CHAPTER 15
SUMMER 1923 PAMPLONA
Meanwhile, a friend of Jake Barnes, called Bill Gorton, a fellow-writer, arrived on holiday. They arranged to go on a fishing trip to Burguete in the Spanish Pyrenees, leaving Paris on the 25th of June. Jake received a note from Robert Cohn, who was relaxing in Hendaye, near San Sebastian. Jake let Robert know that they were travelling down, and Robert met them off the train at Bayonne Station. Brett and Mike Campbell returned to San Sebastian and arranged to go to Pamplona in the north of Spain to see the Fiesta of San Fermin, which was due to start on Sunday 6th July.
Jake, Bill and Robert drove a hired car to Pamplona. Following a few miles behind them, casually driving a large white car, was a tall, dark man in a white linen suit. The Count was not to be denied his quarry. Taking a room in a different hotel from the one they were using, he watched from a distance as Jake and Bill went up to Burguete for five days while Robert stayed in Pamplona, eagerly awaiting Brett's arrival. The Hotel Montoya was the most popular hotel in Pamplona and was used by all the matadors who came to take part in the bullfights of the fiesta. The Count watched, his pulse beating faster in anticipation, as Brett arrived by bus with Mike Campbell. They were met by Robert Cohn and, on their return from Burguete, by Jake and Bill, tanned and happy from five days' successful trout fishing. He would await his opportunity, catch Brett on her own. He attached his sheathed knife to his belt. It was good to feel it there again. The chance would come, all he had to do was bide his time. Just wait ...
Mike, continually drunk on cheap Spanish wine, became aggressive towards Robert Cohn's presence. He did not like Robert hanging around Brett, tagging along wherever she went like an eager puppy dog.
When the fiesta started, the Count watched Brett dancing with the Basque dancers, one of their berets tipped jauntily on her head, a wine-bag, from which she constantly took sips, in her hand. She danced with gay abandon, heedless that death stalked nearby behind a fiesta mask. The music and the dance whirled past the tall, silent man and went on its way.
Early the next morning the bulls were run from their enclosure on the outskirts of the town down a prepared route to the bullring, there to be penned before they were put into the ring to fight. There were many tourists of varying nationalities in town to experience the fiesta, so the Count's presence went unnoticed - he was just one of many foreigners come to watch the spectacle. His patience was tested that day, as there were always at least two of the men accompanying Brett. He went to the bullfight, sitting in a shaded seat but not watching the ring. His eyes never left Brett Ashley, whose face was bright with excitement as she watched a handsome young matador, Pedro Romero, fight.
Pedro Romero was 19 years of age, and this was only his third bullfight, but already he showed the promise of being a star performer. Romero fought again the second day, and this time Brett, Mike and Jake sat down near the barriers at the ringside while Robert and Bill sat farther back. Brett had never seen such a handsome young man and she knew that she wanted him. In the hotel's bar after the fight, Pedro Romero sat with a critic while Jake sat at the next table. Montoya, the owner of the hotel, had previously introduced Jake and Bill to the young bullfighter as he dressed to prepare for his first fight. Romero was one of the fighters who had a room in Hotel Montoya for the duration of the fiesta. Jake, an 'aficionado' of bullfighting, had been to the Pamplona fiesta before, so he was able to talk knowledgeably to the young bullfighter when he invited Jake to join them at their table. Soon afterwards Brett and Mike came into the cafe and Jake introduced Brett to Romero. Her eyes widened as she looked at the young man, still resplendent in his tight-fitting matador's costume.
For a breath of air, Jake walked Brett along the town's ancient fortifications, and it was then that she confessed that she was in love with Pedro Romero. Jake advised her against doing anything about it, but Brett had already made up her mind. They returned to the hotel bar. Pedro Romero was still there. He stood and politely invited his foreign friends to sit with him. Under hooded lids, Brett allowed her eyes to inspect what was revealed by his tight trousers. It made her body throb with desire. She must have him - tonight! Brett turned to her new love. Taking the young man's arm, she led him towards her room. "You must teach me Spanish." she said.
Robert came into the bar, looking for Brett. He refused to believe that she had gone off with the matador. Bill, who had taken too much to drink, started to taunt Robert about his attachment to Brett, making it quite clear that he was not welcome in the group, that he was an outsider. He foolishly challenged Robert to fight. Robert, his tolerance stretched beyond endurance, took a swing at Bill, knocking him to the ground. Jake was also involved and took a couple of punches before he defused the situation by asking Robert to leave and leading the rest of the group outside to see the firework display. Robert Cohn disappeared amongst the crowd.
Robert wandered the darkened streets, distraught at his rejection by the group. He was bewildered by Brett's attitude, because she had been in his bed in Paris and San Sebastian. He was so sure that she loved him, but now ... He went into a bar and sat alone, trying to get drunk.
The Count had thought long and hard about alternative ways of disposing of Brett. What if, he thought, he could get someone else to do it for him? Someone else with a grudge, who had also been humiliated by her, who was the outsider of the group. Robert Cohn. He watched as Robert walked aimlessly and unseeingly amidst the festivities. When he settled in the small bar, the Count made his move. He went in and quietly sat at Robert's table. Robert raised his eyes, then lowered them again. The Count laughed softly. "No reaction, Robert? No surprise at my being here?"
"The world's full of coincidences." he replied flatly.
"The world is a coincidence, Robert. The Lady Brett. You do know where she is?"
"I think so." he evaded.
"I know so. Ergo, she must be retrieved - retrieved and punished - into Eternity." The Count's voice was an icy whisper, his mind's eye seeing her lying dead beneath him.
Misunderstanding, Robert said "The bullfighter."
"The Lady Brett, Robert. The bullfighter is a child - he is such a child he actually cries when he kills. The Lady Brett, Robert -she does not cry, but she does kill. She kills all of us. The Lady Brett, Robert. You have been even more humiliated than any of us."
Robert's befuddled mind still did not catch on to the germ the Count was trying to implant into his brain. The Count tried again. "The Lady Brett, Robert."
Slowly, as though in a dream, Robert rose from the table and left the bar.
The Count followed him at a distance, hiding behind his fiesta mask whenever revellers came near. He waited in the shadows as Robert entered the hotel, then the room where Brett and Romero were still making love. Romero answered Robert's knock, allowed him in while Brett made herself respectable by putting on a dressing gown. She was furious at his unwarranted intrusion. When he reminded her that they had been to bed together in Paris and San Sebastian, she called him a "Gibbering twit" and told him to leave. Pedro Romero then stepped in, attempting to usher him out the door. "You will leave." It was then that Robert hit him - hit him again and again till the blood was pouring down his handsome face while Brett screamed for him to stop it, but, unleashing all his frustration and unrequieted love, Robert could not stop himself until the matador lay unconscious on the bed.
The Count was still waiting and watching as Robert emerged, knuckles bleeding, a glassy look in his eyes, unseeing and unhearing the fiesta bursting around him. The Count emerged from the shadows, walked to the room and knocked on the door. Brett, sure that it was Robert returning for more, gasped in surprise when she saw Count Alexei Mippipopolous standing there. He walked into the room, and looked around, Brett too surprised to stop him.
"I must admit, Lady Brett, your taste in people and places is at least original. Disappointing, but original." His eyes went to the bed, where Pedro Romero lay deeply unconscious, and, in a rare flash of humour, he commented "You do exhaust men, Brett!"
Brett bustled to the bedside, cradling the injured man. "He's almost dead. Robert Cohn almost killed him!"
"I think my only weakness is optimism." continued the Count. "Robert attacked the wrong person." Brett looked searchingly at him, a little pang of fear rippling through her. "You do confuse my colleagues."
She moved away from Romero' s side. "Your colleagues?"
"Yes. Robert, Jake Barnes, Mike Campbell - I could go on ..."
"Yes, you could - " she interrupted.
"But these young men have found a prosecutor for their tormentor."
"You?"
"Only - me. You see, dear Lady Brett, none of these men, or those to follow, have the stomach ... "
"You silly man." she again interrupted. "These men - Robert, Jake, Mike, Romero, are men of courage, real courage."
The Count laid down the mask on a settee, unbuttoned his jacket and hung it neatly on a hatstand while he spoke. "We are not talking of courage. They all have that. But they have not murdered a volume of men. Only I have that equipment. You have not only humiliated me. You have humiliated many young men, and that is not acceptable."
The tone of his conversation was now frightening her, and she changed her tactics. Speaking in a 'little girl' voice she said "You said you were no longer an assassin!"
He stood, towering over her, one hand on his hip, the other on the hatstand. He spoke quickly and angrily now. "I said I would have to be provoked, very provoked."
"I have done nothing." She suddenly looked small and totally alone. "I live my life without deceit."
"I would agree with that. But a life without deceit can be a disruptive life. You call me a toy count full of tall tales and made-up legends. I'm afraid not, Lady Brett. I am what I said I am. You are the one who lives with fantasy, so much so you cannot recognise the real ... "
"This is real." she interrupted for the sake of interrupting, to stop the angry flow of words from this man who was now a frightening, threatening stranger.
"There is nothing more real than dying." His words alarmed her and she changed tactics again, reverting to anger and bluster.
"How dare you! You don't know me well enough to kill me! Really, Count, you are simply going to have to learn some manners. Kill me, indeed! Why, it's simply the most vulgar thing I have ever heard of!" She brushed past him, heading towards the door to open it and usher him out, but he caught her arm, spun her round, both hands holding her above the elbows.
"You are incredible! There's not a man among us that doesn't want to love you ..." This was to be her last chance at life, but she again put him down by saying "Please leave." Her hands were warm on his forearms. "When we all get back to Paris I may see you - no promises granted, but I may allow you to make amends and to learn some grace."
It was time now to really frighten her, before he killed her. His voice was gentle, reasoning, but his words were a presage to murder. "Paris is closed for you, Brett. All the cities are off limits for you - all the lights are shut off. There is nothing for you but darkness."
His words had the desired effect. She backed away from him, terror in her eyes, her words tumbling out "I can't sleep in the dark - I will not ..." The knife suddenly appeared in his right hand, his left hand covering her mouth to stop the inevitable scream she emitted.
He pushed her back to lie flat on the table and he leaned over her, aiming his knife at her heart while he said, "I told you women scream - you see how common you really are ... Ah!" So intent on the terrorising and ultimate killing of Lady Brett had he been that he had not heard the slight movement behind him as Pedro Romero regained consciousness. Seeing that Brett's life was in danger, he reached for the matador's sword he had previously placed by the bedside and swiftly moved up behind the Count. For an instant he poised, cobra-like, pointing the sword at the Count's unprotected back before plunging the blade with all his strength right through the Count's body.
The Count froze, dropping the knife from unfeeling fingers to clutch the sword where it exited his chest, looking down at it in astonishment. He felt a sudden explosion of pain as severed heart and arteries burst inside him. Gasping, he fell to his knees, then lay back, his left arm supporting him while his right hand grasped the protruding blade. He looked up for the last time at the face he had loved all his life. Lisa? Or was it Brett? She was looking at him with shock and revulsion, but her face was hazy to his dying eyes. The matador was there, too. *Oh, the matador ... Killed - by a child ... * The pain became unbearable and he groaned once in outraged surprise then slowly, oh, so slowly, both hands again holding the protruding shaft, he fell on his side, curled up in agony.
*My eyes are closed but I can see... a host of people waiting for me ... Noooooo... *
Count Alexei Mippipopolous joined all those he had sent to Eternity.
---oo0oo---
THE END