The Tailor of Panama by John le Carré

And Mickie had a balloon all for himself and he was described as the supremo of SO and his string linked him to Rafi’s balloon in eternity. Our Mickie? Our Mickie is the supremo of SO? And has a total of six strings leading out of him, to Arms, Informants, Bribes, Communications, Cash, Rafi? Our Rafi? Our Mickie who calls once a week in the middle of the night to announce his umpteenth suicide?

She began rummaging again. She wanted that bitch Sabina’s letters to Harry. If she’d written letters Harry would have kept them. Harry couldn’t throw away an empty matchbox or a spare egg yolk. It was his poor childhood again. She was turning everything over, hunting for Sabina’s letters. Under her money? Under a floorboard? In a book?

Holy God, Delgado’s diary. Kept by Harry, not Delgado. Not the real one, but a mock-up with the lines ruled in hard pencil, he must have copied it from my papers. Delgado’s real engagements entered correctly. Unreal engagements entered in the spaces where he had none:

Midnight meeting with Jap ‘harbourmasters’, secretly attended by Pres… secret car-ride with Fr Ambassador, suitcase of money changes hands… meets emissary from Colombian drugs cartel 11 p.m. Ramón’s new casino… Hosts private out-of-town dinner Jap ‘harbourmasters’ and Pan officials and Pres…

My Delgado does all this? My Ernesto Delgado is on the take from the French Ambassador? Is fooling with the Colombian drug cartels? Harry, are you fucking mad? What filthy libels are you inventing about my boss? What dreadful lies are you telling? Who to? Who pays you for this filth?

‘Harry!’ she screamed, in outrage and despair. But his name came out as a whisper as the phone started ringing again.

Cunning this time, Louisa lifted the receiver, listened, said nothing, not even Get out of my fucking life.

‘Harry?’ A woman’s voice, strangled, dragging, pleading. It’s her. Long distance. Calling from the rice farm. Banging in the background. They must be breaking up the mill.

‘Harry? Speak to me!’ the woman’s voice screams.

A Spanish bitch. Daddy always said don’t trust them. Whimpering. It’s her. Sabina. Needing Harry. Who doesn’t?

‘Harry, help me, I need you!’

Wait. Don’t speak. Don’t tell her you’re not Harry. Hear what she says next. Lips pressed together. Receiver armlocked to right ear. Speak, you bitch! Declare yourself! The bitch is breathing. Rasping breaths. Come on, Sabina, honey, speak. Say, ‘Come and fuck me, Harry.’ Say, ‘I love you, Harry.’ Say, ‘Where’s my fucking money, why do you keep it in a drawer, it’s me, Sabina, rad stud, calling from the fucking rice farm and I’m lonely.’

More bangs. Crackle pop, like motorbikes backfiring. Wallop. Slap. Put down vodka glass. Holler at the top of my voice in my father’s classical Yanqui Spanish.

‘Who is this? Answer me!’

Wait. Zero. Whimpering but no words. Louisa changes to English.

‘Get out of my husband’s life, you hear me, Sabina, you fucking bitch! Fuck you, Sabina! Get out of my rice farm too!’

Still no words.

‘I’m in his den, Sabina. I’m looking for your fucking letters to him, right now! Ernesto Delgado is not corrupt. Hear me? It’s a lie. I work for him. It’s other people who are corrupt, not Ernesto. Speak to me!’

More bangs and thumps in the earpiece. Jesus, what is this? The next invasion? Bitch sobs pitifully, hangs up. Vision of self, smashing receiver on cradle, as in any good movie. Sit down. Stare at phone, waiting for it to ring again. It doesn’t. So I finally bashed my sister’s head in. Or somebody else did. Poor little Emily. Fuck you. Louisa stands up. Steadily. Takes sobering swig of vodka. Head clear as a bell. Tough shit, Sabina. My husband’s mad. Guess you’re having a bad time too. Serves you right. Rice farms can be lonely places.

Bookshelves. Mind-food. Just the thing for bewildered intellects. Look in books for bitch’s letters to Harry. New books in old places. Old books in new places. Explain. Harry, for the love of God, explain. Tell me, Harry. Talk to me. Who’s Sabina? Who’s Marco? Why are you making up stories about Rafi and Mickie? Why are you shitting on Ernesto?

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