Chapter 20 Section ten

The next day I went to see Rosalinda with Marcus Logan.Like the night of the reception, he picked me up at my house first, then wandered the streets.There have been some subtle changes in our relationship.The hasty flight from the Governor's Palace banquet, the run across the gardens, and the walk side by side in the shadows of the city in the wee hours of the morning seemed to dissolve the distance between him and me.Maybe it's a sense of trust, maybe it's not, maybe I'll never know what it is.But in a sense, that doesn't matter anymore.The important thing is that I know that he is trying to save my mother, that he has a genuine passion for me, that he enjoys living in Tetouan.That's enough, I don't need to know more about him, and I don't need to get any closer to him in any way, because the day of his departure is so close.

She was still in bed when we went, but seemed much better.The house had been tidied and she had a bath, and the shutters were open, letting in a flood of sunlight from the garden outside.On the third day she moved from the bed to the couch.On the fourth day, she traded her silk pajamas for a printed dress, got her hair done, and began to take charge of her life again. Although her health was still far from ideal, she decided to seize every moment to find happiness until her husband arrived, as if these few weeks would be the last of her life.She played the role of competent hostess again, creating an ideal atmosphere for Bergbel, so that he can devote himself to various public relations in a relaxed and safe environment, and trust and rely on the lover's heart and soul. ability.All the parties were presided over by an Englishwoman, and the German-friendly governor was as comfortable as in his own home.I never knew how the party guests thought about it.But Rosalinda's desire to win Bergberg over to the British side remained unchanged, and many less formal receptions were held for this purpose.

As she had done before and will continue to do, she invited Tangier's British friends at several dinners, either diplomats, military attaches far from the German-Italian Axis, and those in the mainstream Representatives of more influential multinational companies in society.She also organized dinners for Gibraltar authorities and officials aboard a British warship docked in the port of Tangier.At all events, Juan Luis Begbel and Rosalinda Fox moved among the guests with cocktails in one hand and cigarettes in the other, in a comfortable, relaxed, welcoming and intimate way.It was as if nothing had happened, that Spain had not plunged into cannibalism, and that Europe had not moved one step closer to its worst nightmare.

I had several opportunities to get up close and personal with Bergbeer and once again witness his unique personality.He often wears Moroccan clothes, sometimes a pair of slippers, sometimes a robe.He's nice, approachable, and a little eccentric.Most of all, however, he loved Rosalinda with the depths of his affection, and he expressed this love openly in front of everyone.Logan and I still see each other often, and although I try to restrain myself every day, I still can't stop the goodwill and a congenial relationship that slowly develops between us, and the two hearts are getting closer.If it wasn't for my intentional avoidance and restraint, this ambiguous friendship might soon overflow into a deeper and more impulsive relationship.But I've tried not to let it happen, I've stood my ground, lest we go too far.The damage I've done to Ramiro hasn't healed yet, and I know Marcus Logan will be leaving me soon, and I don't want to suffer again.Nevertheless, we often showed up together at the banquets at the villa in Via Palmeiras, sometimes even with a cheering Felix, who wanted to enter this strange and seductive world for him. rejoice.On several occasions when a group of us made a mighty drive to Tangier, Bergbeer invited us to the opening of the Spanish Journal, a paper meant to convey to the world the message his comrades in battle for his noble cause wanted to convey. .Other times, the four of us went out together: Marcus, Felix, Rosalinda, and I, Rosalinda taking us around in her Dodge: go to the Sackan Spit store For Irish beef, bacon and gin, go dancing at Harris Manor, catch an American film at Campton Cinemas, or order a few whimsical tiaras from Marigida's hat shop.

Sometimes we wander through the white Moorish neighborhoods of Tetouan, eat pilaf, bean broth and honey almond desserts, climb the mountains of Delsa and Gergues, we also go to the beach of Mardin, to the tents of Ketama Looking for customers, wandering among the pine forests that have not yet been covered by snow.Until time ran out, the last thing I wanted to see finally came.Only then did we realize again that reality may be harsher than the gloomiest forecasts.I understood this less than a week after Rosalinda's husband arrived. "Much worse than I imagined." She collapsed on an ottoman as soon as she entered.

But this time she didn't look depressed, and she didn't look as angry as when she first received the news, just sad, tired, depressed, a deep, dark depression.Because of Pete, because of their current situation, because of herself.After six years of walking alone in this world, she thought she was ready to bear everything, that the accumulated life experience of so many years had given her enough courage to face any difficulties.But Pete was more difficult than she imagined.To her he was still the dominant father and husband, as if they had never lived so many years apart, as if Rosalinda's life had never changed since she married him, and she was the same little girl she had always been.He blamed her for teaching Johnny too loosely, complained that Johnny didn't go to a good school, that Johnny didn't have a babysitter with him when he went out to play with the neighborhood kids, and that the only sport he played was throwing stones and throwing them well. Ann's Moore kids are as accurate.He also complained that there were no radio programs he liked here, that there was no club where he could meet his fellow Britons, that no one around him spoke English, and that he couldn't even buy British newspapers in this isolated city.

But not everything displeased the fastidious Pete.He was happiest with Tanquelari gin and Johnny Walker Black Label, which at that time in Tangier were available at exorbitant prices.He drank at least a bottle of whiskey a day and a gin or two before each meal.His drinking was prodigious, as was his brutality with the servants of his family.He spoke English to them savagely, with no regard for their understanding.When at last he found that they could not understand, he shouted at them in the patois, and it seemed to him that all the servants in the world spoke the same language.To his great surprise, all the people slowly disappeared from their house.Everyone, from his wife's friends to the humblest servant in the family, soon learned what Pete Fox was like.Selfish, unreasonable, self-willed, drunk, arrogant, hot-tempered, it's hard to find anyone with more flaws than him.

Bergbell obviously no longer spent most of his time at Rosalinda's house as he had done before, but they still saw each other in other places every day, sometimes at the Governor's Palace and sometimes to the surrounding places.To the astonishment of many people, including me, is that Bergbeer has always taken good care of his lover's husband.Arrange for him to go fishing on the River Smere and hunt wild boars in Haymitch Forest.Offer him transport to Gibraltar so he can drink English beer and chat about polo and cricket with fellow Britons.In short, every effort was made to treat him as a special foreign guest.And the personalities of the two of them are almost exactly the two extremes. It is strange that these two diametrically opposed men play the same profound role in the life of the same woman.Perhaps because of this, they never clashed.

“Peter thought Juan Luis was a dull, proud Spaniard, like an ancient knight from a painting from the Golden Age,” Rosalinda told me, “and Juan Luis thought Pete was a A snob, an incomprehensible and ridiculous clown. They are like two parallel lines, which can never collide because they can never find a point of intersection. But the only difference between them is, as a man, to me Pete's not even in Juan Luis' heels." "Then no one told your husband what happened between you?" "You mean my relationship with Juan Luis?" She lit a cigarette and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. It doesn't matter to him."

"I don't understand how he can be indifferent." She shrugged. "I don't understand either. But if he doesn't have to pay rent, and he's always surrounded by someone, with endless drinks, hot meals, and exciting sports, I don't think he cares about everything else. Of course." , if we still live in Calcutta, then everything will be different. If there, I guess he will do everything to maintain this ostensible marriage. But here, no one knows him, this is not his world. So, no matter who told him anything about me, he just ignored it." "I still don't understand."

"But one thing's for sure, dear, I'm not important to him at all." Her words were mixed with sarcasm and sadness, "everything is more important to him than me: a morning of fishing, a bottle of Dusi, Zijiu, or a game of poker. He never cared about me before, so he can't care about me from now on." While Rosalinda was battling the devil in hell, I, too, was finally about to face another upturn in my life.It was a very windy Tuesday, and Marcus Logan came to my house around noon. We've remained friends, great friends, that's all.Both of them knew very well that he would have to leave someday, knowing that he was just a passing guest in my world.As much as I've tried to forget, Ramiro's wounds are so fresh, I'm not ready to go through the heart-wrenching pain of loss again.Yes, Marcus and I, we are attracted to each other, we are fascinated by each other, and it is not without opportunity to further sublimate this affection.There have been complicity between us, ordinary interactions, affectionate gazes, and long talks all night long. We respect each other, but we desire each other.There have been closeness and tenderness, but I tried hard to hold on to my feelings tightly, refusing to develop any further, and he accepted it.It is really difficult to control myself, and I need to experience countless times of hesitation, confusion and sleepless nights.But with the thought of having to deal with the pain of being abandoned again, I'd rather choose to keep the memorable moments and memories we spent together during those chaotic and busy days.Those nights full of laughs, toasts, smokes, rowdy poker games, outings to Tangier, walks, long talks, moments that will never come back, I will cherish forever in my memory, put it As the end of a period, the beginning of a new life journey. Marcus's surprise visit to my clothing store on Sidi Manderley Avenue meant that one part of my life came to an end that morning and another began.One door is closing and another is opening.And I, in the midst of them, unable to retain what is about to pass away, eager to embrace what is to come. "Your mother is already on her way. She boarded a British merchant ship from Alicante last night bound for Oran, and will arrive in Gibraltar in three days. Rosalinda will take care of her crossing, there will be no If there is a problem, she will tell you how to operate the next itinerary." I wanted to thank him from the bottom of my heart, but before I could say those two simple words, tears rolled down my face.I cried bitterly, unable to say a word, the only thing I could do was hug him tightly with all my strength, tears soaked the collar of his coat. "And it's time for me to get on the road again." He paused for a few seconds and added. I sobbed and looked at him.He took out a white handkerchief and handed it to me. "The news agency asked me to go back. My mission in Morocco is done and I have to go back." "Back to Madrid?" He shrugged. "Go back to London for now, and then, go where they sent me." I hugged him again and started crying again.At last I stifled my surging emotion, the turmoil of the greatest joy and the deepest sorrow.I broke down in tears and said: "Don't go, Marcus." "I wish I could call my own. But I can't stay here anymore, Sheila, they need me somewhere else." I looked at his face again with tears in my eyes. This face has become so close. Although there are still some scars, there is no trace of the man who came to the National Hotel that summer night and was seriously injured.The day I welcomed a stranger with nervousness and dread, I now had to face the heart-wrenching parting of someone who had been so close, maybe even more so than I dared admit. I sniffed hard. "If one day you want to give your girlfriend a dress, you know where I am." "If one day I want a girlfriend, I'll come back to you," he said, reaching for my face.He tried to wipe my tears away with his fingers, and the gentle touch made me tremble. How I wish this day would never come. "You lied." I whispered. "you are pretty." His fingers stroked my face down to the roots, then through the thick black hair to the nape of my neck.Our faces are slowly approaching, slowly, as if fear intensifies the emotion that has been floating in the air for so long. Suddenly the sound of keys turning in the lock separated us, and Hamila came running in, panting, with an urgent message in broken Spanish. "Mrs. Fox asked Miss Sheila to run to Palmeiras Street." Everything is already in motion and the final hour has come.Marcus picked up his hat and I couldn't help but hug him again.No language, nothing more to say.A few seconds later, the firm and intimate him was no longer by my side, only the light kiss on the hair, his back view, and the heart-wrenching sound of closing the door behind him.