Roberto Bolaño - The Third Reich

At dawn the beach is full of seagulls. Along with the seagulls, there are pigeons. The seagulls and pigeons stand at the water’s edge, staring out to sea, motionless except for the occasional short flight. There are two kinds of seagulls: big and small. From the distance the pigeons look like seagulls too. Seagulls of a third kind, only smaller. From the mouth of the port, boats set out, leaving behind them a dark wake on the smooth surface of the sea. Last night I didn’t sleep at all. The sky is a pale and liquid blue. The edge of the horizon is white; the sand of the beach is brown, dotted with little mounds of debris. From the terrace—the waiters haven’t arrived yet to set the tables—it promises to be a clear and calm day. One could say that the seagulls lined up along the beach watch imperturbably as the boats dwindle until they’re nearly lost from sight. At this time of day the hotel corridors are warm and deserted. At the restaurant, a half-asleep waiter brusquely pulls back the curtains, but the light that bathes everything is pleasant and cold, a faint, contained light. The coffee machine has yet to be turned on. From the waiter’s attitude I surmise that it will be a while. In the room Ingeborg is asleep with the Florian Linden novel tangled in the sheets. Softly I set it on the night table, though not before a sentence catches my eye. Florian Linden (I imagine) says: “You say you’ve committed the same crime several times. No, you’re not crazy. That happens to be the very nature of evil.” Carefully I replaced the bookmark and closed the book. On the way out I was struck by the strange notion that no one in the Del Mar planned to get up. But the streets weren’t completely empty anymore. In front of the newsstand, on the border between the old town and the tourist quarter, at the bus stop, bundles of magazines and newspapers were being unloaded from a truck. I bought two German papers before heading down narrow streets toward the port, in search of an open bar.

In the doorway, silhouetted, stood Charly and the Wolf. Neither of them looked surprised to see me. Charly came straight over to my table while the Wolf ordered breakfast for two at the bar. I was afraid to say a word; outwardly, Charly and the Spaniard seemed calm, but behind their apparent calm they were on their guard.

“We followed you,” said Charly. “We saw you leaving the hotel… You seemed very tired so we decided to let you walk for a while.”

I realized that my left hand was trembling, just a little—they didn’t notice—but I immediately hid it under the table. I began to prepare myself for the worst.

“You haven’t slept either, have you?” said Charly.

I shrugged.

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Charly. “I suppose you’ll have heard the whole story by now. I don’t care; I mean, one day of sleep more or less doesn’t matter to me. I feel a little bit bad about having woken up the Wolf. It’s my fault he hasn’t slept either, isn’t that right, Wolf?”

The Wolf smiled uncomprehendingly. For an instant I had the crazy idea of translating what Charly had just said, but I didn’t. Something obscure warned me that I’d better not.

“Friends are there to help in times of need,” said Charly. “At least that’s how I see it. Did you know that the Wolf is a true friend, Udo? For him, friendship is sacred. For example, right now he should be on his way to work, but I know he won’t go until he leaves me at the hotel or some other safe place. He might lose his job, but he doesn’t care. And why is that? It’s because he understands that friendship is sacred. You don’t mess around with friendship!”

Charly’s eyes were bright; I thought he was about to cry. He gave his croissant a scowl of disgust and pushed it away. The Wolf made a motion as if to say that if Charly didn’t want it he would eat it. Yes, take it, said Charly.

“I stopped by his house at four in the morning. Do you think I could do that with a stranger? Everyone is a stranger, of course, in the end we’re all scum, and yet the Wolf’s mother, who was the one who let me in, thought I’d been in an accident, and the first thing she did was offer me some cognac, which of course I accepted even though I was blotto. What a wonderful person. When the Wolf got up he found me sitting in one of his armchairs drinking cognac. What else could I do!”

“Nothing you say is making any sense to me,” I said. “I think you’re still drunk.”

“No, I swear… It’s simple: I knocked at the Wolf’s door at four in the morning; his mother welcomed me like a prince; the Wolf and I tried to talk; we went out for a drive; we stopped at a few bars; we bought two bottles; then we went to the beach, to drink with El Quemado…”

“With El Quemado? On the beach?”

“The guy sleeps on the beach sometimes so that no one steals his disgusting pedal boats. So we decided to share our booze with him. Listen, Udo, here’s something strange: from the beach we could see your balcony and I swear you had the light on all night. Yes or no? Oh, I know I’m right, it was your balcony and your windows and your goddamn light. What were you doing? Were you playing your war games or were you doing the nasty with Ingeborg? Ah ah! Don’t look at me like that, it’s a joke, what do I care. It really was your room, I realized that right away, and El Quemado realized it too. Anyway, busy night, seems like none of us got much sleep, did we?”

Beyond the embarrassment and rage I felt at learning that Charly was well aware of my love of games and that it must have been Ingeborg who informed him or malinformed him of it—I could even imagine the three of them on the beach laughing at their own clever riffs on the subject: “Udo may be the champ, but what a loser”; “This is how the General Staff spend their vacations, shut up indoors”; “Udo is convinced he’s the reincarnation of von Manstein”; “What will you give him for his birthday, a water pistol?”)—beyond, as I say, my embarrassment and rage at Charly, at Ingeborg, and at Hanna, I was visited by a quiet, creeping feeling of terror upon hearing that El Quemado too knew which was my balcony.

“Don’t you think you’d better ask me about Hanna?” I said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“What for? I’m sure she’s fine. Hanna’s always fine.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“About Hanna? I don’t know. Pretty soon I think I’ll drop the Wolf offat work and then I’ll head for the hotel. I hope Hanna will be at the beach by then because I want to get some serious sleep… It was a happening night, Udo. Even on the beach! Believe it or not, nobody here stops for a second, Udo, nobody. From the pedal boats, we heard a noise. That’s something you don’t expect, hearing noises on the beach at that time of night. The Wolf and I went to see what was going on and what do you think we found? A couple screwing. Two Germans, of course, because when I told them to have fun they answered in German. I didn’t get a good look at the guy, but the girl was pretty, dressed in a white party dress like Inge’s, lying there on the beach with her dress wrinkled and all that poetic crap.”

“Inge? Are you talking about Ingeborg?” My hand started to shake again; I could literally smell the violence surrounding us.

“Not her, man, her white dress; she has a white dress, doesn’t she? That’s all I’m talking about. Do you know what the Wolf said then? That we should get in line. That we should get in line so we could take our turns when the guy was done. My God, I laughed so hard! He thought we could fuck her after that poor jerk! A bona fide rape! So funny. All I felt like was drinking and staring up at the stars. Yesterday it rained, remember? Anyway, there were a couple of stars in the sky, maybe three. And I was feeling good. If things had been different, Udo, maybe I would have gone along with the Wolf. Maybe the girl would have liked it. Maybe not. When we got back to the pedal boats I think the Wolf tried to convince El Quemado to go with him. El Quemado didn’t want to go either. But I’m not sure, you know my Spanish isn’t so good.”