Robert Wilson - A Small Death in Lisbon

'We seem to be leaving Lisbon,' said Felsen, as the driver accelerated away towards the green outskirts of the city.

'Not yet. This evening perhaps. We're going to the Palâcio do Conde dos Olivais in Lapa where we've installed the German legation. You'll see we have the best location in Lisbon.'

They came into Lapa from Madragoa and drove up the Rua'Sâo Domingos à Lapa. Halfway up the Union Jack hung limply off a long pink building with tall white windows and a central pediment which made up about fifty metres of the street's façade. The Mercedes thundered past on the cobbled street.

'Our friends, the British,' said Poser, waving his prosthetic hand.

The driver turned first left into Rua do Sacramento a Lapa and after a hundred metres a cuboid palace in its own grounds appeared on the left. Bougainvillea spilled over the iron railings, the leaves of the phoenix palms rattled in the light breeze and the three red, white and black swastika flags snapped gently. The gates were opened, the car swung away from a sea view and up a short gravel drive and stopped in front of the steps. A doorman opened the car.

'Early lunch?' asked Poser.

They sat in the dining room with the sun throwing short rectangles of light across the empty tables. They waited for soup. Felsen tried to remember a time when he'd felt such calm. It was before the war, before the Olympics, in his old apartment on… he couldn't remember where his old apartment was… the windows open in summer, lying on the bed with Susana Lopes, the Brazilian girl.

'You like it?' asked Poser, erect as if his spine was in a brace.

'Excuse me?'

'Our legation. Our palácio. '

'Magnificent.'

'The Baixa,' said Poser, wrinkling his nose, 'all the refugees, you know, it's very enervating. Lapa is so much more civilized. You can breathe.'

'And the war seems such a long way away,' said Felsen, stonily.

'Quite so. Berlin, I believe has not been so much fun,' said Poser trying to hit a more businesslike tone. 'We'll be having a small reception for you this evening and a dinner so that you can meet some of the people you'll be working with. It will be formal. Do you…?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Afterwards I thought perhaps you'd like to go out of town to Estoril. There's a room for you at the Hotel Parque. The casino's out there and there'll be some dancing. I think you'll find it very agreeable.'

'I'd like to have some sleep at some stage. I haven't had much on the road this last week.'

'Of course, I didn't mean to be presumptuous. I just wanted you to be sure of some comfort and entertaining company after the more serious occasion.'

'No, no, I'd be happy to. A few hours this afternoon will be fine.'

'I have a cot in a room next to my office. You can use that if you wish.'

The soup arrived and the two men worked their way through it.

'This Hotel Parque…?' started Felsen.

'Yes. We have the Hotel Parque and the British have the Hotel Palácio. We're next to each other. The Palácio is bigger but the Parque has the waters… if you like that sort of thing.'

'I was going to ask…'

'It's a very international crowd as I said. One long party. From the conversations you hear up there you'd think they were still having court balls in the Palace of Versailles. And the women out there, so I'm told, are a lot more progressive in their attitude than the natives.'

The soup plates were removed and replaced by a split grilled lobster.

'Did I answer your question?' asked Poser.

'Perfectly.'

'Your reputation precedes you, Hauptsturmführer Felsen.'

'I didn't know I had one that could be of much interest.'

'You'll find the foreign women in Estoril very accommodating, although I should…'

'You're well-informed, Herr Poser. Are you with the Abwehr? '

'Although I should warn you that there are two currencies in this city The escudo and information.'

'Which is why you're here.'

'Everybody's a spy in Lisbon, Herr Hauptsturmführer. From the lowest refugee to the highest members of the legations. And that includes maids, doormen, waiters, bar staff, shop owners, businessmen, company executives, all women, whores or not, and royalty, real or fake. Anybody with ears to overhear can make a living.'

'Then there must be a lot of rumour as well. You've said yourself that the city is full, probably with a lot of people with nothing better to do than talk. It passes the time after all.'

'That is true.'

'Who does the winnowing?'

'Ah yes, your agricultural background coming out.'

Felsen stripped the white flesh out of the shell of his lobster.

'So where do the real spies pass their time?' asked Felsen.

'The ones who give us advance information on Dr Salazar's thinking about wolfram exports, you mean?'

'Does he do any thinking about that?'

'He's beginning to. We think he's beginning to perceive an opportunity. We're working on it now.'

Felsen waited for Poser to continue but instead the Prussian began dismantling his lobster claws with some difficulty given the stiffness of his gloved right hand.

'How many people know what I'm doing here?'

'Those you will meet this evening. No more than ten people in all. Your work is very important and, as you've probably realized, somewhat complicated by a very delicate political situation which, at the moment, we are winning. It is our people here who will make your work on the ground easier.'

'Or more difficult if you start losing.'

'We have good relations with Dr Salazar. He understands us. The British are relying on the strength of their old alliance, 13 86 I think it was, you wonder which century they're living in. We, on the other hand, are…'

'…frightening him?'

'I was going to say that we are providing him with what he needs.'

'But he's aware of the Panzer divisions in Bayonne, I'm sure.'

'And the U-boats in the Atlantic,' said Poser. 'But if you want to play the harlot and bed both sides you might expect to get slapped about. Sweet?'

'Excuse me?'

'The lobster.'

'Very sweet.'

'Portuguese lobster… small but perfectly sweet. The best in the world.'

'I thought I'd go for a walk after my nap.'

'The Jardim da Estrela isn't far and it's very pleasant.'

It was 5.00 p.m. and the Chave d' Ouro café in the Rossio square at the top end of the Baixa grid, in the heart of the city, was full to capacity. It was still warm and the windows were all open. Laura van Lennep sat by one of these open windows and looked into the square repeatedly. She fingered the single coffee she'd ordered in the hour and a half she'd been sitting there, but the waiters didn't bother her. They were used to it.

She was half-listening to a table of refugees speaking French with thick accents. The two men had seen army trucks in the Baixa first thing that morning and were expounding some fantastic invasion theory. It did nothing to calm Laura van Lennep down. She couldn't bear the inertia of these people, who she knew came from a pensão three houses down from her own in the Rua de São Paulo behind Cais do Sodré. She'd heard them in the street correcting each other about aristocrats they'd met at parties as if it had been only last week, when it had been in a different country, in a different decade. She was desperate with no cigarettes and the man who was going to change her life, who'd promised that he could change her life, wouldn't arrive.

A man appeared at the top of the stairs and looked around. He walked slowly around the room and finished up at her table. He wasn't short but his width and bulk made him look shorter than he was. He had short dark hair, cut en brosse and blue-grey eyes. He made her tremble inside. She looked away into the Rossio again, to the same groups of dark-suited men standing about on the black and white calçada , to the same lines of taxis, to the same kiosk where the cabbies drank coffee and talked about football. Sporting were going to be champions this year. She knew that by now. She turned back and he was still there. She felt those eyes on her. She gripped her handbag which contained her papers. Was he the police? She'd been told about the plain-clothed ones. He didn't look Portuguese but he had something of authority about him. She rearranged her claret dress which did not need rearranging but should have been thrown away last year.