success was in danger of coming apart. God, how he wanted a drink.

‘Finished? Got it off your chest?'

The words had poured out of the chief and he had meant them. He had got over his burst of anger but had remained sullen.

‘I take nothing back, nor do I apologise.'

‘Then don't. You didn't like what you had to do but it still had to be done. So, you're sure this man is really an artist?'

‘Yes. He showed me his passport and a letter of introduction from Felix Hidalgo.'

‘This Hidalgo and the other one?'

He waited to be reminded of the name.

‘Juan Luna.'

‘They could vouch for him?'

‘Luna is dead. He died seven years ago. Hidalgo is in Spain.'

‘You seem very well informed.'

‘I am the chief of police but I also have a soul. Where art is concerned I am very well informed.'

The American tried a smile. He wanted this man friendly again so he made a little joke.

‘Unlike myself who, as you correctly pointed out, am a philistine.' The chief shrugged. ‘That's OK, you're right, I wouldn't know one end of a paintbrush from the other and the only portraits I could identify are the ones on dollar bills.'

The chief recognised the American's attempts to calm the situation and responded in kind.

‘I spoke in anger.'

It wasn't an apology but it was as close to one to make no difference, so the American decided to get back to business.

‘Send Carmen up, then go back to the hotel and if he's still there do what you can to make your peace with him. Offer to buy him a meal, show him the sights, whatever it takes to unruffle his feathers.'

The chief picked up his cap and stood up.

‘I will do my best.'

‘That will be good enough for me.'

The chief left and closed the door behind him.

Hell, thought the American, I need a drink. But first there was Carmen to deal with. The chief was settled, now he had to make sure of her. He waited until the door opened and Carmen walked in. At once, from the way she stood in the doorway, he knew it was going to be hard work. Well, what the hell, it was only two more weeks then he could be rid of the bitch.

He smiled.

‘The chief of police called me a philistine. What is it you'd like to call me?'

Carmen had been brooding as she waited downstairs and had had plenty of time to decide exactly what she wanted to say.

She closed the door and began to speak.

Chapter Thirty

Carmen walked along the road towards the church in a thoroughly buoyant mood. She was happy: everything was going to be all right, more than all right, wonderful. She had told the American exactly what she thought of him, how her new friend, Eduardo, had just suggested that she move into his house when the policeman had nearly spoiled everything by bringing his stupid note. She told him that he could have ruined everything and he had had apologised, told her that he had sent the chief of police himself to put things right with her friend, that he thought it an excellent idea that she move in with him and let him paint her. He also gave her some money, more even than last time. Now, at last, she was free of the priest and that cow of a housekeeper. She could go and tell her that she was leaving and while she was at it she could tell her what she thought of her.

As she walked she began to prepare what she would say. But try as she might she could not get her full feelings into it. Her mind kept going back to something else, something more exciting even that confronting Maria and making up for all the vicious words the old hag had poured out on her. Try as she might to prepare her little speech her mind went back to the hotel. Eduardo had told her again how much he would like to paint a picture of her, that he would make her famous, like Goya's Maja or like Manet's Olympia. When she said she hadn't heard of either of them he laughed and when she asked if he would buy her some fine clothes to wear in the painting he had laughed even more loudly. True beauty like hers, he said, didn't depend on clothes, in fact he couldn't and wouldn't paint her with clothes on. To do her justice she would have to pose naked. The Maja and Olympia were nudes, great nudes, admired by everyone who saw them. Carmen had pretended to be embarrassed and shocked at the idea but in reality she was thrilled, to have her body put onto canvas and displayed so that the whole world could appreciate her beauty. It was something, exciting, wonderful, magnificent.

Full of thoughts of what was to come she found herself at the back door. With regret she forced her mind back to the purpose of her visit. That she would find Maria in the kitchen she had no doubt, she would no more eat at a friend's house than try and fly to the moon. All that talk about cooking and eating had just been the cow's way of driving her out for the day.

Maria was in the kitchen chopping onions. As Carmen had correctly suspected, her talk of eating somewhere else was just to make sure she had the house to herself today. She was sure that Father Enrique's fast would last until lunchtime but his willpower might very well give out when it reached time for dinner so she was cooking a special meal, one of his favourites, just in case.

She had her back to the kitchen door so Carmen's voice surprised her.

‘I thought you said no cooking today and that you would be going to a friend's house to eat.' Maria turned. Carmen was standing in the doorway. ‘Not that I believed you: I knew you were a liar from the first time we met.'

Maria could hardly believe her ears and stood open-mouthed as Carmen walked calmly into the kitchen. With an effort she composed herself.

‘What are you doing here, slut?'

‘Just collecting a few things that are mine. Don't worry, I'm not a thief,' she looked around, ‘not that there's anything here that I would dirty my hands with if I was. You can tell Enrique when he comes that I've decided to leave.'

Carmen wanted to enjoy herself so she stood and waited. She wanted to make Maria ask her where she was going. But Maria had got over her shock and was in control again. She turned back to her onions.

‘If you're going, go. God knows you've outstayed what little welcome there was for you.'

Carmen found herself talking to Maria's back and her temper began to flare.

‘Ha, what welcome, cow? You hated me from the moment you saw me.'

Maria smiled to herself over the onions. As if she couldn't better a jade like her when it came to words.

‘The welcome of charity, not that a cheap street whore like you would understand, but as you don't know I'll explain. A good Christian must give comfort even to the worst sinner when they are in need. Even a piece of trash like you is worth something,' she paused, ‘in God's eyes, at least.'

Carmen stepped forward, gripped Maria's shoulder and pulled the housekeeper to face her.

‘Trash, eh? Then how is it that I am going to live in a fine house? How is it I have money?' She pulled out the notes the American had given her, more even than the last time. ‘How is it that I have a friend, a famous artist who will paint me and make me famous.'

Maria let her go on. She was in control now and Carmen was doing no more than ranting.

‘Oh, money, we all know where that came from: under your skirts, and as for your friend, well, any man with money and something in his pants to stir you up could be a friend of yours.'

Carmen realised, a little late perhaps, that Maria was enjoying herself. She turned away, then turned back smiling and spoke calmly almost gently.

‘You know you really are a cow, stupid and without imagination. I knew it all along but not until now did I realise just how very stupid you could be. I'm sorry for you really. You'll spend the rest of your wretched life in this hole of a town, and never even have a dream of anything better.'

‘And I suppose you think that by lying on your back and opening your legs to any man who has a few pesos you'll get somewhere better?'

‘Oh I'll go somewhere better; I'll go to America with my husband and we'll become rich.'

‘Yes, when these onions learn to dance.'

‘And it will be soon, very soon.'

Something in Carmen's manner made Maria pause. How could she ever go to America when her husband was supposed to be with the general in the mountains? Maria's brain began to run. She knew Carmen must have been up to something, maybe now was a chance to find out what it was.

‘You'll never get to America and when your husband finds out what you've been up to he'll probably cut your throat,' she held up her knife, ‘and if he wants to I'll lend him this: it's good and sharp.'

‘My husband knows what I've been doing and he doesn't mind.'

‘Oh, he enjoys being a cuckold, does he? Or maybe he's not so much your husband as your pimp and takes a cut of what you make?'

‘He's clever, so am I, and we're going to be rich in America as soon as the general comes out of the mountains.'

And she stopped abruptly. She hadn't meant to go so far. Maria went on, but cautiously.

‘And why should the general come out of the mountains?' Carmen looked at her but didn't answer so Maria laughed and turned back to her onions. ‘So, all another story, all more make-believe. The general will come out of the mountains, drive the Americans into the sea, and your husband will be a hero, is that it?' She turned back. ‘Except that if the general comes out of the mountains like you say and makes us free of the Americans, why would your husband go to America?' She paused as if thinking, then laughed again. ‘Of course, he's going to invade them, that's it, with you at his side. I'll give you this, slut, you've got the morals of the gutter but you can tell a good story.'

And again she laughed and turned to the onions and waited. Either Carmen would let it all come now or she would go.

‘It's not a story: it will happen. The general will surrender and bring his men out of the mountains and it will all be because of me and my husband. We will have done it.'

Maria turned.

‘You have betrayed the general?'

‘Why not? What's the general to me?'

‘You work for the Americans? The American who came here, you work for him?'

‘Yes, he gives me the money; it was his plan and it has worked. Soon my husband will tell me that the general is ready to meet with Dominador Gomez and when that happens it will be over. My husband and I will go to America and be rich.'

There, she had said it and she didn't care. What could this cow do? The plan was as good as complete and while she waited she would live in her artist friend's house and he would show her body to the world and make her famous.

Maria was standing looking at her, it was an odd look, not angry but puzzled, as if she didn't know what to say or do. Carmen was pleased with herself. She had won, she had silenced the cow, she had …

Maria stepped forward and her knife slammed up to the hilt into Carmen's stomach. Carmen looked down as the pain hit and tried to scream but the knife was out and slammed home again into her chest, into her heart.

She was dead before her body hit the floor.

Chapter Thirty-one

Father Enrique had suffered all day. Fasting was good for the soul. It was also, if not carried to extremes, good for the body, and, if that were not enough, it was an excellent mental discipline, a way to show yourself that you were in control of your appetites, not they in control of you. He should, therefore, have felt a suitably humble pleasure in committing himself to something so beneficial to body, soul and mind. But he didn't. He was a young man with a healthy appetite. He liked his food and knew enough about the culinary art to understand that in Maria he had a gifted cook even if her range of dishes was somewhat limited. He had done his daily morning round and solemnly refused the refreshments usually lavished on him. Those he visited were suitably impressed. It wasn't Lent, that period of forty days leading up to Easter when the Catholic Church laid the duty of fasting on all the faithful, yet here was their pastor denying himself food or drink. To them it was yet another outward sign of his inner sanctity.

Father Enrique, once lunchtime had passed, which he had spent on his knees in front of the altar in church, slowly but steadily began to resent what he had done. By mid afternoon his resentment had turned to anger, anger with his own stupidity. He was a trained priest and, that being the case, knew that his fast was utterly worthless. It had no spiritual merit whatsoever. He had announced it only so as to have a reason to stay out of the house all day. He wasn't doing it as a penance for past sins, he was doing it as a convenience to avoid Carmen. He had to tell her to leave and leave at once. Where she might go was her business. She had a child and a mother in law in her village and that was her proper place: her home. He would ask Maria to tell Carmen to go. Why he hadn't come to this simple solution sooner was beyond him. As the afternoon drifted towards early evening he was convinced that the matter was best left in Maria's hands and, that being the case, there was no reason why he couldn't return to the house, tell Maria of his decision, and give up this nonsense of a fast.