When the Owl Cries Part 24

"The record here at Petaca speaks for itself. I know how many men you've had killed."

"Many men have killed and not been held to account.

Every general kills."

"That kind of reasoning makes nothing right."

"Do you know how dangerous these times are?" asked Fernando. "Do you?"

"I can only guess. Perhaps it will take only a spark."

"A spark to touch off a conflagration," said Don Fernando, one eyebrow going up.

"You mean a revolution?" asked Raul.

"That."

"I doubt if it will be revolution. It won't get that bad. If it gets that bad, we'll be put back a hundred years. A revolution will cost us that much."

"You sound prophetic," laughed Fernando.

"I'm going to help," Raul said.

"I don't want to lose Petaca, whatever happens," said Fernando, feeling the land to be his only friend.

Raul shoved his hands in his pockets and rose to leave. It took all his will power to look at his father briefly.

"I'll send Arrillo to shave you," he said. "I'm going to Colima. I hear the quake damage has been serious ... I want to see what I can do to help."

The room quiet, Fernando feared death: he wanted his son's new boots, trousers and shirt; he wanted to strap on a gun. Through his bloodshot eyes, as he gazed at the sunny patio, he saw himself at twenty-five or thirty, in new clothes, stalking off to Colima. His arm refused to stop shaking; he groaned; death would not let him alone. He tried to make out the serpentine fountain. Was that a woman dipping water? A girl dipping water? The dim figure reminded him of Caterina, and he heard her reading to him, as she had sat beside his bed. But he put Caterina out of his mind and groped for his copper bell and rang.

When Chavela came, he said: "Pedro's at the mill. I want him here.... Oh, Christ, stop looking like a scared calf!

Pedro won't hurt you. Get out there and tell him I want him.

And bring me another cigarette when you come back."

Fernando enjoyed the prospect of seeing his renegade; it amused him, too, that Pedro had gotten himself into trouble.

Like an old cat, Fernando drowsed till Pedro appeared.

"What took you so long?" he began, instinctively aware that considerable time had elapsed since Chavela had left.

"I waited for Don Raul to leave."

"Afraid of him!"

Pedro did not care to reply; he was impervious to the old man's jibes.

One hand was stuck in his enormous leather belt, he was dressed in white, no guns, no cartridges. His boots were dusty. He had left his hat somewhere. A long timothy straw dangled from his mouth.

"You went too far," Fernando exclaimed. "I don't want Raul killed.... you were to kill Manuel. Farias was to have been a blunder for the Jesuits. That didn't work out.

You're clever but you're not clever enough. I'm not the murderer of my son. My business with my father taught me something. Now, I want you to leave Petaca. Get out!"

"What?" said Pedro, hand to the straw in his mouth.

"Raul has gone to Colima to talk with the rurales. They'll come here for you. They'll scour the hacienda. At least you're warned." Fernando grinned at the other's dilemma. "Get out. You're licked."

This was something Pedro had not foreseen. He removed the straw from between his teeth and smelled the end of it, frowning.

"You may need me," he mumbled, unable to think.

"Go to Mountain Rancheria. You have friends there. It'll be safe enough. Get out, before I decide to turn you over to the rurales." Fernando chuckled.

"All right. Mountain Rancheria. I'll go there ... all right."

"Come back here in an hour or so. I'll let you have some money."

"Give me enough for some guns. I need guns."

Pedro's face became eager; he tossed away the straw and moved close to Fernando's bed, his spurs rattling. Bending low, he smiled.

Fernando caught the rebel instinct in that grin. G.o.d, he thought, to be out of bed. "Guns," he said. "Why do you need guns? What will you do with guns?"

"Sell them, Don Fernando."

"Men are buying guns?"

"Yes. Now I can make money. Big money."

"Is General Matanzas in charge of the garrison?"

"He doesn't know people are buying guns.... He mustn't know."

"Guns," Fernando muttered. "Money for guns."

"There will be trouble," said Pedro.

"I gather that," croaked Fernando. He no longer feared death. He asked Pedro to have men place him in a chair and carry him to the _tienda_. Alone, at the desk, he opened his safe and counted 2,000 pesos for his overseer. Guns! With the bills before him he felt powerful again. The smell of the pesos told him insane things. The map of Petaca confirmed his illusion: 1,800,000 acres, corn land, wheat land, sugar cane, mountains, valleys ... his. Yet, as he stared at the map, he realized he could not distinguish one sector from another. Troubled, he began shuffling the bills; then he noticed the open account book. In spite of his shaky hands, he found the accounts Raul had canceled. Groaning, he slid forward, tried to grasp the desk, tried to rise and collapsed.

Somehow, he held to the top of the desk. The guns in the gun rack became sticks. The door became a black hole. He felt his eyes ... they were still open. Slowly, he rested his head on his arms.

Presently, someone rapped and the door opened.

"Don Fernando?" called Pedro, coming inside and closing the door. He stepped to the desk and jogged Fernando's back and the old man looked up; instantly, Pedro realized he could not see.

"Don Fernando," he whispered.

Fernando could not reply. He lowered his head again.

Without hesitation, Pedro picked up the money and jammed it into his trouser pockets; then he stood still and listened carefully; he glanced through the open windows; an oriole sang; a horseman clattered by; then footsteps seemed to be coming toward the _tienda_.

One of Fernando's bearers rapped. Pedro let him in and together they carried Fernando to his room, Chavela hovering about squeaking and clucking. Angelina brought ammonia. Someone went off for Father Gabriel.