The Quest

Vivian jumped off the bed, wiped her face with a tissue, slipped on her shamma, and moved toward the door. “Thank you for coffee.”

“Anytime.”

She left, and he stared up at the rotating fan. “I love you.”

Chapter 35

Purcell took a taxi from the airstrip to the hotel and called Mercado in his room to meet him for coffee. The two men sat in the Hilton cocktail lounge, which doubled as the breakfast room.

Mercado had hoped Vivian would be there so he could have that post-coital moment that she suggested would make him feel better. It wasn’t the same, somehow, with only the two cuckolded men having coffee. He asked, “Where is Vivian?”

“I called both rooms, but she’s not answering.”

Mercado wanted to say, “Well, she’s not still in my room.” Instead he said, “Probably napping. She was up early.” He suggested, “Try her again.”

“She’ll be down.”

A waiter came by with breakfast menus and Mercado said, “Every time I eat, I think about the famine.”

“Order light.”

“That’s very insensitive, Frank.” He added, “You wouldn’t say that if Vivian was here.”

Purcell looked up from his menu, but didn’t respond.

Purcell ordered a full breakfast, saying, “Flying makes me hungry.”

Mercado ordered orange juice and a cornetto with his coffee. He asked Purcell, “How did it fly?”

“Not very agile. But it seems safe enough.” He asked, “How did it look to you?”

“Well, I can’t tell, of course, but you seem to know what you’re doing.”

“What did Vivian think?”

“She was excited when you did your flyby.” He added, “You saw her.”

“I did.”

“Yes. And we could see you in the cockpit.”

“And how did I look, Henry?”

“Sorry?”

“Did I look happily surprised to see Vivian on your bedroom balcony?”

Mercado did not answer the question, but said, “Hold on, old man. We had coffee, waiting to see you. I hope you don’t take that as anything other than what it was.”

Purcell stared at him, but didn’t reply.

Mercado was not enjoying this moment as much as he’d thought he would. It would have been much better if Vivian and Purcell had already had a tiff about this, followed by Purcell being sulky at cocktails or dinner.

Mercado didn’t want to protest too much, but he said, “We’re all civilized, old man.” He reminded Purcell, “We’re going to be in close quarters when we get into the bush.” He immediately regretted his choice of words. Get into the bush. Freudian slip? He suppressed a smile.

“All right.” Purcell let him know, “It’s nothing.”

Nothing? Mercado wanted to tell him, “I fucked her, actually,” but that would wreck the whole deal. So instead, he said, “She’s very attached to you, Frank.”

“End of discussion.”

“In fact, you should have this discussion with her.”

Purcell didn’t respond, but he was getting annoyed with Mercado. The subject of Vivian was not a happy one between them, and Mercado’s familiarity would have earned him at least a punch in the gut, as he’d told him in Rome. But Purcell didn’t want to upset the mission. Also, he liked Henry.

Mercado said to him, “I’m not sure, but I think you were flying too slow as you passed by.”

“Let me pilot the aircraft, Henry.”

“I’m thinking about me, old man. Your passenger. And Vivian.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Purcell informed him, “If it makes you feel better, Signore Bocaccio was impressed with my flying skills.”

“Good. But will he let you fly it again?”

“He’s thinking about it.”

“We need that plane.” Mercado asked, “And how is Signore Bocaccio? Is he trying to pretend that the Marxists haven’t taken charge and that his privileged life will continue as usual?”

“No, I think he gets that it’s over.”

“He sounds more realistic than many of my colonial compatriots around the world.”

“Right.”

“The old world order is finished.”

“Indeed it is.” Purcell informed Mercado, “Signore Bocaccio wants to know if our newspaper wants to buy Mia.”

“Who?”

“The airplane. Mia.”

“Oh… I don’t think so.”

“Please ask.” He explained, “Signore Bocaccio wants to get out.”

“He should. And you should tell him we’re considering buying his aircraft so he will let us continue renting it.”

“I may have led him to believe that.”

“You are devious, Frank.”

“Me? You just told me to con him.”

Their breakfast came and Purcell said, “On the taxi ride to the airstrip, I saw children with distended stomachs.”

Mercado stayed quiet a moment, then said, “Sometimes I weep for this land.”

“If you’d seen what I saw in Cambo, you’d weep for that land, too.” He looked at Mercado. “We could weep for the whole world, Henry, but that won’t change the world.”

Mercado nodded. “When you get to be my age, Frank, you start to wonder… what the hell has gone wrong?”

“It’s all gone wrong.”

“It has. But then you see… well, Father Armano. And these UN relief people. And all the aid volunteers and missionaries who come to places like this to do good. To help their fellow human beings.”

“That is a hopeful thing.”

“For every Getachu, there is a decent human being trying to soften the world’s suffering.”

“I hope so.” Purcell asked, “When will the good guys win?”