Under the Volcano - Malcolm Lowry [163]
"What for you want to look at Mehican caballo? For why?" The policeman laughed suddenly, with real merriment, slapping his thighs--obviously he was a good fellow and the Consul, feeling the ice was broken, laughed too. But the policeman obviously enough was also quite drunk, so it was difficult to gauge the quality of this laughter. While the faces of both Diosdado and the man in tweeds remained black and stern. "You make a the map of the Spain," the policeman persisted, controlling his laughter finally." You know ah Spain?"
"Comment non," the Consul said. So Diosdado had told him about the map, yet surely that was an innocently sad enough thing to have done. "Oui. Es muy asombrosa," No, this wasn't Pernambuco: definitely he ought not to speak Portuguese. "Jawohl. Correcto, señor," he finished. "Yes, I know Spain."
"You make a the map of the Spain? You Bolsheviki prick? You member of the Brigade Internationale and stir up trouble?"
"No," answered the Consul firmly, decently, but now somewhat agitated. "Absolutamente no."
"¿Ab-so-lut-a-mente hey?" The policeman, with another wink at Diosdado, imitated the Consul's manner. He came round to the correct side of the bar again, bringing the sombre man with him who didn't say a word or drink but merely stood there, looking stern, as did the Elephant, opposite them now, angrily drying glasses. "All," he drawled, and "right!" the policeman added with tremendous emphasis, slapping the Consul on the back. "All right. Come on my friend--" he invited him. "Drink. Drink a all you ah want to have. We have been looking for you," he went on in a loud, half bantering, drunken tone. "You have murdered a man and escaped through seven states. We want to found out about you. We have founded out--it is right?--you desert your ship at Vera Cruz? You say you have money. How much money a you have got?"
The Consul took out a crumpled note and replaced it in his pocket. "Fifty pesos, hey. Perhaps that not enough money. What are you for? ¿Inglés? ¿Español? ¿Americano? ¿Alemán? ¿Russish? You come a from the you-are-essy-essy? What for are you do?"
"I no spikker the English--hey, what's your names?" someone else asked him loudly at his elbow, and the Consul turned to see another policeman dressed much like the first, only shorter, heavy-jowled, with little cruel eyes in an ashen pulpy clean-shaven face. Though he carried sidearms both his trigger finger and his right thumb were missing. As he spoke he made an obscene rolling movement of his hips and winked at the first policeman and at Diosdado though avoiding the eyes of the man in tweeds. "Progresión al culo," he added, for no reason the Consul knew of, still rolling his hips.
"He is the Chief of Municipality," the first policeman explained heartily to the Consul. "This man want to know ah your name. ¿Como se llama?"
"Yes, what's your names?" shouted the second policeman, who had taken a drink from the bar, but not looking at the Consul and still rolling his hips.
"Trotsky," gibed someone from the far end of the counter, and the Consul, beard-conscious, flushed.
"Blackstone," he answered gravely, and indeed, he asked himself, accepting another mescal, had he not and with a vengeance come to live among the Indians? The only trouble was one was very much afraid these particular Indians might turn out to be people with ideas too. "William Blackstone."
"Why ah are you," shouted the fat policeman, whose own name was something like Zuzugoitea, "What ah are you for?" And he repeated the catechism of the first policeman, whom he seemed to imitate in everything." "¿Inglés? ¿Alemán?"
The Consul shook his head. "No. Just William Blackstone."
"You are Juden?" the first policeman demanded.
"No. Just Blackstone," the Consul repeated, shaking his head, "William Blackstone. Jews are seldom very borracho'
"You are--ah--a borracho, hey," the first policeman said, and everyone laughed--several others, his henchmen evidently, had joined them though the Consul couldn't distinguish them clearly--save the inflexible indifferent man in tweeds. "He is the Chief of Gardens," the first policeman explained, continuing; "That man is Jefe de Jardineros." And there was a certain awe in his tone." I am chief too, I am Chief of Rostrums," he added, but almost reflectively, as if he meant "I am only Chief of Rostrums."