The Hollow Man Excerpt 2

The Hollow Man   |     The Hollow Man Series, International Espionage​

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I turned toward a hand on my shoulder.

“Sir, I see you are English,” said an unshaven man standing over me. His speech was heavily accented but understandable. The man wore a light brown wool overcoat that would have flopped open had he not held it together with fists in his pockets. Heavy boots and a pair of loose-fitting broadcloth pants made me think he may have been a farm worker. The hair around his cap was shiny black, though flecks of gray dotted his beard stubble, and I guessed his age was close to fifty. He was uncomfortable, apologetic standing next to the pew.

“No sir, you’re mistaken,” I said.

“Ah, yes, American. My first thought,” he confirmed to himself.

I wondered why Americans were so easily identified wherever we went. I prided myself in disappearing within the thin cultural fabric of a country no matter where I found myself but obviously, I was still being schooled on exactly how to blend into the surroundings. These lessons were important for a humble government tourist like me. Be invisible or be dead. There was no in-between when one was finding people who did not want to be found, watching people who did not want to be watched, and learning from those who did not want to teach.

“Mass is beginning.” I tapped a finger to my lips.

Pushing me down the pew with his body, the Spaniard slid in beside me and crossed himself. We sat in silence, pretending to listen to the liturgy. I heard a heavy rattle in his breath above the priest’s Latin. He was a man who needed a cigarette. For some reason, that bothered me but his five-day stubble really irritated me, mostly because it took me forever to grow facial hair. Even then, my cheek would still be as barren as the top of an old pirate’s head and feel as smooth as a French prostitute’s thigh.

“I’m a poor student. I don’t have any money,” I whispered.

“I know what you are.” My eyes snapped in his direction but the Spaniard was intent on the sermon as the priest professed something in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Finally, he said, “Tell America that España will soon be free again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know as well as me, young one. Do not make us send you home in a box.” He smiled. “We are no threat unless we’re threatened.” He crossed himself and rose to leave.

“Do you mean because Franco’s ill and he’ll die soon?”

“I thought you were smarter,” he sighed. The man stared down at me for a long time before turning away.