Southern Seas by Manuel Vázquez Montalbán Read Free Book Online Page B

itself.
    ‘OK, let’s agree that he went to the South Seas. Did he ever try to get in touch with you or any of your brothers?’
    ‘Not with me. I don’t know about the others, but I don’t think so. Nene has been in Bali for months. The twins were almost strangers to him, and the little one is only eight.’
    ‘But the Jesuits are throwing him out.’
    ‘So much the worse for them. It’s crazy to send a kid to the Jesuits in this day and age. Tito is too imaginative for that kind of education.’
    ‘When your father appears to you, does he say where he was, all that time?’
    ‘There’s no need. I know where he was. In the South Seas. In a wonderful place where he could make a fresh start. The same young man who went to make his fortune in Uruguay.’
    The girl’s account was a bit wide of the mark, but Carvalho had a soft spot for emotional myths.
    ‘Jésica …’
    ‘Jésica … No one ever calls me that. Nearly everybody calls me Yes. Some say Yésica, but no one says Jésica. It sounds nice. Look. My father, skiing in Saint-Moritz. Here he’s giving someone a prize. You know, he looks like you.’
    Carvalho had tired of the sentimental journey through the album. He waved aside the possibility of any resemblance, and half sank back into a black leather sofa. This position of forced relaxation allowed him to contemplate the girl as she bent over the album. Her jeans were unable to conceal the strong, upright legs of a sportswoman, just as her short-sleeved woollen jumper failed to hide two firm breasts with immature nipples. Her neck served as a long, flexible column for the continual leftward and right-ward movement of her head. The ponytail trickled down slowly like honey from some wonderful pot. Sensing that Carvalho was looking at her, she took the swinging ponytail in one hand and turned to face him. He met her gaze. They stared into each other’s eyes until suddenly she ran towards the sofa and sat on Carvalho’s knee. She put her arms around him and buried her blonde head in his chest. The detective reacted without haste. He allowed the girl to let herself go, and slipped in an embrace that went a little beyond calming a young girl’s secret terrors.
    ‘Let him sleep. He’s gone to sleep. He went looking for purification, and now he’s asleep. The only reason they keep chasing him is because they’re jealous.’
    The Ophelia type, thought Carvalho, and he was unsure whether to shake her or sympathize with her. In the end, he gently stroked her head, suppressing an urge to embark on an artful exploration of her neck. Irritated by his own indecision, hemoved her away with a gesture that was sudden but controlled.
    ‘When you get the marijuana out of your system, I’d like to come back and talk with you.’
    She smiled, with her eyes closed. Her hands were loosely clenched between her legs.
    ‘I’m fine now. If only you could see what I see!’
    Carvalho went towards the door, and turned to say goodbye. She sat there, still in ecstasy. Once before in his life he had slept with a girl like that—twenty years previously in San Francisco. She was a paediatrician whom he had been trailing in connection with Soviet infiltration of the early American counter-cultural movements. There was something missing from Señorita Stuart, though: the kind of imperial presence which only a North American body could express. Instead, she had that measure of frailty which, however small, clings to every southerner in the world, whatever their social class. Without thinking, he jotted down his name, address and phone number on a piece of paper, and walked back to hand it to the girl.
    ‘Here.’
    ‘Why? What for? What’s the point?’
    ‘In case you remember anything else when your head has cleared.’
    He virtually ran from the room. Large steps that faked a sense of purpose.

    Planas had agreed to meet him at one of his companies, the Central Beer plant where he had to attend a board meeting. He would be