Chapter 24
Be Careful What You Wish For
Seamus was kind. He offered to rent Ed his former room in the flat in Cascais. Ed, however, believed his moving in there might infect his friend with some of the danger he himself was in, so he declined Seamus’s offer, and instead checked into a small hotel located between Lisbon city centre and the University. He did not feel a similar responsibility to ensuring that the management avoid bloodstains on its carpets; his duties in that setting were entirely to himself.
Ed also felt a responsibility to his students at the University. At his next class, he wrapped up his awareness-raising project. He explained exactly what had happened, and that he interpreted the trashing of his flat as a clear warning to him to shut up and get out, or else. He wanted to stay in Portugal, but he did not intend to let his tongue get him buried there. He told them their cult awareness, like his, was now high enough to inoculate them all for the rest of their lives, but asked them to be cautious enough to ensure that those lives were suitably long. It was a message he had already internalised. The expressions Ed saw in response were a mixture of denial, understanding and fear. He had never wanted to bring fear into his classroom. Ed re-stated what he had affirmed at the beginning: that end-of-year marks would be based on the quality of English that each student had used throughout the year, not on any opinions voiced or attitudes shown. He would bring that year to an end as soon as was logistically possible: a piece of news that was always well received.
Before he got the chance to fulfil that pledge, he received a phone call at the hotel from Seamus. Ção wanted to talk to him. Finding the phone at Largo do Andaluz cut off, she had tried the Cascais flat. Seamus had taken the call. He had refused to give out Ed’s present phone number but confirmed that Ed was no longer living at Largo do Andaluz, or Cascais, and offered to pass on a message.
Ed was curious as to what Ção wanted all of a sudden. He phoned the unfamiliar number that Seamus had given him, and asked her directly. She seemed taken aback by his abrupt manner.
“Well, I want to see you, don’t I?”
“OK. Just tell me when and where?”
“Ed, are you all right?”
“No, I’m not. One of my best friends has been murdered, I’ve been threatened with death, and things generally are falling apart.”
“I’m sorry, Ed. I had no idea.”
“Don’t worry. You’re well out of it. Of course I’d love to see you. You know that. Just tell me when and where.”
She gave a Lisbon address and named an evening time that Ed changed to Saturday morning.
Ed took a taxi to a part of Lisbon named Mouraria, which had evidently seen better days, though perhaps not since the Moors had in fact left, some seven centuries earlier. Ed’s colleague Rupert Harley-Davidson liked to tell people that when the Crusaders had retaken Lisbon, they had massacred everyone sheltered within its walls, including the Christian archbishop. It had never occurred to them that a degree of religious tolerance might be operating within the Moorish city. The name Ção had given was the only one next to the intercom. Ed pressed the bell, and after a while the street door clicked open. He pushed it back and stepped inside. There was a central courtyard open to the sky. He looked up and saw his wife’s beloved face looking down at him.
“Come on up, Ed. I’m on the third floor. There isn’t a lift, I’m afraid.”
Ed bounded up the first flight of steps, then slowed to be sure he would not meet Ção out of breath.
She greeted him wearing a short, low-cut dark blue dress, as though she were about to leave for a party. She slipped into Ed’s arms and kissed him with a restrained passion that reminded Ed of simpler, better days. The aroma of cinnamon filled his nostrils. He stood back from Ção and shook his head to clear it.
“Come inside.”
She led him through an open door, across a vestibule and into a large living room that contained a few pieces of antique furniture.
“What’s going on, Ção?”
“Ed, I’m so sorry. Tell me everything that’s happened.”
Ed told his wife about everything except his love life, or rather his sex life. When he finished, he was surprised to see tears on her cheeks.
“Poor Mark. Oh, Ed, I’m so sorry I’ve ignored you all this time. I’ll never do it again, I promise.”
“And why is that?” He already had a strong inkling as to the answer. He had been waiting to hear the words for a long time.
“You’re my husband, Ed. I love you, and I want to live with you again.”
Ed felt dizzy; his heartbeat accelerated. He noticed that although it was June, the room was cold. He managed to keep his voice, at least, under control.
“What about João?”
Ção drew a small silk handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her cheeks. Then she looked directly at Ed.
“I loved João, I can’t deny it. But our love was kind of destructive, and in the end it destroyed itself.”
“Does she feel the same way?”
“I think she still loves me. I’ve told her that it’s over between us, but she doesn’t want to understand. It’s you I love, Ed, not João.”
“I know.” He had always known.
Ção stood up. She placed her legs apart, looked at Ed’s dilated eyes, then brought her legs together and moved her hands to the hem of her dress.
“Let me show you how much I love you, Ed.”
“I know.”
Calvin’s drunken words came back to him. For so many months he had worked towards this moment, when he would again enter the temple of the cult of Ção and lose himself in its wonderful rituals.
“I already know. You don’t need to show me anything.”
Ção stared at him blankly.
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“Ção, a lot has happened. I knew this moment would come but even so, it’s caught me off balance. I need time to think things through, to see what’s best for both of us – for all of us.”
“I know what’s best for us, Ed, for you and me.”
“I don’t, yet. It isn’t obvious any more. Look, Ção, are you staying here for a while?”
“Yes. Until you take me back, until we go home.”
“OK, I’ll call you.”
“What? You can’t just leave me here! You can’t just walk out on me!”
Ed was already on the stairs. At the bottom, he heard Ção’s voice resonating around the courtyard.
“Ed? Ed!”
He pulled back the heavy wooden door and stepped out into the street. The light and the heat disoriented him. He got his bearings and headed down towards the central square, Rossio, where he could catch the underground. The scent of jasmine hung in the air.
The world looked different to Ed. It was again a place in which he could get what he wanted, provided he used patience and skill. For days, he was light-headed; he was happy. Nevertheless, he recognised an under-current of unease in his joy, and traced it back to the soul-searching that Calvin’s words had provoked.
Ed went to look for Lourdes, but got side-tracked on the way, and instead spent the day in Sintra, wandering among its palaces and gardens, and wondering about himself and Ção and their future. Sitting in a deserted summer house in the grounds of the Pena Palace, listening to the bees flitting from one delight to another among the semi-tropical vegetation outside the open windows, it struck him that what he desired was Ção’s wish to come back to him, more than her actual return. The knowledge burnt into his brain like the midsummer sun into his skin. He had achieved his desire. Now he could look more objectively at its possible consequences.
Ed was not used to thinking so much without acting. After a few days of it, his concentration lapsed and he understood it was time to move. He phoned Ção again. It was wonderful once more to hear happiness in her voice when she realised it was Ed who was calling. She wanted to see the damage that had been done to the flat in Largo do Andaluz, and so Ed arranged to meet her there.
As he ascended the stairs to his floor, Ed hoped that Ção would be waiting for him, seated at the top of the stairs. She was. As he turned into the final flight, the sight of her shapely legs triggered strong, erotic memories. She sat there smiling happily, but said nothing as he approached. Ed let one hand run over a tanned thigh as the other hand cupped the back of Ção’s neck and brought his wife’s mouth onto his. They kissed with passion until they had to draw back for breath.
“Not here, Ed.” Ção giggled. “It’s too public. Take me inside.”
Even though Ed had cleared up and cleaned up as best he could, the flat was desolate. Ção was visibly shocked by the state of her former home. Her confident mood dissipated.
“This is dreadful Ed. It’s like a bad dream.”
Ed remembered the nightmare of seeing their wedding photos torn to shreds on the floor in front of him.
“What are you going to do?”
“Put it on the market. Sell it as soon as I can.”
Ção looked around carefully.
“You know, together we could do it up. Perhaps make it more comfortable than it was before.”
“It’s too dangerous for me to live here now. And for you, too. I’m sorry. I only ever wanted to make life better for you.”
“Ed, if we’re together, we will make life better for each other.”
The fire lit by Ção’s lips had flickered out.
“Let’s sit down, Ção. Let’s talk things over.”
The only place to sit was on the floor. Ção hitched up her skirt and sat in the lotus position. Ed knelt opposite her and looked into her eyes. The sadness he saw there mingled with the familiar cinnamon scent to kindle his lust. He came straight to the point.
“Did you ever love me, Ção?”
“Of course, Ed! I do love you! How can you doubt it?” she shifted her thighs so that her skirt inched higher.
“I doubt it because you left me so easily.”
“Do you think it was easy? Believe me, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“No, I don’t believe you. I’ve realised how much you loved João. And you know what? I believe you still do.”
“How can you say that?” Ção began to weep. “I left João because I realised it’s you I love. It always was.”
“Ção, I want to be loved, for myself. We all do. In the end, I think the nature of the love carries more weight than the person it’s coming from. I don’t want to be a poor substitute for the person you truly love.”
“Ed, I – truly – love – you.” She placed her hands over her eyes and leaned forward until her elbows were on the floor, keeping her arms in place while tears oozed from between her fingers.
“I worshipped you, Ção. I’m not sure any more whether that was love.”
“I worship you, Ed, my love, my husband.”
“It’s love that matters to me now, not worship.”
Ção sat up and dried her eyes with her hands.
“Are you saying you won’t take me back?”
“Not until I’m sure of your love.”
“Where else can I go?”
“You love João. Go back to her.”
“I don’t and I can’t! Why do you pretend not to understand?”
“I know your father would be happy to have you back with him. You’ve got a sister. There’s Estrela. Or you could think about a new life with your mother in Canada.”
Ção got to her feet. Fury blazed in her eyes.
“You’re heartless, Ed Scripps. You think with your prick and feel with your balls! No wonder your life’s all screwed up!”
Ed smiled.
Ção slapped him with enough force to send him sprawling on the floor. He listened to her high heels clacking their way out of the flat as he waited for his brain to clear. With his head still ringing, he turned onto his back, stretched his legs and fell asleep.
Ed’s head ached when he woke. He had not been asleep long. As he left the flat, he closed the new mortise lock with great care. He took the underground to travel the few stops from the Park to Rossio Square, where he bought himself a panama hat to protect his headache from the sun and some aspirin to get rid of it altogether. He bought a bottle of mineral water from a kiosk in the Avenida da Liberdade, swigged from it to ease a couple of the aspirin down his throat, then sat on a bench by the Avenida’s stretch of water and imagined himself asking the black swans which inhabited it what he should do about Ção and the future. A few passers-by stopped to watch the mad foreigner talking to animals, but this was Lisbon, where St. Anthony had preached a sermon to the fish in the River Tagus, so they soon moved on.
With the help of the aspirin, the hat and his unperturbed audience, Ed started to feel considerably better. He was astonished at himself for not having instantly welcomed his wife back into anything more than his arms and his confidence, yet the message arriving from his subconscious was a saying popular from ten years earlier: today is the first day of the rest of your life. Ção would no longer dictate his heartbeats. He need no longer hold back his emotions from the women he slept with, nor even from those with whom his relationships remained platonic. If Ção were to prove she truly loved him not João, she might yet succeed in reigniting his exclusive love for her. Nonetheless, Ed decided to offer first refusal to a woman who had already shown both passion and compassion, maturity and spontaneity, who both saw through Ed and saw things of value in Ed, a woman who, Ed was sure, would repay love with love.
He made his way through the muggy afternoon to her house. A neighbour was leaving the building when he arrived, so Ed took the opportunity to slip inside and walk up to her floor. Nobody answered when he pressed the bell, nor when he knocked on the flat door with his fist. He looked through the keyhole, but it was dark inside. Ed reflected that it was just as well: he was sweaty and had not had a shower that morning. The rancid lover, he imagined her calling him.
Ed took a taxi home, had a refreshingly cool shower and set about the task of preparing his end-of-year assessments without the meticulous records he had kept at Largo do Andaluz. He phoned her at regular intervals, but she did not answer.
The next morning Ed caught a bus to the university. Fortunately, she was teaching that morning and the schedule tacked to the notice board listed her classroom. Ed noted how efficient the administration had become in the last two years. The classroom was empty. Ed waited, but no-one came to fill it. Ed stopped and listened outside other classrooms, but none that were occupied emitted the sound of English being spoken. He went down to the basement café. Xavier and Ashley were standing at the bar, drinking coffee and beer, respectively. Without getting anything for himself, Ed went over to join them.
“Have you seen Carolina? She’s supposed to be here today.”
Ashley shook his head and winked at him. Xavier put down his cup and spoke.
“Haven’t you heard? She’s gone. Back to Iran, for ever. She said she could see more chance of a better life there than here. Faith, hope and hubby. I guess somebody disappointed her here. Whoosh!” He made a gesture of an aeroplane taking off.
A stony silence fell among them. Ashley broke it.
“I’m sorry, Ed. I wasn’t certain about you two, either.”
Xavier looked lost, then distraught.
“I’m sorry, Ed. I never thought –”
Ed managed to generate a hollow laugh.
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s, er, drink to new starts. What do you fancy?”
A while later, Rupert Harley-Davidson joined them. He was in celebratory mood because his wife had just accepted an important post at the Ministry of Education. His enthusiasm affected all of them. Rupert invited them all to lunch at a Brazilian restaurant staffed by political exiles, where Ed became his former animated self. After lunch, they proceeded to a beerhouse downtown, where the afternoon passed in a convivial blur.
Ed did not remember how he had spent the evening, nor even where he was, when his hangover woke him the next morning. Then he recognised his hotel room and remembered that he had bought a bottle of aspirin the previous morning. Ed rolled off the bed and staggered into the bathroom, where he tried to refresh his body and his memory with a shower. Once he was dressed and feeling slightly better, he located his bottle of aspirin, put on his hat and headed out to a nearby café, stopping to buy a morning newspaper on the way. In the café, Ed fortified himself with toast, tea and aspirin while he scanned the newspaper for reports on Angola. He found none. However, a small item in one of the local crime pages caught his attention. Apparently, the authorities had closed down an “esoteric temple” north of Lisbon, and arrested some of its leaders, for tax evasion.
Ed’s thoughts sprang to Simone.
Bloody hell! She’s done it! What a woman!!
Then his thoughts turned to Mark and his elation disappeared.
Too late for poor Mark.
Ed paid his bill and left the café. The day was already hot. He hailed a taxi and gave the address of the British Cemetery. As he approached Mark’s grave, he saw that he would not be alone in paying his respects.
The woman had her back to Ed. Her head was bowed. Thick, dark hair. Full figure. Long dress. All familiar.
Gabriela must have heard Ed’s footsteps on the gravel behind her, because she turned to see who it was. Her misted eyes smiled in recognition.
“I see you read my paper.”
“I buy yours first.”
“It was only in mine. There won’t be anything on TV or the radio, either.”
“Tax evasion?”
“If it was good enough for Al Capone, it’s good enough for Omomnos.”
“It’s hard to believe they’ve really shut down Pangaia.”
“We can go and see for ourselves, if you like. My car is here, and I’ve got the time.”
They drove to Vila Abade. Gabriela told Ed that she was grateful to him for more than teaching her English: he had given her the confidence to keep pressing for a job at a newspaper until someone gave her a chance. They, too, were satisfied with the way she had taken it.
At Vila Abade, the dismantling of the gates and perimeter wall had been thorough. The property was more extensive than it appeared from the outside, with orchards and kitchen gardens as well as houses. Wandering among its two dozen empty buildings was like walking through a ghost town. The cicadas were loud, though intermittent.
“Where have all the people gone?”
“The kids will have gone home. The drifters will have drifted on. The ringleaders are in jail, awaiting trial –”
“For the wrong crime.”
“With every chance of being convicted, Ed. And the people who were using this place and those people for deep cover have simply gone elsewhere and dug deeper.”
“And you think that’s a decent outcome?”
“There will be no more murders like Mark’s, so, yes, I do.”
Ed noted a beauty in Gabriela’s features as she concentrated on her driving on the road back to Lisbon. He reflected that very soon she would no longer be his student. He was puzzled as to why Simone had been in contact with Gabriela but not with him. He asked, and Gabriela explained that Simone had tried to trace him but without success; apparently, Seamus was away. She dropped Ed at his hotel, and wrote down Simone’s current phone number in France for him, together with her own home and office numbers. As Ed’s mind wandered to a day when people might have a single number for all their phones, and the inherent business opportunities, his lips brushed Gabriela’s.
“Bye, teacher,” she said, smiling. As she drove away, Ed savoured the after-taste. Then he went inside and phoned Simone. She answered. She was calm, thinking of the baby, who was due soon. Ed congratulated her on getting Pangaia shut down, and so fast. He confessed he had not expected that.
“Sometimes desperation helps, not that I would recommend it.”
“Was it Jorge who killed Mark?”
“No, it wasn’t him personally. He just gave the orders, but the three people who carried them out are in jail with him, though I’m not sure how long any of them will actually stay there.”
“Simone, it strikes me that at the moment we have four sitting ducks. It might only take money to make their lack of freedom permanent.”
“No, Ed, don’t even think about it!”
“Maybe only Jorge?”
“No, Ed, I don’t want that. I wanted to stop violence, and I think I’ve done that. Pangaia is dead, and new cults will have a harder time in Portugal. That’s enough for me. From now on, all that matters to me is my baby, my child of love.”
Executives from the nearby banks were again contesting the best crowd-watching seats outside the Café Suiça with expensive cameras and their temporary North American owners, so Ed and Keith found themselves a café terrace up the hill in the smart Chiado shopping district for their catching-up and drinking session. An awning protected them from the implacable sun. An elderly waiter brought them chilled beer. Ed cooled his neck with the bottle before swigging from it. Keith poured his into a glass. They eyed the passers-by.
“Hard life, Keith, isn’t it?” They both laughed.
“Ever think of moving on?”
“Me? No. I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted here. Why should I move, unless there’s a counter-revolution. And even then ... I could probably adjust. How about you, Ed? Has Portugal already become too small for you?”
“No, I love it here. Unfortunately, it’s become too small for me and certain other people. They are powerful and dangerous, so I have to get out, at least for a while.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ed. Really. You came here at the wrong time, yet made a go of things. Well, I’m sure you’ve got plans.”
“You bet! Make a virtue out of necessity. First of all, a year in England. Get myself a proper academic qualification for teaching English abroad.”
“You realise the gold standard is an MA in applied linguistics, I take it. Have you applied?”
“Yeah. A bit late, but maybe I can squeeze in through the clearing house, if not for a Master’s then for some kind of Diploma or Certificate.”
“Go for the Master’s, that’s my advice. Make the world your oyster. Which part of the oyster do you fancy?”
“You know, Keith, the place I think has most potential is Angola. It’s got oil, diamonds, potentially every mineral under the ground and every kind of food that grows above it. At the moment, it can’t develop because of war and Stalinism, but that has got to change, and I’d like to be there when it does.”
“Helping and cashing in at the same time.”
“Exactly. What I’d really like to do is to teach business ethics, to help them transition to a decent form of capitalism instead of the usual kleptocracy. But I’ll be happy enough to start by teaching English.”
“While looking for some individual, ethical business niches that you alone can fill?”
“Preferably. Another beer?”
Keith grinned and nodded, Ed ordered, and the drinks promptly arrived.
“You know,” said Keith as he filled his glass, “I’m always looking for places to expand the Sussex School franchise. Keep that in mind.”
They toasted to future success.
Ed persuaded Deolinda d’Almeida to back his application for an unpaid sabbatical year from the University. In fact, she welcomed the idea.
“We weren’t too impressed with your Mickey Mouse degrees, but we were desperate for English teachers at the time, so we took you on. We’re glad we did, as things turned out, but we’ll be gladder still if you come back a year from now with a real Master’s in a relevant subject.” First her mouth smiled, then her eyes joined it. Briefly, Ed wished he were older.
After putting his flat on the market through an agent, Ed had one more duty to perform before he left Portugal. He phoned home. His parents had never visited Portugal; now he invited them over. They hesitated.
“Come on, Dad. Even vicars go on holiday. And I’m paying, not the parish. I’d love to show you this country. You’ll probably love it, you might hate it, but you won’t be bored.”
Ed got his mother to work on her husband’s reluctance to “sponge off his son”.
“Look, Mum, I’m going to be strapped for cash next year, so this is my last chance to feel rich and be the opposite of a bad boy at the same time.”
And so they came. The heat was a problem. The language bemused them. But they love