blow, now, will be decisive.”
Walter brought his hands from the table, and clapped them together twice, slowly. Delighted, or ironic. “And?” He put something to his mouth that looked like a handkerchief; he brought it away covered with blood. “What is that?” I said, horrified, pointing at his bloody hand. “Is your throat bleeding?” A sudden spasm of anxiety: his cancer had recurred.
Walter looked at me, as if I were crazy. “A piece of bread. With jam. Are you all right?”
“Oh.” I tried to pull myself back from that world. “Yes. It’s the asthma. I’m seeing things.” When I had gestured at his bread I had spilled tea all over my hand, my arm, my leg. I liked the sharp pain. But it turned lukewarm; the damp splotches here and there on my body annoyed me; they made me feel in fragments. I strained to remember what Walter and I had been talking about. I saw Fidel sitting stonily in a wooden desk chair. “He didn’t speak fora while. We had thought these things, we had spoken these things to each other many times. My way was clear. In that silence I became even more certain. I wasn’t intimidated by his stillness; it didn’t cause me a moment’s doubt. I thought it pointless. He wanted to sidestep the issue; he wanted me to take back the truth I had spoken. But there’s no way to go back. Then he said, Argentina is impossible. The masses there still dream of Peron, there is no way to discredit a dream, the dream of a just king. Nothing could be done there until the matter of Peron was settled. I agreed. He said that Latin America was too nationalist for me to operate anywhere else but in Argentina. And the other parties wouldn’t support a guerrilla movement I led. They’d be terrified of me. I’d be condemned as an adventurer. They’d follow the Russian line. We could say what we would about their cowardice, we could rub their faces in their own shit. But they wouldn’t change. They were craven opportunists, and the Russians fed them. The Russians owned their balls, etc.”
“You said?” Walter sounded like a child who wanted more story—making allowances for a voice so very old it was not human but a tree’s.
“I said what he’s heard me say, what you have heard me say, a thousand times. Once we begin, the parties will have to support us or be swept away in the war. The Revolution must be continental, a struggle on many fronts. The imperialists will bleed from a hundred places. But he wasn’t listening. He was distracted inwardly, twirling the edges of his sideburns between his fingers. We stopped then, and smoked. He said, musingly, You must move slowly with bureaucrats, bring them along, neutralize them, until they don’t know what they’ve gotten into. He was coming round to my way of thinking. He was silent again. And we sat. Then he talked about guilt, and sacrifice, those things I’ve told you about already.”
Walter picked up a knife from beside his plate. He spread his other hand on the table, and poked the knife rapidly back and forth between his long thin fingers, into the wood of the table. He was like a shuttle. Was this a riddle about sacrifice? He was in a trance. I didn’t want to startle him, afraid he would jab himself. I asked softly, “Why are you poking yourself?”
“I’m not. You look awful.”
“An attack. It will pass.”
“Couldn’t you lie?”
“To whom?”
Walter looked astonished. “I said you should lie down.”
“No. I’ll be all right. I want to tell you the rest. I want to know what you think.”
“What else did you say?”
“I said I’d consider his points. He said he’d think about what he could dofor me. There’s a great deal he could do, must do—financing, arrangements with other parties, propaganda. But it would anger many people. I should go away for a while, and think things through. I needed a rest after my trip. And I infuriate the Russians. It would be easier to operate if I were out of the way for a while.
Walter brought his hands from the table, and clapped them together twice, slowly. Delighted, or ironic. “And?” He put something to his mouth that looked like a handkerchief; he brought it away covered with blood. “What is that?” I said, horrified, pointing at his bloody hand. “Is your throat bleeding?” A sudden spasm of anxiety: his cancer had recurred.
Walter looked at me, as if I were crazy. “A piece of bread. With jam. Are you all right?”
“Oh.” I tried to pull myself back from that world. “Yes. It’s the asthma. I’m seeing things.” When I had gestured at his bread I had spilled tea all over my hand, my arm, my leg. I liked the sharp pain. But it turned lukewarm; the damp splotches here and there on my body annoyed me; they made me feel in fragments. I strained to remember what Walter and I had been talking about. I saw Fidel sitting stonily in a wooden desk chair. “He didn’t speak fora while. We had thought these things, we had spoken these things to each other many times. My way was clear. In that silence I became even more certain. I wasn’t intimidated by his stillness; it didn’t cause me a moment’s doubt. I thought it pointless. He wanted to sidestep the issue; he wanted me to take back the truth I had spoken. But there’s no way to go back. Then he said, Argentina is impossible. The masses there still dream of Peron, there is no way to discredit a dream, the dream of a just king. Nothing could be done there until the matter of Peron was settled. I agreed. He said that Latin America was too nationalist for me to operate anywhere else but in Argentina. And the other parties wouldn’t support a guerrilla movement I led. They’d be terrified of me. I’d be condemned as an adventurer. They’d follow the Russian line. We could say what we would about their cowardice, we could rub their faces in their own shit. But they wouldn’t change. They were craven opportunists, and the Russians fed them. The Russians owned their balls, etc.”
“You said?” Walter sounded like a child who wanted more story—making allowances for a voice so very old it was not human but a tree’s.
“I said what he’s heard me say, what you have heard me say, a thousand times. Once we begin, the parties will have to support us or be swept away in the war. The Revolution must be continental, a struggle on many fronts. The imperialists will bleed from a hundred places. But he wasn’t listening. He was distracted inwardly, twirling the edges of his sideburns between his fingers. We stopped then, and smoked. He said, musingly, You must move slowly with bureaucrats, bring them along, neutralize them, until they don’t know what they’ve gotten into. He was coming round to my way of thinking. He was silent again. And we sat. Then he talked about guilt, and sacrifice, those things I’ve told you about already.”
Walter picked up a knife from beside his plate. He spread his other hand on the table, and poked the knife rapidly back and forth between his long thin fingers, into the wood of the table. He was like a shuttle. Was this a riddle about sacrifice? He was in a trance. I didn’t want to startle him, afraid he would jab himself. I asked softly, “Why are you poking yourself?”
“I’m not. You look awful.”
“An attack. It will pass.”
“Couldn’t you lie?”
“To whom?”
Walter looked astonished. “I said you should lie down.”
“No. I’ll be all right. I want to tell you the rest. I want to know what you think.”
“What else did you say?”
“I said I’d consider his points. He said he’d think about what he could dofor me. There’s a great deal he could do, must do—financing, arrangements with other parties, propaganda. But it would anger many people. I should go away for a while, and think things through. I needed a rest after my trip. And I infuriate the Russians. It would be easier to operate if I were out of the way for a while.
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