When the Owl Cries Part 8

"Hard enough."

Raul drew reflectively, enjoying the sweet warmth of the Cuban tobacco.

He kicked idly at the pelt of the mountain lion beside the hearth.

Dust and ashes puffed from the old, dried hair. On the mantelpiece, a great beam of unpeeled cedar, between a pair of crystal candle holders, lay the lion's tail, torn off by Vicente and Caterina during some game.

Walking the length of the room, Raul tried to concentrate. There was only concern: where to begin? Who needed help? How much corn and wheat were to be allotted? Yesterday, he and Velasco and Hernandez had worked with the sick. He had put men to building huts behind the stables; the stable hands must have places of their own and not continue sleeping with the cattle. He had men clean the well that watered the stock. Carts had gone to Colima for lumber. Tomorrow he wanted repairs to begin on the granary roof. He wanted to speak to Gabriel about reconditioning the schoolroom, he wanted to see Salvador about the oxcarts.

Where to begin ... the thought haunted. It seemed to him a million beginnings could add up to nothing. Most of all, he wanted to rea.s.sure his people. Life at Petaca would have to even out over a long stretch of time to rea.s.sure the peasants.

Fussing with his pipe, he crossed the patio to look at his father.

Fernando lay asleep, hand over the edge of his bed. A book lay open beside him, almost ready to slip to the floor. Perhaps Caterina had read to him. Raul smiled, as he took in an empty soup bowl under the bedside table lamp ... bread crumbs peppered the floor.

Going to the veranda, to the intricate grilled gate that closed the front of the house at night, he saw a bonfire across the cobbled court, near the far wall. Flames bloodied the wall and the turret on top.

Men huddled close and seemed to be heating tortillas or making _tacos_ over embers sc.r.a.ped from the blaze. Someone began to pluck a guitar, and Raul caught the glint of wood and strings. A man sang: "Es de los que bailan grande obligacion darle a su pareja ..."

When had his people known freedom. Had it been under the last Indian emperor, Cuauhtemoc? Had it been under Moctezuma? Had it been at Chichen Itza or Palenque? Surely, in some bygone age, his people had been freer and suffered less. Men still worshiped the old G.o.ds. A while ago, at the base of the volcano, at a place called Ojo Blanco, he had discovered an altar encrusted with blood. Turkey blood, said Manuel, since feathers had gotten stuck in the black crust. Deep inside a granite niche, a stone figure had grinned apishly.

"Toltec?" he asked Manuel.

"I don't know, Don Raul."

Higher up the volcano, on the seaward side, his men had reported other altars, through the years. On his own climbs, Raul had come across other idols, one a bloated thing of obsidian, the gla.s.s unpocked by time. Had these men known happier days?

The moon shone brightly, and it was chilly. He wanted to stroll along the lagoon and yet felt he should not walk alone, not for the time being. As a boy, he had played along the lagoon, speared frogs, sailed boats, waded and swum. As a boy ... What about Vicente? Would anyone molest him? Of course not. Then his own risk was an exaggeration.

He got a jacket, went through the garden, and opened a rose-trellised gate that led to the sh.o.r.e. First one frog and then another plopped into the water. A night bird startled him by whirring off from sedges near his feet. He stood still, his heart pounding. At once, he called himself a coward, but as he began to follow the sh.o.r.e, he realized someone was trailing him. He stopped, his hand on the trunk of a primavera tree and waited for the man to approach.

"Coming ... coming," came Manuel's voice. Raul broke into a chuckle.

"Why are you following me? Haven't you anything better to do?"

"You need company."

"I suppose I do. A night bird scared me. I'm an old woman."

"It's no time for an old woman to be about alone," laughed Manuel.

"I'm not going far."

"I brought this," said Manuel, tapping his revolver.

"For the frogs," said Raul.

"Not tonight," Manuel said.

Raul walked on, across clumps of gra.s.s that had wiry tops.

"I think we're overdoing this gun business ... too much precaution."

Raul was touched by Manuel's solicitude. Who else, beside his children, cared so much at Petaca? Even if there was no danger, it amounted to the same thing. Their walk took them through cane, and a snake slid toward the lagoon, its gray-white body sparkling, as if carrying dew or pieces of spider web. He and Manuel had routed many a snake along this sh.o.r.e. Ash, eucalyptus, pepper, jacaranda, primavera, tabachin and palm grew here. His grandfather and father had planted them. Close to the sh.o.r.e some of the trees had not done well, but on higher ground all were superb. Paths wound among them. Where moonlight sc.r.a.ped a circle on the ground, Angelina had placed a rustic table and chairs.

Raul sat on a log, and Manuel crouched on his heels, his back against an ash tree.

"Were the men having tortillas in the court?" Raul asked.

"Yes ... they hadn't had any for several days."

"Salvador came tonight, to live at the hacienda," said Raul.

"I know," said Manuel. "He'll be a lot of help."

"Do many know of my decision?"

"Most of them, I think."

"How do they feel about it? What have you heard?"

"I've heard only good things: some are very pleased, even excited."

Manuel moved closer and squatted beside Raul. For a while they were silent, listening to the waves and the night sounds.

"It's beautiful tonight," Raul said.

"Perhaps it's too beautiful. The charcoal makers, who came down from the volcano today, say smoke is seeping from the crater."

"If there were much smoke we would have seen it ... wouldn't we?"

"Perhaps," said Manuel.

"You sound pessimistic. What is it? Tell me why you followed me?"

"Pedro is here," he answered, after a pause.

"You know that for a fact?" asked Raul, stiffening.

"I saw him. He came from Manzanillo."

"Where did you see him?"

"In the stable, with other men."

"Did you speak to him?"

"No. He's drinking. He's out for trouble." Manuel spoke with a peculiar emphasis, recalling Pedro's drunken brawls, Raul's displeasure, Don Fernando's disregard. Manuel took time to pull a gra.s.s blade and poke it between his teeth, and then said, "He's very drunk."

The moon floated directly overhead, a spray of cloud in front of it.

Something shook the dried fingers of a palm--a bird.

"Pedro came to talk with Don Fernando," said Manuel.