When the Owl Cries Part 9

"I won't stop him," said Raul.

"I hear he says he'll never leave Petaca."

"He talks big. He's afraid."

"No--he's not afraid. Don't make that mistake, Don Raul!"

"Pedro has to leave.... I won't put up with him," he exclaimed.

In his mind's eye, Raul saw Pedro roping cattle in their corral, his la.s.so pinning a yearling. In the corral and on the range he had no rival. But as overseer, his cowpuncher skill meant nothing. He had not the slightest concept of what cooperation meant.

Returning, they took the road that led straight to the hacienda and entered the feudal wall through a seldom used gate. Raul said good-night to Manuel and lingered on the terrace, beside the swimming pool. Lighting his pipe, he reminded himself he must fill his tobacco pouch. The pool was flecked with jacaranda flowers, bats zoomed.

Elbows on the adobe wall, Raul searched the volcano for a sign of smoke. High on the flank, nearest the ocean, he detected a red spark; perhaps a charcoal burner's fire. In the living room, he put his pipe on the desk, filled his pouch, and blew out the candles.

During the night, Caterina called him:

"Papa, Papa ... come."

She was having a bad dream and he rubbed her legs and stomach and quieted her, kissed her cheek and tiptoed back to bed. Sleep would not come and for a long time he contemplated the starry windows. Angelina lay curled in a kitten's ball. Suddenly, clearly he heard an owl cry.

Before he could restrain himself, he sat up. Angelina stirred and muttered. Ridiculing superst.i.tions, he lay still and tried to plumb the stars.

In the morning, the children got up first and dressed happily.

Caterina dashed down the stairs singing, her loose slippers clumping the tiles. "Soy la golandrina ... soy la golandrina..."

Almost at once she rushed back up the steps, screaming:

"... Grandpa's fallen on the floor! I think he's dead! Grandpa's lying on the floor ... quick, quick. He's fallen out of bed!" she cried, repeating herself till her mother hurried down. Caterina hid her face in her pillow and sobbed. Raul threw on his robe and got into his slippers.

A gentle rain trickled across the window gla.s.s of his father's window.

Shadows, formed by the water on the pane, shimmered on Fernando's face.

His features seemed a little less ugly. He groaned, as Angelina propped up his head and gave him a drink.

With his hand on a bedpost, Raul contemplated his wife. Her face was tender, and she spoke sweetly. Her att.i.tude helped him feel compa.s.sionate. Together, they placed Don Fernando in bed and covered him. How pitiful, shut off by sickness and age. His hate had raised walls around him. It was more than hate, Raul knew. In Guadalajara, three or four months ago, he and his father had attempted to locate a pump suitable for irrigation. After a futile day they had gone to the nearest cantina, a fairly disreputable place. His father had ordered drinks. Then, when the waiter had gone, he had turned to Raul:

"I can't forget it, even here! I try to get away from it. I drink to get away from it; I ride like h.e.l.l to get away..."

"What are you trying to get away from?"

"You're not that stupid, Raul! After all these years! Christ ..."

Swiftly, he had gripped Raul's hand with cold fingers.

"It's my father ... I often see him. I thought you knew."

In Fernando's eyes, in the cantina, there had been the glaze of fear.

Fear and regret had cut him with their termites. n.o.body cared for him, unless it was little Caterina. She had not seen Flores dragged behind a horse, across a field and back again, across a field and back again ... she had been in school in Guadalajara.

Chavela brought a tray of breakfast things, and Raul left the room as Angelina began to wash the old man's face, saying: "Come now, you're all right. Come now."

In the patio, Vicente ran up to Raul and asked, "Is Grandpa dead?"

"No, son, he fell on the floor."

"Shall I go in?"

"If you want to. Mama's there. You don't have to go inside."

With a frightened face, he dashed off.

As Raul crossed the patio, Gabriel appeared. He spoke, and Raul nodded significantly toward the bedroom. Gabriel limped past. Raul did not stop, but walked onto the veranda, to find Pedro Chavez, squatting on his heels by the steps.

Pedro was six foot two, about thirty-six, a Yaqui, with square shoulders, big arms, big hands, big legs and feet. His facial tissue folded thickly across sharp bones and he had the swarthy complexion of Sonorans. Deep-set brown eyes glared past a Mongolian nose. He wore his hair long, and strands of it hung over his plaid shirt and buckskin vest. A single silver b.u.t.ton dangled loosely on his vest and other silver b.u.t.tons ran down the seams of his black trousers. His feet bulged in a pair of chamois-colored boots. He carried a Colt and had a belt of cartridges.

Seeing Raul, he grinned a nervous grin (it was as if he had nothing to do with the grin) and his eyes blazed.

"I hear Don Fernando is worse," he said, continuing to squat disrespectfully on his heels. He spoke with obvious contempt.

Raul held himself straight.

"When did you hear that?" he asked.

"Last night. They say he won't eat," said Pedro.

"I just came from his room. He ate last night ... I've been wanting to talk to you. This time is as good as any. I've taken over the management. I want you to leave Petaca." Raul realized he had spoken too rapidly. He stopped.

"I'm not leaving here," Pedro snapped, eyes on the floor.

"I order you to leave Petaca, at once," said Raul, accenting each word.

"I couldn't do that. It's my job."

"I never hired you."

"But your father hired me." Pedro talked slowly, the Yaqui way, clicking each syllable.

A brown cricket crept over the red tiles, crept near Pedro's boots, crawled on, circling a little.

"You're no longer employed here. Go to the Banco Nacional in Colima.

I'll write a note to the bank. They'll pay you off. Manuel will give you my note for the bank."

"Haven't you any money here?"

"I'll pay you through the bank. I want it that way. That way there's no question about a record of payment."

"I refuse to leave Petaca."

"I'll speak to the rurales."