Michael Pearce - A dead man of Barcelona

‘I met his sister. Charming lady. Very businesslike. But-’

‘And did he not sometimes come over here?’

‘To Barcelona? Yes. Yes, occasionally. The docks. We sometimes used to meet over business in the docks. The Lockharts have an office there. And once I invited him round to our place for lunch.’

Once, thought Seymour? Was the whole edifice of Abou’s hopes built on one casual visit only?

‘It seemed kind to. He always struck me as being rather on his own.’

‘He was probably feeling rather lost. Had he been to Barcelona before?’

‘Once or twice. But then he was here for a week or so just before Senor Lockhart died. Business was building up, I suppose. He was here during Tragic Week. You know about Tragic Week? It must have been quite a shock to him. But, of course, if you were doing business at the docks, that was just the time when you needed to be there. And then, of course, when poor Senor Lockhart died, he was here a lot. He had to step in for a considerable while.’

‘And when Senor Lockhart was in prison — you know he was put in prison?’

‘Along with a lot of other people.’

‘Yes, along with a lot of others. Was Abou about then?’

‘I never quite understood what happened during that week. Or what Lockhart was doing. They tell me he was out on the streets. In the middle of all that! It seems crazy to me. But I suppose he felt — felt that the bullet would not hit him. A dangerous assumption, that.’

‘But, of course, it didn’t. Or doesn’t seem to have done. He was just arrested.’

‘Well, I think he was lucky,’ said Senor Vasquez. ‘And, I am afraid, rather foolhardy.’

‘Was Abou in Barcelona at that point?’

‘I think he came over later in the week. The office probably sent for him. Well, there was business to attend to, down at the docks, and I don’t think Lockhart was paying much attention to that. Or perhaps that was how their manager felt, so he sent for help and Abou came over. Just in time. Because then Lockhart was arrested.’

‘Senor, Senor!’

It was the Chief of Police who was hailing him. He came up to Seymour and took him by the arm.

‘Senor, I have to speak to you. To correct an impression you may have received. It is a false impression, Senor. You know what women are! They talk, they talk, and they embroider. It was not like what she said to you the other day. It is not, believe me, the way she pretended it was. It is a game with her, Senor. She likes to tease me. What she said, however, was not true.

‘All the stuff about Senor Lockhart! It is true that she knew him. Well, she’d met him once or twice. But not the rest of it. About him and her. She says it sometimes, but that is just to provoke me. And so it was on this occasion. She was showing off to you, and trying to annoy me. I could hear what she was saying, and she was speaking loudly enough for me to hear. She wanted me to hear.

‘She does that. Makes comparisons. To my disadvantage. Romantic, she used to call him. “He has the spirit of a true romantic,” she said to me once. “He has the spirit of a true trouble-maker,” I said. “Unlike you, Alonzo,” she said. “You have no spirit of romance.” “I have better things to do,” I said. “Like sitting in a bar,” she said.

‘ “Anyway, it’s not true,” I said. “I have a spirit of romance. I like the flamenco girls as much as anyone.” “This is quite different,” she said. “That is sex, not romance. At least, in your case. I never said you were without appetite, Alonzo. Performance may not always be up to scratch, especially after you’ve had a few drinks, but I have never said that you were without appetite. However, it is of the earth, earthy. Like the peasant that you are at heart, Alonzo. You do not lift your eyes from the furrows that you hope to plough, as in the case of the flamenco girls. Whereas Sam Lockhart-’

‘ “-had an appetite, too,” I cut in.

‘ “No doubt about that,” she said, laughing. “Well, you wouldn’t want a man without one, would you? Or where would women be? But the point is, a woman looks for something more than appetite. A man who brings colour into her life. A man who has dreams. A man whose horizons extend beyond that of the nearest bar.”

‘ “If all men limited their horizons to the nearest bar,” I said, “there wouldn’t be half the trouble that there is.”

‘ “And there wouldn’t be half the excitement that there is,” she said. “And the world would be a much duller place.”

‘ “My job is to keep it dull,” I said.

‘ “And mine, I think,” she said, “is to liven it up a little. You stand for order. But I am coming to think I have a little too much order in my life. I want to kick over the traces. I need a bit of disorder.”

‘ “You have the spirit of a cabezudo,” I said.

‘She laughed. “You know,” she said, “I think you could be right. The trouble is, you want to put all the cabezudos in jail.”

‘ “Well, I do. The world would be a better place without them.”

‘ “Well, thanks!” she said.

‘ “But not you, Constanza,” I said quickly. “I make an exception for you.”

‘ “You may be wrong in that,” she said. ‘

In the little harbour the boats were busy. They would soon be putting out to sea for the night’s fishing. The fishermen were checking their nets. Seymour walked round apparently casually but listening carefully.

They were all talking Catalan. It was as he had expected. Nevertheless, he went near to each one, near enough to hear. Then, when he had finished, he went up to the fish market, mostly deserted now, but with some people washing down the tables. He listened there, too, but it was the same. They were all speaking Catalan.

He tried the cafe, sitting at a table with Chantale, and slowly drinking coffee. This was the quiet time of the day for them and the waiters, now in their rough, casual jerseys, were just chatting.

At last he heard a voice which was plainly not Catalan. It belonged to an older woman, tired and thin, perhaps the wife of one of the fishermen about to go out, supplementing his earnings by a little casual work on her part. He waited for a chance when he could catch her on her own and then said quietly:

‘I’m looking for Ramon’s widow. Can you tell me where I can find her?’

She gave a little jump.

‘Ramon?’ she said.

‘You know of him?’

‘Ah, yes,’ she said. Then she started to turn away. ‘I cannot help you,’ she said.

‘It is for the family,’ said Seymour.

‘Are you police?’

‘I’m from outside,’ said Seymour. ‘I’m English. Can’t you hear?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘It is for the family, as I said.’

She still hesitated.

‘Did you know Lockhart?’

‘ Si. I know of him. I know he gave her money.’

‘Well, then.’

She looked around. ‘They do not speak of Ramon around here.’

‘Just the wife. A word. I mean no harm to her or to anybody here.’

‘Very well, then.’ She gave him an address. ‘It’s just up from the harbour. Next to the shop with the nets.’

A careworn woman opened the door.

‘Senora Ramon?’

She looked at him apprehensively, but then was reassured when she saw Chantale.

‘Can I have a word with you? It is not about Ramon but about another man. An Englishman. His name was Lockhart. I am English, too, and want to know about him.’

‘He helped us,’ she said. ‘He gave us money.’

‘Why?’ said Seymour.

‘Because he was like that. He helped many people.’

‘Fishermen?’

‘Yes.’

‘And yet he helped you. Was not that a surprising thing to do? In view of what had passed? Was he not close to the fishermen?’