When the Owl Cries by Paul Alexander Bartlett
8
Sitting in a hammock on Lucienne's porch facing the ocean, Raul sawhimself, a self-portrait: the slightly over-fleshed face, brown skin,tough hands, twisted eyebrows. Not a big man, part Spanish, partIndian. His eyes had taken on a hurt look these days, his mouth hadhardened, shoulder muscles had sagged. Briefly amused, he saw himselfas a Colonial canvas--reading in a stiff-backed chair, a cat on thefloor at his feet, a vase of paper roses on a side table.
Tomorrow, Lucienne's victoria would take him home, away from lollinghammock, the sound of the ocean, back to his people. He thought of hiswife, of her discontent. Petaca's deed, in its cedar box, had been thedeed to many souls. Yes, Petaca had drained away her spirit, warpedher. It had changed her, a painful change.... Her rebellions had beenbrushed aside. The weather was bad, the food was monotonous. Shesaid: But I haven't any friends here. I said: Can't you readsomething! Go look at the stars.
But it's so dark outside, Raul, so dark.... I love the stars, but ifwe could just go to the theater tonight. I want to see a play.Remember that play set in Salamanca.... We liked that play, remember?You have your work. I don't see what's wrong with my wanting friends.I went to school with them. Remember, I'm from Guadalajara.... I likeEstelle.... She's....
Slowly, Raul got up and circled the house, to the garden side.Lucienne was talking to her gardener. He had been clipping hedges andthey walked among them, stepping over little heaps, pointing,gesturing. Barefooted, wearing light blue, she laughed gayly atsomething he said. Her hair blazed against the dark hedge, beside thegardener, a wizened, half-naked man.
She came toward Raul. "Don't the hedge leaves smell wonderful?" sheasked, wrinkling her nose.
"Like the woods," he said.
"Let's go together one of these days," she suggested. "Way up thevolcano, the way we used to ... after the fire and smoke have gone."
"Will the fire and smoke ever go?" he said, letting his discouragementget the better of him.
"That's no way to talk." She kissed him. "Sit on the bench, there,"she said, quietly. "Maybe you shouldn't be walking around. I'llchange the bandage soon."
"We can skip that.... Let's leave it."
"Who'll change the bandage at Petaca?"
"Manuel."
"Not Angelina?"
"She doesn't like blood."
"Stay with me a while longer."
"I can't, Lucienne. Who knows what my father may do? With me away, hemay press every advantage."
"You must turn Pedro over to the rurales."
"I know," he said.
"Don't wait."
"I've waited too long already," he said. "But Pedro's not hangingaround Petaca, waiting to be turned over to the rurales. They'll haveto get him."
A banging started beyond the hedge, where the gardener had resumed hisclipping. Raul glanced in the direction of the noise.
"They're trying to mend a damaged spring in the victoria," sheexplained. "I want them to do something to it, to make it better, foryour trip tomorrow. It will be a hard-enough trip for you, I'mafraid." She sat by him, smiling.
"As long as it doesn't fall apart," he said.
She played with his fingers. Through his open shirt, his gold crossdangled on his chest, reminding her she had once shared his faith, whenthey were youngsters, before her belief had been destroyed in Europe.It seemed to her everyone she had met abroad had been either agnosticor atheist. Viewing Mexico from across the sea, the country's peasantcredulity had gradually become absurd. Within a few years, she hadridiculed its faith.
"Raul, I'll miss you."
"You have your friends."
"No friends are like you."
"Ride to Petaca with me, Chula."
"I can't.... I must see the families of the dead. There are manythings to look after. I wonder what happened at Petaca?"
"We're buried in duties," he said too loudly.
"Is your shoulder better than yesterday?"
"Yes.... Yes."
The worker banged at the damaged spring.
"I wish we could meet soon in Colima," she said. "Will Angelina begoing away ... perhaps?"
"To Guadalajara?"
"Yes."
"Since Caterina's death, she doesn't seem to want to go away," he said."I've suggested it.... No, she refused."
"How long has she known about us, do you suppose? Do we know howdifficult we've made her life?"
He didn't know, but he knew he should never have married Angelina, thathe had been carried away by her prettiness, by fancy, by passion,lopsided but nonetheless real, nonetheless foolish, passion for hercity manners, her frailty....
Really, how long had Angelina known?
Lucienne felt they had been considerate, as she thought about it, butshe wasn't sure. It struck her, with brief but keen poignancy, thatAngelina had never been married to Raul. What about her charming,corrupt friend, little Estelle, her secrets?
Her head against him, her hand in his, he sensed the beauty of hergarden, tall poinsettias, cerise bougainvillaea, roses, honeysuckle,_azucenas_. A row of lilies crossed a stretch of grass under crookedcypress.... This was Lucienne's workshop. She neglected her friendsfor her garden, a collector's garden: rare columbine, carnations,violets, asters, unusual willows, acacia, papaya, fig, breadfruit andzapote. She grew pittosporum, succulents and cacti. She had Humboldtfever ... her hands felt rough. Something was always germinating inher glasshouses. When she had come back from Europe, along with herParisian lingerie, Swiss jackets, and Italian hats, she had smuggledseeds or plants. A Japanese rosewood on one trip, a Greek olive treeon another.
"What happened to the camellias, the northern ones?" he asked, after along silence.
"They seem to be doing all right.... Will you be good to yourself,Raul? I'm worried about your shoulder. I won't know how you'regetting along. Get well!"
The worker banged at the broken spring.
"With all these troubled times, Petaca gets farther and farther awayfrom me. I think about you in so many ways," she said. "Your quarrelswith your father. Pedro. Your Caterina. Ah, darling...."
"Do you really think I'll succeed in helping Petaca? All my effortscan amount to very little in the end."
"That's all any of us can hope for," she said, "a little progress."
"I wish I had your help."
"But I'm no hacendada. I have my servants, my flowers, my trees." Sheeyed her garden, its paths, its shade patterns, its sun. "Nobody istreated badly here.... I've just four regular men now. Gonzalez andOrtiz will have to be replaced. My women come and go. I guess I livetoo near Colima to keep them long. When my old Guanajuato mine stopspaying me dividends, then I'll have to become an hacendada.... Justnow, I live in peace ... just enough ... you know, my dear."
Someone called Lucienne, and she went into the house.
Raul appreciated Palma Sola. Nowhere in Europe had he discovered sucha spot and he doubted whether one existed, such a tropic garden whereocean sucked at discontent. Here palmera, garden and ocean talkedtogether--like old friends. As pain returned, he forced himself tolisten to the fronds; their brushing fingers made the sound of fallingwater.
But there was more to Palma Sola than serenity: there was heat, whenthe only possible relief was a dip; there were storms; there were cloudbanks and scattered fogs; there were phosphorescent waves thatswallowed the horizon.
The pain moved in again and Raul thought of Pedro. He wanted him outof the way. Perhaps the Yaqui had murdered somebody. At the earliestopportunity, he would spend a day in Colima, butter some palms and putthe rurales wise: the gray-uniformed men would tip their caps and Pedrowould be a marked man.
A marked man, for a dozen crimes ... the criminal instinct, nothingelse. Protected by my father. How can there be law and justice when asingle person can dictate? Yet I will be dictating when I summon therurales ... the law protects me against the lawless ... and the churchhas a law against divorce. So I am dictated to, i
He got away early, before the sun broke through the low mist. Heleaned out of the victoria and called goodbye.
"I hope that spring doesn't come apart," she said.
"Simon's a good driver," Raul said. "We have at least one good spring.We'll make out fine."
"I love you...."
"Goodbye."
"'Bye, Chulo.... Write me...."
It was a superb morning, the sun barely topping the palmera, mistblurring the ocean, haze concealing the volcano. Silver trimming onthe guard's saddle sparkled. Creaking and bumping, sagging on its weakspring, the victoria rolled out of the sand, one of the horseswhinnying. Sand gave way to hard ground and Simon cracked his whip.
"Vamos!" he shouted to his team.
Parrots, scarcely larger than hummingbirds, flicked out of the treesand seemed about to strike the carriage. The victoria traveled slowly,swaying from side to side like an old fat man. Little by little, thegray trunks of the palmera hid the beach and house.
Raul tried to make himself comfortable by pushing his good shoulderinto the cushion. I'll get used to it. Simon knows what he's doing.There will be good stretches of road. Damn these annoyances.
Before long, they passed a family riding on burros, then severaloxcarts loaded with firewood. At noon, they saw Indian women, spinningflax as they trudged along, their bare feet stubbing through deep sand.Later in the afternoon, they met a hill Indian, in buckskin, bow andquiver over his shoulder ... he dog-trotted past, saluting no one.
At dusk, they drove through a herd of belled goats. Their shepherdshad black and white serapes over their shoulders. By a campfirealongside the road, Raul noticed a youngster with two honey bears on arope--cubs the size of house cats.
I'll buy one for Vicente, he thought, and leaned out of the window andcalled the youngster. The carriage slumped into a pothole, and aspring seemed to snap. Simon bellowed angrily at his horses and thecampers howled with laughter. Raul asked the boy how much he wantedfor one of his bears.
"You may have them both, patron."
Raul recognized that hacienda courtesy.
"I want one for my son."
"They're both yours," insisted the boy, rising, drowning disappointmentbehind a wooden grin. His small body might have been put together outof muscled vines.
"For one bear," said Raul, and handed him some pesos.
The boy reached out, his pets tugging him; he bumped against the wheelof the victoria. Raul felt the cool snout of the cub; quickly, he drewthe animal inside, where it sniffed and pawed excitedly at the closedwindow.
Simon whipped up his horses.
Cuddling the furry ball under his good arm, rolling on through thenight, Raul leaned back in his seat, pleased he had something forVicente. Then he remembered that Vicente would be in Colima, atschool. A flash thought said: Earthquake, and he wondered what hadhappened to Vicente and his school?
He hoped Angelina would greet him happily at Petaca. Why not one moreillusion? Life had so many disillusions in it before the end. He toldhimself he must confess to Gabriel: or had his confessions, through theyears, been altogether too revealing? The victoria swayed and hegroaned and hugged the bear.
At Petaca, he brushed dust and hair from his freshly laundered suitand, holding the bear under one arm, mounted the lantern-lightedveranda steps. A number of servants greeted him. Instead of returningtheir greetings, he stared at the earthquake damage: the east wing ofthe veranda had crumbled into a heap of rubble; the cross of Palenqueon the roof line had fallen; a section of the garden wall had toppled;stones, adobe, bougainvillaea and honeysuckle lay on the ground.
Inside the living room, a hole gaped at the east end.
Chavela approached him--as he inspected the damage--her big handsbulging behind her apron.
"Don Raul, I ... Madre de Dios, que paso! Were you badly hurt?"
"I'm better."
"You were shot ... they shot you, patron."
"Yes ... but where's Angelina? The house has been badly damaged."
"She's upstairs, in bed. She's..."
"Is she ill? Was she hurt? Why wasn't word sent to me!"
"She feels weak, after the quakes, the volcano smoke. We had it badhere."
"Take the honey bear, Chavela. Keep it for Vicente."
She unwrapped her damp hands and grasped the bear, frowning; she hatedall pets, feeling that they stole food from the mouths of children.Her arms smothered the bear, and it clawed futilely.
Without saying more, Raul ascended the stairs, glad Angelina had notmet the victoria, knowing how painful the sight of it would have beento her....
Above Angelina's bed, there was a jagged plaster crack, where a picturehad hung. Propped against bolsters, she held out her hand to him.
"Raul, how are you?"
"My shoulder's about well."
"Manuel said it was a rifle bullet."
"Jesus Peza fixed me. Lucky for me he was at Palma Sola."
"Sit down, won't you?"
"How are you, Angelina? Why are you in bed?"
"The quakes. Have you seen what they did to us?"
"I've seen some of the damage ... I just came in."
She sat up higher, her dark hair flowing around her, her eyes extrabrilliant, her willowy body showing through a gauzy pink gown. He satbeside her and tried to enjoy her beauty, the fragrance of her perfumeand powder.
"What have you heard from Vicente?" he asked.
"He's all right. We've heard from the school." Her words came slowly.
"Who found out about him?"
"Esteban. I sent him."
"And the school itself?"
"The upper floor was damaged. Several were killed at MountainRancheria.... Petaca is ruined ... what happened at Palma Sola?" Hernose wings widened and her mouth trembled.
"Two men were killed there. I hear it was very bad in Colima. But youmust know about that."
"Yes ... yes, I heard," she said, indifferently, and her indifference,so sudden and so cold, made him feel like a stranger.
"I heard that maybe two hundred died," he said.
"Is it true that Pedro's men ... ah, shot you?"
"There's no doubt about it. Manuel and I saw them. Pedro was there."
"When Manuel came to me, I sent him to your father."
"I'll speak to my father soon."
He wanted to smoke but did not care to let her see how his armmovements pained him. He clenched and unclenched one hand, staring atthe wall.
"Why haven't men been put to work on the roof of the living room? Arain will come and we'll be flooded." He stood. "I'll see to things."
She gazed past him, at the opposite wall, and saw herself wearing a furcoat, entering the theater.... She smiled and arranged her hair.
"I'll find Manuel," he said.
"Yes, he's around," she answered, the words curt. "Let's have time totalk one of these days. I'd like to plan to leave soon. The quakes,the smoke, the dead ... I don't seem to be much help." She picked ather fingernails. "You'll find time for the house ... for Manuel."
In the game room, Raul got Manuel to change his shoulder dressing.Leaning on the pool table, he fought the pain.
"The carriage ride messed you up."
"I suppose so."
"I'll change the dressing again first thing in the morning. Holdstill."
"I'm riding to Colima tomorrow to see the rurales."
"Pedro's not here. Wait a day or two."
"Is the hole in my shoulder so bad?"
"Bad enough."
"Then I'll see Jesus in Colima ... let me sit on the edge of the table,Manuel."
"Better?"
"Better."
"Colima got it bad, so Esteban says. Many buildings wrecked."
"So bad as that?"
"Stores have been knocked apart. The Sangre de Cristo church lost itsroof. The hospital had the upper
"Take it easy with that bandage. We'll have to send men to help in thetown; I'll talk to Pepe, Flores and Tonal; they can help. Maybe we cango to town together. If the rurales can't see me I can leave myrequest in writing.... We'll see an end to Pedro...."
"The bastard," snapped Manuel, helping Raul put on his shirt.
"Not so fast!"
"I've just come from the graveyard," said Manuel, trying to soundmatter of fact.
Raul forgot his shoulder.
"What happened there, in God's name?"
"Some of the graves opened ... the quake."
"Caterina's?"
"I, I filled her grave ... took care of the others ... have almostfinished."
They glanced at one another, the glance of brothers, the glance of menwho had seen a great deal of life and death. Raul's hand felt forManuel's arm and gripped it with gratitude and affection.