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And so Ben took what remained of the packet of money, and the two of them flew off to Rio de Janeiro.
But that was not as easy as that sounds. First, they had to take a plane to Frankfurt, for a co
Alex watched this despondent fellow and felt doubt, real apprehension. He would have clapped him mightily on the shoulder — 'It's OK, Ben, you'll see' — but yesterday, giving him a friendly clout, as he would have done a male friend, in America, he saw those green eyes convulse, boil and rage, and those fists . Alex did not know how near he had come then to being crushed in those great arms, with those teeth in his neck. He did know it was a dangerous moment, though.
Ben's rage had blanked out his vision with red, and his fists had filled with murder — he had only just subdued this dangerousness, only just held himself in. He must not ever let that rage loose, he knew it, but when Alex hit him like that . the unhappiness that had been deepening in him since he knew that the old woman had gone, and Johnston and Rita too, had rage as its partner. He scarcely knew whether he wanted to bellow and howl with pain, or to go berserk and kill.
There were long winding descending corridors and then the door to the interior of the plane: Ben found it hard to believe this was a plane: it was so big. He could hardly see how big. And he understood that he was not going home, but somewhere in that mind of his that was always wrestling with itself to remain in control, to understand, he was telling himself that he had been promised he would go home, and that he had been betrayed and that Alex was part of this betrayal. Brazil. What was Brazil? Why did he have to go there? Why should he be in a film?
This time he did not look out of the window, because he knew he would see only white cloud and a painful dazzle. Eleven hours flying — what would Ben do for that long cramped time? They were flying economy: Alex could not afford to waste money.
Around came the drinks. Alex told Ben he must drink some water, and Ben drank. Should Ben be given sleeping pills? But perhaps his metabolism was not amenable to drugs: like a cat given human painkillers or sleeping pills, he might be harmed, or even die. But the problem was solved, for Ben went to sleep again, clutching tight to his seatbelt, which he hated. The violent tensions in his body were too much, he could not bear them, and when he woke during the trip to stare and look around him he soon fell back into sleep.
In Rio it was morning and the light had a brazen violence that woke Ben. He was clutching his genitals and trying to struggle up. Alex got him to the lavatory in time. He was thinking, this is like looking after a child — he did have one, a son, from a marriage ended by divorce.
The hotel was no problem. Ben understood what it was, and stood in front of the reception desk with confidence. Then — and Alex saw what was happening and was angry with himself — it was a new language, it was Portuguese, and Ben had become accustomed to at least the sounds of French.
'What is it?' he asked Alex, rough, sorrowful, angry. 'What are they saying?'
Alex explained. He had spent a lot of time telling Ben about Brazil, about Rio, how beautiful; about forests, beaches, the sea everywhere, but he had not thought to say that people would be talking Portuguese.
Alex would have liked a room to himself, but he had been afraid to let Ben loose in the mysteries of this new hotel, so they were sharing a room. Only for one night: it is not difficult to rent a flat in Rio, and the next day they would move into one.
Alex was desperate to sleep, having stayed awake on the plane to keep an eye on Ben, but knew he must remain awake, for now Ben who had slept and was fresh was moving about this room like an animal taking the measure of a new place, trying the bathroom — the shower, the lavatory — opening and shutting cupboards and drawers. They were high up in the hotel, and Ben looked out and down and did not seem upset, although he had not liked the lift. He lay down on his bed and got up again, while Alex watched, in a daze of jet lag. 'I'm hungry,' said Ben.
Room service brought steaks and Ben ate Alex's as well as his. This was a country of wonderful fruit, and Alex ordered some. Ben grunted with pleasure over the pineapple but got the juice all over himself. Alex was impressed that he took himself off to the shower, without being told, and there he stayed a long time. Alex listened to sounds — what were they? Was that singing? That rough grunting chant? The water splashed about everywhere, and Alex had to mop it up.
It was still only midday.
Alex began telephoning friends. He had many in this city. Some he had worked with on the play he had done, some had been with him on the film, done in Colombia and Chile. Some were friends of friends. He had to keep awake. He knew that if he fell asleep, he would not wake until tomorrow. An early di
Yes, that's all it is, he's built big, but he's no beauty. And then a final open unconcealed stare, as if Ben's strangeness licensed the bad ma
In the room Alex flung himself on the bed and was asleep. He had not even taken off his shoes.
And now Ben was on his own bed, but did not lie down. He sat on its edge and stared at Alex. He had not shared a room since the old lady, and he had not needed to examine her, or stare: the night Rita had allowed him to stay he had been too grateful to want anything but be there. But this was a male, who had brought him here, to this place, where he never asked to be. He did not like Alex, though he seemed to be kind: Ben felt that Alex had tricked him.