When the Owl Cries Part 38

Their carriage clattered over a _tzontli_ bridge; here, on one side, a Medina had erected a plaque in 1761, mortaring it deep inside a niche where it had weathered the years with scarcely a sign of wear.

"Hasta la eternidad," it began, and the phrase ran through Raul's mind as the horses trotted, clopping over firm ground.

Angelina leaned against the faded plush on her side, lost in herself, her folded parasol hard against her side, fingers motionless in the handle strap sewn with gold threads.

Until eternity, he thought, gazing at her uneasily, recalling those lines from their marriage ceremony.

Sugar-cane fields lay on both sides. The road twisted and grew rough, and the driver slowed his horses. A tall k.n.o.b of a man, he sang in a deep ba.s.s, improvising expertly.

Raul hoped the train would be more or less on time because he hated arriving in Guadalajara late, when the air was chill and cabmen were sleepy and crusty. He antic.i.p.ated a satisfactory adjustment of the mining business. He would invite Uncle Roberto to dinner: Angelina, Maria ... the four of them enjoying the lobster at the Copa de Leche.

It would be fun returning to Petaca with Vicente; the boy was putting on weight, growing too. Nowadays his talk was all about horses: "Tell me about Esmeralda, has she foaled? Is Canelito in pasture? How's Chico? I've read that the heaviest work horses are in France, is that true, Papa?"

While she held tightly to her parasol, Angelina thought of Estelle.

She planned an afternoon with her at the hairdresser's: their hair, their nails. They would obtain good seats for the Degollado Theater season: plays, musicals, vaudeville. Because Caterina had not been dead a year, they'd have to steal away. Her head began to ache. She objected to the swaying, the country roads, horrible country roads.

Soon, Estelle's face would be lifted to hers, laughter, laughter, laughter....

And it was rather as they both had hoped. The train was on time and the mining deal went well and the four of them enjoyed lobster at the restaurant.... Gray skies, rain slos.h.i.+ng the houses, carriages and streets ... rain ... but the rain didn't matter to Angelina. She met Estelle at her home, on Lopez Cotilla, a tiled house under lofty eucalyptus.

Estelle covered her with kisses. They exchanged little gifts, and had supper in a Directoire dining room adorned with gold candles, the rain scuffing across red and green gla.s.sed windows. To Angelina, Estelle had the beauty of something original.... It was as if hair had been invented for her, or hands, or laughter, for her own particular use.

Estelle's pile of yellow hair, so disarranged, so beautifully curled, her pink dress, so sheer, sewn with dozens of nacre b.u.t.tons, her dishabille, they were as Angelina saw her in the bedroom mirror. And when she went to bed with Angelina she took all that glory and absurdity.... Laughter, laughter....

14

Raul and Lucienne camped in a canyon at twelve thousand feet, close to the timber line, where a fire munched pine logs and emitted wisps of smoke. Directly above them a lava cliff bulged and towered, an ominous flat slab, that had been chiseled off centuries ago. Time and erosion had broken chunks that now cluttered the ground. Lucienne had climbed among the lava blocks, noticing the various kinds of plant life pus.h.i.+ng their way through. For her, this rock bowl had a spirit of its own.

Two men had accompanied them on the ride up the volcano and, at supper, all had shared venison, rice and tortillas. Raul had shot a buck and it hung nearby from a tree. It was a starry, chill night, without wind. Raul and Lucienne bedded down under several serapes--the men slept lower down in the canyon. Only the sound of the fire and the stamp of horses broke the silence.

After a while, Raul asked:

"Are you asleep?"

"I'm cold. Can you put more wood on the fire?"

"Of course I can. Right away."

"Put on several logs."

"How's that?"

"That's lovely. Now hug me. I'll soon get warm. The sparks are flying 'way up the cliff."

"Are you too tired to sleep?" he asked.

"It's not that.... I'm not used to all these strenuous things," she laughed, her mouth against his neck.

"I love you, my dear," he said.

"Darling, it's wonderful anywhere with you."

"Do you want to ride higher tomorrow?"

"This is high enough, Raul."

"How brilliant the stars ... at this alt.i.tude."

"There are clouds again. It could rain."

"It looks only threatening."

"A wet trail won't help," she said sleepily.

"We've got sure-footed horses," he said.

"I climbed near here with my father, during the dry season. We saw the ocean from the rim ... such a clear day," she said.

"We used to cut wood below here. There's a first-rate stand of pine a few thousand feet down."

The fire sputtered and jets of steam puffed. She felt the warmth penetrating her serape, and was grateful.

Her hand found his face. His hand found her breast.

"It's nice to wake up like this."

"Alfredo used to climb mountains. You know Alfredo Villasenor? What happened to Alfredo? He was a likable fellow. Your father wanted you to marry him."

"He went to Europe ... and I don't know what became of him."

"Did you like him?"

"Very much ... for a while."

He had a faded picture of Villasenor, mountaineer, Spanish, freckle-faced, well dressed, demanding.

"I'm the sort who runs away to the mountains, takes his own woman, a sorry Catholic, Lucienne. I've been thinking of my lapses. I profess one thing and do another."

His seriousness woke her a little and she said, emphatically, "There's such a thing as tolerance--the scripture teaches that."

"Not license."

"Love sanctifies things."

"Then will the Church accept us?"

"Accept me?" she said, making it a pointed question. "I won't accept the Church. Hush, hush, Raul, it's time to sleep. Think where we are, up here, at the top of things...."