When the Owl Cries

  15

  Roberto sat on the veranda at Petaca and sipped a _ron fuerte_, hisfeet on the railing, a handkerchief in one hand. He felt happy thoughtired, happy to be showing off his new dark green riding suit and tiredbecause he had already performed his stock of equestrian tricks. Itwas almost mid-morning and growing hot and humid, a clear, cloudlessday.

  "Federicka rides better every year," he said to Raul, sitting besidehim, drinking, eyes on Federicka as she jumped a barrier.

  Baroness Radziwill executed precise jumps on her claybank, her splitskirt flapping gayly. For a stout woman she was a fine rider, and herhorse carried her weight well, taking each hurdle rhythmically.

  Armand Guerrero, her friend, followed on a Cuban horse, sailing overthe whitewashed logs, all of them participating in an improvised arena,sodded and graveled for their annual get-together.

  "Armand's mare is heavy-footed," Raul said. "Maybe a bit too old."

  Count de Selva sat down beside Raul, breathing through a corner of hismouth, an unlighted cigar between his fingers. Dressed in duck, likeRaul, his clothes rather creased, he brushed dust off his knees andgroaned because of his asthma.

  "There used to be quite a showing of us--quite a showing," he said. "Ican remember when as many as fifteen of us families turned out....Say, that Benito does well enough. If he's as good a mayor as he is ahorseman, we'll get things done in Colima."

  Benito Serrato had a lean black that carried him proudly, ribboned tailswitching. Benito, wearing black, tilted his derby as he rode, sittingerect, quirt dangling from his wrist.

  The circle in front of the house had become dusty, but a breeze carriedthe dust away from the veranda, toward the lagoon.

  "How many families are here today?" asked the count.

  "Um, several ... four or five ... I hope others will come," said Raul.

  Federicka Kolb wore red. Her cousin, Eloise Martini, rode a gray whichshe had matched with a finely tailored outfit. The pair rode side byside, laughing as their mounts cleared the hurdles gracefully.

  Roberto jiggled the ice in his glass. "It's getting too muggy toride--or I'm getting too fat," he said, and patted his paunch."Nothing like beautiful women on beautiful horses to rest the eyes."

  Raul had a horse, known locally as a good jumper, and he put the mareover the hurdles, enjoying her leaps, thinking her so much steadierthan Chico. Her great yellow mane, tied with white ribbons, flared atevery jump.

  Vicente tagged behind.

  "How are you coming, boy?" Raul called, as his son curbed his rangepony.

  "Some people have come to see you, Papa. See, Captain Cerro and hishorsemen ... a lot of rurales. I guess you'll have to speak to them."

  Raul slipped from his saddle to shake hands with the arrivals. Cerrohad brought a number of his best men. Could they ride? Perhaps itwasn't customary, but they would appreciate it very much. Dr. Velascoand Dr. Hernandez had also come. Then, to his astonishment anddelight, he saw Lucienne.

  Bareheaded, she stood in the midst of them, proud, one glove removed.She seemed on the verge of running off and couldn't find much to saybeyond civilities. When she got Raul alone she criticized herself forcoming, for riding a white horse, for wearing white. She felt her hairfalling about her neck and shoved it up underneath her beret.

  "Lucienne, have a drink on the veranda with us," said Raul.

  Roberto took her arm and hugged her.

  "Lucienne ... something cool. Will you ride with us?"

  Angered, she drew away, and said: "I wouldn't have come if somethingterrible hadn't happened yesterday. You know"--she paused toswallow--"they broke into the hacienda Refugio and killed the priestand killed Francisco Goya and his sons."

  "Who?" asked Roberto.

  "Armed men--I don't know."

  "Who told you this?" said Raul.

  "Jesus Peza. He told me. He was there, doctoring someone. He gotaway," said Lucienne. "He's back in Colima."

  "My God!" exclaimed Roberto.

  "How far is Refugio from here?" Raul asked. "What's the shortest way,Velasco?"

  "Forty miles or more," said Velasco.

  "Maybe fifty," said de Selva.

  "What can we do to help?" asked Gabriel.

  "I'm sending men immediately," said Raul. "Gabriel, look afterLucienne. I'll be back shortly."

  "Hello, Lucienne, what seems to be wrong?" asked the Baroness, curiousthat she had come to Petaca, aware of some kind of excitement.

  Lucienne explained briefly and sat down with Gabriel on the veranda,out of the sun. Removing her glove, she said: "I'd like a drink.Would someone get me a drink?"

  Others had crowded round her and she had to repeat in detail theRefugio tragedy.

  Father Gabriel put a drink in her hands.

  "There, my dear."

  "Thank you.... No, I didn't ride here alone.... No, Francisco wasn'tdisliked at the hacienda ... but of course...."

  "Who knows what was behind the killings?" said the Baroness, in a harshvoice.

  "We're all in grave danger," said de Selva.

  "You can rely on us to help," said Cerro, behind Lucienne. "I'llinform General Matanzas."

  "Yes, yes, do that," the Baroness said.

  "Diaz has gone ... that's the reason for this situation," said Roberto,his calm words peculiarly distracting.

  "If he hadn't left us ... if he had chosen a successor, there would beno rebellion," said Armand Guerrero.

  "No, no ... it's revolution," said de Selva.

  "We must protect ourselves," said someone.

  "How do you fight hate?" asked Lucienne.

  "With hate," said de Selva. "I've been telling you. It's coming.It's here now. The new priest at Refugio is dead. Francisco Goya andhis sons are dead. What more do you need to hear?"

  Federicka Kolb and her cousin overheard de Selva, and Federicka beganto sob, for she had known the Goyas for years.

  "Why ... why?" she asked.

  "The men who killed them cried _Down with the haciendas!_" saidLucienne.

  Raul returned and said: "I have sent men to Refugio. I'll go therelater myself."

  Felipe Meson, an _hacendado_, in his fifties, sturdy, gray-headed,sunburned, with the face of a crippled hawk, gestured toward Raul.

  "You're making a mistake at Petaca," he exclaimed. "You can't pacifythe peons. You can't trust them. They'll kill you now."

  "I haven't tried to pacify them," Raul explained. "I've tried to helpthem."

  Everyone was crowded on the veranda, with servants going about, servingdrinks and putting ice in glasses.

  "How can one man help at such a time as this?" asked the Countess.

  "I simply want to look after my people when they're sick, see to itthey have enough to eat, stop floggings and killings. Could Matanzasknow about Refugio?" Raul asked Captain Cerro.

  "I'll see, when I ride back. We'll be leaving shortly," said Cerro.

  "You'd better supply us with escorts," said de Selva.

  Lucienne finished her drink, stood up, and arranged her hair and beret;pulling on a glove, she said: "Raul, you must take care of Petaca.It's walled and you can post guards."

  Raul did not reply: a question began in his brain: What about PalmaSola, wholly unprotected? What about de Selva's place, the Radziwillhacienda, the Meson house?

  Shortly, luncheon was served in the garden, and they tried to talk ofother things. Nothing seemed to go right, however; some of the foodwas missing, some of the drinks. The servants were confused andwhispered among themselves. De Selva talked of fleeing to Mexico City,where he owned a house. "You should have had a town house, Raul." TheBaroness mistrusted almost everyone at her hacienda, yet could not makeup her mind to desert her property. Roberto and Dr. Velasco dranktogether. Lucienne, Gabriel and Raul ate at a small table under achinaberry tree.

  One by one, the families drove away, Raul seeing them off. The Count,coughing badly, leaned from his carriage window and told Raul how todefend Petaca.
Roberto rode off on a magnificent black he had borrowedfrom a Colima friend.

  Already mounted, Lucienne called goodbye: "I'll be with some of CaptainCerro's men. Be careful when you go to Refugio."

  "I'll be careful. Will you stay in Colima until I can send men to helpat Palma Sola?"

  "Yes--Federicka has asked me to stay with her."

  "Right. Stay with her. I'll see you there."

  "All right, Raul."

  Lucienne's horse backed away, swung around, and she waved.

  Raul sent Vicente back to his Colima school in the rurales' care.

  He did not get to go to Refugio, for that night Angelina returned onthe train--her carriage rolled up to the house, accompanied by a guardof rurales. Greeting her calmly, Raul discovered that she was alsocalm, calm in an indrawn way, as if pain sucked at her, chilled herfrom deep within. Something dead shadowed her face. Something deadunderlined her voice. She said she was ill, but this was more than thefatigue of travel. No one had told her about Refugio; that was easy todetermine. She clung to his arm and asked him to have a snack withher, and yet she could eat very little. She sipped some brandy, hergaze on window, candles, door, servants, nothing for long.

  He planned to tell her about Refugio in the morning, hoping she mightsleep an undisturbed sleep. He would break the news as undramaticallyas possible.... Had something tragic happened to her in Guadalajara?Certainly something had precipitated this long train trip--to the placeshe hated most.

  It was not until Sunday that he learned the reason for her return. Shedid not confide in him. He found a partly finished letter on her desk;seeing it addressed to Maria, he read it, hoping for a clue to herstate of mind.

  Dated Sunday morning, it began:

  "Dear Maria,

  "I have come back to Petaca for a while because I have quarreled withEstelle, a bitter, bitter quarrel and all because she says I see a dogfollowing me about. But I didn't, I don't see a dog. Why does she saythat, Maria? I beg you to go and speak to her, for me. She hasanother friend right now, but surely she will listen to me. I want tomake up with Estelle...."

  Without reading any further, Raul knew what was happening to her. Anicy sensation closed over his brain, a fear for her sanity, a fear hehad never experienced before ... a fear tied in with a dog with bonesof glass. What could he say to her? What could he do to help her?Gabriel? Velasco? Maria? Perhaps Maria could care for her inGuadalajara. He would confide in Maria. He must get her away fromPetaca, as soon as possible. But how? With trains running irregularly.

  That Sunday was the longest day in his life. He could not eat. Hewent about shrouded in anguish. He tried to resolve problems ofdefense for the house. He tried to talk normally with Manuel, Gabriel,Salvador, Velasco, and Angelina. He tried to hide in his room, triedto hide in the garden. He tried to reinterpret Angelina's letterdifferently, calling his deduction an error.

  That night, after Raul had gone to sleep, Angelina stole downstairs andentered the chapel. Fear gripped her, the same fear that had overtakenher in Guadalajara, at Estelle's, the same night fear. Now, as shehesitated in the chapel, she saw Mona beside her, transparent.

  Calling Mona, she went toward the altar: she knew that thieves werestealing the Virgin's jewels. Someone must protect her. Lighting ataper, she hurried to the front of the chapel. The Virgin was intactunder her watermelon dome of glass. Her tiny olivewood face smiledserenely, and Angelina felt happy. In the wavering light, the diamondsand rubies sparkled, and Angelina knelt in prayer.

  She thanked God for the Virgin's safety and then burst out:

  "Oh, Virgin, help me! I have had a terrible quarrel with Estelle. Wewere so dear to each other. I want so to have at least one friend,someone to love me ... and--and take Mona away from me. Take her away!"

  She thought she heard a sharp sound. She gathered her nightgown abouther and stood up. Carrying the taper, she rushed toward the door,where she listened, her ear against the wood.

  Perhaps Raul had missed her?

  Frightened, she thought of going to Vicente's room, seeing his face,touching him. No, he was at school in Colima. She remembered thephantom dog, expecting to see it, and sobbed.

  Stealing back into the house, she heard Don Fernando coughing. Itsounded as though he were in pain, and so she lit a night lamp and tookhim a glass of water and held it patiently.

  "Thanks. My throat ... gets dry. What time is it?"

  "It's night ... sometime in the night."

  "Go back to bed," he told her.

  "But I can't sleep," she said softly.

  He tried to see her, but without his glasses he saw only a white blur.

  "I've been awake a long time," he said. "A long time."

  "Are you in pain?"

  "No. But I keep seeing things," he said.

  "What kind of things?" she said.

  "People ... faces mostly. People I've known."

  "Oh," she said.

  "Do you remember Lola Navarro?" he asked.

  "No," she said. The darkness of the room, pierced at either end by thewindow and the door, seemed to tremble as a breeze came through.

  "You were just married when Lola lived here with me," he said.

  "I remember," she said, half-remembering. It felt good to be able tospeak, to say anything at all.

  "Do you remember how well she rode?" He paused, the dark roombothering him. "I miss Caterina..." he said, and his coughing startedagain and she held the glass, making an effort to steady her hand.

  Presently, she asked, "Are you asleep?"

  "No."

  "I thought you'd fallen asleep."

  "I wish I could."

  "I've had a quarrel with Estelle."

  "You shouldn't have brought her here."

  "I didn't bring her."

  "Women without men are no good," he said.

  Back in bed, she fell into a troubled sleep until peacocks and roosterswoke her. She dressed and the shrill pot-rack, pot-rack of the guineahen annoyed her; it seemed to her the most hideous of hacienda noises.Raul got up and dressed rapidly and as he dressed he told her that heand his men must drive three hundred head of cattle to Colima. Atbreakfast, he still could not tell her about Refugio.

  She toyed with her dish of fruit, thinking of Estelle, rememberingGuadalajara people.

  Such a sad face, he thought.

  "Couldn't you and Gabriel do something with some of the children?" hesuggested.

  "Perhaps we could. I ... I'll talk to Gabriel."

  He gulped his food: eggs and bread.

  "Bring my coffee," he said to Chavela.

  His chewing annoyed her and she wanted to leave the table.

  "Why do we change so?" she asked.

  "Many things are changing," he said, not following her.

  "I don't mean that." She poured herself water.

  He got up and drank his coffee standing. "Have to go," he mumbled. "Ihear the cattle in the court. Goodbye."

  Raul overtook the cattle outside the hacienda gate: Esteban had thegroup in front, Manuel worked the rear, and other cowboys covered thesides, to pick up strays and keep them moving.

  Raul and Manuel rode side by side a while.

  "Have we got them all?"

  "So far, so good. A fine bunch," said Manuel. "Are we sure ofrailroad cars?"

  "General Matanzas promised cars. He gets a cut."

  "Engines too?" joked Manuel.

  "Well, they're going through to Guadalajara."

  The cattle followed a narrow road through palmera, fronds roofing thetrail, dumping dust and dirt on the riders. The hoofs drummed a hollowinsistence, hollower in rocky places, where boulders towered. Betweenhouselike rocks lay the ruins of a temple, ancient limestone walls instubble, weeds and bushes, a circular platform partially terraced.Years ago, Raul had planned to dig there. What for? he asked himselfas he rode by. Bones, old pots, an idol? Let the temple keep itssecrets.... A young doe, crouched among ston
es, eyes shifting, earsup. Raul liked this route to Colima, seldom used because it was toorough for carriages and wagons.

  In Colima, the promised cars lay on a siding and, after checking thecattle into the loading pen, Raul and Manuel rode to the Hotel Ruiz, ashabby white stucco building overlooking the plaza. The town heat wasoppressive, and when Raul had eaten in the flyspecked dining room,where not a breath stirred, he sought the square. There, the ironswans spewed water through misshapen beaks into a mossy fountain; driedbougainvillaea flowers blew about from little piles left by thegardener. The clock--pasted in the Presidencia wall--bonged the hour.

  On a bench, Raul smoked and listened to Colimans argue: a beardedfellow was peeved over domino rules. He clacked a domino up and downat his rustic playing table under a laurel tree. His fat partnerscowled and talked back. Across the plaza, in the house of DonaCamila, somebody struggled with a guitar.

  Colima--he had been here so many times!

  Colima--narrow streets, simple one- and two-story homes, red-tiledroofs, whitewashed fronts, patios with banana, breadfruit, coco palms,bamboo and mango. A little town that fought earthquakes andhurricanes, a sugar-cane town with a few coffee plantations nearby.

  He smoked and listened to the badly strummed guitar (the domino playershad gone); he thought of Angelina.... Kindness, could that help?

  He loved Lucienne for her auburn beauty, her even temper, her grace,her humor.

  He strolled down a shady street and circled back to the plaza andnoticed a band of armed men alongside the church, sitting on the curb,leaning against the wall; most of them had carbines. At first hedisregarded them, and then felt concerned.

  In the hotel, he mentioned the band of men to Manuel and Esteban, andthe three talked it over with the manager. He was a huge, high-strungSpaniard, sallow, fish-eyed, egg-chinned; he said that the hoodlumsought to be strung up and that if they entered the hotel he'd shootthem "one by one." Manuel winked at Raul.

  During the night Raul heard rifle shots but in the morning no one hadany information. "Drunkards," the manager conjectured.

  Raul paid a call on Federicka. In her shady bamboo-slatted livingroom, he read a letter Lucienne had written him, telling him why shehad gone hastily to Guanajuato, her handwriting more of a gardener'sscribble: "They say the trains will start running regularly in 1912....I think I had better find a lead mine, for bullets...." Her humor wasthere, even in her concern.

  "What a foolish thing, to go to Guanajuato at this time," he said.

  "I begged her not to go," Federicka said.

  She gave him a venison lunch and then they went to see Vicente, at hisschool, where the sisters and students were blissfully unaware ofMexico's impending disaster. Federicka, too, shrugged a provincialshrug.

  Raul, alone for a moment with Vicente, thought: My God, the boyresembles Angelina, face, body, her posture even! Putting a rough armabout him, he hugged him close.

  Late in the afternoon, the postmaster showed Raul a newspaper fromGuadalajara, brought in by a horseman. It reported street fighting.Raul found many Colima friends who were sorely distressed, whopredicted tragedy, who blamed foreign governments and the _hacendados_.

  Raul described a cartoon, in the Guadalajara newspaper, to Manuel, asthey rode out of Colima, for Petaca.

  "It showed a butterfly of death hovering above an hacienda," said Raul.

  "How does the song go about the butterfly of death?" asked Manuel,hitching his gun belt, kicking his horse with his spurs.

  "I don't remember," said Raul.

  "I should remember," Manuel laughed. "I used to sing it to you."

  Raul chuckled. "That was quite a time ago."

  "It's a Chiapan song about a loco butterfly that went after men,poisoning them on the trail ... 'A touch of the wing, just a touch ofthe wing,'" Manuel sang.

  Outside Colima, children played ball in the yard of a Jesuit school; apriest--robe flung open--drowsed on a swing. Workers trudged along oneside of the yard, toward town, bunches of green bananas suspendedbetween them. White oxen wandered by.

  Raul's cowboys came up behind them, riding at a leisurely pace, some ofthem singing, one playing a harmonica.

  Raul and Manuel trotted down a long hill and began to climb. Suddenly,Chico drew close to Manuel's mare. He reared, throwing himself on hishind legs and hurled Raul to the road. The blow knocked the wind outof him and pain wired his shoulder to the ground. He thought of hisbullet wound. For a few seconds he lay motionless but by the timeManuel reached his side, he was able to stagger to his feet. Chico wasstanding calmly under a tree.

  "Are you hurt?" asked Manuel.

  "No ... just stunned."

  "That damn' Chico! You cabron!" Manuel cried, rushing angrily towardthe horse, whip in hand. "God damn you!"

  "Leave him alone," commanded Raul. "You can't teach him by beatinghim. He's too old to change. No, Manuel!"

  Manuel, helping Raul mount, thought of the Petacan beatings, the men,even boys ... now all that had been stopped by Raul. Teach a horse.Maybe not one as old as Chico. Teach people, maybe so! But it was toolate to change the haciendas. The butterfly was over Petaca.