When the Owl Cries Part 52

"Sit down. Why, you're soaking wet! Was it raining?"

"The palmera, the mist," he said.

"Come and change."

"Not yet."

He put his cheek against hers, his arms about her. Her arms went around him for an instant. Then they heard the sounds of horses arriving and people talking.

"Those are my men outside. I brought help, in case there's any need."

"What shall I do with your men, darling? How shall I feed them?"

"They've brought food. I'll send any further provisions they need.

You'll keep them here, as long as you stay."

"How are things at Petaca?"

"So-so."

"That's not much of an answer."

"Gabriel has a badly infected leg, caused by a bullet wound."

"I heard that someone shot him. How much worse can it get?"

"We'll have to talk about those things," he said, "but not now. I'll see about my men, where they are to stay, what they can do to help."

"Then some brandy and dry clothes."

"Fine."

Over their brandy, he talked about protecting Palma Sola; he felt that the presence of his men would be sufficient; in all likelihood, there would be no trouble.

"This way I can take you to Colima and feel that everything is all right."

"I wish I could feel that way, Raul. All my things are here, the Humboldt things." She gestured toward the furnishings.

"Where are Federicka and her family and friends?"

"Down on the beach. They'll be back later."

The brandy nipped the edges of her tongue. She thought: Brandy, just the two of us, for a few moments. She was disturbed by new lines in his face, his restless gaze. She took his hand and led him to the dining table, so beautiful in the midst of dark green plants.

"Some more brandy," she suggested.

He nodded toward a newspaper, spread on the table.

"Is it recent?"

"It's from Colima ... a couple of days old."

"Any news from General Matanzas?"

"No. But there's plenty from outside places. In Morelos, several haciendas have been burned. In Guanajuato, owners have been driven away."

"Here at Palma Sola these tragedies seem remote," he said.

"I hope we can keep it that way."

"How's your father?"

"He can't get out of bed any more. He can't sit up, even in bed.

He'll die soon, Lucienne."

"I hope I'll be missed when I'm gone," she said. "Me and my trees and my flowers. Do you think I'll ever be able to send my lovely jacaranda seedlings to Guadalajara? The governor wanted them. Ah, these are hard times, for even such simple things as trees."

Raul thought: How fine she is, how much a woman! And he put his mouth on hers; they were friends and lovers; in the warmth and strength of their embrace they found hope.

He decided to remain at Palma Sola a while, maybe no more than three days. He wanted to forget. Together they would see pelicans lurch into the sea, frigate birds ride the wind, herons take the sun.

Together they would walk on the beach or go out to sea, in a dugout, trolling.

In the morning, lying close to her open window facing the ocean, he traced the copper coloring of her throat, his fingers moving lightly.

Her long hair tangled his arms. His mouth sought her breast.

The ocean breeze tossed the curtains and moved her hair. He drew her, half asleep, underneath him. It had been a long time since they had loved each other in the early morning; laughter bubbled out of her, slowly, slowly. Palma Sola, single tree, phallic, alive. She groaned and laughed against his neck. His body grew tense with joy.

There was nothing to get them up till late. In the afternoon, Federicka and her family went to Colima. The weather was perfect, a little of spring, a little of summer.

The next day, Lucienne said, "Tomorrow we'll go to Colima," and then postponed then: departure. So, for several days they rode horseback, fished, lolled on the beach, and took walks together. The newspapers carried distressing news and when they read them together they were perplexed and saddened. They knew time was ebbing away.

"Of course I must go," said Raul, after another paper had arrived. "I must get back to Petaca.... We must go. I'll leave you in Colima."

"We've been lucky," she said.

"I think so."

"I'll tell Otello to sc.r.a.pe the rust from the carriage."

"Let's go on horseback," he said.

"No, in the victoria. I have too much luggage. Anyhow, I'm sick of Chico. You should get rid of him. Let him drag along behind us."

"He's a good horse."

"What was he like as a colt?"

"No better."