It was the morning of the fifth day and Ortega did not wake like a child. He was awakened by someone leaning over him and shaking his shoulder. At first it was a nightmare and then misinterpreted reality. Desperately he thrust his hand under the pillow and tried to throw himself onto the floor. And then a voice: “Calm down, calm down, for Christ’s sake. It’s only me.”
Eventually he sat up again and stared at the man who had awakened him. It was Fernández.
“Something has happened and I thought I’d better wake you.”
“What’s happened?”
“I don’t know, but there’s a hell of a row going on in town. It’s already been on for some time. Gómez has had a look out front and says it’s to the right somewhere. There was a whole string of explosions at first, a long way off, almost like an air raid; more than two hours ago. Now they’re shooting away like mad. You can hear yells and screams too, Gómez says.”
“Get out while I dress.”
He did not bother to shower, although he was soaked with sweat and still dazed by the sleeping tablets. He rinsed his hands and face, however, but the water only trickled spasmodically out of the faucet. He dressed and strapped on the Astra, shrugging on his jacket as he went into his office. For once he forgot to be afraid of the door and this time there happened to be someone in there. But it was Gómez.
He lifted the telephone receiver and looked at the clock, which said twenty-five past five. He had to wait a long time before getting through to the switchboard, but police headquarters answered immediately. An excited voice said: “The chief? No, he isn’t—yes, just a minute—he’s just going past.”
There was a clatter.
“Hell—yes. Behounek speaking.”
“What’s happened?”
“The dirty rats have blown up the pumping station and the mains at the waterworks. The buildings up there are on fire and the whole town’s without water.”
“Who did it?”
“A Communist sabotage group—about two and a half hours ago. Nearly all the men who work up there have had it, and one of my men too.”
“But what’s all that shooting?”
“The Citizens’ Guard has got its emergency forces out. They’re trying to get into the—for Christ’s sake, can’t you see I’m talking to the Resident—yes—into the workers’ sector at the north end. Excuse me—I must go now.”
“The north end, did you say? I’ll go on up there.”
“No, for God’s sake don’t. Please don’t. No one can be responsible for anyone’s safety up there at the moment.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“You’re the last person on earth who should go there now. But if you must, then at least come in my car. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
The Chief of Police was gone but he must have flung the telephone receiver down onto the table, for footsteps and shouts and telephone signals could still be heard.
Ten minutes later a white Dodge, its siren wailing, drove straight across the square.
“Get in the back. No, I’ve no room for your gorillas. They’ll have to go in their own car.”
He sat in the front seat next to the driver and turned the knob of a short-wave set which crackled and hissed. In the back sat the deputy from the airport, Lieutenant Brown.
“Hope to hell we won’t need the army’s help.”
“Is it so critical?”
“So-so. If we survive the next two hours, the danger is over. They started this at the worst possible moment.”
“Who?”
“The Citizens’ Guard. Before half past five the mineworkers haven’t gone off to work. That means that nearly four thousand able-bodied men are still inside the barricaded area. They’re the dangerous ones. There’s a risk of a coordinated break-out. I can’t cope with that.”
“How do the workers get to the mines?”
“They walk. It takes about an hour and a half for them to get there.”
Manuel Ortega thought that this must be a considerable crowd of people and he wondered why he had not seen anything of them, not even in the evenings. Behounek promptly solved the problem for him.
“They walk along a special road in a curve southeastward around the town.”
“But to blow up the waterworks,” said Manuel. “That affects everyone in the same way.”
“No, it’s better calculated than that. The native quarter isn’t dependent on the waterworks. It’s in the old part of the town where there are several wells. Not very good ones, but all the same. But the whole of the center of town and the villa district will be without water. It’ll be sheer hell.”
The car drove at a tremendous speed down the middle of the road between the stone walls, its siren wailing and its warning lights on. There were a great many people on the road and police jeeps were parked along the walls.
They swung up toward the villa district, around a few bends, and then stopped at exactly the same place where Manuel had parked for a moment the day before.
Behounek got out of the car. He had a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck. The driver was trying to adjust a portable short-wave transmitter. A large open American car crammed with men wearing yellow armbands rolled past them going downhill. Most of the men were armed with rifles and had cartridge belts slung over their shoulders.
“The Citizens’ Guard,” said Behounek. “They’re beginning to rally round now. Not sending kids out any longer.”
“Do you let them through the barriers?”
The Chief of Police did not answer the question, but said: “If it gets too awful I’ll swear them in as militia. I’ve done that before now. The problem now is to keep the natives inside the barricaded area and the whites as much as possible outside it.”
From the triangular section of the town below rose a cacophony of shrieks, shots, and unidentifiable sounds of violence.
“D’you see?” said Behounek. “There—you see the smoke over the ridge there?”
“Why did the trouble break out here?”
“Most of the Citizens’ Guard live up here,” said Behounek laconically.
He had got the walkie-talkie working and had made contact with someone.
“Clear the square,” he said.
Manuel tried to concentrate his gaze on the open space in the middle of the jumble of houses. It looked filled to bursting, but only a few minutes later several white jeeps drove up to it and one could see how the crowd was scattered and driven into the side streets.
“You must stop those idiots from shooting at the road,” Behounek shouted into the transmitter. “What have you got there? Yes. Yes. Send them. Send everyone you’ve got. At once. Make sure the road is opened and people get moving along it. Listen! There’s a bunch of kids from the Citizens’ Guard in the field west of the road in square 14. They’re shooting at people on the road. You must get them to stop it. Now. At once.
“This is madness. They’re preventing them from getting through to the mines. There’s a standstill on the road already. They must be stopped! And see that people keep moving along the road. The quicker we get the workers away from the town, the better.”
Against his will, Manuel was fascinated by what he saw. The distance made the drama more or less abstract; made it hard to believe and to realize that every dot down there represented a separate individual.
Nor did he escape the infection of Behounek’s dynamic direction of operations, just as he had been similarly affected by the chief’s fear when the Citizens’ Guard had aroused the wrath of the workers by shooting at them on the road to the mines.
“Disperse the crowd by the wall in section 3. Immediately!
“Barricade the road from the square to the eastern well.
“Four extra men to the north gate. Is the loudspeaker system working? Good.”
Aside he said: “We’ve got a loudspeaker system down there. They’ll get orders now to go indoors and stay there.”
Half an hour later the shooting had practically ceased. Behounek’s orders became more positive in character.
“Clear section 1.
“Clear section 2.
“Are the loudspeakers still working? Good. Tell them that everyone who has to get to work has free access through the east gate. And that they must go quickly.
“I think it’s over now, for this time,” he said to Manuel Ortega.
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and took his right foot down from the low stone wall.
“Would you lend me your binoculars?” said Manuel Ortega.
“Yes, yes, of course. Here you are. But I warn you, you’re not going to like what you see.”
As he focused the lenses, Manuel realized the extent of the tragedy of which he had been a passive spectator for the last hour or so. In the square alone he counted eight bodies. He let his glance slide on, along stretches which were more or less clear. He lost track of the number by the time he reached twenty. Only policemen in white uniforms could be seen down there now. In some places he saw people bending over prostrate figures and then walking on, as if they had not found what they were looking for. Then he turned the binoculars to the east and saw clumps of people walking diagonally across a scorched field toward the road which led to the mines.
He had a sudden attack of shivering and nausea, and he lowered the binoculars.
The Chief of Police glanced at him.
“Yes. There it is. Quite a few lives lost for this.”
“How many do you think?”
Behounek shrugged his shoulders.
“How should I know?”
Then a little later: “All I know is, it could have been worse, much worse.”
I stood and watched them die, thought Manuel Ortega in confusion. I stood up here as if on a platform and watched people being maimed and killed and all I thought about was how long it would take for the police to clear the streets and disperse the crowds.
“I stood and watched them die,” he mumbled.
“Yes, well, we managed all right,” said Behounek, and he peered up at the sky. Then he added absently: “It’s going to be a hot day. Otherwise this week’s been a good one.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes. It’s just that you’re not used to it yet. These last few days have been fine and fresh. It’ll be worse today.”
He turned to the police car.
“It’s all over down there now. Shall we go and have a look?”
Manuel Ortega looked absently at him. Behounek frowned.
“Perhaps it would be better not to after all. They probably don’t think much of you at the moment, and someone might take a pot shot at you from one of the houses. You don’t look too good either.”
He looked at his watch.
“Eight already. I must go over to the pumping station. It doesn’t look too good either. You’ll tackle the water question, won’t you? Damned nuisance that General Gami should be away.”
“Who is his deputy?”
“Colonel Orbal.”
“And his?”
“C.O. of the regiment, Colonel Ruiz.”
“I’ll contact him.”
Manuel Ortega went back into the town in the little French car with Gómez and Fernández. On the way they saw several army ambulances, and at the breaks in the walls, police stood on guard together with members of the Citizens’ Guard in their yellow armbands.
“Something doesn’t fit,” said Manuel Ortega to himself. “Doesn’t fit at all.”
He felt tired and ill, and as soon as he went into his bathroom he was violently sick. When it was over, he saw that someone, probably the cleaning man, had put two earthenware jars of water there. After lying on the bed for a quarter of an hour, staring apathetically at the ceiling, he pulled himself together and went into his office. When he opened the door, and saw that someone was standing in the middle of the floor, he jerked back as if from a blow or a sharp jab of pain, although he must have seen who it was immediately.
Danica Rodríguez looked at him, seriously and searchingly, before she said: “Have you been over there?”
“Yes. It looked appalling.”
“The worst thing was that no one really seemed to mind much. When it was all over, the men went off to the mines, just as if nothing had happened. And there were at least thirty people lying dead in the streets and the square.”
“These people are fatalists,” she said. “They have to learn to be. They think it’s the only way that pays. It’s always been so.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“I was born here.”
He went over to the window and looked across the blinding white plaza. A group of men with rifles and yellow armbands was marching across the far side.
“The C.O. of the regiment has called you three times.”
“Contact him.”
He got through right away. Colonel Ruiz spoke in a high voice and very quickly, as if we were trying to sound efficient.
“The position is precarious but we have put all available forces in to clear it up. I have ordered a company of engineers to the waterworks. As soon as the fires have been extinguished, they’ll begin repairs.”
“Have you any idea how long it will take?”
“Hard to say. Forty-eight hours perhaps. Could take less, but could also take longer. We can’t estimate the damage yet.”
“How will water supplies be maintained until then?”
“We have three army tankers and private companies have put twelve more at our disposal. That’s fifteen altogether. They’ll have to do a forty-eight-hour shuttle service. I think we should be able to get going in a couple of hours at constructing temporary reservoirs in the town. We need volunteers for that. When you speak on the radio it would be appropriate if you would urge volunteers to report either to the plaza or to the main entrance gates.”
Manuel Ortega had had no idea that he was expected to speak over the radio. In fact he had forgotten that the radio was an available means of communication. He said: “Can’t you get detachments from the army to construct the reservoirs?”
“I’m short of men,” said Colonel Ruiz briefly.
He went on smoothly: “But I can contribute overseers and a few engineers. My position is not entirely agreeable. The Chief of Police has, for example, requisitioned sixty thousand yards of barbed wire. I’ve only half that much.”
“What does he want so much for?”
It was a spontaneous question which of course should never have been asked.
“To strengthen the barricades, I presume,” said the colonel suspiciously. “It’s probably necessary. Moreover, I should inform you that I’ve given the Citizens’ Guard authority to take over responsibility for order in the center of town.”
“The Citizens’ Guard is an illegal organization, isn’t it?”
“We-ell, illegal. It’s useful and reliable anyway. And even Captain Behounek is short of men. The Guard has also promised to take over responsibility for water rationing. On this matter I should advise you to contact the leader of the executive committee of the Citizens’ Guard.”
“Who is that?”
“Dalgren—didn’t you know? No, of course, you’re new here. You and I should get together on how we shall organize the giving of orders and sharing of duties.”
“From now on we can surely put our minds to finding reasonable and workable solutions as things crop up.”
“That sounds all right but usually doesn’t work out in practice. I can’t stand disorganized reasonableness.”
At that the conversation ended. Manuel Ortega at once called his assistant.
“Do you know anything about military matters?”
“A little.”
“How big is a regiment?”
“How many vehicles suitable for transporting water do you think they might have?”
“Well—thirty at least, probably more. I suggest you call the C.O. and ask him.”
“Thanks for your advice.”
He put down the receiver. The cooperation of the army seemed to leave a great deal to be desired.
“The military are all loafers—tramps in uniform,” said Fernández philosophically. He was standing by the window, chewing at his seeds, his hands behind his back.
The heat in the room now surpassed all previous records and when Manuel rose to his feet, a dark patch of sweat had already begun to form on the seat of his chair. Despite this he felt as if he were just beginning to hit his stride. In front of him lay a list of things to do, none of them especially interesting but they were at least urgent. He adjusted the gun under his jacket, and went into the other room to dictate his radio appeal to his secretary. When she had typed it out, he read it through and she said, as if in passing: “Shouldn’t this so-called Citizens’ Guard be condemned more forcibly?”
“As far as I can see, both sides have behaved most irresponsibly. The trouble this morning was at least of a spontaneous nature. To blow up the waterworks, with the people in it as well, was, on the other hand, a planned outrage.”
“No, it wasn’t very nice, was it?”
“Besides, we seem to have arrived at a situation in which the whole town is dependent on the help of the Citizens’ Guard. In such a position one must be reasonable.”
“Your radio appeal is undoubtedly reasonable,” she said dully.
“Besides, it in fact condemns the proceedings this morning.”
“Yes, it does.”
When he was back at at his desk he saw that she was right. His speech was just as routine as the speech by General Gami which he had heard the day before. It urged all political organizations and all sections of the population to be calm and dignified, condemned violent measures, and appealed for solidarity and reason. After that it finished up with information as to where people should report to help in the emergency.
The speech contained no personal views or opinions, no anger, sorrow, or bitterness. He had quite simply copied it from memory from hundreds of similar appeals he had heard over the years. Manuel Ortega was conscious of this, and each time he read through the text, the worse he thought it.
At a quarter past twelve he went to the radio station with López and read his speech. It was broadcast live without rehearsals, which made him acutely nervous, and his voice was tense and unnatural. At the same time they took recordings on a tape which could be broadcast at half-hour intervals. The radio station, which was new and situated in the western part of the town, was guarded by both the police and members of the Citizens’ Guard.
When Manuel Ortega got back to the Governor’s Palace, Danica Rodríguez had taken a radio into her room and was listening to the first repeat of his speech. She gave him a tired, indifferent look. He went into his room but at once turned back and, standing in the doorway, he said: “I don’t like it either.”
She looked up in quick, cool surprise but said nothing.
Five minutes later Dalgren telephoned.
“Your speech was excellent,” he said. “May I be the first, on behalf of the Citizens’ Guard, to express my regret over the impetuous events of this morning? Youthful imprudence and a spontaneous desire for revenge got the upper hand for a while. You were right to condemn such behavior. You’ll be glad to hear that the whole executive committee is in agreement with me on this.”
Then he went on to the subject of maintaining the water supply.
“We’ve twenty large tankers now in use. I assume that’s enough. I’ve put my own people to work figuring out what quantities should be dealt out to each household. You can leave those details to us. But I should be glad if you would keep an eye on the work on the reservoirs. Otherwise we might find ourselves in a situation where the tankers would be immobilized because we haven’t enough collecting places.”
Soon afterward an unidentified citizen called and said: “I hope you haven’t inadvertently overlooked the situation we villa owners find ourselves in. We’ve invested very large sums in laying out our gardens and in this climate they’ll burn up in a few days if we can’t water them. Some of the transport must be detailed for this purpose.”
“You must understand that we must first see to the people’s drinking water requirements and after that make provision for matters of hygiene.”
“Yes, yes—I see I’ll have to talk to Dalgren personally. You don’t seem to understand what I’m talking about.”
A moment later Colonel Ruiz was on the line again.
“I’ve just had the first reports from the officer in command of the engineers’ company. He thinks the business at the waterworks should be fixed up to a limited extent in about two or three days.”
“Can you possibly put a few more vehicles at our disposal?”
“Not at the moment.”
“The construction of the reservoirs is going too slowly, especially in the southern sector.”
“I’ll try to send a few more men there.”
Later on in the afternoon, even Behounek made his presence known.
“Behounek speaking. Just wanted to tell you that peace and quiet reigns in all sections of the town.”
“What’s the atmosphere like? Rebellious?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Not in the workers’ quarter, either?”
“No. Your appeal has had a calming influence. We put it out over the internal loudspeaker system.”
“And it was well received?”
“Yes. Especially among the natives. Most of them are decent peaceable creatures. Like children. Believe what you tell them.”
“Have you counted the casualties?”
“Yes. At the waterworks one policeman was killed, two slightly injured. Of the Citizens’ Guard one man was killed, only a youngster by the way, and seven injured, one seriously.”
After a moment’s silence Manuel asked: “And the natives?”
“That’s not certain. At a rough estimate, about thirty-odd people were killed, no more, I don’t think.”
“By the police?”
“My men reported six.”
“And injured?”
“About ten have been taken to the hospital. But that figure is of course neither reliable nor final.”
“How many arrested?”
“None so far. But you’ll be pleased to hear that the saboteurs will probably be tracked down tonight. They were brought in a small truck. An hour ago we found the truck wrecked in a sector which is well known to us. I think I even know where they are.”
Behounek’s voice was cold and hard.
No one called for the next ten minutes, and Manuel Ortega took the opportunity to think out a few points. At least thirty people had been killed in the workers’ sector, and according to Behounek, only six of them were victims of police bullets. The others had been killed by an organization which was in all respects illegal. In other words, there had been twenty-five murders and none of the murderers had been arrested or even taken in for questioning. No one seemed to expect the police to make any arrests, not even the next of kin of the murdered men. The appalling injustice of this filled him with cold rage and without another thought he picked up the receiver and called Behounek.
The conversation that followed was heated.
“I refuse to accept your failure to arrest people who commit murder under the cover of an illegal civil-military organization.”
“You saw for yourself, for God’s sake! Everything was just one great shambles. Can you say who shot whom? Do you think we’ve time to carry out police investigations of individual cases in time of war and revolution?”
“In that case you should arrest Dalgren as responsible for the Citizens’ Guard and its members.”
“You’re crazy! Whom should I arrest for the death of one of my men who was shot down there?”
“Whoever killed him or whoever gave the order.”
“Man, can’t you hear what I am saying? I don’t know who killed him. I don’t know who was responsible! That’s why I haven’t arrested anyone.”
“In that case it is your duty to find out about it. If you take sides in a conflict like this then you’ve misinterpreted your duties. It is possible that you’re a good officer, Captain Behounek, but you’re a bad policeman!”
“That’s enough insults. What did you yourself do during the whole mess? I’m just asking. What did you do? Stood and gawped a quarter of a mile away. And besides, you had an opportunity to watch me working all the time.”
“I maintain that you saw thirty people murdered without lifting a finger to find those responsible. You haven’t even bothered to count the casualties.”
“You can go to hell with your moralizing!”
“Do you call thirty dead men moralizing? Have you no respect for human life? You’re a monster!”
“What are you then? What are you doing here? You’re a completely meaningless figure, a nobody sent here to … well … at least I know my job.”
“No, I repeat. You do not know your job. And if you do then you hide the fact damned well. You’re either a rogue or a bungler, Captain Behounek. You should resign or give yourself up to the police!”
There was a silence for five seconds, then Behounek said with dreadful acerbity and concentration: “You are upset because today you’ve seen something new and frightening. I am tired because I’ve been working without sleep for forty-eight hours. For the sake of both of us, therefore, I refuse to continue this conversation.”
Manuel Ortega slammed down the receiver in the middle of the last word.
He got up and raged backward and forward across the floor. His heart was thumping and his eyes glistening. He breathed heavily and unevenly and the sweat poured down his face.
Never before had he experienced anything like it. It was years since he had found himself in such a state of emotional upheaval. He was used to carrying out both his work and his private affairs in a rational and businesslike way. Now he could not even see the people around him, neither the totally unmoved López nor Danica Rodríguez, who had come into the room just as he had slammed down the receiver. Obscurely he realized that it was Behounek who had drawn the longest straw, who had succeeded in keeping cool and had had the presence of mind to collect himself for his final rejoinder. But despite this he was convinced in some way that it was he himself who was right and that he had followed a clear line throughout. In other words, he had acted correctly.
Manuel Ortega tramped backward and forward once or twice more. Then at the door he suddenly stood still and remained there for perhaps half a minute with his head lowered. Then he banged his fist on the doorpost, turned around, and looked at the others. López was sitting on his chair with his hands on his knees. With his short legs and fat arms he looked like some Oriental idol.
Danica was standing by the desk, smoking and holding a piece of paper in her hand. She stood absolutely still and looked at him and her gray eyes seemed to glitter. She put the paper down on the desk, took the cigarette out of her mouth, and smiled a narrow, avid smile. Then she turned around and went back into the other room.
Manuel Ortega stood still and watched her go, gripped by a wild impulse to fling her over his shoulder, carry her into the bedroom, throw her down on the bed, and tear off her clothes. He crushed the impulse and went back to his place behind the desk.
Most remarkable, he said to himself, shaking his head.
At dusk their work was far from completed. The telephones went on ringing and reports flowed in. Through the window they could see people in the plaza working by the headlights of cars on the construction of a water reservoir of planks and tarpaulins. It was soon finished and half full of water. The situation was under control.
At half past eight the telephone rang for about the fiftieth time. It was Behounek. His voice was calm and formal.
“I want to emphasize,” he said, “that I still think it more important to track down and put out of action a bunch of irresponsible terrorists who might even tonight appear again and blow up the hospital or the power station, than to go from door to door asking decent citizens what they were doing at six o’clock this morning.”
“I’ll admit that, but I still don’t think that the one duty should override the other. Anyhow, I apologize for the tone of voice I used in our earlier conversation.”
“I do too. We were both exhausted, and for my part it looks as if there’ll be no sleep for me tonight either.”
“I wish you success in your search.”
A little while later Manuel Ortega at last went out to the woman in the other room.
“Are we eating together tonight?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, but I’ve another engagement. I’m afraid I can’t.”
“I suppose it’s not much to cry about.”
At about ten he got López to drive him around the town. The reservoirs were ready and well filled, the streets mostly deserted, and only in a few places could the patrols with the yellow armbands of the Citizens’ Guard be seen.
As they were standing in front of the Governor’s Palace again, all the lights suddenly went out.
The whole world became utterly silent. The only sound Manuel could make out was the gentle trickling of water from the temporary reservoir. The darkness had not brought the slightest cool breeze with it. The heat was heavy and oppressive and the night as black as asphalt.
Ten seconds later López switched on a flashlight and went ahead into the building. Manuel went into the office and called police headquarters.
“Just a fault on the line,” said the duty officer. “A not infrequent event.”
Manuel Ortega lay on his bed, abandoned to the room’s absolute darkness. He was both psychologically and physically exhausted, but for the first time he felt a certain satisfaction with himself. He was also aware that he had something to look forward to tomorrow, something positive and meaningful, which would give him cause to test his strength and throw in his lot wholly and completely.
Soon after that he fell asleep, free of fear.
He woke at about two. The light was on and he heard Fernández moving about in the outer room. He got up and undressed, looked under the bed, and put the gun under his pillow. Then he lay down, but it was some time before he fell asleep again.
Manuel Ortega lay on his back with his eyes closed and let the binoculars glide over the sun-baked dirty-yellow stones as he counted the outstretched bodies. One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight.
All the time he remembered the metallic voice giving the order: “Clear the square.”