“You haven’t lost any money. Only drinks.”
“I pay my bar bill here.”
“Ignacio,” Thomas Hudson said. “That’s the third slightly edgy thing you’ve said.”
“Well, I am edgy. If you’d had someone be as damned rude to you as your bloody ambassador was to me.”
“I still don’t want to hear about it.”
“There you are. And you call me edgy. Look, Thomas. We’re good friends. I’ve known you and your boy Tom for years. By the way how is he?”
“He’s dead.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“That’s all right,” Thomas Hudson said. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I’m so very sorry. Please know how terribly sorry I am. How was he killed?”
“I don’t know yet,” Thomas Hudson said. “I’ll let you know when I know.”
“Where was it?”
“I don’t know that. I know where he was flying but I don’t know anything else.”
“Did he get into London and see any of our friends?”
“Oh yes. He’d been in town several times and to White’s each time and he’d seen whoever was around.”
“Well, that’s a comfort in a way.”
“A what?”
“I mean it’s nice to know he saw our friends.”
“Certainly. I’m sure he had a good time. He always had an awfully good time.”
“Should we drink to him?”
“Shit, no,” Thomas Hudson said. He could feel it all coming up; everything he had not thought about; all the grief he had put away and walled out and never even thought of on the trip nor all this morning. “Let’s not.”
“I think it is the thing to do,” Ignacio Natera Revello said. “I think it is eminently proper and the thing to do. But I must buy the drink.”
“All right. We’ll drink to him.”
“What was his rank?”
“Flight lieutenant.”
“He’d probably have been a wing commander by now or at least squadron leader.”
“Let’s skip his rank.”
“Just as you wish,” Ignacio Natera Revello said. “To my dear friend and your son Tom Hudson.
“In the pig’s asshole,” Thomas Hudson said.
“What’s the matter. Was my Latin faulty?”
“I wouldn’t know, Ignacio.”
“But your Latin was excellent. I know from people who were at school with you.”
“My Latin is very beat up,” Thomas Hudson said. “Along with my Greek, my English, my head, and my heart. All I know how to speak now is frozen daiquiri.
“I think we might show a little more respect to Tom.”
“Tom was a pretty good joker.”
“He certainly was. He had one of the finest and most delicate senses of humor I’ve ever known. And he was one of the best-looking boys and with the most beautiful manners. And a damned fine athlete. He was tops as an athlete.”
“That’s right. He threw the discus 142 feet. He played fullback on offense and left tackle on defense. He played a good game of tennis and he was a first-rate wing shot and a good fly fisherman.”
“He was a splendid athlete and a fine sportsman. I think of him as one of the very finest.”
“There’s only one thing really wrong with him.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s dead.”
“Now don’t be morbid, Tommy. You must think of Tom as he was. Of his gaiety and his radiance and his wonderful promise. There’s no sense being morbid.”
“None at all,” Thomas Hudson said. “Let’s not be morbid.”
“I’m glad you agree. It’s been splendid to have a chance to talk about him. It’s been terrible to have the news. But I know you will bear up just as I will, even though it is a thousand times worse for you being his father. What was he flying?”
“Spitfires.”
“Spitties. I shall think of him then in a Spitty.”
“That’s a lot of bother to go to.”
“No, no it isn’t. I’ve seen them in the cinema. I’ve several books on the RAF and we get the publications of the British Information Bureau. They have excellent stuff, you know. I know exactly how he would have looked. Probably wearing one of those Mae Wests and with his chute and his flying togs and his big boots. I can picture him exactly. Now I have to be getting home to lunch. Will you come with me? I know Lutecia would love to have you.”
“No. I have to meet a man here. Thanks very much.”
“Goodbye, old boy,” Ignacio Natera Revello said. “I know you’ll take this thing the way you should.”
“You were kind to help me.”
“No, I wasn’t kind at all. I loved Tom. As you did. As we all did.”
“Thanks for all the drinks.”
“I’ll get them back from you another day.”
He went out. From beyond him, down the bar, one of the men from the boat moved up to Hudson. He was a dark boy, with short, clipped, curly black hair, and a left eye that had a slightly droopy lid; the eye was artificial but this did not show since the government had presented him with four different eyes, bloodshot, slightly bloodshot, almost clear, and clear. He was wearing slightly bloodshot, and he was already a little drunk.
“Hi, Tom. When did you get in town?”
“Yesterday,” then speaking slowly and almost without moving his lips, “Take it easy. Don’t be a fucking comedian.”