I telegraphed to Miss Keene, JOINING MY AUNT IN BUENOS AIRES SHORTLY. WILL WRITE, and set about selling the furniture. The Venetian glass, I am afraid, went for a song[236]. When all was sold at Harrods auction rooms (I had some dispute with the landlord of the Crown and Anchor over the sofa on the landing) I received enough for my return ticket and fifty pounds in travellers cheques, so I did not cash my aunts draft on the Swiss bank and I paid the little that was over into my own account, for I thought it better for her to have no assets in England if she planned not to return.
But as for joining my aunt in Buenos Aires, my forecast had been too optimistic. There was no one to meet me at the airport, and when I arrived at the Lancaster Hotel I found only my room reserved and a letter. I am sorry not to be here to greet you, she wrote, but I have had to move on urgently to Paraguay, where an old friend of mine is in some distress. I have left you a ticket for the river-boat. For reasons too complicated to explain now I do not wish you to take a plane to Asunción. I cannot give you an address, but I will see that you are met.
It was a highly unsatisfactory arrangement, but what could I do? I hadnt sufficient funds to stay in Buenos Aires until I heard from her again, and I felt it impossible to return to England, when I had travelled so far on her money, but I took the precaution of changing her single ticket to Asunción into a return[237].
I propped the photograph of Freetown harbour in its expensive frame at the back of my dressing-table and supported it with books on either side. I had brought with me, among more ephemeral literature, Palgraves Golden Treasury, the collected poems of Tennyson and Browning, and at the last minute I had added Rob Roy, perhaps because it contained the only photograph I possessed of my aunt. When I opened the book now the pages naturally divided at the photograph, and I found myself thinking not for the first time that the happy smile, the young breasts, the curve of her body in the old-fashioned bathing costume were like the suggestion of a budding maternity. The memory of Viscontis son as he took her in his arms on Milan platform hurt me a little, and I looked out of my porthole, to escape my thoughts, into the winter day and saw a tall lean sad grey man gazing back at me. My window gave on to the bows and he turned quickly away to watch the ships wake, embarrassed at having been noticed. I finished my unpacking and went down to the bar.
There was the restlessness of departure about the ship.
Lunch, as I learnt, was to be served at the curious hour of eleven-thirty, but until that time the passengers could no more settle than can the passengers on a Channel crossing. They came up and down the stairs, they looked at the bar and inspected the bottles and went away again without ordering a drink. They streamed into the dining-room and out again, they sat down for a moment at a table in the lounge, then rose to look through a porthole at the monotonous river scene which was to be with us for the next four days. I was the only one to take a drink. There was no sherry, so I took a gin and tonic, but the gin was Argentinian, though the name was English, and had a foreign flavour. The low wooded shore of what I took to be Uruguay unrolled in the misty rain which now began to clear the decks. The water of the river was the colour of coffee with too much milk.
An old man who must have been well into his eighties reached a decision and sat down beside me. He asked me a question in Spanish which I couldnt answer. No hablo español, señor[238], I said, but this scrap of Spanish which I had learnt from a phrase-book he took as an encouragement and at once began to deliver a small lecture, removing from his pocket a large magnifying glass and laying it down between us. I tried to escape by paying my bill, but he grabbed it from my hand and stuck it under his own glass, at the same time ordering the barman to refill mine. I have never been in the habit of taking two drinks before lunch, and I definitely did not like the taste of the gin, but for lack of Spanish I had to submit.
He was making some demand on me, but I could not guess what. The words el favor[239] were repeated several times, and when he saw I didnt understand, he held out his own hand as a demonstration and began to examine it through the magnifying glass. A voice said, Can I be of any help? and turning, I saw the sad lean man who had watched me through my porthole.
I said, I dont understand what this gentleman wants.
His hobby is reading hands[240]. He says hes never had the opportunity to read an Americans.
Tell him Im English.
He says the same applies. I dont think he sees much difference. We are both Anglo-Saxon.
There was nothing I could do but hold out my hand. The old man examined it with extreme care through the magnifying glass. He asks me to translate, but maybe youd rather I didnt. Its kind of personal, a fortune.