When the Owl Cries Part 15

"They're not men," said Fernando, coughing over his cigarette.

"They've been called animals, many things. I think they're men."

"You'll ruin Petaca ... I could summon a lawyer and preserve my control. I suppose you could declare me physically or mentally incompetent. It would be touch and go, maybe one bribe against another. I'm not that kind of fool. We'd lose Petaca. I'm not that far gone."

"The courts are no place for us," said Raul, knowing how easy it would be to expose the Medina crime; he began to walk away, thinking of Caterina, disliking the conversation, the grizzled face of his father.

"I hadn't finished speaking," said Fernando.

"I don't want to listen."

"I've talked to Pedro."

"I told him he had to go."

"He'll stay," the old man croaked.

"Let's keep sane," said Raul, curbing his emotions, shutting down on his voice. "You must accept my way; hostility will finish Petaca. We have to settle things between us. It's time I had the administration.

You've had your day. There never has been any mutual planning, so now I have to work out the problems alone."

"I tell you, you'll ruin Petaca!" Fernando exclaimed; his cigarette had died out, but he still held the stub between his fingers.

Parrots jabbered and a few of them roosted in the iguana tree.

"Get me out of here, before the parrots use me for a headstone!"

"I wish we could work together."

"That's sentiment--not sense. I've never wanted to work with you or anyone. In Europe, you picked up ideas. h.e.l.l, I know what men are. I know what life is!" He shouted for the men who had been lugging him; his voice broke and became that of an old woman. "Get me out of here,"

he quavered.

Raul followed a palmera path that wandered toward the ocean. He thought: I won't forget that place with the old man's talk squirming among the graves. Tomorrow I'll go back and see whether her grave has been taken care of ... maybe I'd better go back later tonight....

From a hill, the hacienda resembled a small fort, disguised among garden and trees. The volcano blocked the horizon, dragging an ugly purple scar above the green valley and dark green lagoon. Where banana trees fanned into a screen, Raul sat down, overcome with grief. The banana leaves, shaking in the wind, chopped his thoughts to fragments: he saw the open grave, Caterina in her red dress, the chapel, and Vicente running away, Angelina crying: it would have been better to have put Caterina in a buggy and taken her to Colima, as sick as she was. How stupid to have become dependent on Velasco and Hernandez.

What is wrong with people? he thought. He felt more and more confused.

The shaking leaves irritated him; he felt shut in, dominated by the grove. Shortly, he rose and walked through the palmera, to find the spade sticking where the workmen had left it. It was dusk now and fireflies blinked yellow and green. One of the bugs flickered about him, as he began to shovel the dirt onto her coffin. Stars were brilliant ... fronds motionless now. The spade rasped. The box sounded hollow. Raul brushed away sweat. The smell of the fresh earth choked him and he leaned on the handle, remembering that she had dashed after fireflies, shouting, bottling them, sharing them with Vicente.

Salvador found Raul leaning on the spade and, without a word, took it and went on filling the grave.

"Let me have a cigarette paper, Don Raul," he said, as Raul started off.

"Of course," said Raul, and gave him paper and tobacco.

As Raul pa.s.sed the corral, Chico neighed. Head over brick wall, he called and Raul thought of a night ride and then dismissed the idea.

While he stroked the horse's head, Manuel joined him and they lit cigarettes: as the match flared, they studied one another, read one another's minds, a communication without words.

Raul inhaled deeply, and said:

"I know a sculptor in Guadalajara and I'll have him make a bronze figure for Caterina's grave. The next time I go to Guadalajara, I'll visit his studio. I want the figure of a young girl carrying flowers.

Our family burial plot is as cheap and ugly as the fields. It doesn't have to be."

"Caterina deserves something good," Manuel said.

Raul patted Chico's nose and distended lip, and the horse bobbed his head, snuffling.

"I must go and be with Angelina now," Raul said. "I don't know where she is: is she in her room?"

"Father Gabriel's with her. In the living room."

"I'm glad of that. I'll join them."

He felt tempted to mention the owl's cry in the night: no, that would be unwise: peering at the sky, he imagined broad, dark wings headed for the lagoon: the bird would glide low, searching for a frog in the sedges, a snake, a toad ... a child.

7

Lying in the palmera, Raul wiped his handkerchief over his face. The August heat sopped matted fronds of trees, trickled down lianas, webbed ladders of foliage. A cooked iguana revolved on the bamboo spit in front of Raul. Manuel, squatting on his heels, turned the iguana over a tiny fire. Raul sat up and removed his revolver from its holster and began reloading, cursing the border fracas that had taken them so far from Petaca. As he shoved in a greasy bullet, the earth commenced to rock, trees shook, lianas bent.

The men gaped at one another. A growl drummed underneath them, drummed at the palmera, rattled rocks and seemed, somehow, part of both earth and sky. Raul felt the sand give underneath him and sprang up, revolver in hand. The palm next to him, a tree many years old, leaned over, and then the growl pa.s.sed farther away and disappeared.

"That was a bad one," Manuel said.

"The volcano," said Raul.

Another shock reached them as they ate their iguana: the sand heaved, palms waved like flags; numbness hung in the air; the sun died out; birds cried as though in pain. A full-grown _tigre_ rushed past Manuel, crazed with fear. His plunge sent up a flock of birds that cackled insanely.

"Let's get where we can see the volcano," said Raul, stuffing his mouth.

"Listen," said Manuel.

A volcanic explosion sounded like air pa.s.sing through a bamboo tube.

"I'll see about the horses," cried Manuel.

They were yanking at their ropes as Manuel raced toward them, whacking foliage aside, hoping he could get to them before they broke away. He tied them to a ceiba, where they had some sort of forage.

Another explosion told Raul the volcano had let loose; he planned to push through the palmera to the closest hill and take stock of the eruption. With his hunting knife, he sliced more iguana and, putting on his hat, lunged after Manuel. Rolling their eyes and snuffing, the horses dragged at their reins and kicked. Raul grabbed Chico, and handed Manuel a chunk of meat.

"We can eat as we ride," he said. "Let's make for the nearest hill.

Maybe we can see what's happened."

As Raul mounted, yellow cup-shaped primavera flowers spattered his saddle, hat, and shoulders. The tree, loaded with blossoms, had been a landmark for the last few miles. Manuel swung onto his horse, took a mouthful of iguana, checked his rifle in its scabbard, and nodded to Raul.

Here no trail cut through and both horse and rider had to worm ahead, a slow, painful ride, Chico rebelling, fighting back at fronds and lianas. Parrots sputtered and he snuffed and threw his head. When he tried to plunge through bamboo, Manuel dismounted and swung his machete.