Michael Pearce - A dead man of Barcelona

She recognized him at once.

‘Senor Seymour-’

‘Senora!’

‘The Senor is looking into Lockhart’s death,’ Nina’s mother told her friend.

The proprietress clicked her tongue sympathetically.

‘Ah, Lockhart!’ she said, and shook her head.

‘Even in death he will not leave us alone,’ said Nina’s mother.

The proprietress put her hand over Nina’s mother’s hand.

‘Do not speak ill of the dead, Maria,’ she said. ‘With all his faults, he had a big heart.’

‘But a small head,’ said Nina’s mother.

‘And he loved his child.’

‘Sometimes love is a curse,’ said Nina’s mother.

Later in the evening Seymour and Chantale came down the stairs. The two women were still talking, the proprietress now sitting at the reception desk, Nina’s mother perched on a stool nearby.

‘Would you like some calico?’ she was saying. ‘I’ve just had a chance to get some cheap…’

As they passed Manuel’s cafe, on their way back after dinner that evening, Dolores came rushing out.

‘Where have you been?’ she said. ‘He’s sent me out twice to look for you!’

‘Manuel?’

‘And sent you a message! I know, I delivered it. I told him you weren’t there, at the hotel, and he said, “Where the hell is he?” And he sent me out again, and I’ve been looking all over the place!’

Manuel appeared in the doorway. ‘Ah, there you are! Look, this has been costing me. Four cups of coffee so far. Each! And Enrico keeps wanting me to add something stronger too.’

‘Enrico?’

He remembered now: the warder.

‘Not just Enrico,’ said Manuel. ‘They’ve all come.’

‘All?’

‘All the family. Wife, mother, even the children. Three! And little buggers, all of them. But I didn’t give them coffee. I sent them out. “Either they go or I go!” I said. “All right,” says Enrico, quick. “I’ll take them down to the playground.” “No, you won’t!” said his mother. “There could be money in this!” “No, you won’t!” said his wife. “There’s a woman in that playground and you’ll fall on her just as you did on the other one.” ’

‘What is this?’ said Seymour.

Manuel led him inside. There, at the table in the kitchen, were Enrico and his family, a row of empty cups before them.

‘I got a message,’ said Manuel.

‘I sent it,’ said the mother.

‘I certainly didn’t!’ said Enrico.

‘You were not to be trusted,’ said his wife, bursting into tears. ‘I shall never trust you again! Never! Never!’

‘That a son of mine — ’ said his mother.

‘Not a son, but a beast!’ said his wife, through sobs. ‘A ravenous beast!’

‘Now, look here — ’ started Enrico.

‘And a dirty Arab, too!’ said his wife. ‘That is what hurts!’

‘That a son of mine-’

‘Conchita first,’ said the warder’s wife, ‘and then an Arab! How many more? Oh, how many more?’

‘Disgusting,’ said his mother. ‘That a son of mine-’

‘Look, I haven’t done anything — ’ said the warder desperately.

‘Not for want of trying!’ said his wife darkly.

‘ She approached me.’

‘And you surrendered at once!’

‘No, I didn’t! I just agreed to take him some food, that’s all.’

‘Ah, but was it all?’

‘She gave me three hundred pesetas.’

‘And what else did she give you, Enrico?’

‘Nothing!’

‘Three hundred pesetas is a lot of money,’ said the mother, watching.

‘She didn’t give you herself, by any chance?’ said his wife implacably.

‘No, she didn’t!’ protested Enrico. Then, goaded beyond endurance: ‘If only she had!’

‘But we know this!’ said Seymour. ‘There’s nothing new here. You all knew it.’

‘Ah, but what we didn’t know was that she was an Arab.’

‘I thought she was a decent Spanish lady,’ said Enrico’s wife.

‘Men are all the same!’ said his mother.

‘An Arab! You didn’t tell us she was an Arab. You let me think that she was a decent, honest Spanish woman. Suffering because the man she loved was in jail! Prepared to do anything to help the man she loved! Smuggle in files to cut through the bars of his cell window-’

‘There aren’t any bars! There wasn’t a file!’

‘She would have been ready to die for him if necessary!’

‘Ah!’ said the mother, sighing. ‘Women are like that.’

‘And now you tell me she was an Arab!’

‘That a son of mine-’

‘No, no, don’t start that again!’

‘-should betray the trust placed on him by His Excellency!’ finished the mother, eyeing her son balefully. ‘And his country!’ said his wife spiritedly ‘Look, you were all in favour of it!’ said the warder. ‘You wanted to send in pies for all of them-’

‘Not for Arabs,’ said his mother.

‘To think of you talking to her!’ said his wife. ‘Fondling her-’

‘ Fondling her?’ said her husband desperately

‘Very probably,’ said his wife, facing up to things bravely.

‘I never touched-’

‘Beast!’

‘All men are like that,’ said his mother philosophically. ‘Even my son!’

‘Even your son!’ echoed Enrico’s wife.

‘Not to mention his father.’

‘My God!’ said Enrico. ‘You’ll be bringing in Grandfather next.’

‘Him too-’

‘For God’s sake!’

‘Was that what you wanted to tell me?’ said Seymour.

‘We thought you would like to know. That she was an Arab.’

‘Well,’ said Seymour thoughtfully ‘You’re right. I would.’

‘Well, that’s a relief!’ said Manuel.

‘You thought it was Dolores, didn’t you?’ said Seymour.

‘What?’ said Dolores.

‘You thought it was Dolores who had given Enrico the poisoned food.’

‘Yes,’ said Manuel, ‘yes, I did.’

‘You thought-’ said Dolores, stupefied.

‘I am sorry,’ said Manuel.

‘You surely did not think… But that was a terrible thing to think!’

‘I thought so, too,’ said Seymour. ‘For a moment.’

‘That is awful! How could you even suppose

‘I am sorry, Dolores,’ said Manuel. ‘Very sorry!’

‘But I loved him!’ she said.

‘It was partly because I knew that you loved him,’ said Seymour. ‘Loved him so much. And thought that perhaps he did not love you.’

‘Our love was not like that,’ she said. ‘We were not jealous of each other. We allowed ourselves things. I knew about him, he knew about me. And it didn’t matter. We found that when we came together, it would be as it always had been. The others were just — flings. For both of us. Really he loved me.’

‘Dolores-’

‘Yes, he did!’ she insisted. ‘“I’m just your bit on the side,” I said to him once. “Yes, but you’re my special bit on the side,” he said, “you’re like a second wife.” There! You see? He said it. “In fact,” he said, “if I were a Muslim and you were a Muslim and Leila would agree, I’d make you my second wife.” So you see, I was his wife. Almost.’

‘Dolores, Dolores!’ said Manuel, shaking his head.

‘I knew about his other women. Of course I did! But I didn’t mind. They wouldn’t last, I knew that. They never did. They never worried me. Except once. It was just before he died. He’d told me about this one. She was the wife of a high-up. She’d fallen for him, bang! Couldn’t live without him. She said. But she would have to. She was already married. And she was a Catholic, too. These married women!’ Dolores said, sighing. ‘Always getting in the way!

‘That what I told myself. She couldn’t be a real rival. She couldn’t be his wife. That’s what I told myself. But then I thought — this was after my visit to the prison, after Tragic Week, when I was doing a lot of thinking — I thought that maybe she felt like me, maybe she felt as much as me. And I–I almost felt sorry for her.