When the Owl Cries Part 29

Outside, on the ocean porch, the orchestra began a plaintive Veracruzana, with the violins carrying the melody, the horns a trifle slow, the surf coming through.

Oblivious of the orchestra, General Matanzas sat at the old Chickering; his fingers fished for a sentimental song to match his intoxicated mood. He swayed on his bench, his belly sagging, his epaulettes bobbing. Smoke from some candles on the piano drifted across his gray-white head and beard.

"It's really bad news about Diaz," said Raul to Lucienne. "He shouldn't resign. If he must resign, he should appoint a capable successor. The more I think about it, the less I like the situation.

De Selva says we're in for bad times."

"Come, come," said Lucienne. She leaned over and brushed crumbs from his trousers. "I think Diaz will die in office. He should, just to please us. And, anyhow, this is my party...."

"Maybe you don't grasp the significance," he said.

"A man in his eighties has a plan."

"But n.o.body knows his plan."

"We live a long way from the capital. We'll get some accurate news soon. Our president is no fool."

Federicka Kolb, a friend of the Humboldts for years, paused before Lucienne and Raul, smiled and offered them cigarettes. She was an attractive heavy-set person, with a light complexion and especially intelligent mouth and eyes.

"Darling," asked Lucienne, "what is the latest news about President Diaz? Is there anything we can depend on?"

"General Matanzas said he has resigned and left the country," said Federicka.

"The highest authority," said Lucienne, glancing at the general, who had put his head on his arms.

"I'll talk to him later," said Raul. "Is there any word of a successor? Has Matanzas been in Mexico City recently?"

"I was in Mexico City last week," said Federicka, her face pleasant and calm. "People say Diaz wants Mexico to become a democracy. Diaz wants the Indians to vote."

The orchestra had stopped playing and Baroness Radziwill overheard Federicka's last sentence.

"That's utterly ridiculous," she cried, her black eyes snapping. "Not one Indian in ten thousand can read or write. Is Diaz too old to think?"

"They can read at the point of a gun," said Serrato, the young Colima mayor, his lips twisting.

Federicka took up the challenge: "All of us can remember faithful Indians. When Lucienne's mother and father drowned in the surf, who tried to save them? The Indians who were fishing nearby. Itzla drowned. He gave his life. When my father built the railroad to Cuernavaca, he learned to like them."

"Long live Porfirio Diaz," cried Serrato dully.

"Long live Diaz," others echoed.

"Maybe I've drunk too much coffee," Roberto muttered under his breath.

"What's all this?"

"I'm no Diaz man. How do you feel about Petaca and what I'm doing?"

Raul asked him.

"Well," said Roberto, grinning, "Fernando, like Diaz, has served his time. I want to see what you can do."

He opened his silver cigarette case and rubbed a smudge from the initials. He felt sleepy, tired of this room and its old-fashioned furniture. A little sickish, he headed for the porch and the cool sea air. Being alone could be comforting.

"I tell you, we're in for bad times," de Selva sermonized before a group. "Our haciendas are threatened by renegades. Don Raul was wounded by one of those fools who wants to grab our land. We have to carry guns ... I go about armed."

Raul led Lucienne to the long, cool porch and they danced to a Strauss waltz ... the ocean beating hard.

"Hold me close, Raul."

"Are you falling asleep?"

"I've been thinking of my presents, what fun it's going to be, opening them."

"When will you open them?"

"At lunch tomorrow ... just the two of us."

"Open them now."

"It's fun to wait. When there aren't so many people around."

"Shall I tell you what Roberto gave you?"

"Tell me ... please."

"Two gold-plated faucets for your bathroom ... in fourteen karats."

"Oh, no. I'll never believe that. How silly!"

"Come on, let's open his package."

"All right, let's open it, let's open all my presents."

They went into the living room, laughing heartily.

Roberto listened to their laughter, as he got ready for bed, his bedroom door half-open. He envied their love. A fine house in Colonia Vallarta had not added up to happiness for him. His wife thought him a clown, not a wit. Now, the Diaz news had disheartened him and he tossed his shirt over one of Lucienne's plants, beside the four-poster.

Stretching, he breathed in the cool air, glad to be back by the ocean.

It would be fun to see how Lucienne felt about those faucets tomorrow ... he had paid a pretty penny for them....

In the morning, Raul met Lucienne in the greenhouse, whose salt-rimed windows faced the sea, a ramshackle Swiss-style conservatory built by her father when he, too, had dabbled in plants and flowers. When Raul came in, she was adjusting salt screens.

"Good morning. You're up early."

"Good morning, darling. You're lazy. I've already had a swim."

"You should have wakened me."

"But you were so comfortable, I just slipped out of bed."

"Have you had breakfast, Lucienne?"

"I'm waiting for you."