Our Man In Havana by Graham Greene Read Free Book Online Page B

need fuel. Dictators drift together. Big ones draw in the little ones.’
    ‘Atomic submarines don’t need fuel.’
    ‘Quite right, old man, quite right. But wars always start a little behind the times. Have to be prepared for conventional weapons too. Then there’s economic intelligence – sugar, coffee, tobacco.’
    ‘You can find all that in the Government year-books.’
    ‘We don’t trust them, old man. Then political intelligence. With your cleaners you’ve got the entrée everywhere.’
    ‘Do you expect me to analyse the fluff?’
    ‘It may seem a joke to you, old man, but the main source of the French intelligence at the time of Dreyfus was a charwoman who collected the scraps out of the waste-paper baskets at the German Embassy.’
    ‘I don’t even know your name.’
    ‘Hawthorne.’
    ‘But who are you?’
    ‘Well, you might say I’m setting up the Caribbean network. One moment. Someone’s coming. I’ll wash. You slip into a closet. Mustn’t be seen together.’
    ‘We
have
been seen together.’
    ‘Passing encounter. Fellow-countrymen.’ He thrust Wormold into the compartment as he had thrust him into the lavatory, ‘It’s the drill, you know,’ and then there was silence except for the running tap. Wormold sat down. There was nothing else to do. When he was seated his legs still showed under the half door. A handle turned. Feet crossed the tiled floor towards the pissoir. Water went on running. Wormold felt an enormous bewilderment. He wondered why he had not stopped all this nonsense at the beginning. No wonder Mary had left him. He remembered one of their quarrels. ‘Why don’t you do something, act some way, any way at all? You just stand there …’ At least, he thought, this time I’m not standing, I’m sitting. But in any case what could he have said? He hadn’t been given time to get a word in. Minutes passed. What enormous bladders Cubans had, and how clean Hawthorne’s hands must be getting by this time. The water stopped running. Presumably he was drying his hands, but Wormold remembered there were no towels. That was another problem for Hawthorne but he would be up to it. All part of the drill. At last the feet passed towards the door. The door closed.
    ‘Can I come out?’ Wormold asked. It was like a surrender. He was under orders now.
    He heard Hawthorne tiptoeing near. ‘Give me a few minutes to get away, old man. Do you know who that was? The policeman. A bit suspicious, eh?’
    ‘He may have recognized my legs under the door. Do you think we ought to change trousers?’
    ‘Wouldn’t look natural,’ Hawthorne said, ‘but you are getting the idea. I’m leaving the key of my room in the basin. Fifth floor Seville-Biltmore. Just walk up. Ten tonight. Things to discuss. Money and so on. Sordid issues. Don’t ask for me at the desk.’
    ‘Don’t you need your key?’
    ‘Got a pass key. I’ll be seeing you.’
    Wormold stood up in time to see the door close behind the elegant figure and the appalling slang. The key was there in the wash-basin – Room 501.
    3
    At half-past nine Wormold went to Milly’s room to say good night. Here, where the duenna was in charge, everything was in order – the candle had been lit before the statue of St Seraphina, the honey-coloured missal lay beside the bed, the clothes were eliminated as though they had never existed, and a faint smell of eau-de-Cologne blew about like incense.
    ‘You’ve got something on your mind,’ Milly said. ‘You aren’t still worrying, are you, about Captain Segura?’
    ‘You never pull my leg, do you, Milly?’
    ‘No. Why?’
    ‘Everybody else seems to.’
    ‘Did Mother?’
    ‘I suppose so. In the early days.’
    ‘Does Dr Hasselbacher?’
    He remembered the Negro limping slowly by. He said, ‘Perhaps. Sometimes.’
    ‘It’s a sign of affection, isn’t it?’
    ‘Not always. I remember at school –’ He stopped.
    ‘What do you remember, Father?’
    ‘Oh, a lot of