When the Owl Cries

by Paul Alexander Bartlett

  11

  As he stood in the living room at Lucienne's, a little tipsy, glass inhand, Roberto las Casas called the roll, talking to himself:

  "Baroness Radziwill and family, Count and Countess de Selva (the oldboy's not doing well), Lucienne (very pretty), Joaquin Siquiros,Federicka Kolb (ah!), Benito Serrato (new mayor of Colima), Raul,Gabriel, Jesus Peza, General Matanzas (drunk) ... quite a birthdaygathering...."

  Roberto flicked ash from his beautifully tailored dinner suit andlifted his glass. For a man in his late fifties, he was handsome.Standing to one side, near some candles, his diamond cuff links andstuds glittered. Bald as a man can be, he had the air of a diplomat.Angular, taller than Raul, he had none of Raul's physical toughness ...he was a Guadalajara lawyer, promoter of mining interests and capabledabbler in city real estate. His mother had been the sister of Raul'smother. He liked the city, but appreciated Petaca's spaciousness,hunts, rodeos, fiestas and gambling.

  Tonight the roulette wheel spun and the tiny _pelota_ clicked like arace horse; it clicked and stopped, and the sound of the surf camethrough the room. For days the wind had boiled offshore and now therollers foamed and thudded.

  "Twenty," Joaquin Siquiros called.

  "Twenty," someone repeated.

  No one had placed money on that number and the wheel began again.

  "Forty-one," Siquiros called, in his boyish voice.

  Roberto strolled from guest to guest, drinking, eating, chatting, boredwith roulette since he had lost heavily; the asthmatic Selva had stolenhis luck and Lucienne had won more than her share of the evening'scash. He found Lucienne, beside a big _mafafa_, and put his arm aroundher.

  "Were you lucky the last round?" he asked.

  "Yes, but where have you been?"

  "Just talking to people, catching up on Palma gossip."

  "You're drinking too much."

  "Not too much. I'm just tall and hold more. I leave the drinking tothe Baroness. See, she can hardly take in her winnings." He laughedgently.

  Half asleep, losing, gaining, she leaned on the roulette table, jewelssparkling in her hair.

  "... Sister of the Polish pope," said Roberto. "Let's have somethingto eat," he whispered. "Food has been known to help people in mycondition. May I bring you some sandwiches?"

  "Please. I'm really hungry."

  He served sandwiches and _entremes_ from a silver tray that salt airand time had darkened to a pewter finish.

  "Now, my dear, I'll get us some coffee. Let's sit here."

  "Twenty-four," Siquiros called.

  "Mine, mine!" shouted the Baroness.

  "Where did you buy that lovely gown? In Paris?" asked Roberto,bringing the coffee, and sitting down by Lucienne.

  "In Rome," she said.

  "Rome ... I remember Rome ... but I never saw a gown like yours there."He sipped his drink and said: "Lucienne, you're a beautiful woman; youmake the gown more beautiful."

  Lucienne laughed happily.

  "I'm fairly sober," he said. "And it is your birthday.... Shall I goon? About your hair, your tiara ... your..."

  "Ah, no ... no more, dear Roberto." But her hand went to her platinumtiara; she pushed it forward on her head; the rubies, diamonds andsapphires seemed to glow a little more. The gown was dark, almost avelvet green, very long, very simple. She wore no jewelry other thanthe tiara, a Humboldt heirloom.

  "You know, it's almost 2:00 A.M.," she said.

  "Why do you think about time on your birthday! When it's four, we'llbe able to see the sun. Has it been a wonderful party?"

  "Very wonderful, Roberto."

  "Have you opened my gift?"

  "Tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow," he agreed, and took a sandwich from the tray on a sidetable. "Come, Raul, join us," he said, grasping his cousin's arm."Aren't you hungry? We have a sandwich tray here."

  "I've been hungry all evening," said Raul. "Lucienne, where are thevenison steaks you promised?"

  "You don't sound like a man who has lost a lot of money," said Roberto.

  "I didn't lose so much."

  "I'll see to it that you win next year," said Lucienne, bringing himclose.

  "What could he win next year that he hasn't got now?" laughed Roberto."Here, Raul, take my chair. I feel better.... I'll try a whirl atthat wheel again. What's your lucky number, Lucienne?"

  Outside, on the ocean porch, the orchestra began a plaintiveVeracruzana, with the violins carrying the melody, the horns a trifleslow, the surf coming through.

  Oblivious of the orchestra, General Matanzas sat at the old Chickering;his fingers fished for a sentimental song to match his intoxicatedmood. He swayed on his bench, his belly sagging, his epaulettesbobbing. Smoke from some candles on the piano drifted across hisgray-white head and beard.

  "It's really bad news about Diaz," said Raul to Lucienne. "Heshouldn't resign. If he must resign, he should appoint a capablesuccessor. The more I think about it, the less I like the situation.De Selva says we're in for bad times."

  "Come, come," said Lucienne. She leaned over and brushed crumbs fromhis trousers. "I think Diaz will die in office. He should, just toplease us. And, anyhow, this is my party...."

  "Maybe you don't grasp the significance," he said.

  "A man in his eighties has a plan."

  "But nobody knows his plan."

  "We live a long way from the capital. We'll get some accurate newssoon. Our president is no fool."

  Federicka Kolb, a friend of the Humboldts for years, paused beforeLucienne and Raul, smiled and offered them cigarettes. She was anattractive heavy-set person, with a light complexion and especiallyintelligent mouth and eyes.

  "Darling," asked Lucienne, "what is the latest news about PresidentDiaz? Is there anything we can depend on?"

  "General Matanzas said he has resigned and left the country," saidFedericka.

  "The highest authority," said Lucienne, glancing at the general, whohad put his head on his arms.

  "I'll talk to him later," said Raul. "Is there any word of asuccessor? Has Matanzas been in Mexico City recently?"

  "I was in Mexico City last week," said Federicka, her face pleasant andcalm. "People say Diaz wants Mexico to become a democracy. Diaz wantsthe Indians to vote."

  The orchestra had stopped playing and Baroness Radziwill overheardFedericka's last sentence.

  "That's utterly ridiculous," she cried, her black eyes snapping. "Notone Indian in ten thousand can read or write. Is Diaz too old tothink?"

  "They can read at the point of a gun," said Serrato, the young Colimamayor, his lips twisting.

  Federicka took up the challenge: "All of us can remember faithfulIndians. When Lucienne's mother and father drowned in the surf, whotried to save them? The Indians who were fishing nearby. Itzladrowned. He gave his life. When my father built the railroad toCuernavaca, he learned to like them."

  "Long live Porfirio Diaz," cried Serrato dully.

  "Long live Diaz," others echoed.

  "Maybe I've drunk too much coffee," Roberto muttered under his breath."What's all this?"

  "I'm no Diaz man. How do you feel about Petaca and what I'm doing?"Raul asked him.

  "Well," said Roberto, grinning, "Fernando, like Diaz, has served histime. I want to see what you can do."

  He opened his silver cigarette case and rubbed a smudge from theinitials. He felt sleepy, tired of this room and its old-fashionedfurniture. A little sickish, he headed for the porch and the cool seaair. Being alone could be comforting.

  "I tell you, we're in for bad times," de Selva sermonized before agroup. "Our haciendas are threatened by renegades. Don Raul waswounded by one of those fools who wants to grab our land. We have tocarry guns ... I go about armed."

  Raul led Lucienne to the long, cool porch and they danced to a Strausswaltz ... the ocean beating hard.

  "Hold me close, Raul."

  "Are you falling asleep?"

  "I've been thinking of my presents, wh
at fun it's going to be, openingthem."

  "When will you open them?"

  "At lunch tomorrow ... just the two of us."

  "Open them now."

  "It's fun to wait. When there aren't so many people around."

  "Shall I tell you what Roberto gave you?"

  "Tell me ... please."

  "Two gold-plated faucets for your bathroom ... in fourteen karats."

  "Oh, no. I'll never believe that. How silly!"

  "Come on, let's open his package."

  "All right, let's open it, let's open all my presents."

  They went into the living room, laughing heartily.

  Roberto listened to their laughter, as he got ready for bed, hisbedroom door half-open. He envied their love. A fine house in ColoniaVallarta had not added up to happiness for him. His wife thought him aclown, not a wit. Now, the Diaz news had disheartened him and hetossed his shirt over one of Lucienne's plants, beside the four-poster.Stretching, he breathed in the cool air, glad to be back by the ocean.It would be fun to see how Lucienne felt about those faucets tomorrow... he had paid a pretty penny for them....

  In the morning, Raul met Lucienne in the greenhouse, whose salt-rimedwindows faced the sea, a ramshackle Swiss-style conservatory built byher father when he, too, had dabbled in plants and flowers. When Raulcame in, she was adjusting salt screens.

  "Good morning. You're up early."

  "Good morning, darling. You're lazy. I've already had a swim."

  "You should have wakened me."

  "But you were so comfortable, I just slipped out of bed."

  "Have you had breakfast, Lucienne?"

  "I'm waiting for you."

  "I often think of you working here. Your world is something you cantouch. When we were little you had a garden of your own ... all theseyears this has been your life ... this and your friends."

  "But has anything come of it?"

  "I'd like to marry you."

  "Raul, don't talk that way, especially before breakfast. An agnosticmust be left to her plants."

  "I want to break away.... I want Angelina to live permanently inGuadalajara."

  She lifted a watering can and began sprinkling seedlings.

  "Let's be realistic: who broke away first, you or Angelina?"

  "I can't say."

  "Really?"'

  "Really, I don't know ... and what could it matter?"

  Drops from the watering can fell on her fresh white cotton dress.

  "This is no way to begin the day," she said. "Let's make it a happyday. I think we should have breakfast."

  They ate at a square table in her dining room, facing the ocean throughmany French windows. On three sides, in round bamboo barrels andspecial boxes, tropical plants grew lavishly, most of them dark green,many of them climbing as high as the ceiling. It was like being insidea miniature park. Barefooted girls served. A girl brought in a blueglass pitcher filled with red roses and placed the bouquet in thecenter of the table.

  "I feel better," said Raul.

  "One should never talk marriage in a greenhouse."

  Raul grinned.

  "Has everyone gone home?" he asked.

  "I think so ... even Roberto."

  "What was his hurry?"

  "To get the train in Colima."

  "He should have waited for me."

  "I told him you needed sleep ... that I needed you."

  Mona wandered in and Lucienne fed her pieces of tortillas. Hershort-haired terrier appeared and the two dogs raised such a hullabaloothe maids had to chase them outside.

  "What happened to your baby fox?" said Raul, eating _mamey_.

  "It got away, somehow. What's become of Vicente's honey bear?"

  "He's around. Vicente likes him."

  "How's Vicente doing?"

  "Fine. He's a great boy."

  "And what does Angelina write ... or should I ask?"

  "She wrote strangely."

  "How do you mean?"

  "She told about a round of parties, and then made curious remarks aboutCaterina."

  "Are you worried about her?"

  "Something's wrong." But he avoided saying anything more.

  While a girl removed their fruit husks, they smiled sadly at eachother. His hand grasped hers. They wanted to push aside unhappiness.The girl set down a platter of golden-brown _pampanos_ ringed withsliced limes.

  "I'd like to walk to the old church this afternoon," he said.

  "The old church? Why?"

  "I've always liked it ... let me serve you, Lucienne ... nobody knowshow long it's been there. It was a lighthouse for years, wasn't it? Ihaven't seen it for ages."

  "Big fig trees are smashing it, lifting walls: one side's trapped inthe roots of a huge fig. Treasure hunters have dug up the floors eversince somebody found a tiny gold ship there."

  "Do you think anyone found a ship of gold?"

  "I doubt it. But you'll see lots of lizards; they attend Massfaithfully." She blushed.

  He laughed out, and said: "Who's the priest ... a sea gull?"

  "Do you remember the huge tree that grew in front of this house?" sheasked. "Our palma sola? It was the tallest palm I've ever seen. Papaloved it. It really hurt him when it blew down.... Raul, have morebeans while they're hot. I'm so pleased with my new cook. She's oneof the best I've ever had...."

  After breakfast, Lucienne showed him her seedling acacias for it wasearly and the conservatory was still cool. A butterfly coasted aboutcomplacently, above the tiers of seedlings now ready for transplanting.Below the trays, on the floor, rare coconuts split their husks, theiryellow sprouts resembling boars' tusks. In a bottomless dugout canoe,filled with sand and shells, grew dwarf cacti, mammillaria, opuntia andcholla.

  "Isn't that your father's canoe?" he asked.

  "Yes," she said. "I just keep it.... I like it here, a memento."

  "Wasn't it filled with ferns?"

  "Yes, it was."

  Mona came trotting in and Raul picked her up and stroked her shaggygray head and shoved some of her hair out of her eyes ... her tonguelicked.

  "We never escape the past, do we?" he said.

  The past accompanied him as he rode home. With Manuel, he rode acrosscountry, under ceibas and palm, the trail winding, sometimes acrossstreams, sometimes through boulder-piled land. They talked aboutPedro. The people at Mountain Rancheria reported he was living there,buying and selling guns. The rurales had to be informed. It was asix-day trip. Would they go after him?

  White ibis and rosy spoonbill flew up from a small lake ... a blueheron sat on a dead and leafless tree, its wings outspread in the sun.An alligator splashed away from the shore as the horses trotted along ashell-strewn beach.

  "Do you remember this lake?" Raul asked.

  "Sure. We shot a grandfather alligator here, years ago."

  "I bagged a _tigre_ in the bush," grinned Raul, "a fast, running shot."

  "There are no _tigres_ around now."

  "I suppose not," said Raul. "We should go _tigre_ hunting, way up thevolcano, where there are plenty of them. Let's try our luck one ofthese days."

  Dismounting, they rested under _cocos de aceite_, a woodland ofthousands of short-trunked palms. They nibbled tortillas and a coil ofcheese, an armadillo scrabbling in the distance.

  "I remember that when it rains here the gnats take over," said Raul.

  "Ssh, see, over there," whispered Raul.

  Regardless of men and horses, three raccoons, one behind the other,filed toward the water. All stared at the ground, their tails low; theleader had an injured paw and limped badly.

  "They're late for their food," said Raul.

  "Something must have delayed them," said Manuel.

  Raul dug for his pipe and filled it and Manuel rolled a cigarette andthey lit from the same match. Again, something ignited in theireyes--they felt their close communion. Saddlebag under his head, Raulsmoked, the smoke climbing and climbing, the _cocos de aceite_
completely windless.

  A blue flycatcher lit on a mossy log, where it preened its wing andtail feathers lazily.

  "Have you heard that the flycatcher is from Quetzalcoatl?" asked Raul.

  "Yes, I've heard that," said Manuel.

  "I wonder why the old gods died," Raul said.

  "People say they died because no one cared any more. Why does anythingdie, Don Raul?" Manuel shook his head; he removed his hat and forkedhis fingers through his hair. Faced by his own question, he felttired, old. The forest could answer that question. Bending over hiscigarette, sheltering it, smelling it, he listened to the woods.

  "We couldn't go on living, all of us," he said, exhaling after a longdrag, the smoke flooding over his eyes. "Some of us must be lost, injungles, in rivers, fall on the sides of mountains, take sick of fever,be buried in ruins and little roadside places."

  "But the gods weren't buried," objected Raul.

  "They were buried at Tenochtitlan, at Monte Alban, at temples inYucatan."

  The flycatcher went on preening its lovely feathers.

  Manuel lowered his voice: "Perhaps the old gods may return. I've heardit said...."