Hall drank in the tableau, his eyes following Marina's every move, his ears deaf to the next record being played in the juke box.
"Otro café, señor?"
"Si, gracias."
But the fresh pot of hot coffee remained untouched. Hall was still watching Marina, but Marina did nothing except shift from foot to foot while he watched the Spanish liner draw nearer the pier with every turn of the heroic little engines in the two tugs. Hall thought of Jerry. He had missed her again last night, but they had a date for dinner at seven. Doctor had promised her a night off. The messages at the hotel: José Fernandez had phoned, wanted Hall to call him back this morning. O.K., Don José, as soon as I get a good look at the rats Marina is awaiting. I want to hear more about the Red menace hanging over my head. And Souza had an interesting tab on Androtten. The little Dutchman had stayed out all night. Naughty, naughty, Wilhelm, gadding about with putas the whole night through and God knows where you are sleeping it off but I guess your little dog is watching to see that no one rolls you for your wad. Or wasn't it a debauch that kept you out all night? Anyway, I'll bet you made your rounds in a Renault you rented from the Phoenix Garage.
The Marques de Avillar was being eased into its dock. The cab drivers were waving at the passengers lined up at the rail, and Marina was hopping up and down, shouting and waving a big yellow handkerchief like a banner. The coffee por favor has grown cold and por favor a pot of hot por favor and that's the idea muchas gracias and you could have docked the Marques in my last yawn. Hall drank a steaming cup of hot coffee.
The gangplank was being wheeled to the ship. There was a knot of ship's officers on the lower deck. They shook hands with the customs men and the medicos who trotted up the gangplank, led them inside to the main salon. Men in blue uniforms with official papers under their arms. A press photographer and a bald roly-poly reporter. They'll be out in a minute, and damn it the morning sun is growing too bright for a pair of tired old eyes, and dipping his napkin in the fresh cold water on the table Hall shoved the cold compress against his heavy eyes.
Two cups of coffee later, the first of the passengers from the Marques de Avillar emerged from the salon and walked down the gangplank. Priests—Hall counted twenty—followed by scrawny stewards with their bags. A few of the priests were old, but most of them were young men who carried themselves erect, their shoulders squared well back, their walk the off-duty walk of the officer on leave from the front. Hall wondered how many of the younger men in clerical collars were really priests and how many of them were used to wearing other uniforms. He remembered the day, less than two months earlier, when the C.T.E. liner Cabo de Hornos had docked in Havana and one of General Benitez' men had grown suspicious of two of the Spanish priests on board; a brief discussion of theology had been followed by a thorough search of their luggage, and the young travelers woke up the next morning to find themselves learning theology in the concentration camp on the Isla de Pinas.
Hall was humming "Onward, Christian Soldiers." He watched two young priests get into Pepe's cab and be driven away. The priests, and later four nuns, entered the cabs in pairs. Then, following some customs men, one of the ship's officers came out of the salon with a man in a black suit and a Panama hat. They carried thick portfolios under their arms, and behind them followed a steward with two heavy hand trunks.
There was a blur of green and yellow on the gangplank, and then Marina was on the lower deck, exchanging wild embraces with the ship's officer and the man in the Panama hat. The three men walked down the gangplank, Marina happily bringing up the rear behind the officer. He darted in front of his friends when they reached the pier and signaled one of the cabs. The first cab in line rolled up to the curb and picked them up.
The sun shone into Hall's face. He washed his eyes with cold water, had another cup of coffee. Thick, the air is growing thick and heavy. Hell with it. Olive oil and garlic, coffee, squids, mussels, saffron, mackerel, heat. "Bésame" on the juke box again. Don't run off just yet. Look at the watch. Start to get impatient. Hombre de negocios waiting for a colleague to work out a deal. A ton of coffee, three box cars of ore, a round ton of sugar. He's way overdue and you're getting impatient, but you don't leave yet. You don't leave and show the little dog wherever he or his partners are hiding that you had breakfast here this morning just to keep an eye on the Marques de Avillar. No, señor, you would not be as careless as the faggot. No, señor, oh no, señor, only the air is getting thicker and somewhere in the kitchen someone is looking at me and laughing I swear it I swear it only I can't help it this is the only face I have.