When the Owl Cries Part 34

"Dear Estelle,

"As you said, it must be destiny that brings me back. Something rules me. As I rode out of Guadalajara, I felt a harshness clawing at my brain. Poor thing, she can't tell the shape of her mind or why it cries so, or what it wants. Of course it wants you, but there is this something else, dark, darker than I dare admit.

"So when I got back to help with the fiesta, I wanted to see if I could straighten myself out a little. I fixed all the clothes for the Virgin, and dressed. I thought: this is the last time. But Trini came in and we got to laughing.

"Fiestas are such bores, and this one was no exception. They praised Farias for getting in the best corn crop ever. There were Indian dances--the viejitos were best.... Doblado killed his bulls as badly as ever ... fireworks ... and all the time I kept thinking of Lucienne, because she came and met Raul secretly. So people told me. I wanted to get sick.

"Raul and I had a bad quarrel, at supper, only yesterday. He said: I want you to live in Guadalajara permanently.' 'Why?' I asked. 'Can't you stand me any more?' And he turned white. I thought he would choke. I just stared at the candle flames prettily. I wonder how you would handle him? He said: 'You came back to fix the Virgin's wardrobe. It's something you always liked to do. You can come back to Petaca, any time. I'm not banishing you.'

"'So I can come back sometimes--how nice! And do you want to keep Vicente forever?' I cried.

"'We can share him, as you like. We can work that out later.'

"'Why later? Later! Haven't we waited too long?'

"'Too long for what?'

"'For me."

"It went on and on. He says it's for my own good. But now I'm sick, and I can't go away...."

Abruptly, she got up from her desk. Barefoot, in a loose gray robe, she walked to the veranda windows, already hating what she felt she might see: men on horseback, women and children, people walking and talking. She had been writing very rapidly, and rubbed her hand as she gazed out. She thought she heard Don Fernando call, and went toward his room, dream-walking, one hand over her breast, the other lifting her skirt a little.

The old man was raving at Chavela, who seemed frozen to one spot, a dishtowel over her arm.

"We must wipe out such crooks as Enriquez and Ricardo Magon! What messes they made in Chihuahua and Coahuila! There's more than meets the eye in their actions."

He squirmed under his bedclothes, the sheet sliding over his head so that only one eye stared out.

"Listen to me: under Porfirio Diaz we have known prosperity ... our centennial celebration told the world ... there must be no political tricks."

When Angelina appeared, Chavela nodded and went out, shaking her head.

"I'm here," said Angelina. "Chavela had to go."

"Angelina, come sit by me. Fix my bed.... We must find another Diaz.

We can, you know." He talked a while longer, as she arranged his bed.

She sat beside him, her hands limp in her lap. She remembered a dream she had had during the night. Caterina had been frisking in the patio with Mona. Mona had just been washed and combed and her gray-gold hair stood up beautifully. Caterina wore a scarlet dress. She tossed Mona a ball, but as Mona ran toward her she became a dog of gla.s.s bones and gla.s.s hair.

Angelina trembled. She whispered to Fernando:

"It was a gla.s.s dog ... Mona's a gla.s.s dog."

He didn't hear her.

Afraid, she climbed the tile stair to her room and locked the door.

She moved stiffly to the window, and looked down to the patio fountain and cypress below. She thought she saw Raul lying beside the fountain.

Men began to whip his naked back. Drawing the curtains, she threw herself on her bed and began to talk to herself.

"I mustn't blame him for Caterina's death. I must stop thinking about her. About Raul. I must just let things drift along. Nothing has changed, not too much.... I must think that nothing much has changed.

It has to be that way. Close the shutters."

With a great effort, she got up and took her embroidery and began to st.i.tch.

Just before supper, Raul found her asleep across the bed, her fur over her shoulders. He had a hard time waking her and when she woke she griped childishly:

"Go away," she said, "let me sleep. I need rest, please let me sleep.

I won't eat any supper. I don't want any ... just let me sleep."

He helped her to bed and then went outside. The moon was low, the stars faded, the volcano gla.s.sy. Coyotes barked behind the grove. He felt stupid about Angelina. Could the doctors help her?

He longed to paddle across the lagoon. Why not find Manuel? He knocked at his door and Manuel flung on his shirt and joined him gladly. They spent most of the night on the water, paddling and talking together in Indian and Spanish, about his mother, the beauty of darkness, ghosts, the good old days.

They returned near dawn, had something to eat in the kitchen, and said good night. Raul tried to slip into bed carefully and not disturb Angelina, but she straightened and said:

"Where have you been?"

"Canoeing."

"I wish you wouldn't go on such escapades. You're not a boy."

He did not reply, but adjusted his pillow and tried to settle onto the mattress.

"I want to go to Colima tomorrow," she said, her head turned away. "I must leave Petaca, if only for a day. I want to see Vicente, too.

Don't you want to see him? The church has been repaired, Raul, and we must attend Ma.s.s, on the first of the month. A ceremony in honor of the reconstruction. The hospital isn't fixed. Why are they so slow?"

Her husky voice, softened by her sleepiness, lulled Raul.

When she woke, men were loading stone onto an oxcart in front of the house, burros were trotting over cobbles, boys were spinning tops.

Glancing at Raul, sprawled on the bed, she tiptoed to the bathroom.

Her maid had already filled the tub, and she sank into the cool water.

"Ah," she sighed. "Clavo said, 'It is the flesh ... with lightning in each bone' ... cool water ... morning...." Her face looked younger.

There was no fear there.

I must dress and get away to Colima, have a nieve with some friends.

When Raul awoke and went downstairs, he saw Angelina driving off in their carriage. He had meant to accompany her, but had been too sleepy to say so. From the veranda, he enjoyed seeing the Placier sway down the eucalyptus lane, its spokes shining. Someone had harnessed two blacks and two whites, splendid horses!

After breakfast, Raul went to the mill to see Farias, who had his room on the second floor. As he climbed the outside stair, a peac.o.c.k wailed on top the wrought-iron railing. Raul shook the rusty rail and the bird spurted to the ground, shrieking as it fell.

He knocked on the door of weathered pine. There was no answer. A large knothole had fallen out at head level, and he looked inside.

Someone lay on the bunk, his arm flung over the side. Pushing the door, which swung heavily, Raul stepped in.

Blood stained the floor, serape and bunk. Raul rolled the man over and removed the serape from his face and chest. Someone had beaten him ...

Farias was dead....

As if he had been struck, Raul stepped back.