return.’
‘That I might do,’ he replied, ‘if I knew why Heredia had put you inside when you are not of our party.’
I had to invent some reason. I had begun to feel a liking for the Retadores; they reminded me of the humbler members of the Spanish hotel staff with whom I had sometimes shared a jug of wine
after making my formal and usually unnecessary inspection of a kitchen. They relished any shaft of humour, especially if sardonic.
‘Look! You know that Doña Juana recently flew back from London. Well, I travelled alongside her, and halfway across the Atlantic she began to permit certain intimacies. I think that
a steward must have noticed her enjoyment and reported it to the old sod in the palace and he made sure that I should not sit close to her again.’
‘The President’s wife! Well, she was once beautiful and, by God, there’s plenty of her left to play with. I wouldn’t mind sitting next to her myself. Look, mate,’
he went on, ‘we came out without any rations, but I carry about with me a little flask of good rum for emergencies only, you understand. Here it is and help yourself and be sure that we will
carry you back to camp if those legs of yours won’t. Now we are off!’
I had guessed right. They were all Indians or had Indian blood, but as well as the language they had absorbed the spirit of Spain. His generous gift was most welcome, but sheer liquid fire for
any poor gringo brought up on whisky. I took a couple of mouthfuls and settled down with my back against a tree trunk. I felt a new confidence in myself, having survived a Father of his Country and
revolutionaries alike with all spare parts still intact.
They returned after a couple of hours, driving in front of them a party of my former pursuers with no trousers. I saw no brutality apart from laughter when any of the prisoners tripped into a
cactus and had trouble regaining his feet because his hands were tied behind his back. A march of an hour took us to the headquarters of the brigade which was keeping a distant watch on the city.
It was a village of temporary huts set in a dip of high plateau, containing wives and children who had been burnt out of their homes as well as the fighting men. The west side looked across
impassable forest to a rugged coastline. On the land side, any force of Heredistas which broke out of the trees would be met by a curtain of fire from four or five strong points.
I was held apart from the rest of the prisoners and, lest that should show favouritism to a member of the
classe culta
, made to sit on the ground outside the commander’s tent while
a smart orderly, probably a deserter from the regular army, went in to report what my captors had said about me. He then led me in before a major – to judge by his ragged insignia – of
about my own age with a fair pointed beard who looked like one of the original Conquistadores. I had no hat to raise so I gave him a courtly bow.
‘First do me the favour to explain who you are and what an Englishman is doing in Malpelo.’
I replied that I was an archaeologist named Edmond Hawkins and a friend of the son-in-law of the President.
‘He was about to escort the Presidenta back from London to Malpelo and asked me if I would like to come with them. Naturally, I jumped at the chance. But on the second night after my
arrival there was a raid on the shop of a watchmaker and afterwards I was put under arrest for no reason. My story of an indecency with Doña Juana was an invention to amuse your troops. I
did not sit near her and, if you will excuse me, she is not to my taste.’
‘I have met this Hector McMurtrie. What is your opinion of him?’
‘His interests do not correspond to his sympathies.’
‘And yours?’
‘I cannot see that your Retadores are against democracy. You have, I believe, a number of so-called communists, but what of it? If they should seize power, they are not likely to storm the
Panama Canal.’
‘You are right. The
‘That I might do,’ he replied, ‘if I knew why Heredia had put you inside when you are not of our party.’
I had to invent some reason. I had begun to feel a liking for the Retadores; they reminded me of the humbler members of the Spanish hotel staff with whom I had sometimes shared a jug of wine
after making my formal and usually unnecessary inspection of a kitchen. They relished any shaft of humour, especially if sardonic.
‘Look! You know that Doña Juana recently flew back from London. Well, I travelled alongside her, and halfway across the Atlantic she began to permit certain intimacies. I think that
a steward must have noticed her enjoyment and reported it to the old sod in the palace and he made sure that I should not sit close to her again.’
‘The President’s wife! Well, she was once beautiful and, by God, there’s plenty of her left to play with. I wouldn’t mind sitting next to her myself. Look, mate,’
he went on, ‘we came out without any rations, but I carry about with me a little flask of good rum for emergencies only, you understand. Here it is and help yourself and be sure that we will
carry you back to camp if those legs of yours won’t. Now we are off!’
I had guessed right. They were all Indians or had Indian blood, but as well as the language they had absorbed the spirit of Spain. His generous gift was most welcome, but sheer liquid fire for
any poor gringo brought up on whisky. I took a couple of mouthfuls and settled down with my back against a tree trunk. I felt a new confidence in myself, having survived a Father of his Country and
revolutionaries alike with all spare parts still intact.
They returned after a couple of hours, driving in front of them a party of my former pursuers with no trousers. I saw no brutality apart from laughter when any of the prisoners tripped into a
cactus and had trouble regaining his feet because his hands were tied behind his back. A march of an hour took us to the headquarters of the brigade which was keeping a distant watch on the city.
It was a village of temporary huts set in a dip of high plateau, containing wives and children who had been burnt out of their homes as well as the fighting men. The west side looked across
impassable forest to a rugged coastline. On the land side, any force of Heredistas which broke out of the trees would be met by a curtain of fire from four or five strong points.
I was held apart from the rest of the prisoners and, lest that should show favouritism to a member of the
classe culta
, made to sit on the ground outside the commander’s tent while
a smart orderly, probably a deserter from the regular army, went in to report what my captors had said about me. He then led me in before a major – to judge by his ragged insignia – of
about my own age with a fair pointed beard who looked like one of the original Conquistadores. I had no hat to raise so I gave him a courtly bow.
‘First do me the favour to explain who you are and what an Englishman is doing in Malpelo.’
I replied that I was an archaeologist named Edmond Hawkins and a friend of the son-in-law of the President.
‘He was about to escort the Presidenta back from London to Malpelo and asked me if I would like to come with them. Naturally, I jumped at the chance. But on the second night after my
arrival there was a raid on the shop of a watchmaker and afterwards I was put under arrest for no reason. My story of an indecency with Doña Juana was an invention to amuse your troops. I
did not sit near her and, if you will excuse me, she is not to my taste.’
‘I have met this Hector McMurtrie. What is your opinion of him?’
‘His interests do not correspond to his sympathies.’
‘And yours?’
‘I cannot see that your Retadores are against democracy. You have, I believe, a number of so-called communists, but what of it? If they should seize power, they are not likely to storm the
Panama Canal.’
‘You are right. The
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