3
When he went into the room there was no sign of Maria, but her father was busy at the sideboard with a bottle and a couple of glasses. His face split into a wide grin and he walked quickly across and handed Marlowe a glass. Brandy the best in the house. I feel like a young man again.
Marlowe swallowed the brandy gratefully and nodded towards the window as the engine of the van roared into life. Thats the last youll see of him.
The old man shrugged and an ugly look came into his eyes. Who knows? Next time Ill be prepared. Ill stick a knife into his belly and argue afterwards.
Maria came into the room, a basin of hot water in one hand and bandages and a towel in the other. She still looked white and shaken, but she managed a smile as she set the bowl down on the table. Ill have a look at that arm now, she said.
Marlowe removed his raincoat and jacket and she gently sponged away congealed blood and pursed her lips. It doesnt look too good. She shook her head and turned to her father. What do you think, Papa?
Papa Magellan looked carefully at the wound and a sudden light flickered in his eyes. Pretty nasty. How did you say you got it, boy?
Marlowe shrugged. Ripped it on a spike getting off a truck. Ive been hitching my way from London.
The old man nodded. A spike, eh? A light smile touched his mouth. I dont think we need bother the doctor, Maria. Clean it up and bandage it well. Itll be fine inside a week.
Maria still looked dubious and Marlowe said, Hes right. You women make a fuss about every little scratch. He laughed and fished for a cigarette with his right hand. I walked a hundred and fifty miles in Korea with a bullet in my thigh. I had to. There was no one available to take it out.
She scowled and quick fury danced in her eyes. All right. We dont get the doctor. Have it your own way. I hope your arm poisons and falls off.
He chuckled and she bent her head and went to work. Papa Magellan said, You were in Korea? Marlowe nodded and the old man went over to the sideboard and came back with a framed photo. My son, Pedro, he said.
The boy smiled stiffly out of the photo, proud and self-conscious of the new uniform. It was the sort of picture every recruit has taken during his first few weeks of basic training. He looks like a good boy, Marlowe remarked in a non-committal voice.
Papa Magellan nodded vigorously. He was a fine boy. He was going to go to Agricultural College. Always wanted to be a farmer. The old man sighed heavily. He was killed in a patrol action near the Imjin River in 1953.
Marlowe examined the photo again and wondered if Pedro Magellan had been smiling like that when the bullets smashed into him. But it was no use thinking about that because men in war died in so many different ways. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, but always scared, with fear biting into their faces.
He grunted and handed back the photograph. That was a little after my time. I was captured in the early days when the Chinese took a hand.
Maria looked up quickly. How long were you a prisoner?
About three years, Marlowe told her.
The old man whistled softly. Holy Mother, thats a long time. You must have had it rough. I hear those Chinese camps were pretty tough.
Marlowe shrugged. I wouldnt know. I wasnt in a camp. They put me to work in a coal mine in Manchuria.
Magellans eyes narrowed and all humour left his face. Ive heard a little about those places also. There was a short silence and then he grinned and clapped Marlowe on the shoulder. Still, all this is in the past. Maybe its a good thing for a man, like going through fire. A sort of purification.
Marlowe laughed harshly. That sort of purification I can do without.
As Maria pressed plaster over the loose ends of the bandage she said quietly, Papa has had a little of that kind of fire in his time. He was in the International Brigade in Spain. The Fascists held him in prison for two years.
The old man shrugged expressively and raised a hand in protest. Why speak of these things? They are dead. Ancient history. We are living in the present. Life is often unpleasant and always unfair. A wise man puts it all down to experience and does the best he can.
He stood, hands in pockets, smiling at them and Maria said, There, it is finished.
Marlowe stood up and began to turn down the tattered remnants of his shirt sleeve. Id better be going, he said. What time did you say that bus left?
A frown replaced the smile on Magellans face. Going? Where are you going?
Birmingham, Marlowe told him. Im hoping to get a job there.
So you go to Birmingham tomorrow, the old man said. Tonight you stay here. In such weather to refuse shelter to a dog would be a crime. What kind of a man do you think I am? You appear from the fog, save me from a beating, and then expect me to let you disappear just like that? He snorted. Maria, run a hot bath for him and I will see if I can find a clean shirt.
Marlowe hesitated. Every instinct told him to go. To leave now before he became further involved with these people; and he looked at Maria. She smiled and shook her head. Its no use, Mr Marlowe. When Papa decides on something the only thing to do is agree. It saves time in the long run.
He looked out of the window at the gloom outside and thought about that bath and a meal and made his decision. I give in, he said. Unconditional surrender.
She smiled and went out of the room. The old man produced a briar pipe and filled it from a worn leather pouch. Maria told me a little about you when you were outside with Kennedy, he said. She tells me youre a truck driver.
Marlowe shrugged. I have been.
Magellan puffed patiently at his pipe until it was drawing properly. That slash on your arm, he said. How did you say you got it?
From a broken hook in the tailboard of a truck, Marlowe told him. Why?
The old man shrugged. Oh, nothing, he said carefully, except that I had a very active youth and I know a knife wound when I see one.
Marlowe stiffened, anger moving inside him. He clenched a fist and took a step forward and the old man produced a battered silver cigarette case and flicked it open. Have a cigarette, son, he said calmly. They soothe the nerves.
Marlowe sighed deeply and unclenched his fist. Your eyes are too good, Papa. One of these days theyre going to get you into trouble.
The old man shrugged. Ive been in trouble before. He held out a match in cupped hands. How about you, son?
Marlowe looked into the wise, humorous face and liked what he saw. Nothing I couldnt handle, Papa.
The old mans eyes roved briefly over his massive frame. I can imagine. It would take a good man to put you down, but theres another kind of trouble that isnt so easy to handle.
Marlowe raised an eyebrow. The law? He smiled and shook his head. Dont worry, Papa. They wont come knocking at your door tonight. He raised his arm. I can explain this. I was asleep in the back of a truck. Woke up to find some bloke going through my pockets. He pulled a knife and ripped my sleeve. I smacked his jaw and dropped off the truck. Thats how I arrived here.
Magellan threw back his head and laughed. Heh, I bet that fella doesnt wake up till the truck gets to Newcastle.
Marlowe sat down in a chair and laughed with him. He felt easier now and safer. Its a good job we were near here, he said. I didnt even know Litton was on the map.
Magellan nodded. Its a quiet little place. Only seven or eight hundred people live around here.
Marlowe grinned. Seems to me its getting pretty lively for a quiet little place. What about the character I tossed out on his ear?
The old man frowned. Kennedy? He was working for me until a few days ago as a driver. Now hes with Inter-Allied Trading.
Marlowe nodded. I noticed the fancy yellow van when I came in. Whos this bloke OConnor? The big boss?
The old man snorted and fire glinted in his eyes. He likes to think he is, but I remember him when he was small. Very small. He had an old truck and did general haulage work. The war was the making of him. He wasnt too fussy about what he carried and always seemed to be able to get plenty of petrol when other people couldnt. Now he has twenty or thirty trucks.
And doesnt like competition, Marlowe said. Whats he trying to do? Put you out of business?
He offered to buy me out, but I told him I wasnt interested. The smallholding on its own isnt enough to give us a good living. I have three Bedford trucks as well. Once a month we deliver coal round the village and the outlying farms. The rest of the time we do general haulage work. Ive formed a little co-operative between seven or eight market gardeners near here. Theyre all in a pretty small way. Together we can make it pay by using my trucks for transportation and selling in bulk.
Marlowe was beginning to get interested. Even so, there cant be a fortune in that, Papa, he said. Whats OConnor after?
The old man hastened to explain. It isnt the haulage work hes interested in. Its the produce itself. You see about eighteen months ago he took over a large fruit-and-vegetable wholesalers in Barford Market. Since then hes bought out another and purchased a controlling interest in two more. Now he virtually controls prices. If you want to sell, you sell through him.
Marlowe whistled softly. Very neat, and legal too. Whats he got against you?
The old man shrugged. He doesnt like my little cooperative. He prefers to deal with all the small men individually. That way he can get the stuff at rock-bottom prices and re-sell in Birmingham and other large cities at an enormous profit.
Hasnt anybody tried to stand up to him? Marlowe asked.
Magellan nodded. Naturally, but OConnor is a powerful man and Barford is a very small town. He can exert influence in many ways. Besides his more subtle methods there are others. A gang of young hooligans started a fight the other day in the crowded market and a stall was wrecked in the process. Of course, OConnor knew nothing about it, but the stallholder now toes the line.
What about Kennedy? Marlowe said. Where does he fit in?
The old mans face darkened. He worked for me for nearly six months. I never liked him, but good drivers are scarce in a place like this. One day last week he told me he was leaving. I offered him a little more money if he would stay, but he laughed in my face. Said he could double it working for OConnor. He sighed deeply. I think OConnor is beginning to think hes God in these parts. Its difficult to know what to do.
I suppose it hasnt occurred to anybody to kick his bloody teeth in, Marlowe said.
Papa Magellan smiled softly. Oh, yes, my friend. Even that has passed through my mind, but OConnors business has many ramifications these days. He has imported some peculiar individuals to work for him. Anything but countrybred.
Sounds interesting, Marlowe said, but even that kind can be handled. He stood up and stretched, and walked a few paces across the room. How are you going to fight him?
Magellan smiled. Ive already started. My other driver is a young fellow called Bill Johnson, who lives in the village. OConnor offered him a good job at better money. Bill told him to go to hell. Ive sent him into Barford today with a truck-load of fruit and vegetables. Hes making the rounds of all the retail shops, offering to sell to them direct.
And you think that will work?
Magellan shrugged. I dont see why not. Even OConnor cant control everybody. He certainly cant intimidate every shopkeeper in Barford and district.
Marlowe shook his head slowly. I dont know, Papa. Its a little too simple.
The old man jumped up impatiently. Its got to work. He isnt God. He cant control everybody.
He can have a damn good try, Marlowe said.
For a moment it seemed as if Magellan was going to explode with anger. He glared, eyes flashing, and then turned abruptly and went over to the fireplace. He stood looking down into the flames, shoulders heaving with suppressed passion, and Marlowe helped himself to another brandy.
After a while the old man spoke without turning round. Its a funny world. After the Spanish war when I returned home to Portugal, I found I was an embarrassment to the government. Franco was able to touch me even there. So I came to England. Now, after all these years, I find he can still touch me. Franco OConnor. There isnt any difference. Its the same pattern.
Youre learning, Papa, Marlowe said. Its the same problem, and the solution is always the same. Youve got to fight. If he uses force, use more force. If he starts playing it dirty, then youve got to play it dirtier.
But thats horrible. We arent living in a jungle. Maria had come quietly back into the room and spoke from just inside the door.
Marlowe raised his glass to her and grinned cynically. Its life. You either survive or go under.
Papa Magellan had turned to face them. For a moment he looked searchingly at Marlowe, and then he said, That job youre looking for. Why go to Birmingham? You can have one right here working in Kennedys place.
Marlowe swallowed the rest of his brandy and considered the idea. It was just what he was looking for. A job in a quiet country town where nobody knew him. He could lie low for a few weeks, and then return to London to pick up the money when all the fuss had died down. After that, Ireland. There were ways and means if you knew the right people.
The whole idea sounded very attractive, but there was the added complication of the trouble with OConnor. If that got too messy the police would step in. Contact with the police was the last thing he wanted at the moment.
He put down his glass carefully. I dont know, Papa. Id have to think it over.
Whats the matter? Are you afraid? Maria said bitingly.
Her father waved a hand at her impatiently. You could stay here, son. You could have Pedros old room.
For several moments there was a silence while they waited for him to answer. The old man was trembling with eagerness, but the girl seemed quiet and withdrawn. Marlowe looked at her steadily for several moments, but she gave no sign of what she hoped his decision would be. As he looked at her she blushed and frowned slightly, and he knew that she didnt like him.
He half smiled and turned back to the old man. Sorry, Papa. Im all for a quiet life, and it sounds to me as if youre in for quite a party in the near future.