As for Christina, he just hoped to be able to obtain some information on her. There had been a rumour of a general amnesty, but where she might be he had no idea; it was too much to hope that she might have joined Toni and her brother. And Jack Lisle?
Yet for all the imponderables, he felt tremendously exhilarated as he made his way inland, following the path away from the coast and through the pine forest that he remembered so well, and the sun rose and he began to sweat, and the birds sang above his head, and the breeze soughed through the trees. It was the first time he had rambled through woods by himself since he had been a boy, and this was an incredibly beautiful country. Full of really quite beautiful people. Who had spent the past three years killing each other just as quickly and as viciously as they could.
It was only five miles from the beach he had chosen to Obrigar, and by eleven o’clock he was climbing the first low hills and looking down into the valley beyond. He had brought his binoculars, and now he carefully inspected the plantation. He easily made out the burned shell of the plantation house, and also the ruins of the village, and the overseers’ houses. The factory looked undamaged, although presumably the machinery was rusted up. The fields actually looked worst of all, a tangled mess of weeds and rotted cane stalks. Here was prosperity entirely gone to ruin.
But there were people down there. He refocused the glasses, studied what had been the farm, made out the two figures moving amidst the remains of the once carefully ordered rows of vegetables. Two women, he decided, Spanish women, or certainly Cuban, because of their long black hair. They would obviously be wives of erstwhile Obrigar peons, and therefore of guerrillas. They would be able to help him contact Garcia, as well as perhaps provide him with some fresh food to supplement the ship’s biscuits he carried in his haversack.
He left the shelter of the trees and made his way down the sadly overgrown pathway where once he and Rafael had galloped their horses in front of the coach, and he had had his first glimpse of Christina, and fallen completely in love. He wondered if this would ever again be a roadway, if the plantation house would ever again dominate the next rise, its lights twinkling welcomingly across the valley at night as the Diazes entertained on their lavish scale. Presumably all things were possible.
He reached the path up to the house, and there halted to watch the two women coming towards him. At the sight of the strange man they had stopped, moving insensibly closer together, while he felt the blood prickling beneath his skin as his heart began to pound. Because … he ran forward. ‘Christina?’ he called. ‘Christina!’
For a moment she looked about to turn and flee, then she checked herself, and continued to face him, while her companion, whose face was also vaguely familiar, stepped behind her.
‘Christina,’ he said, stopping in front of her, panting. Because it was Christina, even if for a moment he had doubted his first impression. Here was the tall, slender, beautiful girl he remembered, and had once held briefly in his arms. That had not changed. Her hair was still long, and thick and luxuriant, but there were little wisps of silver peeping through the black, here and there, although he knew she could not be more than twenty-three years old. But it was her face which had for a moment made him doubt his senses. Nothing could alter that splendid bone structure which gave it beauty, but there was a hardness about it he did not recall, and her eyes had a quality of remoteness which at the same time simmered with an angry sadness that he did not recall either. It was like meeting Christina Diaz’s older sister. ‘Christina,’ he said again, having got his breath back, and holding out his arms.
She held out her hand. ‘Joe McGann,’ she said. ‘Do you not know that your country is at war with Spain? They will shoot you.’
He grinned, a sudden overwhelming happiness spreading over him even as he took in her bare, dusty feet, her torn gown, the total absence of make-up or perfume. She might have just returned from harvesting a crop on the Long Island farm, in summer. And she would do that, now. ‘They have to catch me, first,’ he said.
She had a basket of fruit hanging on her arm, and this she now gave to Manuela, who also carried one. Then she fell into place beside him, as they walked up towards the burned house. He had done no more than touch her hand, yet he felt he had conquered the moon. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked.
‘I have come to see General Garcia, and your brother, so that they can co-operate with us when we invade Cuba,’ he explained. ‘But I have also come to find Toni, and you. The last was the most important. I am glad I have accomplished that part of my mission first.’ There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, but he knew he could not. She would have to tell him, in her own good time.
‘Pedro Garcia comes to see me, from time to time,’ she said. ‘But I also know where he can be found, so taking you to him will be a simple matter.’ She made no reference to what he had told her about herself. ‘He tells me that he is expecting Rafael and Toni to return to the south sometime soon, but they have not come yet. I hope they come soon,’ she added. ‘It is very lonely here, and I would like to see them again.’
‘So would I.’
They had arrived before the house. ‘Lumbrera did this,’ Christina said in a toneless voice, as she gazed at the blackened timbers. ‘Amongst other things.’
‘Until Toni bashed his head against a wall,’ Joe reminded her.
‘Toni is a very brave woman,’ Christina agreed. ‘And very strong. But even Lumbrera did not destroy the whole place. We live behind.’ She pushed open the sagging iron gates and led him into the courtyard, and towards the stables. ‘They took the horses,’ she said. ‘When they shot the dogs. But they left the stables.’
‘And you live in the stables.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is the only place. We came here, Manuela and I, when they let us out of the internment camp, because we had nowhere else to go. Besides, here I knew we could live. We found some of the vegetables growing wild, and replanted them. We do very well. We even found some of the hens, nesting in the cane-fields, so we have eggs. We do very well. We found abandoned cooking utensils, and the pump to the house well is undamaged. Would you like me to make you a tortilla for lunch?’
‘That sounds delicious,’ he said.
She opened the door of the stable, and he gazed at the piled straw. The place even smelt clean.
‘I think you have done wonders,’ he said. ‘But now this life is over for you. When I have spoken with Garcia, and made contact with Toni and Rafael, all of us, you and Toni and Manuela, and Rafael as well, if he wishes, will go down to the beach, where my ship will take us off.’
She knelt, Manuela at her side, to take the fruit and eggs from the baskets. ‘Rafael will never leave Cuba until the fighting is over. I do not think Toni will go either.’
‘But you will. You can do nothing here.’
She raised her head, looked him full in the face for the first time. ‘Where will you take us?’
‘Somewhere safe, until the war is over. Long Island, perhaps.’
A strange expression crossed her face, then she said to Manuela. ‘Will you draw some water.’
Manuela bowed and left the stable.
‘Why would you do this?’ Christina asked.
‘Because I do not wish you to stay here,’ he said.
‘This is my home.’
‘It may be again, when the war is over, and it can be rebuilt. But now it cannot be.’ ‘Are you responsible for all the women in Cuba whose homes have been burned? Long Island must be a very big place.’
‘I feel responsible for you, Christina.’ ‘Why? Because I am your sister-in-law? I have a brother to care for me. When he returns.’
He had not meant it to be like this. No doubt it was his own fault for pressing the matter. But seeing her again, after four years, and knowing what had happened to her in the meantime, had driven the very last doubt from his mind. ‘Because I love you,’ he said.
She continued to look at him for several seconds longer, then
she knelt, and began taking the fruit out of the baskets again, laying them on the straw with great care. ‘I cannot believe that,’ she said.
He knelt beside her. ‘Well, you’ll have to, because it’s true. I am asking you to marry me, for the second time.’
Now she would not look at him. ‘Manuela and I have been alone on Obrigar for three weeks,’ she said. ‘Often Garcia and his men come down to see us. These are wild, savage men. Brigands. They are used to taking what they wish when they wish. They have never laid a finger on me. Do you know why?’ ‘Because you are Christina Diaz de Obrigar,’ he said.
‘Because I was a prisoner of Juan Lumbrera,’ she told him. ‘I think you do not know what that means.’
‘I know exactly what it means,’ he said.
‘Then you are acting out of pity. That is no basis for a marriage.’
‘I am acting out of love. Once you refused me, Christina. I don’t know why you did. But so much has happened over the past four years … perhaps I am hoping you will marry me out of pity, now.’
At last her head turned, and there was colour in her cheeks. ‘You? You will never need pity, Joe McGann.’
‘I surely will, if I can’t have you as my wife.’
‘Joe … ’ she stranded her hair through her fingers. ‘I am an old woman.’
‘Not to me.’
‘I have been raped. Many times.’
He caught her arms, brought her against him. ‘I know.’
‘Many times,’ she repeated. ‘I have had things pushed into me.’
‘I know,’ he said.
‘And I will never rest until I see Lumbrera hanging,’ she said.
‘I know.’ He kissed her on the mouth. ‘I will stand at your side.’
*
Pedro Garcia wiped grease from his moustache, and held out his hand. ‘Senor Lieutenant. You see what a good prophet I am? When I did not rob you, that day so long ago, it was so that you would come and fight with us against the Spaniards. And now you have come. It is only a pity that it took you so long.’
‘Well, we Americans are slow to move,’ Joe admitted. ‘But when we do pick up our guns, we don’t put them down again too easy.’
‘Ha ha,’ Garcia shouted. ‘Neither do we, my friend. Neither do we. We, my men and I, have been fighting for fifteen years and more.’
Joe looked at the guerrillas, and thought of Christina’s description of them: wild savage men. Certainly he had never seen such a ragtag collection of ill-armed fighting men. He really could not imagine them being of any use at all, except to hang around the outskirts of the army to rob and murder. But he had his orders. And in any event, he was happy to be here. Christina had accompanied him into the hills, and was standing beside him now. ‘With us at your side, you’ll finally have something to show for it,’ he told Garcia. ‘I’m here to talk business.’ Garcia was quite ready to do that. He summoned rum and coconut water to drink, and food to eat, plantains and fried fish and avocado and oranges, and studied Christina, who sat at Joe’s side. ‘She is your sister-in-law,’ he remarked. ‘It is said she was Lumbrera’s woman.’
‘I will kill the next man who says that,’ Joe said.
Garcia looked at Joe’s muscles; he had taken off his tunic and rolled up his sleeves because of the heat. Then he looked at the revolver hanging from Joe’s belt. Then he shrugged. ‘I am but repeating rumour. How many men will your General Miles bring with him?’
‘A great number,’ Joe said. ‘What he wants to know is where is the best place to land them? There are good landing places in the north, we have been told. One in particular, which is called the Bay of Pigs, has been recommended, because it has a good beach, and sufficient water for our transports to come in close. It is also close to Havana.’
‘If your general wishes to land in the Bay of Pigs he is mad,’ Garcia declared. ‘It is easy to get ashore, but after that there is nowhere to go. Behind the beach there is nothing but swamp. Nor is it even close to Havana, really. While it is very far from the mountains, which is where my people are. Your men will die of fever, and the Spaniards will shoot down the survivors when they come through the swamp.’
‘Then where would you suggest?’ Joe asked.
‘Here in the south. Why do you not come ashore at Daiquiri? There is deep water close in, and a port. There is only a small Spanish garrison. You can drive them away with shells from your ships. Then there are two good ports to either side. To the east is Guantanamo; there is a deep bay, much water, good hills for defence, and again, a small garrison. To the west there is Santiago de Cuba.’
‘Which is well defended, and has a strong garrison,’ Joe pointed out.
‘Not strong enough, if you attack it from both the sea and the land at the same time. It relies on its outer forts, on the land side, those are San Juan and El Caney. Carry those, and the city is at your mercy. What is more, there is a railroad from Daiquiri to Santiago, which passes through El Caney. This will enable you to move your men forward quickly. Once you have seized Daiquiri.’
Joe looked at Christina.
‘He is right about the railroad,’ she said. ‘But El Caney is not such a strong fort. I have seen it.’
‘I will report what you have said to my superiors,’ Joe told Garcia. ‘Now, you understand that you must make no move until you hear from us again.’
‘When will that be?’ Garcia wanted to know.
‘As soon as possible. I do not know if our generals will agree with your recommendation. They believe, as I do, that our objective must be Havana, if we are to force the Spaniards to make peace.’
‘Capture Santiago,’ Garcia said, ‘and you have the entire south, with several good ports at which to land your men. Then you can advance on Havana at your leisure. It will be easy.’
Once again Joe looked at Christina.
‘I think he is right,’ she said. ‘That was Marti’s original plan, but he was killed before he could carry it out.’
‘And how many men will you put in the field when we land?’ Joe asked Garcia.
The guerrilla general grinned. ‘That depends where you land, senor. But down here, there will be more than a thousand.’
Joe wondered if he could believe that. ‘I will put your recommendation before my superiors,’ he said again. ‘And they will send you word what we are intending to do. Now tell me where my sister is.’
‘She and her husband are still in the north,’ Garcia said. ‘They believe that you are going to attack Havana from the sea, and take it by storm with your ships. They wish to be there when this happens. If you do this thing, you are crazy. The Spaniards will sink your ships, and not a man will get ashore.’
Joe grinned. ‘We are not crazy, my friend. I would like to get word to my sister, to return here to the south, and join me. Can you do this for me?’
‘I can send a messenger,’ Garcia agreed. ‘How many days?’
‘Two, three days.’
‘And how many days will it take my sister to reach here?’
Garcia shrugged. ‘Two, three days. If she comes.’
Joe considered. Call it a week, he thought. As Christina had been able to guide him to the insurgent camp far quicker than he had anticipated, he had actually been ashore only twenty-four hours. Cotter would not make his first run in to the coast for another five days. That was one day short … but he would come back again two days later. Was he justified in waiting those two extra days for his sister? He would accomplish nothing by hurrying back immediately; Sampson was still only just beginning his bombardment of San Juan, he estimated, and would not return to Cuba for several days yet. The only question was whether he was endangering his ship. But Cotter was a sensible fellow, who would remain out of trouble, and it would only mean one extra visit to the beach.
Besides, he wanted to stay, how he wanted to stay, and not merely for Toni’s sake.
‘Can you send a messenger, immediately?’ he asked.
‘You will wait?’
Joe looked at Christina. ‘I will return to Obrigar,’ he said, ‘and wait a week longer.’
*
He followed her through the long grass, and down the hill, watching her hips moving beneath the thin gown which was all she wore, as he now knew. The wind rippled through her hair, and there was splendid vigour in her movements. There always had been, however successfully she had disguised them beneath the necessary languor of an effete young aristocrat. And now … he wasn’t sure himself what had happened. He had been there, and she had yielded to him. He had been unsure that she would want to, after what had happened to her, and he was still not sure that she had wanted to. But she had recognised how badly he had wanted her, and there had been no reason not to accommodate him, now. So he had enjoyed all of that beauty, as he had dreamed of doing for so long, lying on the straw which was all the bed she now possessed.
Then he had thought he was adding one more outrage to all she had suffered. But it was difficult to connect suffering with this remarkable young woman. When he had climaxed, she had said, ‘You are very kind, very gentle, for so big a man.’
He had not known if he dared pursue the matter of her leaving with him. It had seemed better to wait for the arrival of Toni, and use her as a powerful argument on his side — as he did not doubt she would be. But then, he did not even know if he had made any progress with his suit. She had given herself to him without emotion, with no visible sign even of enjoyment, certainly with no promise attached. And the fact of his having possessed her could mean nothing to a woman who had been possessed by so many others.
In fact, he knew in his heart that he was not even sure if he wanted a promise. If his love had come bubbling to the surface on seeing her again, he still did not know if he could, or should, bind himself to a woman who might well have lost all ability to feel, or love. He wanted more than just marriage. He wanted children, to perpetuate the McGann line. And he wanted die companionship of a beautiful woman — not merely the possession of a beautiful shell. It was the thought that he might be able to reach inside that shell, bring life back to those eyes, make her smile again, make her love, make her understand that he did not care what had happened to her, that was so tantalising. Because he did not care, he told himself over and over again, and hated himself when, as now, he watched her walking in front of him, and kept envisioning other men with their hands on those hips, holding them apart to force their way between. The worst of all was the realisation that the imagery titillated him as much it angered and horrified him.
Wind of Destiny Page 31
