When the Owl Cries Part 48

"The men who attacked Petaca weren't soldiers, were they?" asked Octavio.

"Just peons with guns," said Angelina, wis.h.i.+ng she could forget.

"But, but ... then it is revolution. They're sore at us," said Octavio, rolling his eyes.

"In Colima they say the rurales will finish off the peons quickly,"

said Vicente.

"Federal troops are moving to Colima from the new garrison at Ciudad Guzman," said Octavio. "General Matanzas issued a paper or something.

It's on the door of the..."

The rest of his words were garbled by macaroni, but Raul understood them. He felt his appet.i.te die; these boys were trying to talk like men; chaos was a man's business not a boy's. He poked at his food and said:

"Vicente, I'm sending you to Guadalajara with your mother. She needs you there, for an escort. You and she and some of our servants will go together. I can't get away now that things are so bad at Petaca.

You'll be helpful in Guadalajara, and you can continue your schooling there."

No one spoke.

Unable to eat, Raul wondered what kind of solution Guadalajara would prove to be: no further bad news had appeared in the papers that he had seen. He wondered what might have occurred in other cities: Tepic, Celaya, Guanajuato? Was Lucienne involved in this same nightmare? He had sent men to Palma Sola and Colima, but she had not returned. Nor was there any letter.

After the others had finished, Raul went into the garden and smoked.

Ducks paddled and fed in the pool, their white bottoms twitching.

Overhead, buzzards patrolled. Men guarded the wall. The volcano, in the cloudy atmosphere, wore a pall of gray and straws of light sucked at the farthest slope.

He did not see Angelina, watching him from the doorway.

Worried about Lucienne, he walked toward the stone Christ and then retraced his steps to the pool. His stout face had lost flesh; his tobacco eyebrows seemed less twisted; his mouth had grown sterner and he wore a look of pain and sullen anger.

A frog jumped into the pool, swam a short distance and then, without submerging, faced Raul. A bubble formed as it slowly submerged, as if drawn from below.

G.o.d, thought Raul, we think we can help men, determine their tomorrows, and yet we don't know ten things about a frog.

It was a comfort to be alone, close to nature.... Also alone, Gabriel knelt in the chapel, praying for his people, particularly for Angelina.

The confessional had told him her hallucination ... Maria, Teresa ...

Raul ... Vicente ... Octavio ... his children.

As he knelt, he recalled what it was to be a child, in Italy. He shook his head to jar away his reveries but they continued. He was carrying a basket through an olive grove and it was a large basket for a boy of twelve. The clock in the Amalfi tower boomed ten, ten grave notes, and his mother crossed herself and said something....

Outside, a rifle shot cracked--very close.

Tugging his robe about him, Gabriel prayed for those who had been harmed by the revolutionists. Surely it was G.o.d's destiny to free mankind. He prayed for guidance, for patience. An act of kindness might save a nation.

An old man entered the chapel and shut the door behind him, fumbling with the latch. Slowly, he staggered toward the altar, a serape over his left shoulder.

In the candlelight, where vigil cups burned, Gabriel took in his bristling beard and tousled hair.

Miguel Calvo, the sheepherder, Gabriel told himself.

Miguel knelt laboriously, his lips moving soundlessly. He motioned to Gabriel, and then fell.

"What's wrong, Miguel?" said Gabriel, going to him.

"Someone..." Miguel's face wrinkled with pain; his jaw clamped.

"Are you sick, Miguel?"

Gabriel tried to make the man comfortable by pus.h.i.+ng his serape under him. His hand found the bullet wound. Blood sopped Miguel's neck and shoulder.

"You've been shot," said Gabriel.

"Si," said Miguel. "Don't leave ... the chapel...."

"I want to get Dr. Velasco."

"No."

"Here--I'll stop the blood with my unders.h.i.+rt."

In a few seconds he had yanked off his unders.h.i.+rt. With a jerk, he tore it and began to bind Miguel's head.

"You'll be all right. G.o.d will help you."

"Can you stop the blood?"

"Yes. Hold that piece of cloth. How did it happen?"

"As I walked past ... the chapel."

Gabriel worked swiftly.

"Lie still, Miguel. Hold it. I'll tie this around your head."

"All right."

"I want it tight."

"It's tight."

"Now, I'll get Dr. Velasco."

"No," groaned Miguel.

Gabriel struggled into his robe and stood. "I'll open the side window, by the altar; I can climb out."

"No," said the old peasant, wanting to protect his priest.

Gabriel had no fear. He hated fear. Opening the window, he climbed out and crossed the cobbled courtyard, trying to minimize his limp.

Another man was crossing the court, crates of chickens on his tump line. A dog began to bark near the chapel, his yaps becoming more and more frantic.