I dont mind, I said, and I thought of Hatty and her tea-leaves and how she had foreseen my travels in her best Lapsang Souchong.
He says you have come from a long way off.
Thats a bit obvious, isnt it?
But your travels are nearly over.
That can hardly be true. I have to go back home.
He sees a reunion of someone very close to you. Your wife perhaps.
I have no wife.
He says it could be your mother.
Shes dead. At least
You have had a great deal of money in your care. But no longer.
At any rate hes scored there. I was in a bank.
He sees a death but its far away from your heartline and your life-line. Its not an important death. Perhaps a strangers.
Do you believe in this nonsense? I asked the American.
No, I guess not, but I try to keep an open mind. My names OToole. James OToole.
Mines Pulling Henry, I said. In the background the old man continued his report in Spanish. He seemed not to care whether it was translated or not. He had pulled out a notebook and was writing things down.
You a Londoner?
Yes.
I come from Philadelphia. He wants me to tell you that yours is the nine hundred and seventy-second hand hes studied. Sorry, nine hundred and seventy-fifth. The old man closed his notebook with an air of satisfaction. Then he shook hands with me and thanked me, paid for the drinks, bowed and departed. The magnifying glass bulged in his pocket like a gun.
Mind if I join you? the American asked. He wore an English tweed coat and a pair of old grey flannel trousers: thin and melancholy, he looked as English as I did; there were small lines bitten by care around the eyes and mouth, and like a man who has lost his way, he had a habit of looking this way and that with anxiety. He had nothing in common with the Americans whom I had met in England, noisy and self-confident, with the young unlined faces of children romping and shouting to one another across the nursery floor.
He said, You going to Asunción too?
Yes.
Theres nowhere else on this trip worth a visit. Corrientes isnt too bad if you dont spend a night. Formosa thats a dump. Only smugglers get off there, though they do talk of the fishing. I guess youre not a smuggler?
No. You seem to know these parts well.
Too well, he said. You on vacation?
I suppose so. Yes.
Going to see the Iguazú Falls? Lots of people go there. If you do, better stay on the Brazilian side. Only good hotel.
Are they worth a visit?
Maybe. If you like that kind of thing. Just a lot of water if you ask me[241].
The barman obviously knew the American well, for he had made him a dry Martini without a word said, and he drank it now morosely and without pleasure. Its not like Gordons, he said. He took a slow look at me, almost as if he were memorizing my features. I took you for a business-man, Henry, he said. Vacationing all by yourself? Not much fun. Strange country. And you dont speak the language not that Spanish is any good outside the city. In the country they all speak Guaraní.
Do you?
A smattering. I noticed he asked questions more than he answered them, and when he gave me information it was the kind of information which I could have obtained from any guide-book. Picturesque ruins, he said, old Jesuit settlements. They appeal to you, Henry?
I felt he wouldnt be satisfied until I had told him more. What was the harm? I wasnt carrying a gold brick or a suitcase stuffed with notes. As he said, I was no smuggler. I am visiting an old relation of mine, I said and added, James. I could see he wanted that too.
My friends call me Tooley, he said automatically, and it was quite a while before in my mind the coin fell.
Are you in business here?
Not exactly, he said. I do research work. Social research. You know the sort of thing, Henry. Cost of living. Malnutrition. Degree of illiteracy. Have a drink.
Two is all I can take, Tooley, I said, and it was only at the repetition of the name that I remembered, remembered Tooley. He pushed his own glass forward for another.
Do you find things easy in Paraguay? Ive read in the papers you Americans have a lot of trouble in South America.
Not in Paraguay, he said. We and the General are like that. He raised his thumb and forefinger and then transferred them to his refilled glass.
Hes quite a tough dictator, so they tell me[242].
Its what the country needs, Henry. A strong hand. Dont mistake me though. I keep out of politics. Simple research. Thats my line.
Have you published anything?
Oh, he replied vaguely, reports. Technical. They wouldnt interest you, Henry.
It was inevitable that when the bell rang we should go into lunch together. We shared the table with two other men. One was a grey-faced man in a blue city suit who was on a diet (the steward, who knew him well, brought him a special dish of boiled vegetables which he looked at carefully before eating, twitching the end of his nose and his upper lip like a rabbit). The other was a fat old priest with rogue eyes who looked rather like Winston Churchill. I was amused to watch OToole set about the two of them. Before we had finished our bad liver pâté[243], he had found that the priest had a parish in a village near Corrientes, on the Argentine side of the border, and before we had eaten our equally bad pasta he had broken a little way into the taciturnity of the man with the nose like a rabbits. He was apparently a businessman returning to Formosa. When he mentioned Formosa, OToole looked at me and gave a little nod of confirmation: he had placed him.