19
The great quake struck Petaca just before dawn.
Don Fernando felt the shocks at once for he had been lying awake forseveral hours. He shouted for Chavela but she did not hear him.Angry, he spouted to himself:
"I've got to get out of here. Where are my glasses? Bed's going tobreak. Damn that Chavela, not coming, never coming when I need her.Who does she think she is? Bring me a cigarette! Where are myglasses? Got to light a candle."
He shouted at the quake now:
"Get me out of bed. All right ... I'll get up. Stop you--sure I'llstop you. I'll stop your rocking. You stone devil of the Indians!"
His quavering hands worked at his sheets. Shoving himself against hispillows, he began to sit up. Groaning and puffing, he reached for hismatches but knocked them on the floor.
Finding it possible to swing his feet over the side of the bed, he satup. Moonlight whitened the tiles near the big window and he detectedthe light. On the edge of his bed, his arms bearing part of hisweight, he gained confidence.
"My wheel chair's nearby.... I'll get out of this place. Raul, Raul,"he called, forgetting that Raul was upstairs. "Raul, there's a bigquake--the floor...."
He heard shouting and rifle fire but could not, except for an instant,separate the sounds. The blurred noises, growing in intensity,disturbed him and he lifted his head and cried: "What's that? Who'smaking that noise?"
He tried to rise but crumpled onto the floor. His mind blurred....Someday ride to Colima, jacket with silver buttons ... ride to Colima... drink beer. The snake coiled over the fallen log, and themayordomo shouted: Watch out, I'm going to shoot it! I pulled my .45and shot him.... There he was ... there my father was, on his whitehorse, outside the tienda door....
His father and the snake writhed in the old man's brain and the quakereturned and red flared through the window. Fernando crawled towardthe light. He was trying to find his bed now. The red blurred andfaded and he turned and began to crawl in the other direction. A manin a dark blue suit, a neat blue suit, tapped him on the arm and said:"You must stop taking money from the store without my permission."Papa spoke calmly but he was on a white horse, just outside the tiendadoor.... I swiveled my chair at the desk and shot him, as he rode away.
The quake grew more severe and large blocks of masonry loosened in theinside wall, on the patio side, and fell on Fernando. He died at once.
Outside, men went on shouting and shooting.... They had set fire tothe mill and the flames soared high.
Raul had jumped out of bed and grabbed his trousers and shirt.Carrying his shoes, he rushed down a tottering stairs--through the paledawn--into the patio, where water sloshed out of the fountain, acrossthe cobbles. Servants were screaming and shouting. Toward the mill,flames gushed up; the wall of Fernando's room crumbled: as Raul stoodby the fountain, he saw blocks bulge, lean forward, crash to the floor,dust rising, as fine as flour from a smashed flour barrel.
The door to his father's room was ripped from its hinges and thrown tothe ground. Rushing into the dusty room, Raul opened the outer window.Then he found his father. Death, in the midst of this disaster, seemednatural to Raul--yet not the gaping mouth and angry eyes. Their angerand derision drove him out of the room, into the patio.
"Are you hurt?" asked Sandoval, rushing up to him, a crowbar in hishand, his hat around his neck on a cord, his shirt ripped.
"My father's dead ... buried under that wall," said Raul, buttoning hisshirt, wiping a smudge from his face.
"Somebody set fire to the mill; it's all in flames. I just came fromthere.... There's shooting."
"Do what you can at the mill--I'll find you later," said Raul. "I'mgoing for Manuel, I'll see about Father Gabriel.... Find Velasco. GetEsteban. Let's fight 'em off at the mill. Let's fight for this place!"
In the living room a fine old set of ivory dominoes had been hurled tothe floor, the box splintering into many pieces. He saw them, as helit a table lamp and put on his shoes. For a moment, he knelt to pickthem up and then remembered his father. Suppose Manuel or Gabriel orsomeone else had been pinned down?
"Gabriel!" Raul shouted outside the hacienda, aware of the whiteningsky. "Gabriel!"
"Raul?"
"Where are you?"
"At the chapel."
Gabriel had taken an injured girl just inside the chapel door, and wasworking over her by a vigil lamp.
"Can you find Velasco for me?"
"I haven't seen him!" Shall I tell him about my father, Raul thought?No, that can wait. I'll go for help.
"I'll see if I can find Velasco. I'm looking for Manuel."
Flames from the mill transfixed him as he went out the chapel door; thelight seemed to spout above Petaca, threatening every wall, theforecourt, the chapel. Gabriel, in the doorway beside the girl, triedto give her water.
Was the earth shaking again? Raul thought. Was everything to be lost?Flames blazed over the dining room now; rifle shots came from the samedirection. Petaca....
Petaca, 1619, Indian land, Medina land.... He began to run toward theback of the house, toward the _tienda de raya_, thinking he would get arifle from the gun case and then find Manuel.
He ran inside, wrenched a carbine from the case and loaded his pocketswith ammunition.
Petaca--the name sounded in his blood--they were burning Petaca, themill, the dining room, then....
"Raul!"
It was Luis, waving a Winchester.
"Luis, get them out of the dining room. Come on, Luis!"
But the raiders were gone; there were only flames in the dining room.Kerosene had been sloshed over the furniture and drapes and theconflagration roared, driving them outside.
Raul dashed for Manuel's room, his own armed men passing him, headedfor the walls and turrets.
"Save the house, the living room ... use dirt and sand ... beat out thefire!" he shouted, and wondered whether anyone heard him or cared.
Among the frightened horses, in the stable, he leaned over Manuel. Aterrified horse had kicked him and knocked him unconscious. Raulbrought water and rubbed a cold wet cloth over his face, arms, andchest.
"Manuel ... Manuel ... let's get out of here! Manuel ... are you badlyhurt?"
"Raul..."
"Now, now can you sit up?"
"Raul--I was running toward the mill.... It's on fire," said Manuel,groaning, feeling his arms and chest, peering at Raul with eyes dulledby pain.
"Let's get out of the stable," said Raul.
Manuel struggled to his feet.
"Can you make it?"
"I'll make it. Where?"
"To the house ... they doused it with kerosene."
With other men they returned to the house and began to fight the firein the dining room with sand and dirt, hauling and shoveling it fromthe second patio.
Manuel had armed himself at the _tienda_, as they passed. In spite ofthe pain from his head injury, he helped haul sand. Raul and Salvadorworked close to the dining-room door, throwing sand from buckets.While they battled the blaze, men broke in the _tienda_ door and dumpedkerosene over the desk and walls.
There, outside the _tienda_, they trapped Pedro.
Raul raised his rifle: the sight cleared the bandolier, raised to theshoulder, dropped lower: was this a man?
The trigger moved.
"Pedro, that's Pedro!" yelled Manuel.
The men were hurling burning wood away from the front of the _tienda_and a flaming board fell across Pedro's body.
"Take the board off that man!" someone shouted.
"It's Pedro. He's dead," said Manuel.
"Pedro's dead!" shouted Salvador.
"Pedro's dead!" others shouted.
Rifle fire began all along the walls and soon men came and informedRaul that they had beaten off the attackers; presently, others reportedthat the dining-room fire had been extinguished ... ashen faces,wounded men ... Raul, his clothes ripped and filthy, stared at them.They went up to a water pail a
nd splashed and drank, saying little.
"Shall we take a look at the mill?" Raul asked Manuel.
"Yes ... yes."
Raul stood by the smoldering ashes a long time before he said: "Thebastards, to burn it! They might better have stolen the corn andwheat. They could have eaten that. This way everybody loses!"
A gentle mist was falling and he and Manuel stood under a jacaranda,the body of a scorched rat near their feet. The wind shook the dampleaves and pigeons flew low, avoiding the mill. The chapel belltolled, telling the story.
"Well, we've seen the mill," said Raul.
"What a fire!" said Manuel. "Look how the beams burned."
Raul noticed the charred beams in the ruin.
"The quake knocked down the mill," he said. "The fire got going, thenthe quake pulled down the beams." He nodded toward the volcano, nowdrowned in mist.
Raul pulled Manuel's sleeve.
"We have things to do, Manuel. I want to go back to the house. I mustbury my father."
"What ... he's dead!"
"The quake killed him. Help me take his body away, Manuel. It won'tbe easy."
And he welcomed the rain, for now the mist had changed to rain; hewelcomed the cool of it, walking back to the house: he liked the freshsmell.
The chapel bell had stopped tolling but now someone dragged at its ropeagain and the sound seemed to bring great gouts of rain and Raul andManuel hurried toward the kitchen. They sat down at a table near thetiled stove and gulped coffee. Manuel touched the side of his head andthe side of his neck, barely brushing the skin. Raul wanted to ask himhow he felt but he couldn't put the words together.
A bearlike man, dirty and rain-soaked, came in, asking for food. Noone had seen him before. He spoke out, both hands on a crooked staff,his voice quavering and wild:
"I've just come across Petaca. The peons are leaving. I've seen 'em... many of them. They're just walking away."
Raul gouged a line across the rough table with his thumbnail: the linedivided Petaca: so much for the workers, so much for himself. Hewouldn't relinquish more.
He damned the blundering peasants: without proper clothing or food theywere forsaking Petaca for more insecurity, hunger and beatings. Theywere deserting their families.
The bearlike fellow droned on about the peasants. Then, suddenly hestopped, put down his staff, and spat:
"Have you heard about General Matanzas?"
"No, I haven't," said Raul.
"He's sided with the revolutionists!"
My God, today ... tomorrow ... so we change to save our skins, thoughtRaul. He asked his maid for cigarette paper and tobacco and rolled acigarette as he finished his coffee.
"We came back to the house to bury my father," he reminded Manuel."We're burying the past too," he added.
It took hours to dig Don Fernando free, even with the help of Luis andGabriel. In the late afternoon they carried his body to the grove andGabriel knelt by his shallow grave and prayed. The sky was clear, thesun hot; the wind whipped Gabriel's robe. His spectacles in his hand,he prayed for decency, a better world, kinder men. Parrots snickeredand whispered in the grove while Esteban covered the old man.
Raul had anticipated his father's death too long to be moved. He feltrelieved, but it was an unbalanced sense of relief, for he could notforget Pedro's death or the burning house and the ravaged mill. Did itmean anything that both these men had died on the same day? Sittingclose to Caterina's grave, he thought of the prayers that lay buriedeverywhere in the world. I believe in God ... why? Because ...because some people are kind and faithful. Lucienne. Manuel. Farias.Caterina. Vicente.... Birds from the nearest palms drifted past him,their wings sighing.
The men left the cemetery.
A little smoke rose from the volcano as Raul and Gabriel returned tothe house. Gabriel made a remark about the swift changes.
"Life has become treacherous too," said Raul sadly. "I wanted changesto be slow, remember? You said: Don't take the law in your hands. Ihave killed today. Pedro. Did you know?"
"I didn't know," said Gabriel, and crossed himself. "Our old world hasgone. God help you, my son." It hurt him that Raul had killed; he hadpromised Pedro to the law but more than that he had promised Raul aclear conscience.
"I'm giving up Petaca," said Raul.
They paused in front of the old house, where further earthquake damagewas obvious: part of the reconstructed veranda had fallen; Fernando'sroom gaped; the living-room roof had caved in at one end and smokeseeped out, blowing low over the house and garden.
"I'm giving it up. I won't risk more lives. We can't go on defendingthe house indefinitely. We'll save what we can, before all is lost."He remembered the broken box of dominoes. Hands in his pockets, hefaced Gabriel, savage disappointment on his face.
Gabriel had removed his glasses and was wiping his eyes. He wished heneed not reply.
"Of course ... yes," he said, wanting proper words, feeling Raul'sgaze. "Yes ... Raul ... you must."
What would Raul do? Live in Colima perhaps? Perhaps Guadalajara? Inspite of his weariness, in spite of his sadness, a ray of hopereturned: could it be Italy, before he died?
Velasco appeared on the veranda and waved something. Raul turnedtoward the steps.
"Someone's hurt," he said.
"I'll come," said Gabriel, putting on his glasses.
Raul said, going up the steps:
"I'll look after you, Gabriel. Perhaps I can hold my land ... I'llfight for the property ... I'll do what I can for you."
He repeated his words to himself. They seemed impossibly clumsy; thewhole situation was impossible.
Velasco had a letter for Raul. Roberto had gotten word through fromGuadalajara. Before Raul opened it and read it, he told Velasco whathe had decided, and the doctor nodded approval before returning to theinjured, digging with a finger at his goatee.
Yes, the letter from Guadalajara, creased, greasy, lacking a stamp.Who brought it? How did it get here? News from Roberto. He foundbrandy in the living room and sat down to read but smoke, blowing infrom the dining room, sent him to the patio and the fountain. He tookthe brandy, and sat on the edge of the fountain, smoothed out theletter, hesitant, wanting to reconsider his decision, wanting to pause.That was it. Pause. Hold back. Draw a clean breath.
People kept crossing and recrossing the patio. They stopped before himand questioned him, oblivious of the letter fluttering in his hands.As long as he sat and talked, they felt strengthened. How can Iabandon them, all of them, my friends, my servants ... they'll be lostwithout me! Lost? They want land, houses of their own, freedom.
The smell of his own burning house made him cough.
He turned to the letter again and read:
"Dear Raul,
"I hear that things have been going badly at your hacienda, at most ofthe haciendas in the Colima area. I am very sorry. When I left you,after the equestrian party, I had hoped for better things. Here wehave serious problems, too. But our most serious problem is Angelina.You must come here at once. Angelina is ill, is completely deranged.I am sorry to be so blunt, Raul, but what can I do? I must tell youthe truth, however painful to me and you.
"Maria is ill. That is why Angelina stayed with us awhile, though nowshe is at Holy Cross Hospital.
"You have to know, too, that Guadalajara has suffered. The SanFrancisco church has been burned. The bishop's residence has beensacked. There's garbage on the street corners, stacked high. There'sno water in our homes, there's no sewage disposal.
"Angelina has felt all of this tragedy. Unfortunately, she saw menhanging from lampposts in the plaza.
"I have taken her to several doctors. They all say she is unbalanced.She's gentle and kind. But she sees a dog, a dog that doesn't exist.It's her illness. She's trapped in fear. I hesitate to tell you this,but she doesn't care to eat.
"Vicente is doing all right; he doesn't know the truth yet. He's withus. His school has c
losed. He doesn't get about much. It's toodangerous.
"Come when you can, Raul. She asks for you. This has been my firstchance to get a letter to you. I hope you understand I have tried tocommunicate, in various ways. Yours, Roberto."
He filled his brandy glass again, and reread the letter. Sweat hadbroken out on his forehead; it trickled over the backs of his hands,ran down under his arms. A man stopped to question him but Raulordered him away, not so much as glancing at him.
He felt Angelina's eyes focused on him accusingly; their luminositymade him get up and leave the patio. Down by the pool, he found thesilence he wanted. On a bench he stared at the leaf-dotted water,fighting his sense of nightmare.
Such a letter--at such a time.
Yet he read it once more and began to think of leaving, ridinghorseback, catching a freight to Guadalajara. Some said freight trainswent through, once in a while.
He folded the letter, put it in his pocket, and walked away. He mustfind Manuel. In his simple, small room, on his bed, leaning againstthe wall, Raul was able to think straight. To Manuel he explained hisdecision to give up Petaca. A lamp burned below the old Chiapanhanging ... some old clothes dangled from the wooden peg. The room wasquiet. Lamplight brought out Manuel's kind features, his weariness....How he had aged!
"I want us to eat together and then I'll ride to Colima tonight. Imust go to her. You will be in charge here. Save what you can,Manuel."
Raul was glad Manuel did not talk: he wanted the silence, the silenceof his room, their silence. He remembered to ask about Manuel's headinjury. Then there was the silence again.
"You'll be all right in Guadalajara. You'll be able to reach her,"Manuel said, that old bond coming to the fore. "I'll be waiting foryou here, or in Colima. I can't eat now, my friend. Go with God,Raul." And he stood up, knowing how hard it was for him to go.
"Goodbye, Manuel."
For Raul, it was easier to get to Guadalajara than he had supposed. Bythe next day he found a freight that carried him and others as well--aslow ride, but not hazardous. They had bad water or no water. Some ofthe people were ill. At the many stops they got fruit, _tacos_ andtortillas. Those who had money paid; those who had no money begged.Raul made a little corner for himself in an old red boxcar, thesplintered floor full of holes. He sat among rich and poor. Since thetrain seldom moved fast, the heat poured on them and they lookedforward to the night. And they arrived in Guadalajara in the smallhours of the night, their second day out of Colima.
Guadalajara was filthier and more degraded than Roberto had painted it.Poor Vicente, thought Raul. Poor Angelina. Stinking garbage clutterednearly every street corner. There were no street lamps. Wild dogs ranabout. Barbed wire had been flung over benches and around trees in theplaza. Machine gunners had sandbagged the roofs of the municipalbuildings ... buzzards were everywhere. All the way to Roberto'shouse, along Vallarta, the main street, barricades of cobbles had beenerected, topped by wrought-iron benches and smashed grilles andbalconies. It was amazing to Raul that the hack driver was able to getthrough to Roberto's home.
"Not much of a homecoming," said Roberto, "but we're still here."
Vicente danced with joy and yet was troubled by his father's haggardface.
"Papa, isn't it awful the way they've torn up the city?" he said,backing away a little.
"It is. Now for the bathroom. I hope there's water. I want to getcleaned up."
"Is Petaca all right?"
"We're still there," he said, and glanced at Roberto.
When he had washed and rested, Raul left the house with Vicente, forthe Holy Cross Hospital on Calle Moliere. Hollow eyed and thinner,Vicente did not have much to say as they trudged along. Raul talkedhorses but Vicente seemed to have forgotten his passion for them. Hesaid he was sorry his school had closed and wondered what his friendswere doing in Colima? Was it so bad in Colima?
The sun was streaming into the garden patio of the charming pillaredhome that had been converted into a hospital by the Sisters of Charitylong ago. One of the Sisters asked them to wait in the patio and Rauland Vicente sat on a bench, facing a bed of roses. They said nothinguntil Angelina came.
She shook hands with Raul, but disregarded Vicente. She wasquiet-spoken and aloof. Vicente went gladly into the Mother Superior'soffice when she beckoned to him. His mother frightened him.
Angelina wore a yellow dress Raul could not remember seeing; when shesat beside him, he saw how much weight she had lost; her face wasolder, threaded with tiny lines; her eyes could not focus on him butglided away, across the garden, to the tiled roof, then, to her hands.
"Do you like me in black?" she asked. "I think I look my best inblack." Her voice called up a hundred sensations in him. "Estelle hascome to see me ... she comes often," she whispered. "It's not veryeasy, but we slip away to the theater, to hear Clavo read his poems....We go to a play." Her eyes lifted to the roof line. "How are thingswith you?"
"Fine, Angelina."
"That's nice. Shall we walk around the patio? It's such a nice place."
Raul took her arm and she did not object.
White and yellow roses were in flower; a pet raven sat on a bench andclicked its bill as they passed; Raul tried to summon wisdom; he wantedto speak of Petaca, but Petaca represented every kind of painfulfailure and transition. He did not dare mention his father's death.
Wanting to say something, he said, "Father Gabriel's well."
"Yes?" she said. "Is he?"
"He sent his love."
She smiled, and glanced away.
He wanted to explain that Gabriel's leg was all right.
"How is Garcia?" she asked.
"Garcia?" he fumbled, trying hard to place him. "He's fine," he said.He must say something cheerful. Again he tried to place Garcia.
She sat down abruptly on a bench and said, "I'm never going back."
"No," he said, sitting down too.
"I like it here. Everyone's kind to me."
He was speechless--he felt his heart had turned to ice. When had shebeen so frail?
"Here I see no killings. It's quiet. I can rest. The Sisters arenice to me."
One hand shaking, she reached out and seemed to pat something. Then,with a sharp cry, she got up, swayed, and fled into the hospital, heryellow skirt fluttering.
When the Owl Cries Page 23
