The Sins of the Father Page 14

  “We must keep the newspapers from your mother. This is terrible for her.”

  “Did you know about my father, Papa?”

  “Yes, of course I did, Franz. There were arrangements, you see, to which it was necessary that I be privy. They … broke down … As for the girls, the matter is more complicated than I thought. Your father’s friends have made fools of themselves. The murder of Lieutenant Vilar was, as the saying goes, worse than a crime. You know the rest.”

  Vilar’s body had been found on a rubbish dump on the fringes of the capital. It had been mutilated.

  “At first,” the General said, “it wasn’t certain that your father’s friends were responsible. Vilar was last seen in a brothel, a male brothel… That, we thought, accounted perhaps for the form of mutilation … though it wasn’t clear, nothing was clear … then …”

  “But why should they want to kill him?”

  “It was Vilar’s job to protect your father. He failed. Perhaps they murdered him to encourage the others. Perhaps it was an interrogation which went wrong. That is my opinion… Then they mutilated him, to disguise the circumstances, as a blind …”

  Franz thought of Vilar offering him a woman, then of the manner in which the policeman had rested his hand on his shoulder as they said goodbye.

  “In any case the murder has alarmed them. That means, I am afraid, that the girls are in greater danger than I thought.”

  “You mean, for fear they can identify their captors?”

  “That’s possible.”

  “But that’s mad. After all, I can identify the men I spoke to. I would know the man Klaus again anywhere.”

  “You don’t understand. It wouldn’t occur to them that you might not be on their side. They are acting after all to save your father.”

  “By imprisoning and terrifying the girl I’m going to marry?”

  “Yes, they are fools… perhaps different people are following different courses.”

  The telephone rang.

  “Splendid,” the General said, “bring him up, will you, please.”

  The lift took a long time to mount. They were in the General’s office on the top floor of the tall building that houses the Ministry of Defence (Special Services Section). Franz had never been there before. The General preferred to keep work and family absolutely separate. It was a large square room, furnished in spartan style; there were four abstract paintings, one in the centre of each wall. You could look down to the ocean from the windows. The General’s big colonial desk was uncluttered.

  There was a knock at the door. A soldier ushered their visitor in. He was a balding, middle-aged man, with rimless spectacles and a puffy unused face. His complexion was pale, with a touch of grey in it, and when he offered his hand, the palm was a little damp.

  “This is Mr Dukes, from Washington,” the General said. “He has flown down at my request.”

  Mr Dukes took a little pill from a small leather box and popped it in his mouth.

  “Elevators,” he said, “agitate my cardiac organ. You will pardon me if I rest up a moment before we converse.”

  They waited. Franz was impressed by the General’s tranquillity, and by the indifference to their reaction which the American displayed.

  “We have a certain awkwardness,” the General said. “Your Mr Binns seems to have been careless and a touch over-zealous.”

  Mr Dukes licked his lips, then patted at his cheek with a tissue.

  “Cal Binns is a good operative, but we never put him on contract.”

  Franz realised that contract would never come. Perhaps Binns had sought it for years. He had hung on in Argentina, no more than a stringer, picking up a scrap of information here, doing the odd dirty jobs there, a useful man who could be easily denied. Now he had – it was clear as Mr Dukes expatiated – gone too far, acting on his own initiative, misinterpreted the situation, gone out on a limb.

  “Sure,” Mr Dukes said, “some of those involved have had a very genuine utility. We owe them something. But we don’t owe them all that much, and we don’t owe them what they owe us. There is, that is to say, an imbalance in the indebtedness. I guess Cal Binns has outstayed his welcome.”

  The General smiled. “Mr Binns is an honoured guest. We wouldn’t wish to disturb him. But, you must understand, his activities have disturbed his position. It will not be possible to renew his permission to remain in the country unless he is of real assistance to us now. Let me be frank with you, Mr Dukes.”

  He got up and went to the mahogany-veneered cabinet in the corner of his room, took from it a Thermos flask and three glasses. Then he poured three Martinis; they were still cloudy with cold. He dropped an olive in each glass.

  “I am what passes for a liberal in this country…”

  The words flickered across Franz’s mind, like a torchlight dancing in the night searching the explanation of some mystery, hunting the interloper in the garden. Labels: Liberal, Commie, Jew, Nazi, Peronist – it was for labels that men killed, that his father had – there could be no doubt – committed atrocities, and was now on the brink of suffering or whatever. Beyond the brink in fact. Bastini had been labelled, Kinsky too. But the label had infected his life and Becky’s and Ilse’s and Nell’s. Was it because only Alexis at this moment seemed to be free of a label that she seemed the most desirable, as well as most enviable, of people?

  Mr Dukes was speaking of political implications, damage limitation, creative tensions. Sentences rolled their abstract nouns like clouds across the sky. Yesterday, because they couldn’t any longer sit around waiting for the telephone to ring, Franz had driven Alexis to the beach. He found himself seeking the right adjective in any language to describe the colour of her thigh sparkling with salt water, but he didn’t need a word; he could see the thing. That surely was reality. He put his finger on her thigh; it came off damp and he licked it, tasting Alexis, sun and sea in one instant. He would have liked to lie there and run his tongue along its line, but something restrained him. But he still felt the weight of her wet arms around his neck and the yielding and thrusting of desire and the brushing contact of mouths, and saw her huge cornflower eyes open close to his, and heard her whisper “How can we?” and knew the answer to it all was “How can we not?” How can we not be traitors? But also, in what sense is truth treachery?

  But that too was the question. It was the central question. It was the question of his father’s life.

  “Unfortunately Cal had been imbibing and it was difficult to extract sense from his account of the kidnap situation.”

  “Perhaps you could sober him up, Mr Dukes.”

  “His doctor prescribes hospitalisation.”

  “Very well. We shall be the better able to keep him under observation.”

  “He recommends despatch to the USA.”

  “I fear we should object to that.”

  “You misunderstand me, General. The cause of Cal’s condition would appear to be his apprehension as to his own security.”

  “His apprehension is well-founded if anything happens to these girls. You can tell him that from me.”

  “Negotiations in my view should be based on the assumption of a degree of amnesty…”

  “No,” Alexis said, “no, darling, not now, not yet, not while…”

  “But after…”

  “Maybe not after…”

  She ran out into the sea with long strides shortening as the water chopped at her legs.

  “Are you sure,” she left him pondering her question, “that you are not using me to punish Becky for what her father has done?”

  He was sure of nothing but what he wanted then. Becky might be dead.

  “… a degree of amnesty.”

  Franz’s attention had wandered. He had lost the thread of the conversation. His stepfather, the General, flicked a minute particle of ash from his cuff. He sipped his Martini and watched the American.

  “We have no responsibility for Cal’s frìends,” Mr Dukes said.

 
; “I don’t charge you with that.”

  Alexis lay on her back, with her knees drawn up. Her belly was flat and brown. The skin wrinkled as she eased herself into another position, digging her shoulder blades deeper into the white sand. He couldn’t tell whether her eyes were closed behind the dark glasses. He turned over on his front, his face on the sand, but still allowing him to look at her profile. He let his right hand fall gently on her body, and she allowed it to rest there.

  “General, this position is, let’s not deny it, embarrassing for both our Governments. You appreciate of course the nature of our relationship with Israel. So let’s level up.”

  Mr Dukes popped a violet-coloured pastille into his mouth.

  “It’s been a great pleasure to meet your stepson, but it appears to me that we might more conveniently hope to arrive at a negotiable position, if we were able to talk in seclusion and privacy.”

  “Very well. Franz, you will wait, please, next door.”

  “No,” Alexis kissed him, “no… if we do what you want now…”

  “You want it too…”

  He drew her to him and kissed her again, this time on the lips. He forced his tongue into her mouth.

  At last, she said again, “No”, and pushed his arms aside and freed herself.

  “It’s because you’re disturbed. You’ll hate me later if we do.”

  “No,” he said, but the battle was lost, he knew that. He read reproach and self-reproach in her eyes, which filled with tears. “Maybe if things had been different.”

  “But they’re not, they’re the way they are.”

  He stood in the outer office, looking out over the city. The sky was grey, with heavy clouds rolling in from the sea. “The other side of the street had not been built.” That was true of more than Argentina. Luis’s anger had evaporated, or rather its expression had done so. He had made his dramatic point; that satisfied his need for action. Now he waited, like the rest of them. Franz sighed. It distressed him that he couldn’t imagine what Becky would be feeling. He couldn’t put himself in her place.

  A secretary came in with a cup of coffee. He drank it, forgetting the Martini he had just had. Half-way through the cup, he remembered it, and said to himself: this is me, I accept whatever comes my way.

  Alexis had said, “Don’t come up to my apartment, please. You mustn’t. I don’t trust us if you come up to my apartment.”

  He stood, listening to the lift carry her away.

  “So,” the General said, “Mr Dukes has gone and matters will arrange themselves. We have come to an understanding. The girls will be released, probably by tonight. You can rely on that. I told you things would arrange themselves…”

  He picked a cigar from its box and rustled it between his fingers. He pushed the box towards Franz, and clipped the end off his cigar and held a match to it. He looked at Franz through the flame.

  “But I do not think your marriage can go ahead,” he said. “I don’t think it is seemly. Your mother, I am afraid, does not agree. She has a tender heart, as you know. But that is how it seems to me. And also, I think it will be better if you leave Argentina for some while. I don’t conceal, Franz, that this business embarrasses me. There could be consequences, but they will be more manageable if you are not here. So perhaps London. Perhaps you could transfer your studies to Oxford? That might be a good idea.”

  “You want rid of me,” Franz said.

  The General puffed smoke from his cigar.

  “You’re not a fool, Franz,” he said. “I’ve never thought you a fool. Naive, sentimental, but not a fool. Not like your friend Luis.”

  “You’ve been very kind to me since you married my mother, but you want rid of me.”

  “Shall we say your continued presence causes difficulties?”

  “Very well. One question. Is this part of the bargain you made with Mr Dukes?”

  The General smiled, “Why should you think that, dear boy?”

  Franz said, “There’s one thing I must tell you. I am going to have to go to Israel. You must understand that.”

  “I understand it. I regret it also. You can do no good there, not in any way.”

  “All the same, I must go. And another thing, I am still going to marry Becky. All this has nothing to do with us. When it’s over, that will be the end of the chapter, which will not concern us any longer.”

  “You would do better to forget about her.” The General smiled. “Your mother will be distressed to hear of your plans, I fear, but we cannot arrange our lives to satisfy our womenfolk.”

  PART TWO

  ISRAEL

  1965

  ONE

  It was extraordinary to be felt over by a girl in uniform and army boots, and to realise that she experienced no embarrassment. Then he was out of the customs shed, and standing in the air-conditioned hall, which was like everywhere and nowhere. Even the people surging around him reinforced his apprehension: there was no common physical type, but they cohered.

  He didn’t have to wait long. A large black-bearded man waved a sheaf of papers from the far side of the hall, bustled over and seized his hand.

  “I told you I’d be here,” he said. “Bloody traffic. I’m Saul Birnbaum. No difficulty picking you out. You’re like your photo.”

  He picked up Franz’s luggage and hurried him towards the car park. He threw the bag into the back of a battered Volkswagen, and squeezed himself behind the wheel.

  “No prejudice, you see. German car. The best. Do you know something: it was an uncle of mine drew up the first blueprint. Fact.”

  There were streaks of grey in his beard, and his white shirt, open at the collar and worn without a jacket, was stained with sweat. He drove very fast, with much hooting, to the hotel where he had reserved accommodation for Franz. They went up to his room and ordered beer. When it arrived, Dr Birnbaum sat down and waved the beer bottle in Franz’s direction, indicating that he should seat himself also.

  Franz said, “I ought to thank you.”

  “Say no more.”

  “For the arrangements, of course. More particularly for accepting the case.”

  “I’m a lawyer. An officer of the Court. Say no more. Besides, kid, you’ve said it. In your letters. Much appreciated.”

  “Dr Birnbaum…”

  “Call me Saul. This is Israel, kid. We have abolished formality, don’t you know? All men are equal, hierarchy is out, judges have cousins who work as plumbers and Cabinet Ministers help harvest oranges.”

  He sucked at his beer bottle.

  “Saul, then, will I be allowed to see him?”

  “Sure. Not today though. I didn’t fix for today in case you were delayed. Today you relax.”

  The noise from the street prevented silence from being silent. Franz was disconcerted by the lawyer’s goodwill. He didn’t know how to reply. He couldn’t pick a question from the number that teemed and tumbled in his mind, and it was impossible to offer any remark that wasn’t a question.

  “You’ve won me a bet,” Saul Birnbaum said.

  “How?”

  “My colleagues said you wouldn’t come.”

  “What made you think I would?”

  “What your father said.”

  Franz blushed. “I don’t know that I can do any good,” he said, “but …”

  But – but do you view my father with horror? – that was what he ought to ask.

  Saul Birnbaum heaved himself up.

  “I must work,” he said. “I’m overwhelmed. You take it easy, kid. If you want lunch, ring room service. That’ll be best today. There may be reporters about. I’ll send my secretary to show you round this afternoon. Fine? About four. Anna she’s called. OK. She’ll bring you a message about seeing your dad.”

  Franz lay down on the bed. Heat swelled in the street below, but the air conditioning worked. The hotel room was without character, the furniture neither pleasing nor ugly. Jet lag, or perhaps the beer, made him sleepy. He took off his shoes, socks and trousers, lowe
red the Venetian blind, and got between the sheets. He fell asleep and didn’t dream. It was the first dreamless sleep he had known since he had been forced to know what he now knew. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, and was hungry. Room service would send him coffee and eggs in fifteen minutes. He had time for a shower.

  The girl who arrived while he was drinking his second cup of coffee was neither beautiful nor ugly. That was a relief, either would have been distracting. (And yet wasn’t distraction just what he needed?) She was stocky, very healthy, and had a fine shadow of moustache.

  “I’ve come to show you the city,” she said.

  “Can’t we just go to the beach?”

  “The beach? You’re not on holiday.”

  “Very well. But I must dress.”

  “Don’t mind me.”

  But of course he did. He took his clothes through to the bathroom.

  “It’s very good of you,” he said, as they settled into her car, a red Fiat 500.

  “I’m an employee.”

  There was, in truth, he thought, little worth seeing. Tel Aviv gave the impression of having been built in a hurry. The blocks of apartments and offices fulfilled their function, and that was all there was to it. He was bored. Nothing appealed to his imagination. She hadn’t even shown him the prison where his father was being kept. She bombarded him with information, statistics to which he found it impossible to pay any attention. She was playing the guide in a very professional manner, and she disliked him, which was uncomfortable.

  “Look,” he said, “this isn’t necessary. It must be time for you to go home. I mean, it must now be past your working hours. You’re not obliged.”

  She swung the car off the highway, down a bumpy lane, and halted in front of a café-restaurant with metal tables in a scruffy garden.

  “We will have some beer,” she said. “So you are not impressed with our city.”