it,” and he ran back to the truck and drove away.
MORNING VISIT
The Lieutenant stopped and held up his hand. Over to his right he had seen the farm, half hidden by a clump of coconut palms.
The four negro soldiers shuffled to a standstill, grounding their rifles and leaning on them.
Overhead the sun beat down on the little group. The Lieutenant, the sweat oozing out of his fat hide, wriggled his body inside his uniform which stuck to him uncomfortably. He was acutely aware of the great patches of damp that stained his white uniform; and he cursed the heat, the President and, above all, the A.B.C. terrorists.
Contemptuously he regarded the four negroes, who stood staring with vacant eyes on the ground, like emasculated cattle. “This is the place,” he said, thrusting forward his bullet head. “Two of you to the right; two to the left. No noise. No shooting—use your bayonets if there’s trouble.”
He drew his sword. The steel blade flashed in the sunlight.
The soldiers opened out and advanced towards the farm at a trot. They held their heads down, and their rifles hung loosely in their hands. As they shambled over the uneven ground they looked like bloodhounds picking up a scent.
The Lieutenant moved forward at a slower pace. He walked gingerly, as if he were treading on egg-shells. Inside his once beautiful uniform, his fat body cringed at the thought of a bullet smashing into him. He took the precaution of keeping the coconut palms between him and the farm. When he could no longer shelter himself behind the slender trunks he broke into a run. The heat waves coiled round him like a rope as he lumbered over the rough ground.
The four soldiers had already reached the farm, and they stood in an uneven circle, waiting for the Lieutenant to come up. They were more animated now. They knew that very soon they would be back in the barracks out of the heat of the afternoon sun.
The farm was a squat dwelling, with a palm-thatched roof and whitewashed walls. As the Lieutenant approached cautiously, the door of the place opened and a tall, poorly dressed Cuban stepped into the sunshine.
The soldiers jerked up their rifles, threatening him with the glittering bayonets. The Cuban stood very still, his hands folded under his armpits, and his face wooden.
The Lieutenant said, “Lopez?”
The Cuban’s eyes flickered round at the soldiers, seeing only the ring of steel before him. He looked at the Lieutenant. “Yes,” he said, a dry rustle in his voice.
The Lieutenant swung his sword. “You may have heard of me,” he said, a wolfish smile pulling at his mouth. “Ricardo de Crespedes.”
Lopez shuffled his feet in the sand. His eyes flinched, but his face remained wooden. “You do me much honour, senor,” he said.
The Lieutenant said, “We’ll go inside,” and he stepped past Lopez, holding his sword at the alert. He walked into the dwelling.
Lopez followed him with two of the soldiers. The other two stood just outside the door.
The room was very poor, shabby, and dirty. De Crespedes moved to the rough table standing in the middle of the room and rested his haunches on it. He unbuttoned the flap on his revolver-holster and eased the revolver so that he could draw it easily. He said to one of the soldiers, “Search the place.”
Lopez moved uneasily. “Excellency, there is no one here—only my wife.”
The negro went into the other room. De Crespedes said, “See if he’s armed.”
The other soldier ran his big hands over Lopez, shook his head, and stepped back. De Crespedes hesitated, then reluctantly put up his sword. There was a long, uneasy pause.
The negro came back from the other room pushing a Cuban woman before him.
De Crespedes looked at her and his small eyes gleamed. The woman ran to Lopez and clung to him, her face blank with fear. She wore a white blouse and skirt; her feet were bare. De Crespedes thought she was extraordinarily nice. He touched his waxed moustache and smiled. The movement was not lost on Lopez, who tightened his hold on his wife.
De Crespedes said: “You’re hiding guns here. Where are they?”
Lopez shook his head. “I have no guns, Excellency. I am a poor farmer—I do not trade in guns.”
De Crespedes looked at the woman. He thought her breasts were superb. The sight of her drew his mind away from his duty and this faintly irritated him, because he was quite a good soldier. He said a little impatiently: “It will be better for you to say so now than later.”
The woman began to weep. Lopez touched her shoulder gently. “Quiet,” he said, “it’s Richardo de Crespedes.”
The Lieutenant drew himself to his full height and bowed. “He is right,” he said, rolling his bloodshot eyes a little. The woman could feel his rising lust for her.
Lopez said desperately: “Excellency, there has been some mistake—”
De Crespedes lost patience. He told the soldiers to search the place for guns. As the negroes began hunting, he pulled the woman away from Lopez. “Come here,” he said, “I want to look at you.”
Lopez opened his mouth, but no sound came from him, his eyes half closed and his hands clenched. He knew he could do nothing.
The woman stood close to de Crespedes, her hands clasped over her breasts. Her fear stirred his blood.
“Do you understand why I’m here?” he said, putting his hand on her bare arm. “Traitors are arming the people against the President. Guns have been hidden here. We know that. Where are they?”
She stood quivering like a nervous horse, not daring to draw away from him. She said: “Excellency, my man is a good man. He knows nothing about guns.”
“No?” De Crespedes pulled her closer to him. “You know nothing about these terrorists? Nothing about plots to overthrow Machado?”
Lopez stepped forward, pushing his wife roughly away, so that de Crespedes’ hold was broken. “We know nothing, Excellency.”
De Crespedes shoved himself away from the table. His face hardened. “Seize this man,” he barked.
One of the soldiers twisted Lopez’s arms behind him and held him.
The woman ran her fingers through her thick hair. Her eyes grew very wide. “Oh no… no…” she said.
De Crespedes himself supervised the search, but they found nothing. He went out into the sunlight again and shouted to the remaining soldiers to look round the outside of the farm. Then he came back. He stood in the doorway, looking at Lopez. “Where are the guns?” he said. “Quick—where are they?”
Lopez shook his head. “We know nothing about guns, Excellency.”
De Crespedes turned to the soldier. “Hold him very tightly.” Then he began to walk towards the woman. She turned to run into the other room, but the other soldier was standing against the door. He was smiling, and his teeth looked like piano keys. As she hesitated, de Crespedes caught up with her and his hand fell on the back of her blouse. He ripped it from her. She crouched against the wall, hiding her breasts with her hands, weeping softly.
De Crespedes looked over his shoulder at Lopez. “When you are dead,” he said, “I will have your woman— she is good.”
Lopez controlled himself with a great effort. He was completely powerless in the grip of the soldier.
De Crespedes said to the soldiers who came in at this moment, “Cut off his fingers until he’s ready to talk.”
The woman screamed. She fell on her knees in front of de Crespedes, wringing her hands. “We know nothing, Excellency,” she said wildly. “Don’t touch my man.”
De Crespedes looked down at her with a smile. Then he put his dusty boot on her bare breasts and shoved her away. She fell on her side and lay there, her head hidden under her arms.
