“Of course.”
“I mean from that night.”
“Sometimes I’m certain she’s tougher than I. That she’s not as beautiful, for which I’m grateful, so the men won’t get the same look in their eyes. Perhaps,” she shifts from the fountain, “she will not spend her teenage years in and out of institutions like her mother.”
“But that night—”
“She was with friends,” says Soledad. “With her father.” She shrugs. “You don’t want to miss your plane,” and she turns to cross the street to the Mustang, where Vikar can barely make out Zazi in the back, watching her mother and watching him.
136.
From the liquor cart going up and down the aisle of the airplane, Vikar orders three vodka tonics. Notwithstanding Viking Man’s assurance that Vikar would have thirteen hours to read Là-Bas five more times, Vikar makes it through only once before pulling the script for Viking Man’s movie from the MGM envelope.
He reads the script twice and the third time begins breaking the story into sequences and numbering them as he would identify the parts of an architectural structure. When the sun is behind him, he puts the script away and watches a Spanish movie he doesn’t understand; the actress in it navigates between relationships with two men and Vikar keeps seeing Soledad in the part of the woman. At one point he closes his eyes.
In the dark of his lids, the Spanish movie intercuts with the open horizontal rock of his dream and its white ancient writing and the mysterious figure lying on top. Vikar sits up with a start.
When he finally dozes again, it’s to the dull roar of the engines and the pitch black of the night above the Atlantic. Upon landing at Barrajas Airport in the late afternoon Vikar remembers only at the last minute, as he steps through the door, to pull the cap from his coat pocket and down over his head.
137.
The customs officials make him take the cap off. In the waiting area beyond the customs control Vikar can see a driver holding a cardboard sign that reads VICAR, with a C. When Vikar takes off the cap, everyone around him — customs officials, police, passengers — stops and a hush falls on the room.
138.
As Vikar is ushered into a smaller room, he looks back over his shoulder at the driver in the distance with the sign. In the room, one of the officials takes Vikar’s passport and motions for him to sit at a table. On the wall hangs a portrait of a mild looking man in a uniform, wearing small round spectacles to go with his small trimmed moustache; Vikar realizes this is the General person of whom Viking Man spoke. He doesn’t appear fearsome.
Several of the officials lean over Vikar to study his head. “Anarquista?” one asks. The official with Vikar’s passport vanishes and for a while no one says or does anything. The official finally returns ten minutes later with another who’s studying the passport as he walks in the door; he looks at Vikar and says, “Señor Jerome?”
I should have stayed in Hollywood where nothing bad happens except singing families that slaughter people. “Yes.”
“Welcome to our country.”
“Thank you.”
“How long do you plan to be with us, Señor Jerome?” the official asks.
“I’m not sure.”
“Is your purpose here business or holiday?”
“Business.”
“What is the name of your company?”
I don’t have a company, Vikar almost answers, but says, “MGM.”
“The hotel,” says the official.
“The movies,” Vikar says. “I believe there is a hotel as well.”
“Las Vegas. Dean Martin.”
“Rio Bravo,” Vikar nods.
The official looks at Vikar, some inexplicable annoyance flashing across his eyes. “I speak English,” he says.
“What?”
“Is there someone who can vouch for your business here?”
“A man outside,” says Vikar.
“A man?”
“Holding a sign.”
The official turns and says something in Spanish to one of the other officials, who leaves the room. The official sits down next to Vikar and looks at his head. He points at Vikar’s head and says, “There are not many people in my country who appear like this.”
“No.”
“In America there are many people who appear like this?”
“No.”
The official looks around at the others. “Myself,” he confides to Vikar, “I am a great admirer of Miss Natalie Wood.”
Vikar just nods.
“I saw her in the film about the two married couples who trade.” He shrugs. “This film is not allowed in my country. I saw it while on holiday in Paris. Miss Natalie Wood is very beautiful in this film.” A low, desperate groan seems to emanate up from within him. “Muy, muy, muy. Do you know this film?”
“Yes.”
“She is very beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“She is very immodest in this film. You hear my English is excellent.”
“You should see Splendor in the Grass.”
“This Splendid film stars Miss Natalie Wood?”
“Yes.”
“In this film she is immodest?”
“It’s like The Exorcist, except better.”
“I know of this Exorcist film, this is the film about Satanás. Yes?”
“What?”
“Diablo. The Devil.”
“Yes.”
“This film is not allowed in my country.”
Vikar nods. “It’s not very good.”
“This film,” the official taps Vikar on the head hard, “is not allowed in my country.”
Vikar says, as politely as possible, “It’s not Natalie Wood.”
The official rises slightly from the chair, looks at Vikar’s head. He studies the woman’s face.
“It’s Elizabeth Taylor,” says Vikar.
“Elizabeth Taylor?”
“And Montgomery Clift. A Place in the Sun.”
“Qué?”
“The name of this movie,” Vikar taps his own head in turn, speaking slowly, “is A Place … in … the … Sun.”
“This,” the official says, tapping Vikar’s head back even harder, “is …” tap “… not …” tap “… the …” tap “… film with Miss Natalie Wood about the young degenerate American hoodlums who are probably homosexuals?”
“No.”
“Do you know this film that I mean?”
“Rebel Without a Cause.”
“This is the one I mean,” the official nods, “it is not allowed in my country.” The two men say nothing more but sit at the table looking at each other. Five minutes pass, then ten.
139.
The door opens and the other official returns, and says something in Spanish.
The official sitting with Vikar continues to stare at him as if barely registering whatever has been said. Then he stands. He hands Vikar his passport. “This film you are working, is Miss Natalie Wood in this film?”
“I don’t believe so,” Vikar says.
“Perhaps your film will be allowed in my country.”
“I’m certain it will be a very good movie,” Vikar says.
140.
When the phone rings in his hotel room, Vikar assumes it’s Viking Man. But amid the static of the phone call he hears a female voice saying his name; for a moment he imagines it’s Soledad and only after the phone has gone dead does he realize it was Dotty. He waits for the phone to ring again but it doesn’t, and finally he sleeps.