two I was tempted, then I thought of Lucy and the dismay that would come into her eyes if I returned to tell her the shooting was on again. Then I thought of Timoteo. I knew no money on earth would make that goon a marksman.
'No, I don't want more money,' I said. 'I couldn't earn it. No one can teach your son to shoot. There's something stopping him : a mental block. Maybe if you took him to a head shrinker, it might fix him, but I can't.'
Savanto nodded. He stared out across the neglected garden, his eyes sleepy, his small fat hands resting on his knees.
There was a long, uneasy silence.
'I'm sorry,' I said finally. 'I'll let you have my cheque for five hundred dollars. The food and drink are more or less intact. Your men can take away what's left.' I got to my feet. 'I'm sorry about the bet, but you shouldn't have made it.'
He looked up at me.
'There was no bet, Mr. Benson . . . just a harmless piece of fiction. Don't go away. I want to talk to you. Please sit down.'
I hesitated. Then I remembered Raimundo had the key of my car. I remembered there was another man in the house. The instinct I have for danger was alive.
I sat down.
'Would you like a drink, Mr. Benson?'
'No, thanks.'
'Change your mind . . . I am going to have one.' He looked over his shoulder and called 'Carlo!'
A giant of a man appeared in the doorway. He must have been standing just out of sight all the time Savanto had been talking to me. He was built like a boxer with enormous shoulders, a slim waist and long tapering legs. His moon-shaped face was flat and brutish, his eyes small, his nose spread across his face and he was as bald as an egg.
'Two whiskies, Carlo,' Savanto said.
The giant nodded and went away.
'That is Carlo,' Savanto said. 'He is a dangerous man when I need a dangerous man.'
I didn't say anything. I was now certain I had walked into trouble. I thought I could take on Raimundo, but not Raimundo and Carlo together.
We sat there in the shade, looking at the neglected garden and listening to the sound of the distant surf until Carlo returned, carrying a tray on which stood two glasses of whisky and ice. He put the tray down on the table and went away.
'Mr. Benson, you spoke of my son having a mental block,' Savanto said. 'You are right. He does have that. For you to understand why, I am going to tell you a little story that I hope you will find interesting.' He took one of the glasses, saluted me and sipped the whisky. 'My father lived in Venezuela : he was born there and he died there. He was a peasant and poor in spirit. He was also a dreamer and very religious. He believed a life of abject poverty was the will of God. He had two sons: myself and my brother, Antonio. My mother died of starvation. My brother and I decided to leave the but that my father proudly called our home. This was a serious decision because the sons in this district always did what their fathers wished and my father didn't wish us to leave.' He paused, looking at me. 'There is a strong tradition among the people I come from that children have to obey their parents: it amounts to superstition. If they disobeyed their parents they came to no good. Anyway, my brother and I left this miserable hut. We came to some good. We discovered a gold mine on our travels. By that time my father had also died of starvation. My brother and I became very rich. We married : each of us had a son. My brother had Diaz. I had Timoteo. Diaz took after his father. Timoteo took after his grandfather.' Savanto shrugged. 'I became interested in politics. I was forever remembering that my mother and my father had died of starvation. My brother became interested in power. We disagreed, quarrelled and parted. Now my brother is the Chief of the Red Dragon organisation which works with the Mafia. I am the Chief of the Little Brothers who represent the rights of the peasants.' He paused to sip his whisky. 'Am I boring you, Mr. Benson?'
'No, but I don't see why you are telling me all this.'
'Be patient. You have seen something of Timoteo. He isn't an impressive man, but nor was my father. He is a dreamer and an idealist and he is intelligent. He is also sentimental. He met a girl and fell in love with her. He came to me and said he wanted to marry this girl. He brought her to me.' Savanto fumbled in his pocket. 'Have you a cigarette, Mr. Benson, you can spare? I never seem to carry cigarettes with me.'
I put my pack of cigarettes on the table. He helped himself and I gave him a light.
'As soon as I saw this girl I knew Timoteo was making a mistake. She was not for him. She was pretty and so on, but light- minded. I told him so, but he was in love.' Savanto shrugged his shoulders. 'I persuaded him to wait a year.' He studied the end of his cigarette and then went on. Now we come to my nephew, Diaz Savanto. He is as like Timoteo as a tiger is like a lamb. He is a big, fine-looking man; very athletic, a splendid polo player, a good shot and a great success with women. He too met this girl Timoteo had fallen in love with. He knew Timoteo was in love with her.' Savanto paused again, frowning. 'My brother and I quarrelled bitterly. Diaz despised the Little Brothers, despised me and despised Timoteo. He is a bad man, Mr. Benson. He decided this girl gave him the opportunity he had been waiting for to show his contempt for me, my son and my organisation. He kidnapped the girl, raped her and branded her. In the old days, members of the Red Dragon organisation branded their cattle with their symbol.' Savanto looked down at his fat hands, frowning. He remained like that for some moments, then went on. 'He branded this girl with the Red Dragon symbol. An insult like that can only be wiped out by death. I am the Chief of the Little Brothers. I had only to raise my hand and my nephew would die. But I am unable to do this because what he has done is a personal insult to my son. It is my son who has personally to avenge the insult.'
I moved uneasily, but I was listening.
'All the members of the Little Brothers know of this insult,' Savanto went on. 'They are waiting to hear that Diaz Savanto is dead, killed by my son's hand. They know Timoteo is taking shooting lessons. They are patient people, but they are waiting and they are becoming less patient. Diaz knows Timoteo is incapable of killing anyone. He knows Timoteo takes after his grandfather : a life is sacred and belongs to God. That was what my father thought and that is what Timoteo thinks. This is the mental block you speak of. But revenge is part of our tradition. My people don't think the way Timoteo thinks. If he doesn't kill Diaz the name of Savanto will be disgraced. I will no longer be Chief.' He finished his whisky. 'Now, Mr. Benson, perhaps you understand my problem.'
