“Were they police agents?”
“They didn’t look like police agents, but of course it doesn’t do to take chances. I heard one of them call the other father. He didn’t look old enough to be his father and he wasn’t dressed like a priest, and that made me suspicious.”
“I’m on good terms with the Chief of Police here. Sometimes he calls me in when Doctor Benevento’s on holiday Do you think those men came from across the border? The General’s agents perhaps? But why should he be interested in me? I was only a boy when I left…”
“Talk of the devil,” Gruber said.
Doctor Plarr looked quickly at the television screen expecting to see two strangers reflected there, but all he saw was a thin girl in sunglasses of an exaggerated size-they might have been made for a skin diver. “She buys sunglasses,” Gruber said, “as other women buy costume jewellery. I’ve sold her at least four pairs.”
“Who is she?”
“You ought to know. You were talking about her just now. Charley Fortnum’s wife. Or girl if you prefer it.”
Doctor Plarr put down his beer and went into the shop. The girl was examining a pair of sunglasses and she was too absorbed to notice him. The lenses were coloured bright mauve, the rims were of incandescent yellow and the sidepieces were encrusted with chips of what looked like amethyst. She took her own glasses off and tried the new ones on, and immediately added ten years to her age. Her eyes were quite invisible: all he could see was his own mauve face mirrored back at him.
The assistant said. “We have only just received these from Mar del Plata. They are all the fashion there.”
Doctor Plarr knew that Gruber was probably watching him on the television screen, but why should he care? He asked. “Do you like them, Seńora Fortnum?”
She said, “Who…? Oh, it is you, Doctor, Doctor…?”
“Plarr. They make you look a lot older, but of course you can afford to add a few years.”
“They cost too much. I was only trying them on for fun.”
“Wrap them up,” he told the assistant. “And a case…”
“They have their own case, doctor,” she said, beginning to polish the glasses.
“No,” Clara said, “I cannot…”
“You can with me. I am your husband’s friend.”
“That makes it all right?”
“Yes.”
She gave a jump which he was to learn later was her expression of joy at any present, even a sweet cake. He had never known a woman accept a present so frankly, with less fuss. She said to the assistant, “Please, I will wear them. Put the old ones in the case.” In these glasses, he thought, as they left Gruber’s shop together, she looks more like my mistress and less like my younger sister.
“It is very kind of you,” she said, speaking like a well-brought up schoolgirl.
“Come and sit by the river where we can talk.” When she hesitated he added, “Nobody can recognize you in those glasses. Not even your husband.”
“You do not like them?”
“No. I don’t like them at all.”
“I thought they looked very rich and very smart,” she said with disappointment.
“They are a good disguise. That was why I wanted you to have them. No one would recognize the young Seńora Fortnum with me now.”
She said, “Who would recognize me? I know no one and Charley is at home. He sent me with the foreman. I said I wanted to buy something.”
“What?”
“Oh, just something. I did not know what.”
She walked contentedly beside him, following whatever direction he chose to take. He felt disturbed by the easy way that things were happening. He remembered the stupid conflict in his mind when he wanted to turn his car back toward the camp, and the number of occasions, during the last week, when he had lain awake, wondering what was the right move to make in order to see her again. He ought to have known it would be no more difficult than leading her to her cell at Seńora Sanchez’ house.
She said, “I am not frightened of you today.”
“Perhaps because I have given you a present.”
She said, “Yes, it could be that. A man would never bother to give a present to someone he did not like, would he? And the other day I thought you did not like me. I thought you were my enemy.”
They came to the bank of the Paraná. A small bastion jutted into the river, fringed with white pillars, making a tiny temple for a naked statue of classical innocence which faced the water. The ugly yellow block of flats where he lived was hidden by the trees. The leaves were like the lightest of feathers; they gave an illusion of coolness because they seemed to be always in motiona breath of air undetectable on the skin was enough to set them waving. A heavy barge moved past them up the river, coughing against the current, and the usual black plume of smoke lay across the Chaco.
She sat and stared at the Paraná when he looked at her all he could see was his own face reflected in the mirror-glass. He said, “For God’s sake take off those spectacles. I don’t want to shave.”
“Shave?”
“I look at myself like that twice a day-that’s quite enough.”
She took them off obediently and he saw her eyes, which were brown and expressionless and indistinguishable from all the Spanish women’s eyes he had ever known. She said, “I do not understand.”
“Oh, forget what I said. Is it true that you are married?”
“Yes.”
“What does it feel like?”
“I think it’s like wearing another girl’s dress,” she said, “which doesn’t fit.”
“Why did you do it?”
“He wanted to marry. Something to do with his money when he dies. And if there’s a child…”
“Have you started one?”
“No.”
“Well, it must be better than life at Mother Sanchez’.”
“It is different,” she said. “I miss the girls.”
“And the men?”
“Oh, I am not bothered about them.”
They were alone on the long parade beside the Paraná: for men it was the hour of work, for women of shopping. Everything here had its proper hour-the hour for the Paraná was evening, and then it was the time for young true lovers, who held hands and didn’t speak. He said, “When do you have to be home?”
“The capataz is picking me up at Charley’s office at eleven.”
“It is nine o’clock now. How will you fill in the time?”
“I will look at the shops and then I will have a coffee.”
“Do you never see any of your old friends?”
“The girls are all asleep now.”
“You see those flats there beyond the trees?” Doctor Plarr asked. “I live there.”
“Yes?”
“If you want coffee I can give you coffee.”
“Yes?”
“Or orange juice,” he said.
“Oh, I do not really like orange juice. Seńora Sanchez said we must keep sober, that was all.”
He asked, “Will you come with me?”
“It would not be right, would it?” she asked, as though she were seeking information from someone whom she knew and trusted.
“It was right at Mother Sanchez’…”
“But I had my living to earn there. I sent money home to Tucumán.”
“What happens now?”
“Oh, I send money to Tucumán just the same. Charley gives it to me.”
He stood up and put out his hand. “Come along.” He was prepared to be angry if she hesitated, but she took his hand with the same shallow obedience and followed him across the road, as though the distance were no greater than across the little patio at Mother Sanchez’. The lift, however, made her hesitate. She told him she had never been in a lift before-there were few houses in the city which stood more than two stories high. She tightened her hand in excitement or fear, and when they reached the top floor she asked, “Can we do that again, please?”