Джон Макдональд - The Last One Left

When she had been ended, she liked to be held quietly for a little while, petted and kissed, but with hardly any more emotional content than in the cuddling of a trusting puppy exhausted by play.

It was all hearty and easy and most enjoyable, but once when he was on the edge of sleep, where reality and fantasy are merged, not daring to let himself go to sleep because he knew he had to get up and leave her bed, he had the strange conviction that he had desired Francisca Torcedo y Sarmantar, but knowing the impossibility of ever possessing her, had eased the itch of wanting by taking this girl who now rested in his arms, a servant girl, one of the chunky little ones with a broad dusty pocked face, a willing laugh, a casual acceptance of him and his needs. So vivid was the fantasy that when he opened his eyes and saw the sleeping face of Francisca Torcedo y Sarmantar resting there in the crook of his arm, a face slender and delicate, marked by a thousand years of pride and breeding, he had the momentary conviction he had taken her by stealth, and should she awaken her eyes would go wide with terror and disgust, and she would sit up, arms across her delicate breasts, and scream and scream and scream...

He awoke her. She smiled at him. She stretched luxuriously, held her fist in front of a yawn, craned her head and looked at the clock, then sat up quickly. “Kelleeeee, querido! The time!”

“I know.”

And he got up sleepily and dressed, and bent over her and kissed her. She ran her fingers through his hair and patted his cheek.

“Raoul, darling, do you think you can get off early enough to come take me to the Burton movie?”

“I’ll try.”

“Doesn’t she look to you — a little fat? Just a little?”

“Very very fat. You are much better.”

“You like a woman whose ribs show? You like these poor starved little breasts, like a school girl’s, mi corazón? ”

“They, and all parts of you, are an elegance, truly.”

And now, in the slanting light of sunset, on the shallow porch, he perceived that elegance of her as she leaned against the post, hands in the skirt pockets, ankles crossed. In that convent school, patronized by the daughters of the rich, they had been taught how to walk, enter a room, how to sit and rise gracefully. This training affected ’Cisca, the housemaid, only when she was in repose, he had noticed. She had somehow acquired the swift saucy walk of the shop girls, the extravagant conversational gestures of the hands, and the overly dramatic facial expressions they seemed to copy from the actresses they saw on television and in the motion pictures.

No actress, he realized, no matter how dedicated, diligent and skilled, could have immersed herself so totally in a role. One could comprehend it only by accepting the possibility that Francisca had become quite another person. It was as though the top thirty points of intelligence quotient and the top segment of emotional quotient had been lopped off. The trivia of life contented her. She had the unshakeable cheer and happy spirits it was said one could expect when a successful brain operation was undertaken to cure an anxiety neurosis which would not respond to other treatment.

Raoul Kelly tasted the bitter irony of this present relationship with her. And self-contempt. The government in Washington had wanted to set up a special study and investigation of the dynamics of the politics of poverty in Central and South America, the conditions which germinated seeds of revolt, riot and rebellion. But out of political opportunism the project had been killed in the Senate. Now a large foundation had taken over the project structure. They would base the project in California, and they had written him offering him a position of an importance which surprised him. He would be selecting, training and assigning field investigators, and directing the analysis of their reports.

He had temporized, asking for more time. A Raoul Kelly could not have dreamed of taking such a position newly wed to the daughter of Don Estebán Torcedo, and could he have done so, her value to his new career would have been inestimable. How would they accept a Raoul Kelly married to a housemaid, very lovely of course, but withal a little cheap, shrill, trivial and a bit vulgar. And with absolutely no interest in his work, nor any comprehension of it. And with a frequent turn of phrase in English which would blanch the cheeks of the foundation types and the academicians.

The question he kept asking himself was whether or not she had become less important to him now that he had possessed her. But, of course, there was the hidden side of the coin: How important and how necessary had he become to her? It was a question she evaded so completely it was as though she could not understand what was being asked.

If he could not leave her behind, yet could not take her, then this turning point in his life would have to go by default. He yearned for a position of such importance, yet was objective enough about himself to know that aside from the challenge of it, a certain matter of personal vanity was involved. He was a short, chunky man, just a few inches taller than ’Cisca. Though agile and muscular, he had to fight a tendency to put on weight. His was a most ordinary latino face, a mix of the Caribbean races — dusky, coarse-grained skin, broad nose, high hard cheekbones, dark eyes with long lashes, dark hair beginning to recede. His body was heavily pelted with dark curly hair. His shoulders were thick, and his hands had the contours of labor in spite of the softness of the journalist. The very ordinariness of his appearance was an advantage in his present work. In the cantinas of the working men he was accepted, and he was told things few others could have learned.

Yet he was aware of the almost inevitable figure of a Raoul Kelly in the future, a short soft fat bald fellow who, by that time, would have had to have achieved an important professional reputation, or would find himself among so many others who had the same look, and who sat in the small cafés in the afternoon, drinking the small cups of thick black bitter coffee, making intricate and implausible plots to restore the old order, knowing yet never admitting they were trapped in one of the little eddies created when the brute weight of history had rushed by them.

’Cisca said, “It is odd, no? Señora Harkinson seemed so eager when I was first working here to involve herself with men of wealth and importance, friends of the old politico who befriended her and built her the lovely house and died. She found no new friend of importance. She is no longer a young girl, of course. One can understand the affair with El Capitán. He is mature, powerful, handsome in a rugged manner. A convenient diversion for her, something which began before she found she could no longer afford to operate the boat the Senator gave her and then sold it. She has tamed El Capitán Staniker so he will arrive when summoned, go when she orders. In the beginning they would shout, and sometimes he would beat her. Then he became eager to please her in every way. But now why should she divert herself with this Oliver person? Her captain has been gone — it is over three weeks. She spends money on sailing lessons with the boy. I tell you, querido , that one does few things without purpose. And she should be busying herself to find a protector. The boat is gone, and the furs are gone, and many jewels are gone. Sometimes I have not been paid until something has been sold. Those times she was very nervous and very ugly and cruel. Now she is very nervous but very gay also. It is a difficult thing to understand.”

She moved to the door of the apartment and went inside, pausing to hold the screen door open for Raoul. The architect the Senator had employed had limited luxuriousness to the main house. The little apartment over the garage was of motel derivation, formica, standard fixtures and apertures, tough fabrics, vinyl flooring. She sat in the corner of the couch and tucked her slim legs up under her, pulled her sandals off and dropped them on the floor, still frowning slightly as she tried to puzzle out Crissy Harkinson’s behavior.