Needle in a Haystack (11 page)

…and he feels like a man once more, now is the moment, and they are already naked and their skins touch rub bristle and their half-open mouths breathe steam and the lights get brighter until finally they have to break their embrace to dim the lights because in the semi-darkness you see better and this brief separation brings back memories of many other separations and begs their salty bodies to be reunited and pleads for one to quickly become embedded with the other and the loaded flesh to enter the loved flesh bringing about a grimace of the sweetest pain and a vampire stare and who is who now? my little he-man inhabited female thighs like pincers rigid muscles everything a melody of veins and bones and hair and running blood and I want more and more and give me everything my whore and he kisses her lips and puts his fingers in their mouths so that his hands can attest to this game of tongues fluids that come and go and grow and multiply and from below there emerge smells of the sea of molluscs of sudden storms and the sand after the rain and they want to lose themselves one in the other go deeper to recover paradise lost and they say kill me or you are killing me and I feel death and hug me tight don’t leave me here you’re real there is no reality other than this pleasure and this pain and they are the rain and the earth, the
earth which will finally devour us all but for now the earth is soaked in song and they are the beast with two backs in need of caresses as they are at the mercy of the elements riding the home stretch where faintness and total confusion of the senses are one and the same when I smell I touch I feel I sense and completion and slowly the embrace slackens to allow respective souls to return to respective bodies leaving love scars and traces of solitude on the other. Never say I love you.

Amancio parks his estate on the side street. The cold anger he has felt since arguing with Lara is reflected in the cool of the night. He walks slowly and angrily to the corner. The glare of emergency lights hits him like an electric shock. On the opposite pavement, two green Ford Falcons are double parked, their portable flashing lights on their roofs. Amancio steps back a couple of paces, into the shade of the plantain trees. Next to one of the cars is a young man, dressed in civilian clothes, Ithaca shotgun in hand. Further on, in front of a block of flats, another carries a PAM.

He feels a shiver go down his spine. He’s reminded of how unstable and jumpy those machine guns are, the time he had a go with one at the army shooting range with Giribaldi. Shots fired out suddenly without him having moved, never mind touched the trigger. The PAM just started spitting bullets out of its own accord. It was only by the grace of God that Amancio didn’t end up shooting himself or anyone else present. Since the incident, he had always viewed these weapons with a mixture of respect and suspicion. He would also never forget the sound of Giribaldi’s military friends, laughing their heads off at the fright he’d given himself.

Four armed men leave the building, a frightened couple in tow. He gropes the air like a blind man. She’s shoved into the back seat of the second car. They let him loose in front of the first car. A man who seems to be in charge of the operation barks an order at him:
Get in
. The guy probes the air nervously with his hands, then one of his captors pushes him so that he bangs into the car door. They all laugh. Amancio is surprised to learn there are blind subversives,
but, well, you never do know
. Eventually, they stuff the blind man into the back of the car and force him to the floor. The armed men jump in and the two Falcons drive off. Before the cars reach the next corner, the lights have been taken off the roofs.

Amancio walks up to the Bitermans’ block and opens the door with the key that Horacio gave him. A smell of food fills the landing. Something fried that Amancio finds disgusting. The rhythmic sound made by the lift as it climbs,
bum bum,
seems to keep time with Amancio’s heartbeat, which is getting faster and faster. He can feel every systolic beat pounding in his neck and brow. His vision is blurred, a combination of the alcohol he drank to give him courage and the fury that lingers from his row with Lara and her departure. He knows he’s not in the best state to do what he’s planning to do, that he’s a little unsteady. He breathes quickly and loudly to get some air in his lungs.

As he gets out on the fourth floor, he doesn’t notice that he’s being spied on by the neighbour through the peephole. The shutter closes as soon as he goes into Biterman’s office.

The moneylender is sitting at the desk revising his accounts, when he suddenly becomes aware of Amancio’s presence, gun in hand. Not looking the least unsettled, he peers at him from above his reading glasses.

Without taking his eyes off Amancio for a second, Biterman gradually opens the drawer. Amancio feels like his face is on fire. He can’t see what’s in the drawer. He moves up on to his tiptoes to try to make sure the Jew doesn’t have a gun in there. Biterman realizes that in doing so, Amancio is no longer pointing the gun at him and he decides to take advantage of the situation. The beast breaks loose and lets forth a savage roar that has Amancio rooted to the spot. With a fierce swipe, Biterman sends the nine millimetre crashing out of Amancio’s hand. He heaves the desk over, sending papers flying in a rain of giant confetti, and throws himself on top of Amancio with all his strength and weight, knocking him to the floor. Amancio tries to resist, but he lands with his legs all twisted underneath him and Biterman disables him further by yanking his arm behind his back like a lever. Biterman’s enormous buffalo head spits with fury, inches from Amancio’s face. Amancio tries to wriggle free with desperate movements that do nothing but provoke a slight smile from Biterman. Amancio feels like a crushed ant. His legs start to cramp.

Suddenly Biterman pummels Amancio’s ears hard with both fists, stunning him. Biterman grabs the gun, jumps up and kicks him in the ribs. Amancio gasps like a fish out of water

Biterman looks at Amancio as if contemplating an insect and allows him to get his breath back. Amidst much coughing, Amancio finally manages to raise himself off the floor and sit up straight. From where Biterman is standing, he can kick or punch Amancio at will, should he try anything. Amancio is completely flustered by the transformation he has brought about in the Jew. Biterman has the glowing eyes of a wild animal and his mouth is somehow contorted into a strange smile, which emphasizes very white teeth and two sharp canines. Although Biterman now speaks and acts with his usual serenity, his muscles remain taut and imply violence. Completely intimidated, Amancio nervously watches Biterman’s giant feet and hands while rubbing his own cracked ribs. When Biterman bends down to pick something up off the floor, Amancio’s whole being flinches. Biterman cuts the emphatic figure of a boxer towering over his floored opponent, knocked-out, no way back.

Biterman grabs Amancio by the lapels and pulls him to his feet. A shove sends Amancio crashing into the wall, producing a deep wound on the temple, which gushes blood into his eye. Biterman spins him around like a doll and throws him out of the room. Amancio, utterly dazed, departs with comical dance steps. Another push sends him flying towards the door, making him slump to the floor. Biterman pulls the door open hard, striking Amancio once again. He then grabs Amancio by the seat of his trousers and hurls him out, face first, into the corridor wall, plaster crumbling down and sticking to the blood on his forehead. Standing tall and dominant, Biterman takes the magazine from the gun and puts it in his pocket. He then carefully wipes the pistol down with a handkerchief. His experience has taught him to loathe guns, and his wisdom to stay clear of them. When he finishes rubbing off all traces of himself, he slings the weapon at Amancio’s head. Amancio anticipates this and blocks the throw with his hands. The nine millimetre bounces down between his legs.

The slam of the door echoes down the corridor. Amancio feels the pain of every blow as he struggles to his feet. Fear starts to change to fury. He thinks of everything that will happen next. He has lost La Rencorosa and in a few days time, when his other creditors find out, and they will find out, the floodgates
will open and lawsuits will pour down upon him. He pictures Lara, waving goodbye as he’s carted off in handcuffs. He takes a step; the after-effect of the twisted leg brings an acute flash of pain. He leans against the wall, plaster dusting his tattered blue jacket with a layer of grey. He feels like crying and screaming. He looks for a tissue in his pocket to stem the flow of blood from his face. His hand comes across the leftover bullet. He picks up the gun and slots the cartridge straight into the chamber. Then he takes off his jacket and wraps it around the gun. He moves forward a step, and gives two hard knocks on the door. He hears footsteps approaching. He steps back, supports himself against the wall and holds the gun up in front of him, draped in the coat. The door swings open, the Jew’s imposing figure filling its frame. Amancio closes his eyes tight and pulls the trigger. Biterman stares at his stomach in disbelief. Then he looks up, leaps forward and grabs Amancio by the neck. Amancio feels Biterman’s hands turn to pliers as they cut off his air supply. He punches Biterman in the sides but the pressure on his throat doesn’t let up. His strength starts to desert him and he feels a sense of resignation. Suddenly, Biterman’s eyes open extremely wide and a line of blood trickles out of his half-open mouth. A stupefied look transforms his face, his hands relax, his head drops forward onto Amancio’s chest and his breath starts to choke. He lets out a deep, harsh sound, his muscles slacken, his body makes a few spasmodic kicks and then he falls, dragging Amancio down with him. Smothered by Biterman’s inert body, Amancio tries to get his breath back. He fights himself free from the dead man and staggers to his feet. The lights suddenly come on in the hallway and, as he
pants heavily, Amancio hears the lift heading for the ground floor. He grabs hold of Biterman by the legs, drags him inside the apartment, closes the door and slumps into a chair. There he remains for he doesn’t know how long, staring at the body, trying to recover, sharp pains attacking him all over.

When he’s feeling a bit more composed, he gets up and goes into the bathroom. His face is covered in cuts and bruises. The moneylender’s fingers have marked his neck. He turns on the tap and splashes his face over and over again. With a towel, he cleans the blood that continues to flow from his eyebrow. He puts pressure on the wound and then goes back into the other room to reassure himself that Biterman is definitely dead. He sits down again. He thinks, thinks
what do I do now?
A solution occurs to him. He goes back into the bathroom and tidies himself up as best he can. He leaves the flat.

The cold night air allows him to regain a degree of self-control, what little he has left. He’s shaking all over. He quickly breathes in and out several times. He walks a short distance, then sits down on the steps of the next building to allow himself time to recuperate.

A white Mercedes 1518 is parked across the street, outside the building where the blind man and the woman were brought out. Two pieces of brown paper, torn apart by someone’s teeth, are pasted on its doors, crudely covering the navy insignia. Various conscripts come in and out carrying furniture, a fridge, a television, cases, a range of domestic appliances, and they put everything in the back of the truck, supervised by an arrogant blond captain. Amancio starts to feel more like himself, gets to his feet, crosses the road, enters a café and goes over to the pay phone. The Spanish owner,
mechanically wiping the bar with a dish cloth, calls over to him.

The barman places the telephone on the bar and thinks
this guy has obviously just taken a beating.
But as it’s got nothing to do with him, in a deliberate show of discretion, he goes over to rub down the tables, as if they really needed doing.