Chapter 7: Time Enough


Over the months Ugarte and I grew so close that I lived at his apartment almost equally as much as the one I shared with Yvonne. Ugarte and I had our sweet times, and not-so-sweet. On good days when neither of us was busy, we would stroll through the market place, and lunch or dine at Rick's, the Blue Parrot, or some other restaurant we could find. We went to an Arab place sometimes, that Signor Haddad recommended to me. Ugarte spoiled me rotten. He was constantly buying (I hoped, buying) me jewelry, sticking flowers in my hair, making sure I was as dolled up as any of his friends' girls. Part of this, I'm sure, was his ego; but the other half was because he knew I wasn't being treated so specially by others, like, say, the Nazis.

He helped me plan a false identity, in case Nazis came calling. Should anyone ask, I was his Catholic Spanish mistress. I already knew much about Catholics, through my knowledge of European art. He knew more though, having been raised Catholic, and would drill me on the names of the Saints and books in the bible, so I could pass myself off as a Christian to a Nazi, or anyone else unfriendly. I chose Spanish for my false ethnicity, hoping it could explain away my dark hair and complexion. Through my friendship with Pepe and Carmen, I figured I knew enough about the country, and could hopefully fake the accent for a few sentences if a Nazi, God forbid, questioned me.

But dear god, that man was a child. Ugarte never cared for anything but the moment, and I that was why I loved him, but it also drove me up a wall. He wanted sex almost every night we were together. On the nights when I just couldn't put up with it, and shooed him away, he would leave my apartment—or just leave me behind in his own, if that's where we happened to be—and "go for a walk." Then the next time we'd go to the Blue Parrot, Ferrari's prostitutes would look at Ugarte with recognition, and then quickly look away when I made eye contact. I never called him out on this, but I got back in my own ways. When he disappeared like that—whether I was sure he was being unfaithful or not—I'd go digging through his apartment until I found some of this reefers, absinth, or whatever else he had, and help myself.

Our relationship evolved into an on-again, off-again sort. Four times, we ended our relationship, swearing we'd never get together again. And four times we came back together. (That is, not counting my very first, ah, "misunderstanding" with Ugarte, over the payment of those visas.) The first break-up was mutual; both of us screaming at each other, so loud that Rick threw us out of his café. I can't even remember what we were fighting about, but we both agreed that we were a bad match and went our separate ways. Four days later we came sniffling back to each other, so alone, that we could do nothing but apologize and get back together. The second break up was my doing, as I shouted how foolish I was to take back a dishonest and greedy crook like him. That time was a record—three weeks I went without him, until I could no longer handle the loneliness. Time number three, Ugarte threw me out of his apartment, calling me "ungrateful" for all he'd done for me, after I'd insulted him for his business methods yet again. Of course he came sulking back, shed a few tears even, and of course I shed some back and let him in again.

Our fourth and last break-up occurred about seven months after we first met.

I recall how that morning, Ugarte came to bother me at work. Life had been easier with Ugarte buying half my food and clothes, yes, but I still had to make some money. I was stringing beads for Signor Haddad, under the hot Moroccan sun, Ugarte flirting with me and telling me how business was going and such.

"So are you thinking you want dinner at Rick's tonight?" he asked me.

Smiling I replied, stringing beads, "How did you guess?" I frowned suddenly. "Oh, but Yvonne will be there too…I am so tired of hearing her argue with Rick."

Unlike me, Yvonne had kept her man almost consistently over the last six months, with only one break-up. Rick and Yvonne's relationship had been quite steady…but Rick had been steady with at least two or three other women at the same time (according to rumors). Yvonne and Rick had explosive arguments often worse than Ugarte and I had, and theirs drew far more attention because everyone knew who Rick was.

Ugarte seemed about to say something to me, when a man tapped his shoulder.

"Signor Ugarte?"

Ugarte slowly turned to face the man, under half-closed eyes. "Yes?"

The man was a Jew, I could just tell. By his face, his beard, the way he carried himself. It is even now difficult to explain, but I know it when I see it. The man looked not much older than myself.

"About those…those problems you were to help me with," the man stammered.

His accent sounded German.

"You have the money?" Ugarte replied quietly, pretending to look at my beads.

"N-no, not entirely. We are short still, with money."

Ugarte muttered, just barely audibly, "You are all of you people, always, 'short on money.'"

I looked up sharply at Ugarte.

He looked at me with a frozen expression. Then he blinked, melting into that innocent smile.

"The people of Casablanca." Ugarte clarified. "We are all of us, crooks of some sort, aren't we? According to Hitler anyway." He chuckled.

I forced a short smile, then returned to my beadwork.

It was just one little comment, one rude comment, made out of annoyance. I said such things about various kinds of people all the time (Germans, Italians Christians, men…) I'd be a hypocrite to blame Ugarte for that sort of thing. I tried hard to burry my anger, and focused on my beads. But I continued to listen to their whispers, each word clear as crystal.

"Signor Ugarte, if you could but lower the price just by a few franks,"

"Your visas are being for you saved, no one will take them."

"But someone may take me. My wife. Our children. Our son, Herman, if the Nazis were to even see him… it is becoming difficult to hide him from sight…"

I dropped a bead.

Leaning over to pick it up, my mind went instantly to the speeches I had heard Hitler give on the radio. What he said about the handicapped. The rumors I'd heard, about what really went on inside Nazi "asylums." And what kind of handicap this man's son might have, that he was trying to hide. (For what else could this man be referring to? Unless he meant that his son was an adopted black boy—not likely.)

"You've managed this long," Ugarte said calmly. "It's just a few more franks. I am sorry, but if I make one exception for you I must so make one for all of my customers, you understand, it is simply not possible."

"But how many of your other customers have so little time as me? How many have a son whom, if the police even catch one glimpse of him, will—"

Ugarte grabbed the man's arm quickly, as a policeman strode by.

As soon as the policeman was gone, the man begged once more, "Please Signor. The landlady is becoming suspicious. The Nazis are offering to people rewards, for turning in Jews or…or other…other people. Imagine, just for a moment, that you were in my position, if it were your children—"

"I have no children, Signor. Now if you'll forgive me, I have other business to attend to. I'll be at Rick's tonight, if you have the money you can catch me up there."

And Ugarte turned and left the market stand, without even telling me goodbye.

The Jewish man watched Ugarte go with dismay. He seemed at a loss, trying to decide whether to chase after Ugarte or turn and go home. He made a movement, as if to go after Ugarte, but gave up, and instead turned to leave. I saw the man wipe his eyes behind his glasses.

I licked my lips, wondering what if anything I could do to better this situation. At Rick's tonight, I decided, then I would talk to Ugarte. I would be with him, and I would make him sell this man the visas. Yes, I would embarrass Ugarte in front of his friends if I had to, make it appear that he'd be scum if he didn't help the man.

I lost myself in other thoughts (of which I did not have many these days), and continued my beadwork.

Rick's café was a mess of emotional drama that night, from all different sides.

Ugarte and I walked into the café arm in arm, Ugarte in his olive-green suit, and me in a new Spanish-styled dress that he had bought for me. Lovely dress: cream yellow, with patterns in dark green and red. Part of my "Catholic Spaniard" disguise that my friends were helping me with. We met up with Carmen and Pepe, at the bar.

"Oh Sofie!" Carmen exclaimed when she saw me. "You look absolutely gorgeous!"

Pepe added humorously, "Absolutely Spanish!"

I giggled a thank you.

"You need some décor to go with it though," Carmen said. "I can help you with that some time. Some decorations for your hair, I think."

"Signor Ugarte!" Sascha exclaimed when he saw us. "Miss Sofia! The usual?"

We nodded, and he got us our drinks. As we waited, I noticed my roommate sitting at the bar, downing a glass of alcohol.

"Hello Yvonne," I said timidly.

Yvonne threw me a weary look. "Hello Sofie," she slurred. "How are you."

"I am fine," I said. "But you dear, you sound a bit tired."

Drunk.

Yvonne sighed. "Well I—"

She stopped when Saddako Saito strolled up to the bar, and ordered a drink. Saddako seemed to pay Yvonne no mind, being in neither a rush to get away, nor lingering. She would have reason to be nervous; rumor had it that she was one of Rick's other woman. Yvonne stared coldly at Saddako, and shifted up straight.

I looked away a moment, and exchanged glances with my other friends. Carmen and Pepe looked down at the counter, avoiding Yvonne's gaze. Ugarte puffed a cigarette, blinking in confusion. Ugarte was rather out-of-the-loop when it came to other people's feuds. And often, that would cause him to say the wrong things to the wrong people. Another count for his popularity at Rick's Café.

Finally, Saddako got her drink. She was about to leave, when Yvonne said loudly, "You come to Rick often, Miss Ching?"

Pepe's glass almost slipped out of his hand. None of us missed the ethnic insult, or the innuendo. Saddako certainly didn't. Blinking widely, the Japanese woman said, "Excuse me?"

Yvonne crossed her arms on the table, looking away as she thought her response over. Finally she tossed her head over her shoulder and replied, "I said, do you come here, to Rick's, often."

Saddako's polite reply had just the tiniest hint of sarcasm. "I'm here playing roulette every other night, so yes, I suppose that should count as 'often.'"

"So you just come for the roulette Mrs. Ching Ching?"

Keeping her voice even, Saddako said, "It's Saito."

"Is that Chinese for 'whore'?"

I gasped loudly. Carmen's hand flew up to cover her mouth. Ugarte slowly turned down to his drink and cigarette. Pepe looked away.

Everyone close by was staring. Sascha was frozen in the middle of pouring some fat German man a drink, and the cup was overflowing a little. Neither of them noticed.

Without raising her voice, Saddako said to Yvonne, "If you have something to say to me, then say it."

Yvonne's eyes narrowed just for a moment, and I saw her sway slightly on her stool. "He collects women you know. From all over the world. I'm his Miss France. He has a Miss Germany and a Miss Italy and a Miss Spain. I suppose you're his little China doll now, huh?"

Saddako sipped her drink, staring at Yvonne hard. Finally, she said, "How should Rick know what is good for him if he doesn't sample the buffet." She took another sip, and added, "Find out what is sweet, what is sour, and what is rotten."

Yvonne splashed her drink at Saddako, getting alcohol all over her elegantly embroidered top. Saddako's eyes flicked for a second down to the damage; then she slammed her cup onto the counter, and glared at Yvonne. Yvonne began to say something more, but Saddako lashed out and struck the Frenchwoman across the face. Yvonne almost fell out of her chair.

Pointing at Yvonne, Saddako warned, "The next time won't be half as pleasant!"

Then, at the worst of times, Rick himself showed up at the bar, hurrying over from the gambling room.

"Is there any kind of trouble ladies?" he asked in his professional, saloon-keeper voice.

"No!" Saddako threw her hands up into the air. "No trouble at all, dobe kuso aba-zure aho chikubi, chichi chikusho kuso…" she stormed away from the bar, drink in hand, towards the gambling room, trailing a string of Japanese curse words (especially "kuso") behind her.

Rick watched Saddako go, with a tired, bemused expression. As if he'd just been thinking his day couldn't get any worse. Sascha quickly began to wipe up the mess on the counter, from spots where Yvonne's drink had missed Saddako.

Yvonne looked up at Rick, with tears in her eyes. "Rick why do you torment me like this?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about Yvonne, but I think it's much too early for this kind of melodrama from anybody." Yvonne began to say something but he cut her off. "You look like you could use a pick-me-up Yvonne. What-say you take a break from the bar a bit, I'll get us a bite to eat, my treat."

"But Rick," Ugarte cut in, "I thought you never drink with customers!"

Yvonne glared at my partner.

"I didn't say 'drink' I said 'eat.' And anyways we won't be eating here." He touched Yvonne under the chin. "We'll go up ta my apartment. I think Sam and Sascha and Karl can manage with me taking an hour break or so. Whaddaya say to that, Angel?"

Yvonne blinked up at him, and a weak smile touched her lips.

Idiots, I thought.

Eventually, Carmen, Pepe, Ugarte and I dared to venture back to the game room, and face the wrath of poor Saddako. We arrived to find everyone in as cheered spirits as usual. Saddako's top was still dark from the splash, and she had many used napkins around that she'd dabbed it with. But she was laughing and having as much fun as always, apparently having pushed Yvonne from her thoughts. We lost ourselves in the game, and for an hour or two, our problems were gone.

Then Ugarte's customer returned.

The Jewish man with the beard.

Ugarte was in the middle of a cigarette (when was he not?), and paying attention to the roulette wheel. He at first didn't respond when the man whispered his name. When he put his hand on Ugarte's shoulder, Ugarte shrugged him away.

I swapped a glance with George Holden, the blonde American journalist. George looked at Ugarte and cleared his throat. "Mr. Ugarte, I think this man has something ta ask you."

Ugarte looked up, as if he hadn't noticed him.

"Oh, eh not now. Meet me after this round, in back of the café."

"Yes but Mister Ugarte, I have for you a payment."

"Not now."

"Why not now?" I hissed at Ugarte.

Ugarte looked at me. "Because now, there are policeman and guards nearby."

Both the man and I realized this was a damned good answer, and shut our mouths. The Jewish man turned quickly and left.

When the round finished, Ugarte ordered another drink from Karl the waiter. I stared at Ugarte, wondering when he was going to go out and meet that man. George Holden, too, was staring. Carmen and Pepe were too busy counting their winnings to notice. Saddako was taking some notes in a little notepad from her purse, to keep track of her gambling.

Finally, I asked, "Guillermo, aren't you going to meet with someone, to take care of something?"

"Hmm?" Ugarte looked up at me. "Oh, yes. In just a few moments. I want not to look to conspicuous."

He socialized another few moments, then excused himself, saying he needed to find the men's room. I was very tempted to follow him, and supervise his transaction with his customer, but that was foolish. Why should I? It was Ugarte's business transaction, not mine. After a few uneasy seconds though, I excused myself, saying that I needed a walk.

I exited the café and walked around the back, lighting up a cigarette. I really did plan to take a short stroll around the café. But I thought, if I happened to "accidently" stumble upon Ugarte's transaction, I could rest safely knowing that the man and his family would be alright.

I stopped at the sound of raised voices. They weren't exactly behind Rick's Café; they were in an alley, between Rick's and another building. I leaned against the wall around the corner, out of sight, smoking, listening in to their conversation.

"I told you, I only accept cash or credit. Nothing else."

"Signor Ugarte, I am telling you, this ring is worth twice again what you want me to pay you!"

"So you say. There are no jewelers opened this time of night. Perhaps in the morning—"

"Signor, this is a real ruby, you can see by how hard it is. Look!" Silence, as the man probably tapped it with something like a coin or a pebble. "See? Real."

"I do not know much on rubies. Anyone could fool me."

"Signor, supposing that for just one moment I am lying, and it is a trick. If a lowly man like me could have a professional like you confused, then think what a professional like you might do with it. Tell people it is the rarest ruby in all of Morocco, enough people will believe you!"

"You're eh, not sounding very convincing at the moment Signor."

"Signor Ugarte, my family's life for this valuable ring."

"In the morning. Meet me right here, in the morning, I take it to a jeweler. If it is real, the visas are yours."

"What about, you give me the visas tonight, and if the ruby is fake tomorrow, you can come to me with a gun and make me give the visas back, I will not argue—"

"Tomorrow, at eight o'clock, I'll be right here." Ugarte said sternly, and walked off.

Tomorrow, at eight o'clock. Then I'd have my answer, then I could sleep sound. Well, sounder. I could not recall the last time I had truly slept sound.

To my horror, Ugarte came around the corner, and right up to me. He looked at me, and I smoked, trying to ignore him. There was no use in pretending that I hadn't heard.

"Eight o'clock." He assured me. "The man will be fine. It is just business, the rules. They must be followed, or else nothing stays organized and everything falls apart."

I nodded without looking up at him.

"Come," he held out his arm.

Reluctantly I took it.

"Back to the café?" Ugarte asked, "Or back home?"

I thought, and said, "Back home. I'm tired."

"All right. Back home."

Ugarte walked me away from the café, and back towards my apartment.

Halfway there we heard a woman shriek.

I froze, and Ugarte's grip tightened on my arm.

"Come on Tova," he whispered, and steered me onward.

We continued on, but I continued to have the sense that something was very wrong. People were looking out windows, or gossiping in doorways. Upon reaching the apartment complex, one of my neighbors—a middle-aged Moroccan-born Frenchman named Maurice—met up with us on the porch.

"Hurry inside Sofia," Maurice told me. "The Nazis just took someone, I saw."

"What did you see?" I asked quickly.

Ugarte answered for him, "Enough I'm sure."

But Maurice was not the patronizing type, and he knew I would want every detail. "A whole family, Jews I think. With a mongoloid boy."

In those days, the word "mongoloid" was the term for what we would later come to call "Down's Syndrome."

"How old was the boy?" I asked, a lump swelling in my throat.

"A child, perhaps nine or ten." Maurice shook his head. "Horrible."

"Why do you think they were Jews?" I asked, my speech picking up speed. "Did the father have a beard? Glasses? A German accent?"

Maurice looked at me, crestfallen. "You knew them?"

I shook my head. "No, no." I glared at my lover. "Ugarte, he knew them. Didn't you Ugarte."

"Enough Sofie." Ugarte pleaded.

"Didn't you!"

Ugarte urged me through the door, probably not liking the look Maurice was giving him. Ugarte led me up the stairs, and up to the apartment.

"You're tired Tova." He only used my real name when we were alone. "Just get some sleep Love," he said, gently sitting me on my bed.

I shot back up. "Sleep! I'll sleep, after that!"

"It can't be helped, Tova."

"You could have helped!" I hissed. "That man offered you a ruby and you couldn't make one exception!"

"You think I can predict which customer will get caught, and which won't? You think I have in this jacket a crystal ball to—"

"That man warned you enough, he was running low on time!"

"So say all my customers! Everyone knows in Casablanca, the risks,"

"Did the children know? Did the mongalid boy know? They will kill him Guillermo!"

"That's a rumor."

"That's not a rumor that's a fact!" I was whispering until the last word, which I screamed.

"Shh!" Ugarte put his hand over my mouth. "Do you want the Nazis down on us too?!"

I shoved his hand away. "They'll gas him! That's how they do to cripples and invalids, it's how they do to Jews—"

Ugarte forced his hand back over my mouth, more tightly, and whispered urgently, "It's what they'll do to you, and me, if they hear you!"

My blood was rushing, and my ears were growing hot. I bit his hand, to get it off, so I could have my say.

"Have you heard, Guillermo, what they do to the old people who go to their 'retirement' getaways? Have you heard how a Nazi asylum works?"

"Shut up!" Ugarte barked at me.

At the moment, I gave no thought to why this subject upset him so. I assumed he was only trying to ignore feelings of guilt about that Jewish family.

"They crowd them all into a room, and pour out the gas!" I was speaking a hundred words a minute, I was a madwoman. "Women, children, babies, old people, people in wheelchairs, people who can't speak or hear or see what's being done—"

Ugarte roared in a raspy shout, the kind I'd only ever heard two or three times when he was in a very serious argument with other crooks. "I said shut up!" He raised his arm, as if to slap me across the face.

I froze, tears on my face, staring at him. The rage on his face terrified me.

He lowered his arm, and his rage melted into mere anger. Ugarte straightened his jacket, and turned away to leave, without saying another word.

"What," I snarled, "No 'goodbye?' You'll just drop me off like a dog at a kennel? That's all people are to you aren't they. At least the ones who are always, how do you call it, 'short on money.'"

Ugarte whirled around. "I didn't see you so angry at me before! You cared no more than I did when nothing was looking to go wrong!"

"Why should I, I'm not the one with the power to help these people Ugarte! If you even consider us people. Maybe the Jews are just meal tickets to you. Unless they're a cute girl to flaunt and fuck!"

He jabbed a finger in my direction. "You're a slut and a hypocrite Tova Levi!" he wasn't shouting, but his voice was low and threatening. "You think you're my toy? What about you? You hate on crooks like me, until you find one who looks cute for you to fuck and cuddle, and has a gun and friends to protect you with, and free drugs to steal, and helps you with your own troubles." He looked me up and down, his eyes bulging angrily. "It must be nice, having a rat like me to blame, when you know you can't do a damn thing—"

"Shut up Ugarte, just shut up. You're almost as bad as the Nazis! You don't give a damn what they're doing, you never did!"

"I can't afford to let myself care too much, and frankly Tova neither can you!"

Shaking, I said quietly, "You're disguising. You make me sick. Here," I twisted the opal ring off of my finger. "You can take this, this rock!" I screeched the last word, chucking the ring at the brick wall behind my bed. I shouted at him, "Take back that piece of blood money, Ugarte! I'm finished with you! Finished!"

"Good! Because I was finished with you shortly after we first met!"

Ugarte stormed out of the bedroom, through the kitchen and out the door, letting it slam behind him. I stood there, seething. Then I quickly scooped up the ring I'd thrown. The black opal had a crack in it. I'd thrown it hard. I hurried out the door after Ugarte. He was on his way down the steps.

"Ugarte!" I called.

He heard me, but didn't look up.

I chucked the ring as hard as I could, hoping to hit him on the head. I missed, and hit the floor. He walked out the door, ignoring it.


A/N: Apologies for another "filler" chapter. This was supposed to be about Annina, with the break-up just at the beginning, but that wound up going on longer than I thought it would.

The exchange between Yvonne and Saddako was heavily inspired by a scene from "Boardwalk Empire."

The curse words Saddako says came from a website that, supposedly, provides Japanese curse words with their translations. She is basically just stringing random, senseless insults together, babbling out of anger.