At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances

what I believe. That is the policy of the new Government.’

‘A very fine philosophy,’ whispered the Colonel to von Igelfeld. ‘Exactly the same philosophy as that professed by the last Government, and the Government before it.’

‘And did they achieve what they set out to achieve?’ asked von Igelfeld.

‘Good heavens, no,’ said the Colonel. ‘But then governments don’t run this country. This country is run by narcotraficantes and the like. Governments are window-dressing in this part of the world.’

‘I find that very hard to believe,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘Surely you could not have a country run by criminals. Surely that is impossible.’

‘Au contraire,’ said the Colonel, reaching for a tooth-pick. ‘That is exactly what happens. And our friend Pedro and his cronies know it full well. Just wait and see. Just you wait and see.’

They were told at the end of lunch to prepare themselves for departure to Bogota. Dolores Quinta Barranquilla had decided to stay behind, in spite of being invited to go to Bogota and join the new Government. She had a responsibility for the villa, she explained, but she would like to have them all out for a literary weekend – the entire Cabinet – as soon as possible. Pedro thought this a good idea and got out his diary to check dates. So with Dolores Quinta Barranquilla staying behind, Cinco Fermentaciones, von Igelfeld, Pedro, the General and the Colonel would all fly down to Bogota in the General’s helicopter.

Von Igelfeld packed his suitcase and made his way out to the helicopter. Climbing in, he noticed, to his relief, that the General was not proposing to pilot the aircraft, but that a moustachioed pilot in dark glasses was seated at the controls. Soon they were all strapped into their seats and with a great whirring of blades the helicopter pulled itself up into the mid-afternoon air. Down below, holding on to her hat in the breeze from the rotors, Dolores Quinta Barranquilla looked up and waved. Von Igelfeld waved back. She had been a fine hostess, and a brave one too. They would meet again, he hoped, perhaps in the not-too-distant future. And it was then that the thought occurred. You should marry her. He smiled. Impossible. No, it would not be.

They hovered over the villa for a moment, as if acknowledging the cheers of the guerrillas and soldiers down below. Then, swooping off, away from the mountainside behind the villa, they set off for Bogota and for the political destiny that awaited them. Von Igelfeld closed his eyes. Soon he would be back in Germany, back in the Institute. He would be talking to Herr Huber over coffee. He would be inspecting his room for signs of intrusion by Unterholzer. He would be passing on Zeitschrift articles to Prinzel for checking. South America, and its revolutions, would be many miles away, a dim memory of a life which he had glimpsed and which had embraced him so wholeheartedly in its contortions. On balance he was glad that all this had happened, though, that he had been a man of action and come through it, alive. Now there was even less reason to read Hemingway. It would all seem too tame, too unrealistic.

Von Igelfeld spent that night in Cinco Fermentaciones’ house in the centre of Bogota. It was a noisy evening, as the population was out in full strength to celebrate the new Government. Fireworks were exploded and there was singing, but von Igelfeld succeeded nonetheless in sleeping well. The following morning, over breakfast, he announced to Cinco Fermentaciones that he would need to consult a travel agent about his return flight.

‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ said his host.

Von Igelfeld raised an eyebrow. ‘And why not?’

‘Because Pedro expects you to stay,’ said Cinco Fermentaciones. ‘He telephoned me last night, after you had gone to bed. We are both to be in the Government.’

‘That is quite unacceptable,’ said von Igelfeld sharply. ‘I have many other things to do.’

‘It won’t be for all that long,’ said Cinco Fermentaciones. ‘These governments don’t last all that long. Eight, nine months perhaps. A year at the outside.’

‘I still do not want to do it,’ said von Igelfeld.

Cinco Fermentaciones sighed. ‘In that case, I have no future.’ ‘I don’t see what you mean,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘What’s it got to do with your future?’

‘If you’re not in, then I’m not in,’ said Cinco Fermentaciones. ‘And if I’m not in the Government, then my enemies will kill me. By saying that you won’t join, you’re signing my death warrant. I shall have to make a will.’

Von Igelfeld was alarmed. ‘But, please,’ he said. ‘I would not wish that to happen.’ He paused. Perhaps he could serve in the Government for a short time and then resign. That might save Cinco Fermentaciones from his fate. He proposed this to Cinco Fermentaciones, who agreed that it would be a good compromise.

‘Give it a month or so,’ said Cinco Fermentaciones. ‘Then you can resign. I’ll be safely entrenched by then. Even better, I shall have myself appointed Ambassador to Paris or somewhere agreeable like that.’

Von Igelfeld agreed, reluctantly, of course, and his agreement cheered Cinco Fermentaciones, who had been looking rather despondent. Then, once they had finished their breakfast, they stepped out of the house into the large black limousine which Pedro had despatched to collect them. This took them through the streets of the Old Town to the Government Palace where Pedro, now wearing a handsome bottle-green uniform, very similar to the General’s but distinguished by the addition of several extra gold stripes, met them on the steps.

That morning the Cabinet was sworn in and had its first session. Von Igelfeld did not say much, but he noticed that many members seemed to defer to him on difficult points; and he nodded or shook his head, almost at random, but nonetheless with a firmness of purpose which seemed to impress his fellow Ministers. Then they adjourned for lunch, at which large quantities of the country’s finest wines were served. The company at the table was congenial, and members of the Cabinet moved from chair to chair between courses, so that everybody could have the chance to talk to one another. It was after one of these changes that he found himself sitting next to Pedro.

‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you, Professor von Igelfeld,’ he said. ‘If it weren’t for you, there might have been a terrible battle, which we might not have won.’

Von Igelfeld waved a hand in an airy fashion. ‘It was really nothing,’ he said. ‘Just one shot.’

‘One shot,’ echoed Pedro. ‘But one shot was enough to bring down a rotten government.’

‘Well . . . ’

‘And because of that,’ went on Pedro, ‘I have decided that the right thing to do is to ask you to perform a