Free The Third Reich by Roberto Bolaño Page A

armored corps for the lightning attack on France.
    2.  Went out on the balcony and searched for some light on the beach that might indicate the presence of El Quemado, but all was dark.

AUGUST 26
    I’m following Ingeborg’s instructions. Today I spent more time than usual at the beach. The result is that my shoulders are red from the sun and this afternoon I had to go buy a cream to take away the sting. Of course we were next to the pedal boats and since there was nothing else to do I spent the time talking to El Quemado. The day brought a few bits of news. The first is that yesterday Charly got outrageously drunk with the Wolf and the Lamb. Hanna, weepy, told Ingeborg that she didn’t know what to do: leave him or not? She can’t stop thinking about going back to Germany alone. She misses her son; she’s fed up and tired. Her only consolation is her perfect tan. Ingeborg says that it all depends on whether she really loves Charly or not. Hanna doesn’t know what to answer. The other news is that the manager of the Costa Brava has asked them to leave the hotel. It seems that last night Charly and the Spaniards tried to beat up the night watchman. Ingeborg, despite the signs I was making to her, suggested that they move to the Del Mar. Luckily Hanna is determined that the manager change his mind or at least return their deposit. I expect that everything will be resolved with a few explanations and apologies. In response to Ingeborg’s question about where she was when all this took place, Hanna answers that she was in their room, sleeping. Charly didn’t show up on the beach until noon, looking the worse for wear and dragging his board. Hanna, when she saw him, whispered in Ingeborg’s ear:
    “He’s killing himself.”
    Charly’s version is completely different. He couldn’t care less about the manager and his threats. He says, with his eyes half closed and looking as sleepy as if he’d just stepped out of bed:
    “We can move to the Wolf’s house. Cheaper and more authentic. That way you’ll get to know the real Spain.” And he winks at me.
    He’s only half joking. The Wolf’s mother rents rooms in the summer, with board or without, at modest prices. For a moment it seems that Hanna is about to cry. Ingeborg steps in and calms her down. In the same joking tone she asks Charly whether the Wolf and the Lamb aren’t falling in love with him. But the question is serious. Charly laughs and says no. Then, recovered, Hanna says that she’s the one the Wolf and the Lamb want to get into bed.
    “The other night they kept touching me,” she says, at once mortified and coquettish.
    “Because you’re pretty,” explains Charly, unperturbed. “I’d try it too if I didn’t already know you, wouldn’t I?”
    The conversation swings all of a sudden to places as far-flung as Oberhausen’s Discotheque 33 and the Telephone Company. Hanna and Charly begin to wax sentimental and remember all of the places with romantic significance for them. But after a while, Hanna insists:
    “You’re killing yourself.”
    Charly puts an end to the reproaches by grabbing his board and heading into the water.
    At first my conversation with El Quemado centered on topics like whether anyone had ever stolen a pedal boat from him, whether the work was hard, whether he didn’t get bored spending so many hours on the beach under that merciless sun, whether he had time to eat, whether he could say who among the foreigners were his best customers, etc. His answers, invariably succinct, were as follows: twice someone had stolen a pedal boat, or rather, left it abandoned at the other end of the beach; the work wasn’t hard; sometimes he got bored but not often; he ate sandwiches, as I suspected; hehad no idea which country’s natives rented the most pedal boats. I contented myself with his answers, and I endured the intervals of silence that followed. Clearly he wasn’t used to conversation, and, as I noted by his evasive gaze, he was