The Blue Afternoon by William Boyd

Author:William Boyd
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789085241522
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 1992-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

THE FOUR-CYLINDER 12 H.P. FLANQUIN

Udo Leys had a bad cold, his eyes itched, his nose ran copiously and he had a dull pain in his chest from the dry, baying cough that erupted irregularly in his lungs. He sounded like some strange mythical animal in its rutting season, plaintively seeking a mate, half sea-lion, half ape, he said, his amusement at this notion setting off another coughing bout. It subsided and he blew his nose, wiping his tufty moustache with considerable care.

“I may be an old man,” he said, “but that’s no excuse. There’s nothing more disgusting than an old man’s moustache when he’s got a cold. My own father’s, I remember…” He winced. “Full of dried snot. It quite put me off my food. You will tell me, Salvador, if I miss anything, please.” He pushed his lumpy face forward for inspection, lifting his soft pulpy nose with a finger.

“Of course, Udo. There’s not a trace.”

“Is it far to go?” Pantaleon asked. Carriscant could sense the suppressed tremble of excitement in his friend’s lean body. Like a gun dog, quivering with energy and anticipation.

“Ten minutes,” Udo said. “They cleared customs this afternoon.”

“And there were no problems?”

“I tell you, Dr Quiroga, there is nobody like Nicanor Axel in the China Sea.” Udo led them to the door. “When it comes to a discreet or delicate commission Axel is the only man. He has worked wonders for me, wonders.”

They descended from the office to the Calle Crespo, the street almost silent now the tin shops were shut, but from the far end came the firecracker retorts from the shooting gallery and the sound of a barrel organ playing ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’. They heaved Udo into Carriscant’s victoria and squeezed in beside him. Constancio whacked the pony’s rear and they clopped off in the direction of the docks, detouring Escolta’s crowds of shoppers on Panteleon’s request (in case he was spotted, he said), going instead via the Plaza Calderon and swinging round through dark malodorous lanes between warehouses to emerge at the quayside next to the fire station.

They descended and peered at the mass of shipping moored on the Pasig. Smoke rose from braziers on the sterns of the wallowing cascos and the glare of the electric light from the fire station and the customs house made it difficult to see beyond the water’s edge: nothing much more than a confusion of masts and rigging and here and there, further out from the wharves, the solider, darker bulk of the inter-island steamers and coasters.

“What about the way back?” Carriscant asked. “Will there be room?”

“Don’t worry,” Pantaleon said. “I’ll take it straight home. I’ll hire a carromato.”

Constancio was despatched in search of one and then the three men picked their way on sagging gangplanks across the banked houseboats towards where Axel’s steamer was moored. Families sat around cooking fires preparing dinner, only the children curious about these three Americanos in their white suits tramping through their homes.

“Why doesn’t he put in at a jetty?” Carriscant asked.

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