Life During Wartime (53 page)

‘Wasn’t great.’

Chapo nodded, apparently at a loss for words. ‘Perhaps we can be friends,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you will come to visit me in my room. I live on the third floor.’

Startled, Mingolla said, ‘Maybe … I don’t know. I’m pretty busy.’

‘I would like it very much.’

‘We’ll see.’

On the screen, the kid was talking about his duty. These choppers, man, they are fuckin’ fast. You come in off the sea, you’re so far out you can’t see land, and then the land pops up, green mountains, cities, whatever, like one of those pop-up birthday cards. And then you’re into the clouds. I’m talkin’ ’bout hittin’ at the guerrillas, now. Up in the mountains. So you’re in the clouds, and when you unbutton your rockets, all you see is this pretty glow way down under the clouds. Like glowing marble, that’s what it looks like. And the only way you can tell you done
anything is that when you make a second pass, all those little hot targets on the thermal imager ain’t there anymore. You don’t feel nothin’. I mean … you do feel somethin’, but it’s different.’

That was enough for Mingolla, who still felt the deaths he’d caused. He got up, and Chapo, too, stood.

‘I hope I will see you again,’ Chapo said. ‘We can talk more about New York City.’

Stupid blocky brown face. Earnest smile. Common clay of the Master Race. Chapo’s ingenuousness – similar to that Mingolla had encountered in dozens of young Latin men – had sucked in him. Maybe it was for real, but Chapo was no less his enemy for all that.

‘Not a fucking chance,’ said Mingolla, and walked out into the lobby.

Marina’s bedroom was a touch more luxurious than those of the Casa Gamboa. Carpeted with a patchy shag rug. Wallpaper of a waterstained oriental design that might have been plum blossoms, but had worn away into a calligraphy of indefinite lines, with pale rectangles where pictures had once been hung. The bed was draped in a peach-colored satin spread that rippled in the light from a lamp on the night table. Seven Sotomayors, including Ruy, were seated on the bed and floor, and Marina, enthroned in an easy chair, led the discussion … less a discussion than a bout of fabulous confessions. Mingolla stood by the door, watching, listening. He had been disconcerted by Ruy’s presence, but he was now considering changing his tactics and confronting Ruy with the notebook rather than sandbagging him.

‘It was in April of the year,’ said one of the Sotomayors, a man named Aurelio, slightly older than yet strikingly similar to Ruy in appearance. ‘All that month I’d been feeling at loose ends. Even though I was involved in settling the Peruvian problem, my involvement wasn’t enough to prevent idle thoughts, and my thoughts came to settle on Daria Ruiz de Madradona, the daughter of my father’s murderer. She was also involved in the Peruvian operation, but that was not a factor in my decision.’

As Aurelio described the process of plotting that had led to his abduction of Daria, he maintained a downcast expression as if he were revealing a matter of great shame; yet his tone grew
exuberant, his description eloquent, and the others, though they sat quietly and attentive, seemed titillated, leaning forward, breathing rapidly. Especially Marina. She had on gray slacks and a silver-and-gray blouse imprinted with a design of black birds flying between stylized slants of rain. Crimson lipstick gave her mouth a predatory sexuality, and her cheekbones looked as if they were about to pierce her skin. With each of Aurelio’s revelations, she appeared to sharpen, to become more intent and alive.

‘I don’t think,’ said Aurelio, ‘I’ve ever known myself as I did in that moment. My location in the world, in the moment. Certainly my senses had never been so clear. I took in every detail of the walls. The grain, the knotholes and wormtrails. All in an instant. I could hear the separate actions of the wind in the trees outside, and how it was flapping a piece of tarpaper on the roof. Daria was not a beautiful woman, yet she seemed unbelievably sensual. Fear drained from her face as she met my eyes, and I couldn’t hate her any longer, because I knew that this moment was more than mere vengeance. It was drama. Ritual and destiny coming together. And knowing this, knowing that she knew, there arose a kind of love between us … love such as arises between a victim and the one who is both torturer and bringer of mercy.’

After Aurelio had finished, the group analyzed his story, dissected it in terms of its bearing upon Sotomayor psychology, all with an eye toward repressing their baser instincts; yet their dissection had the prim fraudulence of sinners who were justifying their wickedness and pretending to be sad. Other stories were told, and Mingolla – seeing in their gleeful descriptions, their delight over their violent traditions, and their penitent pose a perfect setting for his presentation – bided his time.

After an hour of this, Marina asked if he had any questions, and stepping to the center of the room, he said, ‘Sure do. They might annoy you, but I hope you’ll answer them.’

‘We’ll do our best,’ she said.

‘From what I’ve heard tonight,’ he said, ‘and what I’ve heard before, it seems that a good many of your operations have been undermined by someone suddenly reestablishing the feud. And this usually happens at the last minute, right when success is at hand. Is that fair to say?’

One of the men started to object, but Marina interrupted, saying, ‘It’s not unfair.’

‘What makes you think that won’t happen here?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to prevent,’ said Ruy haughtily.

‘Right.’ Mingolla beamed at him, surprised to feel some fondness for him now that he had him in his grasp. ‘Anyway, there’s a casualness to your operations that makes me nervous.’

‘What are you leading up to?’ Marina asked.

He ignored the question. ‘Everybody except you has admitted to some sin. Don’t you have anything to confess?’

‘Marina is our exemplar,’ said Ruy with a measure of bitterness. ‘She’s blameless in all this.’

A smile carved a little red wound in the gaunt planes of her face. ‘Thank you, Ruy.’

‘You must have been affected by the feud in some way,’ said Mingolla. ‘At one of the negotiating sessions, Ruy mentioned something about your pain … something somebody’s uncle had done to you.’

‘Yes? What about it?’

‘I’d like to hear what happened.’

‘I don’t see the point,’ she said coolly.

‘There’s something I want to say, but I want to be sure of everyone before I commit myself.’

‘Very well … but I trust it isn’t just curiosity.’ She smoothed wrinkles from her slacks. Some years ago I was married to a Madradona …’

‘I didn’t know that ever happened,’ Mingolla said.

‘It was an attempt at ending the feud,’ she said. ‘I balked at it, of course. I’d been living in Los Angeles, and I’d become rather a free spirit. Quite undisciplined. Perhaps it was my father’s intention to check these tendencies, for the Madradonas are nothing if not disciplined.’ Laughter from the others. ‘Despite my attitudes, after the wedding I grew to respect and care for my husband … though I can’t say I ever really loved him. But I had sufficient confidence in the marriage to become pregnant. Things were going well for us, but then one day an old lover of mine came to visit, purportedly to offer his congratulations on the baby. In the course of our conversation he drugged me and laid me out naked
on the bed. It was his plan to have my husband return home and catch us in flagrante delicto. And so it happened. I was just waking from the drug when my husband entered. He and my lover got into a terrible fight, and though I was still groggy, I tried to intervene. I received a blow in the stomach, and as a result I not only lost the baby, but was unable to conceive another. Later I discovered that my lover hadn’t been entirely to blame. My father-in-law had manipulated him with tales of my husband’s cruelty to me. He’d never accepted the marriage, and I guess the prospect of a child was too much for him.’ She glanced up at Mingolla. ‘Will that do?’

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It was important.’

‘Now what’s this all about?’

He let his gaze swing around the room, lingering on Ruy, who was sitting on the bed. ‘I hear the negotiations are going well.’

‘Extremely well,’ said Aurelio. ‘So?’

‘Would you say they’re on the verge of success?’ Mingolla asked. ‘Isn’t this time frame the time of greatest risk, the time when someone is likely to lose it? To find some reason for blowing everything out of the water. Like with Tel Aviv.’

‘If you have something to tell us,’ said Marina, ‘I suggest you get on with it.’

Mingolla took the notebook from his hip pocket, unfurled it, and saw Ruy stiffen. ‘Ruy knows what I’m talking ’bout … don’tcha?’

‘Where did you get that?’ Ruy asked.

‘I thought so,’ said Marina, relaxing. ‘This has to do with Ruy’s fixation on your girlfriend.’

‘It’s more than that.’

‘I doubt it. I’ve seen this before. Ruy learned long ago that he can’t indulge his fantasies.’

‘Give me that,’ said Ruy, coming to his feet and holding out a hand. ‘You had no right to take it.’

‘We’re talking rights, are we?’ Mingolla shoved him back down. ‘How ’bout the right to some privacy?’

The other Sotomayors looked to Ruy as if expecting him to retaliate, but he only sat there.

Mingolla passed the notebook to Marina. ‘See if you don’t think this is evidence of something more than a fixation.’

Two of the men read over her shoulder as she studied the notebook, turning the pages with a flick of her forefinger. ‘Oh, Ruy,’ she said after several minutes, ‘Not again.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Ruy. ‘You don’t see how he … how he …’ He stood, sputtering. ‘She can’t bloom, she …’

‘You’re fucking ridiculous, y’know that, man?’ said Mingolla.

Ruy sprang at him, but Mingolla sidestepped, grabbed his shirt, and flung him against the wall face-first. Ruy sagged to the floor. Blood from his mouth left a red snail track on the wallpaper. ‘See there?’ said Mingolla. ‘Man’s outta control.’

‘You aren’t helping the situation by goading him,’ said Marina.

‘I want you to see what he’s capable of,’ said Mingolla. ‘It’s not my fault he’s the way he is, and if you don’t think he’s a threat … Hey! Let him go on with this shit. It won’t be long before he does something really stupid.’

Ruy groaned, rolled onto his back. Blood smeared his mouth and chin.

‘What do you suggest we do?’ Marina asked.

‘I met an old guy at the palace the other day … the caretaker.’

‘Eusebio,’ she said. ‘We can’t strip Ruy for something he
might
do.’

‘Then put him on notice. Seems to me the worst thing Ruy could imagine would be to lose his power.’

He could see the idea working in her face, in all their faces. They liked the thought of punishment.

‘Perhaps that is the best way,’ said Marina, and Mingolla thought he detected a deep satisfaction in her voice.

Ruy sat up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He gazed blearily at the others; he must have seen something in their faces, because he scrambled to his feet and made for the door. One of the men blocked his path.

‘You can’t listen to him!’ said Ruy, flicking his hand toward Mingolla. ‘He’s not one of us.’

‘Be quiet,’ said Marina.

You can’t do this,’ he said. ‘Not just on his word.’

‘We have your word, Ruy.’ She held up the notebook, and Ruy looked away.

‘Carlito won’t let you,’ he said weakly.

‘We’re not going to do anything,’ she said. ‘Not yet. But if anything happens to Debora or David, you’ll be held accountable. And not even Carlito will be able to help you then.’

Ruy stared hatefully at Mingolla.

‘You been a bad boy, Ruy,’ Mingolla said, and grinned.

‘I don’t want you talking to either of them without my permission,’ said Marina. ‘Is that clear?’

‘That’s hard to avoid,’ said Ruy. ‘I live in the same building, and I’m bound to run into them.’

‘Move,’ she said. ‘Move tonight. You can move in here, Ruy. You used to tell me how much you liked being near me. Now you have your wish.’

Ruy looked stricken. ‘I’m going to talk to Carlito about this. Right now. He’s not going to be happy.’

Marina turned to Mingolla. ‘Would you mind leaving us, David. Ruy apparently needs proof of our seriousness.’

‘What you gonna do to him?’

‘Give him a taste of what he’s risking.’

‘No!’ Ruy shouted it, wrestled with the doorknob, and was thrown back by two of the men.

Please, David.’ Marina gestured toward the door, and Mingolla crossed to it, taking pains to avoid Ruy’s eyes. ‘Oh, David!’ Marina called as he went out into the hall.

‘Yes?’

Her smile was the gracious smile of a hostess acknowledging the departure of a favored guest. ‘Thank you so much for bringing this to our attention.’

Gilbey’s friendship with Jack Lescaux gave Mingolla hope that he might restore Gilbey completely: friendship was such a human thing and so untypical of the armies. He was strong enough to effect this; he could feel strength like a heavy stone inside his head, wanting to explode, to exert itself upon some target. But he must not have had sufficient knowledge. Even had he been stronger and more knowledgeable, he doubted he would have been able to do anything for Jack. Most of the time Jack was barely capable of movement, and on the one occasion that Mingolla succeeded in getting him to talk at length, an afternoon they spent on the steps of the palace, it made him very unhappy. Mingolla asked how he had become involved with the families, and he replied, ‘It was somethin’ in the music they wanted … somethin’ they made me do.’ Mingolla assumed Jack had been forced to inject subliminals into his recordings, perhaps ones that would appeal to psychics; but the particulars didn’t interest him. If he were to try and root out every Sotomayor game, he would have time for little else.