The Second Son

Mueller had been running one of his pincer fingers along the table’s edge, staring at it as it went back and forth.

Gabriel said, “He knows better than to trust any of this good fortune, don’t you, Toby?”

Mueller looked up. He bobbed an indifferent nod.

Gabriel said, “It’s because you’re a criminal, isn’t it, and criminals always know better.”

Mueller said, “Is he around today?”

“Tell me, Toby,” said Gabriel, “do you think the fascist generals are done for? Are we anarchists as unstoppable as we think we are?”

It was clear Mueller was uncomfortable with this, and not because he was any less savvy than the rest. He just didn’t like the distraction. “Is he in the back?” he asked.

Gabriel said, “Toby can tell you who’s the best man to get a voucher from, where you can still find a bit of ammunition, and how to get a truckload of whiskey down the coast. He’s always been good with those sorts of things.” His cigarette had lost its flame; even so, it stayed on his lip as he continued. “You remember that banker we pulled from his car-paying off scabs to work during one of the general strikes? What was that-’thirty, ’thirty-one? We needed to know which gas station he used on Fridays. Toby figured it out. That’s why he got to keep the car.” Gabriel laughed-it was tobacco-laced, and he pulled the dead cigarette from his mouth. A fresh one was in its place and lit within seconds. “What Toby won’t do is look into the future. I haven’t decided which I admire most. Yes, he’s in the back. I wouldn’t take too long with it.”

Mueller stood and reached into his pocket. Hoffner stood as well, and Mueller placed two pairs of women’s nylons on the table.

“We ask for guns and you bring us this,” Gabriel said. “You’re a good man, Toby. Maybe you can look into the future.”

Mueller said, “It’ll take more than a pair of these for the two of you to catch a girl. They’re all wearing trousers these days, anyway.”

Aurelio reached over for his and stuffed it in his pocket. “Every little bit helps.”

Mueller squeezed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Live to enjoy this.” He nodded at Hoffner to follow him.

Hoffner stepped out. “Good luck with your boy,” Gabriel said.

Hoffner picked up the valise and satchel. “Good luck with your war.” He turned and began to weave his way through the chairs toward the cafe door.

Josep Gardenyes-no one ever remembered his real name-sat at a table in the back against a wall and ate hungrily from a bowl. It looked like soup, but who would have been crazy enough to eat soup in this weather, except maybe Josep Gardenyes, whose real name no one could ever remember.

Hoffner stopped and set his bags by the bar while Mueller made his way between the empty tables. This time he had been told to stay back. Mueller pulled up, and Hoffner watched as the two men spoke.

Gardenyes was a weathered forty and not one for embraces or warm smiles. His thin glance at the bar, though brief, was enough to make clear how beautifully Gabriel and Aurelio had played it: despite himself, Gardenyes needed protecting. He might have resented the caution but he accepted the loyalty.

Mueller nodded to Hoffner, and Gardenyes pushed the bowl to the edge of the table. This was as much of an invitation as he was likely to give. Hoffner went over and pulled back a chair.

Gardenyes said, “For a policeman you have interesting friends.”

Whether it had been Mueller or the shoes, Hoffner decided on a lazy smile. “Former policeman,” he said.

“I don’t think there is such a thing.” Gardenyes was now speaking Catalan.

“You do find them from time to time,” Hoffner answered in kind. He sat.

A faint light of respect played in Gardenyes’s eyes. “A German bull-ex bull-with Catalan. I’m even more concerned.” The eyes began to show a smile.

“I spent time here as a boy,” said Hoffner. “Not that difficult to pick it up.” He looked into the bowl and found a few empty mussel shells, the remains of an overcooked potato, and the skin from a fish resting high on the rim. “Were the prawns fresh?” he said, as he picked up the potato and squeezed it in his fingers.

The smile reached Gardenyes’s lips. “I can have them make you a plate.”

Hoffner nodded and dropped the potato back in. He picked up a knife and continued to sort through the food. He said, “You like suquet, Toby?”

Mueller had found two more glasses and was pouring the wine. “Fish stew? Fine by me as long as they don’t put beef in it.” He set the bottle down. “No beef this time. That was disgusting.”

Hoffner was still with the knife, propping up and examining the underside of the skin, when Gardenyes said, “You spent time north of here?”

“Yes,” said Hoffner. Even the bones had been eaten.

“And now you’ve lost your son.”

The smile remained on Gardenyes’s face even as Hoffner looked over. Hoffner said, “Not yet, I hope.”

“That’s a bit cold.”

“Why? It’s what you wanted to hear me say.” Hoffner set the knife down. “I can guarantee you my son isn’t dead, if that’s what you’re thinking. As for lost, that would mean he was mine to lose. He wasn’t.”

Gardenyes studied Hoffner’s face before looking past him to a man standing by the door to the kitchen. Gardenyes motioned for two more and Hoffner brought out his cigarettes. Gardenyes took one and Hoffner lit it.

Gardenyes said, “Not every day you get to light the cigarette of a dead man.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Hoffner.

Mueller set the bottle down, took hold of his glass, and said, “They’re not going to kill you, Josep.” He drank.

“Oh, yes, they will. And when they do, Gabriel and Aurelio will tell them I was a criminal, too dangerous, and they’ll save themselves.”

Hoffner said, “And here I thought it was your anarchists who were running things now.”

“You’re in Spain,” said Gardenyes. “There are anarchists and there are anarchists.”

Hoffner lit his own. “I imagine you’ll be up on a cross at the time, begging for water?”

Gardenyes gave into a quiet laugh. “Up on a cross. That’s good. I’ve heard He was a bit wild, too. And dangerous. Although you wouldn’t know it to see Him these days.”

“If anyone’s actually looking for Him.”

Smoke trailed from Gardenyes’s nose. “Oh, they’re looking for Him. Trust me. There’s probably half a dozen nuns and priests hiding in plain sight just the other side of the road.”

“I must have missed them.”

“You can tell them by the little gold chains underneath the neckerchiefs. Ragged trousers, white shirts, little berets, and always with the loudest ?Viva la Republica! as they pass you by. But it’s that chain they can’t quite bring themselves to tear off. They’ll lie through their teeth as long as little Jesus is still dangling close to their hearts. Such a short walk from anarchist to savior, not that they’d know it.”

“And yet you’re convinced your men will betray you.”

“Betray me?” A wry if uncertain smile crossed Gardenyes’s eyes. “I’m the one who’s told them to do it. No reason all three of us should be dead.”

“Very noble.”

Again Gardenyes studied Hoffner. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“No, I probably don’t.” Hoffner took a pull and caught sight of Mueller out of the corner of his eye. It was nice to see Toby this uncomfortable.

Luckily Gardenyes seemed to be enjoying it. “I was thinking your balls must be sore-riding all the way down from Montjuic-but here they are, on display.”

The plates arrived. The man from the kitchen pulled two spoons from his apron and was gone as quickly as he had come. Mueller sniffed warily at his food; Hoffner set his cigarette in the ashtray.

“It used to be they called me a criminal-a common criminal-because it was easier for them,” Gardenyes said. “Toss me in prison, exact their revenge in the name of order. It gave their law, meaningless as it was, a sense of moral purpose. There’s your God again, even if He was being used to strip away anything human from the people He was sent to protect.”