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A tattered mass of yellow cloud hung over the great Mexican volcano.Above the broad lagoon, between the volcano and the hacienda house, aflock of herons flew lazily, carrying their white with consummate ease.Their wings took them in a low line above the water. The surface worea yellowish cast--like weathered lichen, wrinkled along the shores.Some of this yellowish cast spattered the upper slopes of the14,000-foot peak, where badly eroded lava sides creased to form a cone.
Raul Medina noticed the odd colors as he sat in his garden. He staredat herons and lagoon and volcano and frowned. He was dressed in a graysuit, a short, well built man with a scrubby head of brown hair andeyebrows like twisted cigarette tobacco, his eyes dark brown spokedwith gray, his mouth thin but kindly, his face a little meaty for a manin his middle thirties who had lived an outdoor life. As he gazedtoward the Colima volcano he rubbed his strong, fibrous hands together.His mind went back in time: he remembered that the curious lagoon andmountain colors had appeared when he was nineteen or twenty; in thosedays, the cone had blasted open and thrown flames and lava and dousedthe area with cinders and ashes and shaken down walls.
Raul's thoughts switched to everyday problems. Yesterday a milch cowhad died, the poultry had gotten out of their pen, a mule had ripped atendon on a stone fence, a cowboy lay seriously ill. Manuel Boaz,Raul's personal servant, had come to him after supper, as he sat on theveranda with others, and whispered that the night before an owl hadhooted on the roof of the house.
"We haven't heard it for a long time, Don Raul. Someone will die.Your father has been getting worse ... perhaps his time has come. It'snot a good sign."
Raul had laughed at him, and waved him away--watched his cigarettedisappear in the dark.
The moon was rising above the lagoon; the last streaks in the sunsetsky had gone; Raul got up and leaned on top the rough adobe wallsurrounding his garden. The granular adobes, still warm after the longsunny day, felt good to his arms. It seemed to Raul that Lucienne vonHumboldt was beside him, that they were looking at the moonlight. Hefelt her kiss on his cheek. They had loved each other a long time,maybe since childhood. It had been weeks since they had seen eachother; he tried to plan their next meeting. Cool fingers touched hisarm, and he glanced up to see his wife.
"What are you doing here?" Angelina asked, in her husky voice.
"Just watching the moon," he said, wishing she would remove her hand.
Standing beside him, she was just a bit shorter than he, willowy,almost frail. She had what Mexican aristocrats called a "French face,"though she was as Mexican as Raul. Her features were tight-skinnedfeatures, molded and balanced. Her eyes were blue. She wore her blackhair braided in an elaborate bun at the back of her head.
"Whenever you come out into the garden by yourself I know you'retroubled. Why, you slipped away from supper before all of us finished.What's wrong?" She was obviously displeased.
"Look at that moon," he said, his mind still on Lucienne.
"A three-quarter moon," she said. "We've seen it before ... I like theway the light trails over the water."
"The lagoon was yellow, even after the sun had set. So was the cone,"he said.
"I can tell by your voice that you're worried," she said.
"I suppose I am," he admitted, thinking of the hacienda.
"What is it, then?"
"The usual problems." Then he realized how much more weighed on him,and said, speaking tersely: "It's the way things are headed. Time isbursting around us. I feel things are going badly; it's the people,our hacienda people; I detect undercurrents; it's something hard todescribe. Petaca means so much to me, the lagoon, the horses, cattle,the house ... I feel undermined." His words rushed out of him.
"Nothing is so wrong we can't remedy it," she said, annoyed.
"But that's not true, Angelina," he said, his voice cutting acrosshers. "Petaca can't go on as it has in the past. You must understand.It's more than a conflict with my father and his ideas." His tongueslowed down. "He lies in his room, arm and leg useless. He has alwayshated the peasants; they've never been his workers--only chattel. Myidea of improving their lot is a joke to him. And now there'sincreasing disapproval at other haciendas; men are sick of the way theyhave been managed; they want to breathe ... it's freedom they're after."
"Don't be worried, Raul. Perhaps the craving for freedom is not sowidespread as you think."
Raul sighed. Angelina never grasped hacienda problems; she caredlittle at heart about any serious matters. Something seemed to shuther off. She had never loved Petaca, never known what it was to feelthe bite of wind, the power of seeds sprouting, the rasp of the millwheel, or the breadth of sky.
Somewhere in the garden a mockingbird burst into song, evoking itsToltec past. The outburst lasted half a minute and then the lowing ofcattle followed and then silence settled over the place. Raul drewaway from the wall and at Angelina's suggestion they walked together,following a path to the upper terrace. Leaves glistened in themoonlight. A frog chugged into the nearby swimming pool. The path ledunder a rose arbor, to a sandstone figure of Christ, a seventeenthcentury carving, carefully, deeply chiseled, suspended on a hugegranite block twisted with stone leaves. The cross marked a curve inthe path where ribs of light pushed at vine shadows, and sliced theupper part of the life-sized figure, making the calm face seem awake.
Angelina crossed herself before the statue.
As they walked, Raul noticed her profile, appreciating its perfection;for a moment, it was as if he were strolling with her years before, afew days after their wedding. She had worn another simple white dressthen. Those June days had been free of emotional conflict, threat oftrouble, and hatred of father for son. Or so it seemed now, lookingback.
"It's nice that Caterina's feeling better," Angelina said.
"Yes, it is nice," Raul said, hoping their daughter would continue toimprove.
"I still wonder what made her so ill in Guadalajara. I think I did theright thing to bring her here; goodness knows she wanted to come. Ittakes so much care to bring a child around," she said with peculiarwarmth.
"It's a month till school starts; she'll be fine by then," Raul said.
"Of course she will," Angelina agreed. It seemed to her that withouttheir two children she would have fled years before to any city, anyplace where there were people, theaters, entertainment. Here, at thehacienda, children were the best of life. She had wanted more, untilLucienne had changed her mind. She tried to shake Lucienne from herthoughts--the beautiful auburn hair and smiling face.
She felt the loneliness of this garden and its volcanic shadow. Agleam of the broad lagoon--moon whitened--chilled her. Guadalajara hadcompanionship to offer, relatives, friends, lights in shop windows,lights in homes, pretty parks.
"Is Chico better?" she asked, righting for a better mood.
"Yes, his leg's better. He'll be all right."
Though Chico was his favorite horse, she said, in spite of herself: "Iwish he had broken his leg."
He laughed, thinking of the fine palomino he had raised with such care.
"You'll have to try him someday," he said.
"Someday he'll throw you and cripple you. There never was a crazierthree-year-old."
They strolled along the farthest side of the garden, under youngjacaranda trees; the wind had shaken blossoms onto the path and some ofthem popped as they stepped on them, making a soft, damp sound. In themoonlight, the mauve flowers on the trees were white or gray or faintlyblue.
The main facade of the hacienda showed here, the house almost centeringa walled enclosure that had turrets at the four corners. Walls andhouse were of cut stone, stuccoed white. The house was a simplerectangle with six veranda arches on the ground floor and the samenumber on the upper floor. The chapel--with a blue and white zigzaggedtiled dome--had been built into one side of the residence, and itsshort spire prodded the cool sky. Moonlight softened the block-likeseverity of the old building. A sweep
of trees set off the place, andbehind the trees, dusty gray, rose a mountain range, low and rounded.Columnar cypress plunged out of the main patio and looked aboutstiffly. There were twenty rooms and two patios in the hacienda, andthe cypress were the stage props for the drama that had occurred therefor almost three hundred years.
A breeze shook the trees and they bent and swayed about the house;panicles of fresh palm blossoms rustled. A chill nipped the walkers inthe garden, as cool air swung down from the volcanic heights.
"It's getting chilly," Angelina said. "Let me go in and get my scarf."
"No. Let's go inside. How about a game of pool?" He questioned thewisdom of his own suggestion, wondering how this gesture could make upfor his shortcomings. He cleared his throat, expecting a refusal.
"We haven't played for a long time. Let's. I'll get my scarf."
In the doorway of the poolroom, Raul lit his pipe while Angelina wentfor her scarf and Manuel Boaz brought lighted candles for their game.Manuel was a burly fellow--almost sixty, part Negro. He had been withthe Medinas since childhood. His mother had died in a remote mountainhut on the hacienda. Some said she had been insane. Manuel had thespeech of a southerner because a Oaxacan had raised him. He litcandles on wall brackets and leaned in the doorway as Raul and Angelinachalked their cues. Tall, almost gray-skinned, his Negroid face tookon a mask of shadows and pale half-lights as he leaned against thedoorframe. He wore the customary white of the hacienda peasant and wasbarefooted. Unlike the Indians, he had to shave, but he had neglectedhis beard for several days and its stubble crinkled in the light fromthe candles.
"Angelina--you shoot first."
Manuel stepped away. He knew his place.
Raul grinned as Angelina's cue spun balls wickedly across the felt.She had a knack for pool. She and Caterina and Vincente playedfrequently. If he let himself be absent-minded, she would beat him.The game went pleasantly enough. Manuel brought _copitas_ of brandyand set bottle and tray on the low armoire. Raul used his cue as astaff while Angelina played the nine.
This was his favorite room and its familiarity relaxed him. He took inthe thick, unpainted ceiling beams, the carved cedar armoire (stainedand discolored), the huge roll-top desk with a deer head and a tigerskin above it. The skin was nailed to the wall with silver horseshoenails. Between the grilled windows of the opposite side of the room,windows that led to the garden, hung a painting of their horse, ElPobre. Who had named the horse--his father, in some fit of anger? ElPobre had been anything but poor. He had outrun and outjumped allhacienda rivals. And when old and spoiled, Uncle Roberto had given hima set of horseshoes with silver nails--a gift typical of Roberto's cityhumor. French prints, some fencing swords, a piece of Sevres ware, agold crucifix, a rack of guns and cues--for Raul it was a perfect room.
He wished Lucienne had such a room at her hacienda. Palma Sola had aplainness about it, except for Lucienne's plants and flowers and thenearness of the sea.
"You're not thinking of what you're doing," Angelina said, pushing backher hair. "You shouldn't have missed that shot."
"I guess I wasn't thinking," Raul said.
c"You'll get beaten," she said.
"You just watch this play," he said, and sent a ball into a pocket withskilled English.
"That was luck, just luck," she said, and her glance took him innervously. She was a little afraid of him at times. She feltinferior, disliked, shunned. His mind could spread itself over somuch. His feeling for life made her hands turn cold. She could notfollow his plans. His idea of taking over Petaca--that was idiotic.Better the old ways. What could one man do with seventeen hundredpeople? What if they were underfed, sick, poor! They had always beenthat way. He couldn't get anywhere with new-fangled ideas. Thosearguments between Raul and his father were pointless. Let the old manhave his say ... lying there, in his room, he was still _hacendado_with whip and gun, unafraid to take and destroy.
Outside, in the garden, a man began to sing: Delgado, the gardener.His watering can clinked on the edge of the stone-walled pool. He wassinging a Coliman song, pitched rather high; Delgado was seventy andhis old throat added a special tremolo to every word. A bird took uphis song. "Ave Maria, ave Maria, mi corazon es tuya ... ave Maria."The song floated around a corner of the house, as Delgado walked away.
Raul won the game, and they sat down by the armoire. Her pale bluescarf loose over her arm, Angelina poured them another brandy andhanded him his with an absent smile. She was thinking now of theirchildren, of the fun they had had today, at the mill.
"Salud," she said, raising her glass.
He raised his glass, but glanced away.
"I'm taking grain to the huts at Sector 15," he said. "Father has cutoff the corn supply from that sector."
"It must have been necessary to punish someone," she said. There was apause. He did not bother to correct her assumption. "Do you think wecan drive to Colima this week? I'd love to buy some things--it wouldbe nice to go to town; we haven't been to town together for severalweeks."
"I'll try," he said. "I think we can go."
A bat skittered close to the ceiling and then flew round and round theroom, keeping near the walls. They watched it silently. It seemedsuch a small brown spot, in such haste, dipping between the candles onthe armoire.
"What an ugly thing!" Angelina said.
"Manuel," Raul called.
When Manuel appeared, Raul pointed to the bat and said, "Drive it out."
Manuel brought his wide-brimmed hat, waved it, and chased the batoutdoors. He said nothing, but the way he moved expressed acceptanceand pleasure. He had the grace of an old cat.
After Manuel went out, Raul said: "I've been thinking about Manuel, howhe and I used to fly kites. He would take the kite on top of thehouse, where the roof's flat. We'd let out balls of string. He musthave been thirty years old then. I remember his face--so full ofsmiles. He was patient with me. He knew the things a boy wanted todo. Horses. Hunting." His voice trailed off. He lit his pipe.
"He'd do anything for you," Angelina said, and rose abruptly. "Let'sblow out the candles. You and Manuel have been true to each other.That's a fine thing." Then in a high voice, she added: "A fine thing."
He tried to disregard the inference. He puffed out a candle andwatched her bend over another atop the armoire. The ivory light flaredacross her polished features. Sadness stabbed him: their marriageshould have worked. Who had made the first mistake? Gradually, like acandlelit picture, Lucienne's face appeared, hazel eyes serious.
When the Owl Cries Page 5
