María Dueñas - The Time in Between

“I was at dinner with him yesterday at Da Silva’s estate. Afterward they talked into the early hours.”

I knew that he was holding back, that he wanted to know more—that he needed information, details, but he didn’t dare to ask because he didn’t completely trust me yet either. His sweet Sira—I really wasn’t the person I used to be either.

Finally he couldn’t stop himself.

“Did you hear anything of what they said?”

“Nothing at all. Do you have any idea what they might have to do with each other?”

“None whatsoever.”

I was lying and he knew it. He was lying and I knew it. And neither of us was prepared to show his or her hand, but thinking about the past did loosen the tension between us. Maybe because it brought with it recollections of a past in which we hadn’t yet lost all our innocence. Perhaps because that memory made us recover a tiny bit of our complicity and forced us to remember that there was still something that bound us besides lies and suspicion.

I tried to keep my attention on the road and to remain fully alert, but the tension of the recent days, the lack of sleep, and the nervous exhaustion caused by everything I’d been through that night had debilitated me to the point of collapse. Too long spent walking a tightrope.

“Are you sleepy?” he asked. “Go on, rest your head on my shoulder.”

He put his right arm around me and I huddled closer to receive some of his warmth.

“Sleep. It won’t take long now,” he whispered.

I began to fall into a dark, troubled well in which I relived recently experienced scenes through a distorted filter. Men pursuing me brandishing knives, the long, moist kiss of a serpent, the wives of the tungsten mine owners dancing on a table, Da Silva counting on his fingers, Gamboa crying, Marcus and I running through the dark alleys of the Tetouan medina.

I didn’t know how much time had passed before Marcus woke me.

“We’re here, Sira. We’re arriving in Madrid. You have to tell me where you live.”

His voice pulled me out of my sleep. As I began to emerge slowly from my torpor, I realized that I was still stuck to him, clinging to his arm. Straightening up my stiff body and parting myself from his side was going to take an infinite amount of effort. I did so slowly: my neck was stiff, my joints numb. His shoulder must have been hurting, too, but he didn’t show it. Without saying a word, I looked through the side window while trying to comb my hair with my fingers. Dawn was breaking over Madrid. There were still some lights on. Just a few discrete, sad lights. I remembered Lisbon and its impressive display of nighttime brightness. In a Spain ruled by restrictions and wretchedness, people still lived in near darkness.

“What time is it?” I asked finally.

“Almost seven. You’ve had a good long nap.”

“And you must be aching all over,” I said, still sleepy.

I gave him my address and asked him to park on the far side of the street, a few yards away. It was almost day now, and the first few souls were beginning to come out onto the street. The deliverymen, a couple of servant girls, the odd shop assistant and waiter.

“What are you planning to do?” I asked, studying the activity through the glass.

“Get myself a room at the Palace for now. And when I wake up, first thing I do will be to send this suit to be cleaned and buy myself a shirt. I’m completely filthy from the cinders on the tracks.”

“But you managed to get my notebook…”

“I don’t know if it was worth it: you still haven’t told me what’s in it.”

I ignored his words.

“And after you’ve put on some clean clothes, what are you going to do?” I spoke without looking at him, still concentrating on what was happening outside the car, waiting for just the right moment to take the next step.

“Go to my company’s headquarters,” he answered. “We have offices here in Madrid.”

“And do you mean to escape as quickly as you did from Morocco?” I asked, my eyes sweeping over the street’s morning comings and goings.

He replied with a half smile.

“I don’t know yet.”

At that moment my doorman left the building, heading out to the dairy. The coast was clear.

“Just in case you do end up escaping again, I’d like to invite you up for breakfast first,” I said, quickly opening the car door.

He grabbed my arm, trying to hold me back.

“Only if you tell me what you’re up to.”

“Not until I know who you are.”

We went up the staircase together hand in hand, ready to call a truce. Dirty and exhausted, but alive.

Without even opening my eyes I already knew that Marcus was no longer next to me. There was no visible trace of his visit to my home and my bed. Not a single forgotten item of clothing, not a good-bye note: just his scent clinging to my skin. But I knew that he would come back. Sooner or later, when I least expected it, he would show up again.

I would have liked to delay the moment of getting up. Just another hour, maybe even half an hour would have been enough—enough time to recall calmly everything that had happened in the preceding days, and especially in that last night: what I’d experienced, what I’d seen, what I’d felt. I wanted to stay there between the sheets, recreating each moment of the hours that had passed, but that wasn’t possible. I had to get moving: a hundred obligations were awaiting me; I had to start functioning again. So I took a shower and got going. It was Saturday, and although neither the girls nor Doña Manuela had come into the workshop, everything was ready and in full view so that I might be able to get up to date with the hectic work that they’d been dealing with in my absence. Things seemed to have proceeded at a good pace—there were samples on the mannequins, measurements jotted down in the notebooks, remnants and cuttings that I hadn’t left, and records kept in sharp pencil of who had been in, who had called, and what needed to be resolved. I didn’t have time to deal with all that, however: by noon I still had much left to work out, but I had no choice but to postpone it all.

Embassy was absolutely heaving with people, but I was counting on Hillgarth being able to see me drop my handbag as I came in. I did it deliberately, almost cheekily. Three gentlemanly backs immediately bent down to retrieve it. Only one of them was successful, a tall German officer in uniform who at just that moment had been pushing the door to step out onto the street. I thanked him with my very best smile, while out of the corner of my eye I tried to see whether Hillgarth had noticed my arrival. He was at a table at the back, in the usual company. I saw that he had spotted me and registered the message. I need to see you urgently, it meant. Then I looked at my watch and faked an expression of surprise, as though I’d only just remembered that at that very moment I had an important appointment somewhere else. By two o’clock I was back home. At three fifteen the box of candies arrived. Hillgarth had summoned me for four thirty, back at Dr. Rico’s office.

It was the usual routine. I arrived alone and didn’t pass anyone on the staircase. The same nurse opened the door for me and led me through to the consulting room.

“Good afternoon, Sidi. It’s good to have you back. Have you had a good trip? I’ve heard great things about the Lusitania Express.”

He was standing by the window, dressed in one of his impeccable suits. He walked over to shake my hand.

“Good afternoon, Captain. An excellent trip, thank you; the first-class cabins are an absolute delight. I wanted to see you as soon as possible to update you on my stay there.”