Chapter 18
Contact
His flat stank of emptiness and unwashed bedclothes. Ed dumped his luggage on the floor, dropped the wad of mail he had found in his postbox onto the hall table, opened all the windows, tugged the sheets off his bed and shoved them into the washing machine, together with the few of his dirty clothes that would fit in, got the whole thing going, and lit some of the cinnamon-scented joss sticks he had found in Camden Market. Then he pulled a beer from the fridge and enjoyed the cool chemical-hop flavour as it tickled his throat and washed away the journey while he scoured the pile of mail. It was full of bills and bureaucracy, but held nothing from Ção or Mark, nothing relating to Ção or Mark, nothing from Simone. He picked up the phone and called Simone. One of those new-fangled answering machines told him in three languages that Mark and Simone were not at home but he could leave a message after the beep. He asked them to ring him back. Ed was pulling his clothes out of the washing machine when Simone did so.
“Ed, I am very glad you are here again.” Her voice was tremulous.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. But not in my mind.”
“Of course. Let’s not talk over the phone. Can you meet me tomorrow lunchtime?”
“I have classes at the Bank until half past twelve. It’s in the city centre, near Rossio.”
“Good. I’ll meet you at the Rossio fountain at ten to one.”
He was clutching his new purchase when Simone arrived. Dressed all in black, she looked worn, but happy to see him. They embraced; then Simone drew back.
“Ow! What have you just stabbed me with?”
“Oh this? Sorry.” he showed Simone the sharp-edged cardboard box holding his brand new telephone answering machine. “I realised yesterday how much I need one of these. Anyway, tell me about Mark.”
“Mark has not come back. Mark is silent. I don’t know if he gets my letters, but nothing ever arrives from him. I’ve been to the Pangaia headquarters at Vila Abade, but they will not let me in. It’s a walled compound, and the walls are too high to climb – even for someone like you.”
“I see. Let’s go and get some lunch.”
“I’m not hungry, thank you, Ed.”
“Hungry or not, Simone, you have to eat. You’ve got to keep your strength up.”
“Well, I don’t mind watching you eat. The reason we’re here is to talk, isn’t it?”
Ed chose a popular restaurant that was crowded and noisy with cheerful lunch-break workers, where they were unlikely to be overheard. He ordered for both of them, then asked Simone about the letters he had sent her.
“Yes, I did get them, Ed, thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t answer. You see, I couldn’t, I was just too depressed.”
“Simone, you can’t afford to be depressed. Mark needs you calm, clear-headed and full of energy.”
“But it all seems so hopeless, just so hopeless. What can we do?”
“Listen, Simone, there’s a lot we can do.” He stopped talking as a waiter brought their food.
“At least eat the salad.”
Ed outlined for Simone the main things that he had learned about cults in England, together with his father’s suggestions. A little colour returned to Simone’s wan features.
“One thing above all you have to remember, Simone: it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”
“But I do. It is my fault! I’m not a good enough wife! I’m not a good enough person! Otherwise he would have stayed.” She looked on the verge of tears. Ed did not want her to attract eavesdroppers by crying. He poured her some water.
“Believe me, you can’t control another person. Not even Jorge can do that, not totally. When Mark comes back to you, he will stay. Honestly, he will, I know it. Let’s concentrate on getting him back. We can do that.”
Simone looked down at her plate, nodded without conviction and toyed with her food. Then she started to attack the salad. When he was sure nobody was paying them undue attention, Ed asked if Simone had learned anything new about Pangaia. She shook her head, then, as an afterthought, added:
“There is one thing I already knew, which I don’t think I told you.”
“Tell me now.”
“All the people who go and live at the compound take a new name, a Pangaia name.”
“That often happens. The idea is to distance newcomers from the old, familiar lives. Do you know Mark’s?”
“Yes, it’s Adubo, the Portuguese for compost, or fertiliser, or manure. That’s why I didn’t tell anyone. ”
Ed fought back a chuckle.
“Mark was never keen on self-deprecation.”
“They said it was good, it made things grow, it made the Earth even more fertile. They’ve told him he is destined to make Pangaia grow.”
“Typical brainwashing technique. Trying to make him feel special. Look, when any of us writes to him, we should use that name, and say how much we like it, how good it will be if he makes Pangaia grow. The last thing we must do is reproach Mark or sound hostile. That would only turn him away from us and deeper into Jorge’s arms. Let’s get writing, and get all his friends writing, too. We’ve got to love-bomb him as hard as the Pangaia people are probably doing. OK?”
Simone nodded. Then smiled. She even smiled at the waiter when he brought the bill, which Ed took and paid. He walked Simone to a taxi rank. As she got into the taxi, Ed looked at her dull clothes. She wound the window down to say goodbye.
“Simone, next time we meet, wear something colourful. It doesn’t have to be green.”
She smiled again.
“Because I’m not in mourning, right? Yes, I will. If I hear anything new, I’ll let you know, and if I don’t find you at home, I’ll leave a message for you on your new toy.”
She was still smiling when the taxi drove away.
Ed headed for the shady side of the street and looked at the colourful apparel the local women were sporting as he strolled home to his empty flat, where he installed the answering machine and spent the evening with the books Frances had helped him find in London.
Ed’s first message on the machine came the next day. He found it when he came back from breakfast at his local café. The voice was Simone’s, the language French.
“Ed, I don’t know quite how to put this, but, well, all those things you said about how I, we, should approach Mark. Don’t you think they might help you in trying to get Ção back?”
Ed thought about it. He was confident that Ção would come back, perhaps too confident, as he waited for reason to align with emotion and propel her in the right direction. He was not exactly love-bombing her. Perhaps he should feed her emotional needs from a distance.
He set about writing his wife a letter, telling her how much he missed her, even though he deemed it obvious. His words moved him deeply, perhaps because he had not acknowledged the depth of his pain before. He ended with phrases of condolence on the death of Mao Zedong. When he had addressed, sealed and stamped the envelope, he took out the picture postcard of London he had brought back for Mark and wrote him a few cheery lines, beginning with My dear friend and addressed to Adubo.
Ed did not blame himself for Ção’s defection. Nor did he blame anyone else. It was just an unfortunate mistake that needed to be put right. He did, however, decide to follow his own advice to Simone by getting himself in better shape for when she came back. One step in this process was to conserve both brain cells and waistline by cutting down on booze; another was to get back to rowing.
It was good to be out on the river, especially in the morning, before the city started to send its bustle across the water to disturb one’s concentration on the sound of oars interacting with water in a rhythm conducive to peace. The estuary could be glassy calm then; you felt you had a place in another, simpler world, where nature ruled, caressing you with its velvet glove. When you rowed in company, you could feel the friendship building wordlessly. I’ll bring Mark out here when we get him back. He can pay his tithes to the Club instead of to Omomnos.
The Club welcomed his return. The distraction of politics had damaged its income. Its ethos was apolitical: to unite in comradeship all those who could pay their fees. Ed was glad to be one of them. He enquired about Lourdes; she was still an active member. He wondered how he would feel when he saw her again.
It was her voice that made the first contact.
“Well, well, well, look what Neptune has cast away.”
Ed’s first response was to its silkiness, not its irony. He looked up from his glass of the bar’s finest milk, held her cool, assessing gaze and did not answer. She dropped her smile.
“I heard the world has given you a buffeting. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m on the up-and-up. I earn a legitimate salary. I’m a university teacher and a home-owner. My future is bright.”
“With a lot of help from my brother. And his friend Moisés.”
“To whom I’m grateful. Really.”
“I’ll tell them. They thought you’d forgotten.”
He had not forgotten the desire her smooth, tanned skin aroused in him. It drew him like a whirlpool as he watched her lithe figure move on through the bar and out.
His answering machine held a message from Simone: I have no news of Mark but please phone me. He did so immediately.
“Nothing from Mark, I’ve been in touch with his sister, Henrietta. They were once so close that I was jealous, can you believe?”
“I wish I had a sister, or a brother. Sorry, what did she say?”
“She said that once Mark got an idea into his head, he would see it through at any cost.”
“I’m beginning to think that Mark used to be a very different person. Portugal has changed him.”
“Living abroad changes everyone, Ed. You and me, too.”
“You could be right. How are their parents reacting?”
“They don’t seem to care very much. Henrietta says they gave up on Mark when he married a Frenchwoman.” She sniffled.
“Hey, don’t blame yourself for the idiocy of Mark’s parents. Calm and strong, remember. What else did Henrietta say?”
“She advised me to keep a record of all Mark’s and my contacts with Omomnos, to write down any details of its members and supporters that I could find, in case I ever had to go to court.”
“Good. I second that. Look, Simone, do the parents and the sister have the Pangaia address?”
“Yes, I gave it to them, so they could write to him.”
“That’s great, but please beg them not to write anything hostile.”
“I have done that already. I think they understand.”
“Fabulous. How are you, Simone? Are you eating properly?”
“Yes, I am. Since you told me it was so important for Mark, I make a lovely French meal before I cry myself to sleep.”
“Simone, we’re going to have Mark drying those tears of yours sooner than you think. Remember that.”
Ed himself was content to sleep alone, to think of Ção before he fell asleep, and then to dream of Carolina, or Frances, or Lourdes. It was mostly Lourdes now. He was happy when he glimpsed her at the rowing club, discomfited if she was in male company and surprised that she did not seek him out.
When he finally caught her alone, Ed invited her to row with him that evening, and, as he hoped, their joint venture onto the water brought them back into harmony. After they had stored the equipment, it seemed natural for them to drive together in Lourdes’ Volvo along the coast road to Cascais for supper. They ate barbecued chicken in a small restaurant in an alley that wound up a hill behind the fire station. The aroma of charcoal and grilling meat overpowered that of the sea and staked a permanent claim on Ed’s memory, together with the teasing smile that played on Lourdes’ lips and flickered in her eyes. He was caught off-balance when she began to talk about Pangaia.
“I hear you’ve been mouthing off about a movement called Pangaia. You shouldn’t do that, Ed.”
“What are you on about? Who told you that?”
“News gets around, Ed. The powerful can have secrets, but the plebs can’t.”
“You mean you know that Mark Rotherfield has gone to live with them?” Lourdes nodded.
“And you know I’m helping Mark’s wife to get him back?” Lourdes nodded again.
“And why on earth should I not do that?”
“Because you’re putting both of you in danger. And you’re missing the point.”
“Which is?”
“They don’t want Mark. They want his money and his property. If you’re a still businessman, cut a deal, before it’s too late.”
“Tell me, Maria de Lourdes, why I should be afraid of a sex-obsessed guru and his demented followers.”
“It’s not them you need to worry about, Ed, it’s the people who look after them and use them.”
“I don’t go for conspiracy theories.”
“Me neither.” She lowered her voice. “But ask yourself this. Pangaia has been operating for over five years, yet it has never been investigated. Why? People have left spouses and families and friends to join it, but not a single story about it has appeared in the news. Why?”
“I’d very much like to know.”
“They have a place in the countryside where nobody can stick their noses. Hm, useful. They have a willing labour force that does a lot of digging. Why? To plant things, for sure, but maybe also to bury things. What? Not bodies, that’s for certain, and not drugs, either, or Paulo would know about it.”
“This is getting a bit far-fetched. Don’t tell me the government is behind it.”
“Our governments come and go, but our allies stay the same. They support us, sometimes against our governments, and from time to time they ask favours in return.”
“Oh, I see. You mean something like they’re burying weapons for a resistance movement to use when Ção and the Maoists grab power and invite the People’s Liberation Army to hop over from China. No, that’s just absurd! NATO has got an underground facility down the road here at Oeiras, and makes no secret of it. They don’t need help from a Dad’s Army of hippies!”
“Ed, all I’m saying is be careful. Don’t risk your life, not even for a friend.” She finished her water. “And if you’re determined to die, make love to me first.”
Ed would happily have complied in the restaurant, then and there. He suggested going to the house he rented to Len and Seamus, where he still kept a room, but Lourdes had already booked a room in a seafront hotel. They ran the short distance there, laughing as they arrived. The moon was new, the sky unclouded, the stars reflected in the water of the bay onto which their balcony looked. They left the french windows open so that they could hear and smell the sea as they made love on the floor, then in the bed. After that, they shut the window on the outside world and made love under the shower, and then again in the bed. Lourdes was an athletic lover, as Ed had expected, but she surprised him by being demanding and joyous as well. Thoroughly sated, he slept well, but woke at eight a.m. both scratched and sore. Lourdes had gone, leaving no note. Ed ate breakfast in the hotel, then walked the short distance to the railway station and caught the first train back to Lisbon. His wounds felt like marks of distinction.
Ed had an appointment with Simone the following Saturday, so they could bring each other up to date on new developments. On the way to the café, Ed tried to discern whether anyone was following him. He thought about a dozen people might be, and gave up the effort.
I’m not giving in to paranoia. I’ll stick with logic.
Simone did not look good. Her face bore heavy makeup that aged her, and her slim frame was starting to bulge in what Ed considered the wrong places. She could not raise a smile when she greeted him. They spoke in French and kept their voices low.
“Ed, I have been getting reports about Pangaia that are, frankly, worrying. They say that it has politicians as secret members or supporters.”
“Well, any cult is likely to have a few. They’d hardly go public about it, would they?”
“No, but Pangaia has many, and they cover the political spectrum.”
“What, including the Communist Party?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s good, because it means that what I’ve heard recently is a load of nonsense.” He recounted what Lourdes had told him. “Communists are not going to join an organisation that stores weapons to use against a Communist army, are they?”
“Ed, I’m scared. Pangaia getting its hands on the levers of power is worse than its playing silly cold war games in the night. Especially now, now that I need Mark more than ever.” She placed her hands on her belly. Ed realised what she was going to tell him.
“I have some wonderful news, Ed.” Her eyes began to liquefy. Ed hoped she could hold the tears back. She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
Oh no, not another one to save!
“That is good news, Simone. Mark will come back to look after his baby. I know it. Congratulations!”
“Oh, Ed, I am so frightened! What can we do in the face of Pangaia?”
“We don’t have to fight Pangaia. We only have to get Mark back. Lighten their load for them. Let’s not invent enemies.”
Ed’s own thoughts were much with Lourdes. Her athletic sexuality would help him prepare for Ção’s return, and her animal magnetism made her enticing company. Yet she, too, proved elusive. Ed began to spend far more time than he needed to at the rowing club. Eventually, he met her as she arrived there for a morning session.
“Oh, hello, Ed. Some time no see.”
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. Where have you been?”
“Oh, here and there. You know me, I’m not such a creature of habit, really.”
“I’d like to see more of you.”
“You would? You’ve already seen all of me. There isn’t any more.”
“I loved what I saw.”
“Good. We took each other out for some exercise. That’s it. Thank you and goodbye.”
Ed was astounded.
“That’s it?”
“I satisfied my curiosity, and I got the impression that I satisfied you.”
“Then let’s keep on satisfying each other.” What’s the problem?
“No, Ed. If you really want to know, I thought you’d be a better lay. You know, frankly, you’re like a poorly designed car: all thrust, and low manoeuvrability. I’ll be surprised if nobody’s told you that before.”
Nobody had. Ed struggled for a comeback and could not find one. Anger and humiliation paralysed him as his unbelieving eyes followed Lourdes’ smooth passage towards the stored boats.
When Ed arrived home, still miffed, he grabbed the contents of his mailbox and stomped up the stairs. Inside the flat, something in the mail clutched in his fist cut into his hand and caught his attention. He pulled out a crushed postcard.
Mao is dead and so is Maoism. Woman alone is the word, the truth and the life. Your ex-wife, Ção xxxx
He smoothed the card, drew it to his lips and kissed his wife’s name. Blood from his hand distorted the view of Conimbriga on the other side. He felt a surge of joy.
Contact!