A Game of Authors
“The greenery around them gave an illusion of coolness, but there was no escaping the clinging heat of the tropical afternoon. Garson could feel the perspiration at his belt, the dampness of his neck and forehead. He wondered at the appearance of coolness maintained by Luac and daughter, decided that this, too, was illusion.The crone who had delivered Garson’s breakfast hovered over them, serving. She acted as a damper on conversation. Each time she bent over Luac, the old man fell silent.Garson... turned to Luac. “Who’s the old woman?”Luac wiped his goatee on a napkin. “Maria Gomez.”She stopped at the sound of her name, stared at Luac with an expression that made Garson think of a poisoner watching her victim. He suddenly lost his appetite, put down his fork.“Does she speak English?”Now, the crone looked at Garson.“She understands what you’re saying now,” said Luac.Garson felt uncomfortable, recalled that Luac had said the old woman was a spy for Raul Separdo. He looked up, met her eyes.MoreLess
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