I Was Jack Mortimer (Pushkin Collection) by Alexander Lernet-Holenia

he had not made a mistake. He remonstrated with her, of course, but she did not react. He no longer had any claim to her heart.
    If he’d still been in his own country, he’d have known what to do. There a woman is not free. She belongs to him who can defend her. Here, however, she was free. She could do whatever she wanted. In the States no man any longer has a natural right to a woman. She no longer needs his protection, she does what she wants. Mortimer, too, told him that. Montemayor had drawn him into an argument in order, at the end of it, to beat the daylights out of him.
    However, Mortimer said, “I haven’t a clue what you want. You think Consuelo loves me? I believe you’re mistaken. One doesn’t fall in love so quickly. There’s too much else going on. Naturally, I was flattered to see Consuelo here and there, but I’m pretty sure she’s not really interested in me. She wants to make a career. You shouldn’t stand in her way. I myself have done what I can for her. Hasn’t she said anything to you about that? I’ve introduced her to many people who could be useful to her. Honestly, you’re wrong if you think I’ve got any ulterior motives. I was only a middleman. I haven’t even seen Consuelo for the last two or three days. However, I introduced her to George Anstruther. Do youknow Anstruther? You don’t? Well, he’s extremely influential. They say he’s very interested in Consuelo. Malicious gossips even say she’s his mistress.”

    Having said that, Mortimer lit a cigarette. Montemayor looked him in the eyes for a moment, turned short on his heel and left.
    Lately he had seen Consuelo only in the evenings when they performed together. He returned to his flat, packed a few things, and left New York without even seeing Consuelo or even so much as contacting his manager. The intermezzo was at an end. He would, he decided, become a peon once more, and that was that.
    Two days later he got off the train in a small station in the South. It was raining. The rain was falling in sheets over the prairie, drumming on the tin roof of the station, forming puddles between the tracks. On the horizon a couple clapboard houses appeared to be sinking in a sea of mud.
    He stared into the wilderness. A pair of horses saddled the Mexican way stood at the corner of a house, their shanks turned towards the weather. The tall grass swayed, the rain beat down, the gloom and the mist were closing in.
    He enquired when the next train was due.
    He had two hours to wait. He didn’t wait under the station canopy, but stood out in the open. His shoes, his coat, his business suit were soaking wet.
    The sound of singing, shouting and laughter reached him from the house where the horses were tied up.
    No one bothered about him.
    At last the train came. It was heading for New Orleans.
    In New Orleans he had to wait a day. He sailed on the
Jeanne d’Arc
to France.

    In Paris he appeared on the stage with several artistes, whom he often changed. Day in, day out, he studied music. After a year he moved to Berlin, then back to Paris again.
    He got people to write French and English lyrics to his melodies, and published them.
    ‘Juanita’ made him famous.
    He returned to the States; however, he stayed only a short time in New York, travelled down to the South again, and bought a property in Florida near Palm Beach.
    Here he composed his second great hit, ‘Castilliana’.
    He made several hundred thousand dollars from this hit. He wrote the song one evening very quickly, in a matter of minutes, before driving to Palm Beach to meet some friends, and the moon over the sea was just like it had been that time over Monterey.
    ‘Castilliana’ was played endlessly at parties where people first danced and then the women went and deceived their husbands.
    From now on he lived part of the time in Palm Beach andpart of the time in New York and Paris. The much heralded ‘Sonora’ was a flop.
    In New York he learnt that Mortimer no longer