“I’ve been looking for you,” said Calley.

“And I have been here,” said Medina, spreading his hands as though to welcome Calley to what he had found, his half-acre of the beautiful.

“Doing what?”

“Sleeping.”

“Well, that’s fucking useful. Have you found a boat?”

“I have not. Have you?”

“This is the wrong side of the island,” said Calley. “This is south.”

“And you wish to go north.”

Calley looked at him. He came closer. Six, eight steps between them now. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked.

“Nothing is wrong with me.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then why are you acting like a cunt?”

“To you,” said Medina, “most people are acting the cunt.”

“Put your boots on.”

Medina did not move.

“I said put your boots on.”

“I will put my boots on,” said Medina. “But first I will tell you what I have decided. What I decided this very morning. I will take no more orders from you. I will have no more insults. The story between us is over. I am going home. Or I am going . . . somewhere. I have not yet chosen the place or the route but I am going where you will not be going. That I do know.” He paused, trying to judge the effect his words were having. That Calley was listening to him and listening closely, he had no doubt. Beyond that . . .

“This man you are hunting,” he continued, “does he even exist? Why have we not found him? And if he does, let us suppose that he does, can you believe, in truth, they intend to let him be killed? One of their own? By you? Their mistake was to send a man who does not know when to stop, who continues to act even when the theatre is dark. If you kill this man and go back to Lisbon, you think they will say thank you? You think they will give you a medal? I will tell you what will happen. You will be found in the Tagus with your throat cut. And let me assure you there will be no inquiry to discover the fate of Corporal Calley. A man without family, without friends. So this is my advice to you. Disappear. Forget the army. Forget the war. Disappear. Become someone else.”

Calley unbuttoned his coat. “You finished?” he said.

“Oh yes,” said Medina. “I have finished.”

“That’s good,” said Calley, “because I’m going to tell you now what I know. What I know. First off, this man we are hunting. I have seen him. Remember? We have been to his house. We have been to his sister’s house. He exists. Of course he fucking exists. Second, you and me are soldiers in the field and we will do what we have been ordered to do. And I’m not talking about that streak of shit Don Ignacio. I piss on him. No one cares about him. I’m talking about someone you can’t even fucking imagine. A man who cannot show himself because his face would blaze like the sun. A man whose word cannot be gainsaid. And though I will not hear his voice again, and I am sorry for that, very sorry, he has placed his trust in me and I will not fail him. So we will do the job, you and me, and we will go to Lisbon and you will tell them what you saw. That is what you are going to do.”