The Spanish Game. Charles Cumming

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СКАЧАТЬ Saul says, and Sofía looks startled. He’s more drunk than I had realized and may have misjudged the wonders of the Ricken charm. ‘Worst movie I’ve seen in the last five years. Facile, adolescent, piss poor.’

      Silence. Sofía slides me a look.

      ‘You get–what?–transvestites and pregnant nuns and benign hookers and what does it all add up to? Nothing. AIDS is just co-opted for cheap emotional impact. Or the new one, Talk to Her. I’m supposed to feel sympathetic towards a retarded necrophiliac? None of it makes any sense. There’s no recognizable human emotion in Almodóvar’s movies, and I’ll tell you why–because he’s too juvenile to cope with real suffering. The whole thing’s a camp pantomime. But his films are shot so beautifully you’re tricked into thinking you’re in the presence of an artist.’

      The outburst allows me to speak to Sofía in Spanish, as if to apologize for Saul getting out of hand.

      ‘I’m going to make an excuse and get us out of here,’ I tell her, speaking quickly and employing as much slang as I can. Then, looking at Saul as if to laugh him off, ‘Don’t believe everything my friend has told you. He’s drunk. And he’s in a difficult mood.’

      ‘What are you saying?’

      ‘Alex was just telling me that you love the cinema,’ Sofía tells him quickly. ‘But I don’t think this can be true. How can you love cinema if you don’t love Pedro Almodóvar?’

      ‘It’s a Madrid thing,’ I explain. Saul makes a sucking noise with his teeth. ‘Almodóvar came onto the scene after Franco, made a lot of risqué comedies; they associate him with freedom and excess. He’s a cultural icon.’

      ‘Exactly,’ Sofía nods. ‘It is very English of you not to embrace him. The films are crazy, of course they are, but you mustn’t be so literal about it.’

      Saul looks contrite. ‘Well, we don’t have anyone comparable in England,’ he says, which may be his way of apologizing. ‘Maybe Hitchcock, maybe Chaplin, that’s about it.’

      ‘Judi Dench?’ I suggest, trying to make a joke of it, but neither of them laughs. Julian has come back in from the street and he seems flustered.

      ‘Look, I’m afraid we’ve got to bugger off.’ He pinches Sofía’s neck in a way that annoys me. ‘Just had a message from our friends. We were supposed to meet them in Santa Ana.’

      Is this an excuse? When Julian arrived he said nothing about meeting anyone for a drink.

      ‘Santa Ana?’ Sofía drains her Diet Coke. ‘Joder. Are you sure?’

      ‘Quite sure.’ Julian brandishes his mobile phone as if producing evidence in a court of law. ‘And we’re late. So we’d better hit the road.’

      There are rapid apologies and farewells–Sofía and I very pointedly do not kiss–and then they are gone. Saul drains his caña and places the glass on a nearby table.

      ‘That was a bit sudden.’ He is as suspicious as I am. ‘You think they just wanted to be alone?’

      ‘Probably. Not much fun bumping into an employee on your night off.’

      ‘They seemed nice, though.’

      ‘Yeah, Julian’s OK. Comes on a bit strong. Gale force Sloane Ranger, but he pays my wages.’

      ‘How do you know he’s not SIS?’

      I look around to ensure that nobody has overheard the question.

      ‘What?’

      ‘You heard.’

      ‘Because I just do.’

      ‘How?’

      Saul is smiling. There’s no chance that he will drop the subject. I try to look irritated and say, ‘Let’s just chat about something else, OK?’ but he keeps going.

      ‘I mean, surely you must have had your doubts? Or was the job at Endiom too important to sacrifice for the sake of a paranoid hunch?’ My expression must give something away here because he looks at me, knowing that he has struck a nerve. ‘After all, you didn’t seek him out. He approached you. So, according to the Laws of Alec Milius, he’s a threat.’ A big grin with this. ‘You said he heard you speaking Russian in a restaurant and offered you a job.’

      ‘That’s right. And then I ran basic background checks on Endiom, on Julian and his wife, and everything came up clean. So it’s cool. He’s fine.’

      Saul laughs, rapping his knuckles against the wall. In an attempt to move off the subject, I say that it’s his round and he goes to the bar, buys two more cañas, coming back with his mood completely unchanged.

      ‘So you ran background checks?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘And what came up about Sofía?’

      ‘Sofía?’

      ‘Yes, the woman he was with. Julian’s wife. Didn’t you catch her name?’

      The sarcasm has deepened. There is mischief in his eyes.

      ‘I hardly know her.’

      ‘She’s good looking,’ he says.

      ‘Do you think?’

      ‘Don’t you?’

      ‘It’s not that. I’ve just never thought of her that way. She’s not my type.’

      ‘Not your type.’ A small silence, then Saul says, ‘What age would you say she was? Early thirties?’

      ‘Probably. Yes.’

      ‘Very smart? Very sexy?’ It takes me a moment to realize that he is quoting from our earlier conversation. He stares directly into my eyes. ‘You’re fucking her, aren’t you?’

      Yet again he has seen right through me. I use the noise of the bar and the low light to try to disguise my reaction.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

      He ignores this.

      ‘Does Julian know?’

      ‘What are you talking about? I met her for the second time tonight.’

      ‘Oh come on, mate. It’s me’ Why am I bothering to lie, and to Saul of all people? What possible harm could come from him knowing? ‘Your little exchange in Spanish? That was about Pedro Almodóvar? It wasn’t about both of you saying how much you missed each other and how awkward things were getting with me and Julian hanging around?’

      ‘Of course not. Where’s this coming from?’

      I seem to possess a default personality set to perfidy and misinformation. Not for one moment has it occurred to me to tell Saul the truth, but my relationship with Sofía is one of the few things out here that gives me any pleasure, and I don’t want him trampling on it with his СКАЧАТЬ