"An understatement as far as he is concerned. Twenty years of flying mail, of barnstorming, sky-diving to provide a momentary thrill for the mindless at state fairs who hope to see his parachute fail to open, of risking his life in a hundred different ways and at the end, what does he have to show for it?" He swept his arms out in a gesture which took in everything. "This, my friend - this is all he has and three months from now, when his contract ends, a government bonus of five thousand dollars."
He looked down at me for several seconds, then turned and went back to tinkering with the engine. I didn't know what to say, but he solved the situation for me.
"You know, I'm a great believer in hunches. I go by what I think of people, instantly, in the very first moment. Now you interest me. You are your own man, a rare tiling in this day and age. Tell me about yourself."
So I did for he was die easiest man to talk to I'd ever known. He spoke only briefly himself, the odd question thrown in casually now and then, yet at the end of things, he had squeezed me dry.
He said, "A good thing Sam was able to help you when he did, but then I'm also a great believer in fate. A man has to exist in the present moment. Accept what turns up. It's im-possible to live any other way. I have a book at the house which you should read. Kant'sCritique of Pure Reason."
"I have done," I said.
He turned, eyebrows raised in some surprise. "You agree with his general thesis?"
"Not really. I don't think anything in this life is certain enough for fixed rules to apply. You have to take what comes and do the best you can."
"Then Heidegger is your man. I have a book of his which would interest you in which he argues that for authentic living what is necessary is the resolute confrontation of death. Tell me, were you afraid yesterday when you were attempting to land that Vega of yours?"
"Only afterwards." I grinned. "The rest of the time, I was too busy trying to hold the damned thing together."
"You and Heidegger would get on famously."
"And what would he think of Hannah?"
"Not very much, I'm afraid. Sam exists in two worlds only. The past and the future. He has never succeded in coming to terms with the present. That is his tragedy."
"So what's left for him?"
He turned and looked at me gravely, the spanner in his right hand dripping oil. "I only know one thing with certainty. He should have died in combat at the height of his career like so many others. At the last possible moment of the war. November 1918, for preference."
It was a terrible thing to have to say and yet he meant it. I knew that. We stood staring at each other, the only sound the rain rushing into the ground. He wiped the oil from his hands with a piece of cotton waste and smiled sadly.
"Now I think we had better go and get him while there isstill time."
I could hear the laughter from the hotel long before we got there and it was entirely the wrong sort. I knew then we were in for trouble and so did Mannie. His face beneath the old sou'wester he wore against the rain was very pale.
As we approached the hotel steps I said, "This man, Avila? What's he like?"
He paused in the middle of the street. "There's a story I'm fond of about an old Hassidic Rabbi who, having no money around the house, gave one of his wife's rings to a beggar. When he told her what he'd done she went into hysterics be-cause the ring was a family heirloom and very valuable. On hearing this, the Rabbi ran through the streets looking for the beggar."
"To get his ring back?"
"No, to warn him of its true value in case anyone tried to cheat him when he sold it."
I laughed out loud, puzzled. "What's that got to do with Avila?"
"Nothing much, I suppose." He grinned wryly. "Except that he isn't like that."
We turned into the alley at the side of the hotel and paused again. "You'll find the kitchen door just round the corner as I described,' he said. 'Straight through to the bar. You can't miss it."
There was another burst of laughter from inside, "They seem to be enjoying themselves."
"I've heard laughter like that before. I didn't like it then and I don't like it now. Good luck," he added briefly and went round to the front of the hotel.
The kitchen door he had mentioned stood open and Figueiredo's wife was seated on a chair slicing vegetables into a bowl on her knee. I stepped past her, ignoring her look of astonishment and walked across the kitchen to the opposite door.
There was a short passage with the entrance to the bar at the far end and Figueiredo was standing on this side of the bead curtain peering through presumably keeping out of the way.
He glanced over his shoulder at my approach. I motioned him to silence and peered through. They were still grouped around the table, Hannah in the chair next to Avila. He was face-down across the table, quite obviously hopelessly drunk. As I watched, Avila pulled him upright by the hair, jerking the head back so that the mouth gaped.
He picked up a jug ofcachaca and poured in about a pint "You like that, senhor? The wine of the country, eh?"
Hannah started to choke and Avila released him so that he fell back across the table. The rest of them seemed to find this enormously funny and one of them emptied a glass over the American's head.
There was a sudden silence as Mannie moved into view from the right In the old sou'wester and yellow oilskin he could easily have looked ridiculoussyet didn't, which was a strange tiling. He walked towards the group at the same steady pace and paused.
Avila said, "Go away, there is nothing for you here."
Mannie's face was paler than ever. "Not without Captain Hannah."
Avila's hand came up holding a revolver. He cocked it very deliberately so I produced the automatic shotgun I had been holding under my oilskin coat and shoved Figueriedo out of the way. There was a wooden post on the far side of Avila, one of several set into the floor to help support the plank ceiling. It was the kind of target that even I couldn't miss. I took care-ful aim and fired. The post disintegrated in the centre and part of the ceiling sagged.
I have seldom seen men scatter faster than they did and when I stepped through the bead curtain, shotgun ready, they were all flat on the floor except for Avila who crouched on one knee beside Hannah, revolver ready.
"I'd put it down if I were you,' I told him. 'This is a six-shot automatic and I'm using steel ball cartridges."
He placed his gun very carefully on the table and stood back, eyeing me balefully. I went round the end of the bar and handed the shotgun to Mannie. Then I dropped to one knee beside Hannah, heaved him over my shoulder and stood up.
Avila said, "I will remember this, senhors. My turn will come."
I didn't bother to answer, simply turned and walked out and Mannie followed, the shotgun under one arm.
Hannah started to vomit halfway down the street and by the time we reached the house, there couldn't have been much left him him. We stripped him between us and got him into the shower which revived him a little, but the truth was that he was saturated with alcohol and partly out of his mind, I think, as we put him to bed.
He thrashed about for a while, hands plucking at himself. As I leaned over him, his eyes opened. He stared up at me, a slight frown on his face and smiled.
"You new, Kid? Just out from England?"
"Something like that" I glanced at Mannie who made no sign.
"If you last a week you've got a chance." He grabbed me by the front of my flying jacket. "I'll give you a tip. Never cross the line alone under ten thousand feet, that's lesson number one."
"I'll remember that," I said.
"And the sun - watch the sun."
I think he was trying to say more but his head fell to one side and he passed out again.
I said, "He thought he was back on the Western Front."
Mannie nodded. "Always the same. Hopelessly trapped by the past."
He tucked the blankets in around Hannah's shoulders very carefully and I went into the living-room. It had stopped rain-ing and moisture, drawn by the heat, rose from the ground out-side like smoke.
It was still cool in the bedroom and I lay down and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about Sam Hannah, the man who had once had everything and now had nothing. And after a while, I drifted into sleep.
FIVE
The Killing Ground
Forte Franco must have been the sort of posting which to any career officer was equivalent of a sentence of death. A sign that he was finished. That there was no more to come. Because of this I had expected the kind of second-rater one usually found in command of up-river military posts; incapable of realizing his own inadequacies and permanently soured by his present misfortunes.
Colonel Albert¯ was not at all like that. I was helping Mannie get the Hayley ready to go when the launch came into the jetty and he disembarked. He was every inch the soldier in a well-tailored drill uniform, shining boots, black polished holster on his right thigh. Parade-ground smart and the face beneath the peaked cap was intelligent and firm although tinged with yellow as if he'd had jaundice which was a common enough complaint in the climate.
There were half a dozen soldiers in the boat, but only one accompanied him, a young sergeant as smartly turned-out as his colonel with a briefcase in one hand and a couple of machine-guns slung over one shoulder.
Alberto smiled pleasantly and spoke in quite excellent Eng-lish. "A fine morning, Senhor Sterne. Is everything ready?"
"Just about," Mannie told him.
"And Captain Hannah?"
"Will be down shortly."
"I see." Alberto turned to me. "And this gentleman?"
"Neil Mallory," I said. "I'm Hannah's new pilot. I'm going up with you, just to get the feel of things."
"Excellent." He shook hands rather formally then glanced at his watch. "I have things to discuss with Figueiredo. I'll be back in half an hour. I'll leave Sergeant Lima here. He'll be going with us."
He moved away, a brisk, competent figure and the sergeant opened the cabin door and got rid of the machine-guns and the briefcase.
I said to Mannie, "What's his story? He doesn't look the type for up-country work."
"Political influence as far as I understand it," Mannie said. "Said the wrong thing to some government minister or other in front of people. Something like that, anyway."
"He looks a good man to me."
"Oh, he's that all right. At least as far as the job is con-cerned, but I've never cared for the professional soldier as a type. They made the end justify the means too often for my liking." He wiped his hands on a rag and stood back. "Well, she's ready as she'll ever be. Better get Hannah."
I found him in the shower, leaning in the comer for support, head turned up into the spray. When he turned it off and stepped out, he tried to smile and only succeeded in looking worse than ever.
"I feel as if they've just dug me up. What happened last night?"
"You got drunk,"I said.
"What on - wood alcohol? I haven't felt like this since Prohi-bition."
He wandered off to his bedroom like a very old man and I went into the kitchen and made some coffee. When it was ready, I took it out on a tray and found him on the veranda dressed for flying.
He wrapped a white scarf around his throat and took one of the mugs. "Smells good enough to drink. I thought you Limeys could only make tea?" He sipped a little, eyeing me speculatively. "What really happened last night?"
"Can't you remember anything?"
"I won a little money at poker, that's for sure. More than my share and Avila and his boys weren't too happy. Was there trouble?"
"I suppose you could say that"
"Tell me."
So I did. There was little point in holding anything back for he was certain to hear it for himself one way or the other.
When I was finished, he sat there on the rail holding the mug in both hands, his face very white, those pale eyes of his opaque, lifeless. As I have said, the appearance of things was of primary importance to him. His standing in other men's eyes, the image he protrayed to the world and these men had treated him like dirt - publicly humiliated him.
He smiled suddenly and unexpectedly, a slow burn as if what I had said had touched a fuse inside. I don't know what it would have done for Avila, but it certainly frightened me. He didn't say another word about the matter, didn't have to and I could only hope Avila would be long gone when we returned. He emptied what was left of his coffee over the rail and stood up. "Okay, let's get moving. We've got a schedule to keep."
