This reminded me of that brief encounter with the veteran whore in Chicote. ‘I know you, don’t I? I remember those blue, blue eyes and that blond hair,’ she had said to the Doctor. He wasn’t easy to forget, with that baguette on his head.
‘What I don’t understand is why Van Vechten was so desperate,’ I said. ‘Not that I consider him attractive, there’s even something rather repellent about him, I think. But with that yellow hair and those pale, watery eyes, with that perennial, rectangular smile and his large build, he must have been very striking as a young man and would have been a hit with women. You wouldn’t think he would need to use threats to get them into bed.’
This time, Vidal did not hold back. Like I say, he treated me like a younger brother with whom he had lived on and off.
‘I didn’t think you were so innocent, Juan. You’ve seen the way he behaves around women, haven’t you? With your own friends, I understand, and they’re young enough to be his daughters. He’s an insatiable predator and always has been, that part of his reputation is true; he’s the kind who keeps a tally of how many women he’s had sex with. You surely don’t think that in the 1940s and 50s there were many women prepared to go all the way, just like that and willingly. Not for pleasure or love or anything. Do you honestly imagine that the sexual revolution was up and running and that the pill already existed? It was really difficult to get laid in Spain. You had to waste a lot of time and make a lot of promises, and even then. Ask the nurses at the Hospital de San Carlos and at the Clínica Ruber, even at the Hospital Francisco Franco, where he landed up when he was older, as Head of Paediatrics no less, with even more power, of course, and in more liberated days too, at the end of the 60s or thereabouts. He tried it on with all of them, those worth having, that is; tastefully and not so tastefully, forcefully and not so forcefully, and with more or less success; and he’s still doing it in his sixties. He’ll never stop.’
I suddenly thought of Celia the civil servant, the bullfighter Viana’s girlfriend. Her verdict had been: ‘He’s a bit of an old lecher,’ and she had gone on to say: ‘It seemed to me that he touched me more than was necessary, a woman notices these things straight away … he’d stroke my abdomen as if his fingers were about to go where they shouldn’t … and he kept brushing my breasts with the sleeve of his white coat or with his wrist, as though by accident … I felt sort of queasy when I left … I felt like I’d been groped.’ And that had happened during a brief medical examination. And she wasn’t the kind of woman to imagine such things, nor was she a prude.
‘I see,’ I said slowly. ‘He’s obviously not one to miss a trick.’ And I blushed a little, thinking that perhaps already, at the age of twenty-three, I, too, was not one to miss a trick. I suppose I at least had the excuse of youth. And I had never blackmailed or threatened anyone.
‘And never underestimate the added pleasure of domination, of humiliating the defeated,’ Vidal went on, and his tone grew more bitter. ‘Screwing someone’s wife or daughter with his knowledge and with him unable to do a thing about it. The man’s a complete and utter bastard. Have nothing more to do with him. Admittedly, he may have changed radically since then, I’m not saying he hasn’t; maybe other people’s false perception of him has led him to fit himself to that mould and become a genuine conciliator and even a very belated anti-franquista. Always remember, though, that at the time he wasn’t. Then it was all a front and to him those cuckolds were the enemy, defeated, but nonetheless the enemy. He must have loved it. The very thought enrages me, but what can you do, that’s how things stand now. And it’s probably for the best. But I’m determined to tell the story, and whatever I know I tell.’
Vidal’s eyes once again fixed on the tabletop, on the ashtrays and the beers the waiter had just brought us.
‘Do you know a place called the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Darmstadt?’ I asked suddenly. I could see he knew a lot of things. ‘Not far from here —’
He looked up and, interrupting me, said:
‘Yes, I’ve often walked past it. And wait, I’ve heard Dr Naval mention it, now what did he say exactly? Oh, I know. I think it’s a branch or a replica of another sanctuary of the same name, in Chile. And it was founded by Germans, I believe, who settled there in the 1940s and 50s. Hence the name, I suppose; so the Chilean sanctuary is probably a replica too.’ — I’d seen the name ‘Father Gustavo Hörbiger’ on one of the signs at the sanctuary: a Hispanicized form of an undeniably German name. — ‘And it’s run by some Apostolic Movement …’ Vidal was trying to remember as he spoke. ‘No, I don’t know, I’d have to ask Naval, who mentioned it to me once, but I wasn’t really paying attention and now I can’t recall what he said. However, I’ve an idea that some of Pinochet’s high-ranking officers and even some of his ministers belong to that movement.’ — Pinochet’s dictatorship was still going strong in 1980 and would for a while longer. Five years earlier, Pinochet had turned up in Madrid to attend Franco’s funeral, wrapped in a sinister Dracula cloak and wearing the kind of dark glasses blind men wear, the living image of a humanoid bat in a peaked cap. — ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I’ve occasionally seen Van Vechten there.’
‘What, as a member of the congregation?’
‘No, in one of the outbuildings, as if he had a practice there, or an office. He seemed very at home.’ — Vidal couldn’t know just how at home, and I wasn’t going to tell him.
He gave a mischievous smile, then let out a faint whistle. He hadn’t once raised his voice, not even when he was at his most vehement.
‘Well, I didn’t know that, and Naval may not know it either. If it’s true, then Van Vechten probably hasn’t changed one bit and it’s all a front. Or else he preserves certain old loyalties. The place is, of course, ultra-Catholic and probably ultra-right-wing, the two tend to go hand in hand. He may treat the children of the faithful now and then, as a favour or a contribution to the cause, or to the Virgin: doubtless the children of powerful families, pleased as punch to enjoy the services of the great paediatrician. Who knows? If you like, I can ask Dr Naval and report back. He’ll be pleased to know anyway. He’s interested in anything to do with Chile, for obvious reasons.’
He again sat staring into space, but this time he was smiling, as if anticipating how much all this would intrigue or amuse his mentor or teacher, who had fled Chile after the coup. Then he gestured to the waiter to bring the bill. It had grown late and his colleagues had left some time before, waving to him from a distance.
‘One last thing, José Manuel.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Do you know the name of any of Van Vechten’s victims? If you wouldn’t mind telling me, of course. I might be able to drop it into the conversation one day, as if by chance, spontaneously. Just to see how he reacts.’
He thought for a moment, but only that.
‘I don’t imagine it much matters if you know it now,’ he said. ‘A cousin of my father’s, married to a former anarchist who escaped the firing squad and the purges, she was one of their victims. A very sweet woman, whom I knew really well. Both of them had her, Arranz first and then Van Vechten. Like I said, they passed the women on to each other. They took turns, now you, now me, until they grew bored. Carmen Zapater was her name. Aunt Carmen. She’s dead now. Although her children are still alive, the ones for whom she sacrificed herself with such repugnance. But with relief too, let’s be fair.’