Doctor Frigo (23 page)

Except another ‘meeting of the minds’, I thought, some form of quid pro quo in the shape of a tacit alliance; but I never got around to expressing the thought because at that moment Father Bartolomé upset an entire bowlful of gazpacho. It fell in his lap.

There were too few present for the incident to be wholly ignored. Conversation became general and disjointed for a while. El Lobo did make one sotto voce comment which interested me.

‘I’m afraid that sooner or later, when his usefulness is ended, someone will decide that the good Father has to be killed off,’ he reflected. ‘I wonder who it will be.’

My impression was that he was considering the advisability of doing the job himself, though I dare say at that moment Doña Julia would have been a ready volunteer.

Once the Father’s soutane had been more or less cleaned up the service of dinner proceeded smoothly. Finally, when the coffee had been served, Paco tapped his glass with a spoon for silence.

‘Don Manuel,’ he said.

My patient smiled round at us all, then glanced at his watch. About to deliver a speech, he was timing himself to make certain that he didn’t run out of steam.

‘My friends,’ he began, ‘I want to talk to you a little about the subject of this conference here. That is, I want to talk to you about success.’

There was a murmur of approval which he promptly quelled. ‘No, my friends, I am not referring to the immediate
tactical success, but to that which must be made to follow, the programmed success of the future.’

There was respectful silence.

‘It has been said,’ he continued, ‘that no Central American government has ever succeeded in opposing the activities of the big North American corporations within its borders and afterwards survived. I think that this is true. I believe that, much as we may as socialists deplore the fact, it will remain true. Unless, of course, we choose, as our friends in Cuba have done, to accept the Russian embrace instead. Unlikely, you will agree. Yet, there is in our situation now a new element which changes it profoundly. We have no need even to wish to oppose these big corporations, whether they be North American, French, German, British or Dutch, because we now have more to offer them than coffee and fruit, or cotton and hardwood. In this we are, so far at any rate, unique. So, for us, the choice lies no longer between policies of opposition and those of subservience. We can behave as men of dignity and social conscience free from economic pressures induced by the vagaries of commodity markets and the squalid antics of foreign speculators. We can behave as men of sense.’

Another glance at his watch.

‘But how are we to use this opportunity? And I say opportunity because that is
all
it is, not the arrival of a millennium. In eighteen months’ or two years’ time the first wells will have come on stream. From that moment the value of this resource, this now precious asset, will begin to diminish. And I am not simply speaking of quantities. Economists’ and technologists’ estimates vary but we may reasonably assume that within fifteen years oil as an energy source will have much less importance than it has at present. Its importance as the base commodity in the manufacture of other things may increase – all sorts of possibilities already exist in those fields – but it is on its value as an energy source that its present price is based. So our opportunity rests upon the realization over a limited
period of years of the sale of a capital asset. And when it has been realized, what then? Do we sink back into agrarian mediocrity, will we have used our time and money to buy the toys we now associate with affluence, or will we have used them to effect a transformation?’

Another glance at the watch and he went on to describe the transformation he envisaged – roads, housing, schools, agricultural colleges, rural co-operatives, water and sewage projects, petro-chemical plants, hydro-electric schemes, light industry, fertilizer plants, cement, tourism, land reform, a civil guard on the Costa Rican model and social justice. I felt as if I had heard it all before. From my father, or from Elizabeth in a bad mood?

‘Yes,’ he concluded and he was just beginning to have difficulty with the consonants, ‘you have all had this development dream before – the banquet which the paternalistic generosity of the wealthy nations is always promising, but which somehow never gets served, never gets beyond the printed menu and the cup of thin soup. But this is no dream. This time we will have the means for once to purchase the ingredients ourselves, to see that none is stolen or wasted and to make sure that all the dishes are prepared with due regard to our own national tastes. And take note, my friends. This is to be a banquet which all our people will attend. I thank you for your attention.’

He sat back in his chair, very tired.

Beside me, El Lobo stood up and applauded as enthusiastically as the rest of us. It was only as we sat down again that I realized that he was asking me something under his breath. I didn’t catch it immediately. He repeated the question.

‘Is there that much bicarbonate of soda in the world, Doctor?’

I stared.

‘For a nation of two million, all with severe indigestion?’ he continued in his expressionless way. ‘Of course, much will depend on who will have been doing the cooking.
Indigestion might be the least of it. There could be dysentery as well after that banquet, if not during it.’

Nobody was paying any attention to us. Santos was elaborating on what Villegas had said, and the others – even Father Bartolomé, slightly less drunk now with food in his stomach – were listening to him.

‘You found it ideologically unsound?’ I asked.

‘Fairy tales have always bored me, even as a child. I preferred to know.’

‘Who kept the sleeping princess under deep sedation? That sort of thing?’

He gave me his fish look. ‘Not as simple as you like to make out, are you? What is it you would like to know, Doctor?’

I didn’t bother to look surprised. ‘Did your information-gathering organization ever hear of a former Special Security Forces officer named Pastore? Twelve years ago he was a major. That would be before your time as a power in the land of course.’

‘Dead. Accident while cleaning his pistol. Most surprising thing to happen to such an experienced officer. But there it was. Very sad, especially just after he’d served the junta so well.’

‘There was also a Colonel Escalon.’

He gave me a quick look. ‘Who told you about him?’

‘Our host.’

‘You surprise me. Very bold of him, but tactically sound. The best lies are always well wrapped up in truth. Escalon was luckier. Promoted to general and given a coffee finca in the north. Not a big one, mind, but big enough. Earnings substantially more than a senior man’s normal pension. Would you like him?’

‘What?’

‘I asked you if you would like him. You can have him if you want. Ask him a few questions. Kill him if you felt like it when you had the answers.’ The eyes were watching with
something almost like amusement my attempts to camouflage my confusion or find a convenient rock to hide behind.

‘It’s all right, Doctor,’ he went on kindly. ‘No need to decide now. Anyway I think I know what you’d do with him in fact.’

‘What?’

‘Take his temperature and give him a couple of aspirins probably. Yes? Well, as I say, no need to decide now.’

‘I’ve told you how I knew. What was your source?’

‘His old friends, of course, the richer ones. Who else? You’d be amazed how these big shots talk when they’re scared. Mostly you don’t even have to show them the electrodes, much less use them. You just switch on a black box with a few dials on the outside and a high-pitched buzzer inside, and that’s it. They start talking. Anything you want to know. Naturally, they’ve been prepared, disoriented, softened up, but it still amazes me. I expect there’s a medical explanation. You may know it. My guess is that when a man has been rich and secure for a long time he begins to think that he’s a lord of creation. Then, when he suddenly finds himself alone in the darkness for a couple of days with just a bucket to shit and piss into, the whole world falls to pieces for him. No more dignity, very little identity. Same with the women, though you have to have only other women dealing with them to make it work. One thing you can be certain of. If it’s been rich long enough it’ll talk, and the stronger it starts out the weaker it’ll end up. You don’t like the idea, I can see, but you asked and I’ve told you.’ He paused. ‘There’s just one more thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Not very many people know about the involvement of our host or its extent. While I would agree that information is for use, not decoration, I think that some pieces have to be used with care and discrimination. Or not used at all unless the place and time is right. Do you see what I mean?’

‘Yes, I see.’ I stood up. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you, El Lobo.’

The eyes held mine briefly. ‘I thought we had agreed, Doctor, that lies are best wrapped in truth. A pleasure, did you say? How could it be?’

‘How indeed? Let’s say interesting. Good night.’

I picked up my jacket and tie and, going over to Doña Julia, thanked her for her hospitality.

‘I am afraid I have to be on duty early in the morning,’ I added. ‘May I ask Antoine to telephone for a taxi?’

‘No need, Doctor,’ said Rosier who was beside her; ‘I’m going to have to leave myself. I have a car. I’ll drive you into town.’

‘I couldn’t put you to that trouble,’ I said.

‘No trouble, Doctor. I was just telling Doña Julia that I had to be back at the hotel for some overseas calls. Besides, a taxi would never get past those guards on the gate.’

There was nothing more to be said. Everyone else there was staying in the house. Rosier and I paid our farewell respects together. They were more or less formal. Father Bartolomé was haranguing Santos noisily on the subject of the capital’s slums. From the little that I heard I gathered that, for reasons he was having difficulty explaining, he does not want their present occupants re-housed.

In the car, once we had been cleared by the guards, Rosier resumed, as I had feared he would, the discussion begun in Chez Lafcadio.

‘Well, Doctor, I told you I’d be seeing you again, and here we are.’

‘Yes.’

‘After a most stimulating evening.’

‘I’m glad you found it so.’

‘Well didn’t you? Very thick with El Lobo you were, I noticed. I said you’d find him interesting. Remember? You’ll just have to learn to trust me, Doctor.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? What sort of a question’s that? We’re working together, aren’t we?’

‘That might be easier to answer if I knew whom you were
working for, Señor Rosier. And don’t start telling me about the Actuarial Dvision of ATP-Globe again, please.’

‘Why should I?’ he answered reasonably. ‘I’ve already told you about that. Know your trouble, Doc? You’re old-fashioned. A man
can
serve two masters, believe it or not. Oh yes, I know what the Good Book says, but that only applies where there’s a conflict of interest. There’s nothing of that sort here.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of the New Testament but of the fact that you’ve been described to me as a double agent.’

‘That would be Delvert. Typical of the man.’

‘In what way typical? His tendency to understand a situation? At the moment, Señor Rosier, you seem to me to be wearing not just two hats, but three, or even four.’

He chuckled. ‘And how many are you wearing, Doctor? Want me to count? Family physician, political confidant, DST sub-agent. I could go on, but that’s three. Right?’

It was not a question I felt like answering. We were on the outskirts of the town. I said: ‘Perhaps you’ll drop me at the corner by the Préfecture. I can walk from there.’

He seemed not to hear me. ‘And there’s another one in the mail,’ he said. ‘You should get it in the morning.’

‘Another what?’

‘We’re talking about hats, aren’t we? There’ll be a cheque from ATP-Globe and their standard form of consultancy contract. You just sign and return it. Okay?’

‘I’ll certainly return it, with the cheque.’

‘That’s up to you, Doctor. I was only trying to be helpful.’

He turned into the rue Racine and then suddenly pulled up outside the bakery.

‘This isn’t where I live,’ I said.

‘I know, but it’s a parking zone. Outside your apartment isn’t, and we have to talk.’

‘Not me. I’m going to bed.’

‘I’ll make it short then. What’s the matter with him? And don’t ask me who I mean. I mean your patient, our leader.’

‘Good night, Señor Rosier.’ I started groping for the opener of the car door.

‘I know a lot already. You’d be interested in how much.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Want to bet?’ He leaned across me and pointed to a catch. ‘Just pull that thing to get out. You know, even without the rest of it, that little scene of yours tonight with Doña Julia would have had me thinking.’

‘What scene? What are you talking about?’

‘Family doctor arrives to meet honoured guests. Patient’s wife, instead of graciously receiving, rushes out to intercept doctor and drag him off into a corner. Lot of arm-waving. Wife obviously very upset. Why? Because Father B’s falling down drunk? Not a chance. It was because she wanted to know the score on the patient.’

‘Or because the doctor, asked for nine o’clock, was unpardonably late owing to a little trouble with the guards on the gate.’ I started to open the door.

‘Not good enough, Doctor. Sorry. It just might have been, if I hadn’t happened to know why the lady was so anxious.’

I stopped opening the door. ‘All right, why was she?’

‘See? I said you’d be interested. Natural wifely concern. She wants the specialist’s report.’

‘What specialist?’

He sighed. ‘I know you’re trying to defend your virginity from the wicked seducer, but just don’t keep crossing your legs like that, please. What specialist? Have a heart. Do you think you can keep secrets in a place this size? Well, you may do, but let me show you how wrong you can be.’

I waited while he lit a cigarette.

‘It’s like this,’ he went on. ‘You’re in a situation where some of the activities of certain key persons may be of interest, especially when they involve out of the usual contacts. Notice I say
some
and
may be.
No question of surveillance. Even if you had the manpower, in this situation it’s pointless. Small town, intelligent and well-educated
people plus low wage scales. All it needs is fifty francs here and fifty francs there in the right places.’