“I know that you. . that you’re with the police. . That’s what they say at the shop. . No, please, don’t say anything. They also say that you’re not scared of anything and. . that you’ve killed many men.”
“Is that what they say, Marta?”
“But I know you’re a good man, Filiberto. If you’ve killed people, it’s because. . because you had to, because you’re with the police and some people are very bad. .”
“Why are you saying these things, Marta?”
García’s eyes had turned hard. He pulled away his hand. Could it be that Marta wants me to kill someone? Hey, I’ve done it for worse reasons.
“I know you’re a good man,” the girl repeated, “and that’s why I know you aren’t going to hurt me.”
“Why would I hurt you, Marta?”
“Because. . because you’re with the police and you probably already know. .”
“What do I know, Marta?”
“About me. That’s why you’ve been coming to the shop and talking to me. I knew it wasn’t because of me. A man like you isn’t going to be interested in a girl like me, Filiberto.”
Now she put her hand on top of his. Son of a bitch, things are getting complicated — what’s up with this broad? Could she have something to do with this Outer Mongolia business? But then, they wouldn’t have let her go out with me. No, she’s got something else up her sleeve. And she’s ripe for plucking, even starting to give me some wiggle room. Good thing I didn’t go through Liu.
“When you started coming to the shop, I thought of leaving, running away, but I didn’t have anyplace to go. Then you started talking to me and you said things that made me laugh, good things, and then I thought, you couldn’t be bad like they say. Because I’ve known people who are bad, really bad, back there. .”
“Back there?”
“Yes, when I was very little. I lied to you, Filiberto, when I told you I was twenty. I’m twenty-five. .”
“You don’t look it, Marta. .”
“I’ve always looked younger than I am. And then they killed my father. I almost don’t remember him at all. The Japanese killed him in a bombing raid. And my two brothers went off with an army, in one of those wars they always have there. And my mother died of hunger and some nuns in Canton took me in. My mother was Peruvian, Mr. García. And there was a girl in the convent who died, her mother was Mexican, born in Mexico. Her father was Chinese and had brought her there with him and nobody knew who he was. And the poor thing died of the starvation she’d suffered.”
“When did that happen, Marta?”
“About ten years ago. And then the nuns had to leave Canton and they went to Macao and they took me with them and they gave me the Mexican girl’s passport. . that’s the truth, Mr. Filiberto. I know it’s wrong. . but it’s the only bad thing I’ve ever done in my life and there were so many refugees in Macao and in Hong Kong. . and so much starvation and so much fear. .”
She started crying again and covered her face with the black silk handkerchief. Those two guys are still sitting there, like they’re nailed to the spot. And Marta is in Mexico illegally. How about: if you don’t come home with me, Marta, I’m going to have to arrest you? That would be one way to get things started.
Marta pulled the handkerchief away from her face:
“The nun who gave me the passport was Mexican and. . and that’s how I’ve spent eight years in Mexico, in peace. . I don’t think I’ve hurt anybody by it. . Only Mr. Liu knows the truth.”
“And now you’ve told me, Marta.”
“Yes, yes, I have. Because I know you’re not a bad man. That’s why I decided to tell you the truth. .”
“Drink your tea, Marta. Or maybe you want something to eat?”
“No, thank you.”
“A roll or some toast. .”
“Well, okay, thanks.”
García ordered the bread and another beer. The waitress kept giving him dirty, mocking looks. That bitch thinks I’m trying to pick Marta up, and she’s right on the money. And those two guys still sitting there. To hell with them! I’m spending the night with Marta and tomorrow we’ll see about that business in Outer Mongolia. Fucking Outer Mongolia!
“As far as I understand it, Canton is in Communist China, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You were born there?”
“No. In Liuchow. It’s nearby.”
“Also in Communist China?”
“Yes.”
Then they were quiet while Marta ate her bread. I’ve got to be tough, give her one scare after another and before I know it I’ll have her in bed and grateful to boot. And then I could take her to Immigration and do my duty by the law. Fucking law! If all Chinese gals are like this Marta, I say, bring ’em on. Those two are starting to get on my nerves.
“I don’t think you killed all those people, Filiberto. You wouldn’t be so good to me if you had.”
“Do you know the owners of this place, Marta?”
“Mr. Wang? He buys a few Chinese things at Mr. Liu’s shop, but they aren’t friends. They don’t get together socially.”
“Which one is Wang?”
“The old man, sitting behind the register. What are you going to do with me, Filiberto?”
“What about those other Chinamen behind the counter?”
“I think they’re his sons. What are you going to do with me?”
García turned to look at her. Marta’s face was turned up toward his, and there was deep anguish in her eyes. Now’s when I throw the law at her. Fucking law!
“I’m not with the immigration police, Marta. I’ve got nothing to do with them. I’m not with the narcotics police, either, and I don’t mess with those fellows who smoke opium.
“So. . you didn’t suspect me?”
“No. Wait here just a moment, Marta.”
He picked up the damp handkerchief and put it in his pants pocket. He stood up and walked over to the register:
“Got a phone?”
“Yeah, it’s over there.”
Mr. Wang was old, probably very old, but he looked nervous. He glanced quickly over at the two men who were sitting at the table next to the door.
“Got change for a ten?”
Mr. Wang silently gave him change. The restaurant had started emptying out and the waitresses were bringing him the checks and money. Mr. Wang made two mistakes in his calculations. García, not moving, stared hard at him — a smile on his lips and his eyes as hard as nails. Then he walked over to the telephone. One of the men at the table approached the register, as if to pay his bill. García started dialing the number when he saw Marta stand up and rush toward the door. “Fucking Marta!”
He ran after her and caught up with her at the door. Everyone in the restaurant turned to look at them. The two men had left.
“Where are you going, Marta?”
The waitress came over with the check in her hand. García gave her a twenty-peso bill.
“Keep the change.”
He took Marta by the arm and they started walking down the street. Marta’s head hung down:
“I thought you were calling the police.”
“I am the police, and I don’t like it when girls run off before we’ve finished.”
“Please, forgive me, Mr. García, and, please, forget what I told you. Now I realize you can’t break the law just to help me. But I don’t want to go back there. I’d rather die than go back there.”
They took a few steps in silence.
“What are you going to do with me? Are you going to arrest me?”
“Let’s just keep walking, Marta. It’s a pleasant night. Don’t be afraid anymore.”
Behind them, a black Pontiac started its engine and drove off slowly with its lights dimmed. These guys are definitely tailing me. They might be from Outer Mongolia all you want, but they’re total jackasses. I’ve been on this job for less than three hours, and they’ve already got me in their sights. Marta could be in on it. All her tears and me here comforting her, like her dear old daddy. Or maybe they aren’t such chumps and they want me to know they’re tailing me. But — why? And why Marta’s whole song and dance? All she had to do is say she wanted to be with me, she didn’t need to make up a sob story. Fucking Chinese! Maybe I’ll catch a bullet before I get to do it with Marta. And I’ve never done it with a Chinese gal.