The Empty Trap

by John D. MacDonald

  It was either that day or the next, when they were away that he managed to crawl through the doorway, and, shaking with the effort, brace his back against the adobe wall and soak up the sunlight. He looked at the hills, and down the slope of the valley. He saw the other huts with their thatched roofs. Each was built into the living hillside, so that they were half hut, half cave. He saw the sparkling fall of water, a stream that came from a cleft in the rock and fell ten feet, shining like silver, a column thick as a man’s body, sending up a mist that made a permanent rainbow. He looked at the wide blue of the sky and looked down at his outstretched legs. He guessed he could not weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds. In full health he had carried a hundred and eighty pounds on his six-foot, two-inch frame, a man of heavy bone structure and quick lithe muscles. Tears of weakness ran from his eyes into the heavy mat of ginger beard.

  They made exclamations of wonder when they returned, and they helped him back to the pallet. After that there were lessons each day. As the words and ideas became more abstract, Isabella was forced to act them out. She would sit for a time, frowning at the wall, then leap up and, in pantomime, create the meaning for the word she taught him. He listened to them and could not understand them and thought he would never learn the language. It changed for him, suddenly and dramatically one evening. They sat outside in moonlight and they were talking and he was making no particular effort to understand them. And, as though some hidden switch in his mind had been turned on, he found that he could understand. They spoke of a Roberto and whether it was time for him to go to Talascatan again, and what objects he should bring back from the village. He sat up in the darkness and he was very excited. He listened. He missed many words, but he could follow all they said. And he could understand words he had not realized he knew. Some of them had slipped into his mind during the early weeks when he was close to death, he decided.

  From then on he and Isabella began to speak together in simple sentences. When the others understood they should go slowly, he could converse with them too. He became pleased with his own increasing proficiency. One afternoon Armando brought a man back with him. Lloyd was sitting outside. They squatted on either side of him, fingered the bound jaw, argued violently. Armando, Lloyd understood, felt that the jaw was now sufficiently healed, that enough time had passed. The other man, Rosario, claimed that when a man had been very ill, the bones healed more slowly. Armando said heatedly that if it was bound much longer, it would no longer work. In the end they cut the strip of leather. It had worked itself into the flesh of the underside of his jaw and had to be pulled free gently. Both men were delighted when Lloyd thanked them with an articulation he could not previously manage. There had been a considerable atrophy of the muscles. When he sat upright his lower jaw, after a period of time, tended to sag. He could not chew at first, and later, when the muscles had regained strength, he could only chew far back on the grinding molars.

  The sun had moved and the nights began to be chilly. When he asked, Isabella told him it was the seventeenth day of October. It shocked him to learn how many months had gone by. Five months and eight days since he had gone over the cliff. He walked for the first time that day, sweating with effort, leaning heavily on the sturdy shoulders of Isabella, walking ten steps while she grinned encouragement. His left ankle was very stiff, yet not frozen in place. He could move it, but only at the expense of grating pain. For three days it was too swollen to attempt walking again. Soon he could walk without help, but not far. He felt too tall, teetering and fragile, like a man on a tightrope. Appetite and strength improved and he began to put on weight more rapidly.

  As yet, with any of them, there had been no talk of past or future. On a day colder than any that had gone before, Isabella came to him with a strange shyness. She held something out to him and said, “Is it permitted to wear this?”

  He took it from her and it took long moments to identify it. It came from another life, a life before this one. He saw that it was one of Sylvia’s sweaters, cashmere in a dark red, with a design in white at the throat.

  Holding it, he said, “Is there more clothing?”

  “Yes. For you and for her. A lot of it.”

  “It is more cold now. You and Concha must take her clothing and use it. She is dead.”

  “I know. What was her name?”

  “Sylvia. And the other clothing, the boys must use what can be fitted to them. You have … shared all you have with me. I will share with you.”

  She thanked him. She wore Sylvia’s clothing. The skirts were too long. They fit at the waist, but were tight over Isabella’s heavier hips. She was shy at first, and then pleased with herself. Armando self-consciously wore one of Lloyd’s tweed jackets. It fit across the shoulders, but came almost to his knees.

  He said one day to Isabella, “How did I come here?”

  She looked at him and finally nodded. “It is time to talk. I will tell my uncle.”

  There was a conference that evening. Goat skin covered the doorway, a protection against the chill of the nights. Now, each night, the cook fire was left burning. The lantern was lighted on this special occasion. The boys were sent into the adjoining room. Armando, Concha, Isabella, the man named Roberto, and Lloyd sat around the lantern.

  “We must talk,” Armando said. And he reached over and handed Lloyd an object which Lloyd recognized as his own wallet. Lloyd halted himself just in time before looking in it. He sensed that would be rude. He put it casually aside and said, “Thank you.”

  “It contains thirty-four American dollars and eleven hundred and ten pesos. It is a great deal of money,” Armando said.

  But not enough, Lloyd thought, even to tempt Tulsa or Benny to take it. That was part of the window dressing if the accident was discovered. “I thank you for saving it for me.”

  Armando nodded gravely. He told the story. When it was Roberto’s turn, he took over. They both spoke slowly for Lloyd’s sake. Roberto had been gathering charcoal after a mountain fire. He had his two burros with him. He had looked down into a valley and seen a glint of metal. All the way home he had wondered about it, and, two days later, had gone down into the valley with one burro. He had found the Señor Lloyd in madness, very close to death. Roberto had waited for death to come, but it did not. Finally he had placed the Señor Lloyd on the burro and had brought him back to this place. He did not die on the seven hour trip as Roberto had expected. They were mountain people here, accustomed to the breaking of bones and the fixing of bones. They fixed the jaw and the wrist and the ankle, not as well as a doctor could do it, but as well as they could. The fever was very bad. He was like a bed of coals. They gave him remedies and waited for him to die. It was a curious problem. If the Señor Lloyd should die, then the money and the things from the automobile would properly belong to Roberto, and to Armando who was his cousin. This was fair because it had been Armando who, hearing Roberto’s story, had urged him to go back to the valley. But it was not permitted to kill the Señor Lloyd. They were not murderers in this valley, except for a true cause, and to make profit was not a true cause. It was equally murder to neglect a man’s wounds. The honorable thing was to care for the Señor Lloyd. If he died, there would be no question of taking his money and possessions. If he lived, such a thing could not be done. They were not thieves in this valley. The Señor Lloyd had lived and now was stronger each day. When the time came, they would bind his eyes and Roberto would take him to a place where he could easily walk to the village of Talascatan. It was regrettable the binding of the eyes was necessary, but a vote had been taken, and though it would appear the Señor Lloyd had reasons for being grateful, it was best that no one should worry about such a matter.

  And now, in fairness, it should be explained why no doctor was brought to the Señor Lloyd. There are twenty-eight persons in this valley, counting the children. There was political trouble in the village of Pinal Blanco, a village which is two villages beyond Talascatan. There was a tax matter and killing, and powerful enem
ies made. A price was placed on the heads of certain men. The choice was to become bandits, or live in a hidden place in peace. They were not thieves, nor murderers. This is a hidden valley. The trail is very difficult. Roberto, who is not wanted by the law, goes to Talascatan for their needs. It is a way to live in peace, but there are difficulties. No doctor, no schools, no church. But that is better than being a bandit, no?

  Armando said, into the silence, “And you have strong enemies too, Señor Lloyd.”

  It was statement, not question. They would have seen the burns on chest and feet. They had been frank, and expected an equal frankness.

  “They are enemies from my country. They followed me here. They found me at a hotel in Talascatan. They strangled the woman, put us in my car and pushed us over the edge.”

  There was a gasp of horror and interest. “I do not know how it is you live,” Armando said.

  “They believe me dead.”

  Armando fingered his chin. “If they did this thing, why did they not take your money?” he said suspiciously.

  “They took money. They took so much money, the little they left me was not of importance.”

  “What will you do?”

  “When I am strong, I will leave here and I will go back to my country and I will kill them.”

  Armando and Roberto nodded.

  “There are four of them,” Lloyd said.

  Roberto said, “It is miraculous that a man as badly broken could raise up such a great pile of stones over the body of the woman.”

  “So the zopilotes would not have her body,” Lloyd said. “They angered me.”

  “If that is the quality of your anger,” Roberto said, “when you are in health you can kill them with your hands.”

  “All but one. With him I am a child.”

  “Then use the knife.”

  He looked at them and he knew he had not yet matched their honesty, nor repaid them with frankness for all they had done for him. He groped for words, knowing he would have difficulty with abstract ideas.

  “I will tell you this thing. It is about the money and the woman. The thing I did was not honorable.”

  Armando said, “It is not necessary for you to tell.”

  “I feel it is necessary.” He found himself looking at Isabella. She was looking down at her clasped hands. “The money and the woman. They were not mine. I took them. I was followed.” He looked around at impassive faces. “But a thing cannot be black or white. I was a thief when I took the money, but that money had been stolen from others. I was a thief when I took the woman, but she was gentle and unhappy and often beaten. She asked me to take her away, and I wished to give her happiness. The men found us. My actions were not honorable, perhaps. But their actions were the actions of animals. With me and with the woman. Most of all with the woman, before one of them killed her. That is why it is necessary to kill them. I will not be a man again until that is done.”

  It was not something he could have said in his own land in his own tongue without feeling ridiculously melodramatic. And he wondered whether the need to kill would have been as understandable even to himself in another place and time. Yet here it was perfectly clear, and he could see that Armando and Roberto accepted it. Here there was no talk of the futility of revenge. This was a mission of honor.

  After a long silence Armando reached his hand over and shook hands with Lloyd in American fashion. “It is good you have explained,” he said. Lloyd felt the lantern heat on the underside of his wrist.

  When his hand was released, he opened the wallet and took out the pesos. He held them for a moment, then turned and placed them in Concha’s ample lap. “Many things are needed. This is not a payment. It is a gift. I wish, with your permission, Armando, to remain here until I am truly strong. When I can work, I will do so. With the money Roberto can buy things in the village for the good of all. More warm clothing for children is needed, more serapes for men, rebosas for women, blankets.”

  Concha touched the money, looked shyly at Armando. He nodded. “Mil gracias,” she said. “It is cold here in the winter months.”

  Roberto left and came back proudly with a large bottle of mescal. The earthenware cups were gotten out. The drink tasted like varnish and sulphuric acid and had an impact like an unexpected blow on the head. Rosario arrived with battered guitar. There was singing and dancing. More people arrived until Lloyd was willing to swear the entire community of twenty-eight had gathered in the small room. He sat on the pallet, back against the wall, grinning and watching and beating time, drinking whenever anybody thought to pour something into his cup. Eleven hundred pesos was a little over ninety dollars. It merited a fiesta.

  Isabella came and sat beside him, flushed and moist with the effort of dancing. She sipped from his cup. He took her hand. She tried to tug it away but he held it. She sat rigidly then, face half turned away.

  “Do you care much,” he said, “about the stolen money and the stolen woman?”

  “Was she beautiful?” The question was small, almost lost in the din.

  “To some, perhaps.”

  “To you?”

  “For a time.”

  That seemed to satisfy her.

  “Where are your people, Isabella?”

  “Here.”

  “I mean your father and your mother, sisters, brothers.”

  She spoke casually. “Oh, they are dead. In all the killing, in Pinal Blanco. My father was a leader. The leader. The brother of Armando. We thought our party was the stronger, and so we were careless. They came in the night, to the houses of all the ones of our party and perhaps forty were killed that night, and many houses burned. It was a village of one hundred and fifty. There had been trouble for many many years, before I was born. My father and my mother and my brother and two younger sisters died. We are a cruel people. When the trouble is bad, even the little ones die. I received this. Mire!”

  She pulled up her skirt, pulled it high up her thigh, exposing the scar on the outside of her thigh, a long puckered white scar. She pushed her skirt down.

  “You do not seem sad.”

  “I am very sad when I think of it, Lloyd. But I do not often think of it. Our house was almost the best in the village.”

  “How long ago was it?”

  “I had thirteen years. It was five years ago.”

  “Could you go back now?”

  She stared at him in wonder. “Go back there? The daughter of Emiliano Calderon y Vega? The only child of the leader! I would not live out one night.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Listen to me. It is very simple. There are twenty-eight here. One day, with luck, there will be a hundred. Many of those will be young strong men. What if some of those young strong men were my sons? They would know what happened. I would tell them and they would know. They would be brave and strong and very angry, no?”

  “It is more than possible.”

  “One day there will be careful plans. We will be strong then and we will go back. The men will go back. You do not know this country. Sometimes, for many years, for maybe a hundred years, there will be a war between villages. The police and the soldiers do not matter. It is a war. One time when I was little a thing happened between villages. On a day when the men were far away in the fields, the other men from the other village marched in and killed all. Every woman, child and old man. These are serious matters.”

  “Would … Armando and Roberto and Rosario do such a thing?”

  “They would not care to. It is not a good thing. They would like it if we can be strong enough to go by night. But suppose we do not become strong enough? Suppose too much time passes. And there is an impatience. Then they could do the other. But I would not like it. I know many girls who are still there. But by now they have married.”

  “So you will marry and have sons and teach them to hate the people of Pinal Blanco?”

  “I will not marry, Lloyd.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look! Look at the d
ance! Do you see a young man? No. You see old men who have wives. You see little girls and boy children and some widows. The oldest boy child is Pepe. When he has sixteen years, I will have twenty-one. Such a marriage could be made, but when he has sixteen years there will be three girls who have fifteen and sixteen years. Anyway, he is my nephew. No, I shall be Tia. I shall be aunt to everyone, and teach small ones because I did go to school, but not enough, not long enough. One day I would have gone to the universidad, and I would have been a respected teacher.”

  “Suppose your people can kill them and drive them away, and take the village. Then one day could they not come back in strength and do the same?”

  “It is possible.”

  “But does it have meaning?”

  She took the cup from him. “You are un poco borracho, Lloydito. What is meaning? Like an addition of sums. It is a matter of honor. You go to kill because you must, no?”

  “Yes.”

  “You kill and you are once again a man in your heart. And you live as a man for one year and then a friend of the ones you killed kills you. Possible, also?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you say it is of no meaning. But what of that year of walking like a man, Lloydito? Is that of no meaning? Estupido! If it were a month only. Or a week. Or even a moment. Then is not that a moment of truth?”

  “I do not know.”

  “You do not know! I will tell you one thing. What if you have said it in your mind, I will not go and kill them? What if you have said it in your mind it is a matter too difficult and too dangerous. I live. I am lucky. I will forget them and I will live. Then what are you? An animal who hides in a small place. Can you walk on your legs? Can you look at a woman? Can you drink with men and laugh with men? No! There is the look of fear. There is the apology to everyone. Now you are a man because you know what is necessary for you to do and you know you will do it. It is a satisfaction in you. I tell you this thing. You live now because it was that necessary thing in your mind to give you strength. Do you not see strength here, with my people? What would happen to us if we say we have too much fear, we will never go back? Would we fight to live in this difficult place? No. We would all of us, sneak away. To strange villages far away, with doctors and schools and churches, and we would be strangers there. Never could we look into the eyes of another. Our men would be castrated by fear. Our women could take no pride in sons. It is a thing of living. It is a thing of honor. It is a thing to be understood, Lloydito.” She hiccuped and said, “Lo siento mucho, pero creo ’stoy borracha también.”