Renegade 29

by Lou Cameron

  “Damn it, it’s siesta time. I thought nobody would be about.”

  “A reasonable assumption, I am sure. But do not let me disturb you. I shall be in the main salon should you need me, or should that trés attractive nanny need a new partner.”

  She laughed despite herself and said, “Wait. I’d better explain. What you just saw was a scientific experiment, not perversion on my part, if that’s what you were thinking.” Gaston smiled politely and asked, “Why should such a thought have crossed my mind? It was not you in the cage just now, hein? As a matter of fact I did once meet a woman who made love to her pet jaguar. Her whole family was trés nuts, too. It did not work out so well. The could never have children, and I suspect in the end it ate her. In the literal rather than romantique sense, I mean.”

  “Oh, my God, I hope you’re just joshing!”

  “Mais non, I never joke about my favorite subject, sex. As for bestiality, there may be times and places when being an animal lover, with enthusiasm, is the lesser of two evils. I’m sure you saw what we Legionaires were expected to sleep with in North Africa, if you were there long enough to learn Berber, but alas the camels were as ugly and the Bedu guarded their sheep more carefully than they did their daughters, so I know little of the subject.”

  He turned to go back to the house. She fell in step beside him and said, “You’re a terrible man and I’m not sure I’d trust you with a sheep, either! But I still want to explain. As you know, goats are usually killed as prey by jaguars.”

  “Oui, obviously that one was not hungry just now. Training jungle cats to make love to livestock instead of eating it shows some promise, but frankly I don’t think it’s a practique solution to the problem.”

  “Heavens, that’s not why I’m trying to teach Tigre to mate with his usual prey. It’s an experiment in instinctual modification. You see, unlike our own somewhat imaginative species, it never occurs to lower animals, under ordinary circumstances, to mate with anything but their own kind.”

  “Eh bien, any farm boy can tell you that. Pigs have to be persuaded with considerable force, even when the farm boy is good looking.”

  By this time they were back inside. So Prunella asked if he’d like his glass freshened as she built herself her own heroic highball. He held out his glass and she freshened it indeed, with straight white rum. He noticed she didn’t use much mixer, either. She led him over to the sofa. They sat down and she said, “As I was saying, left to themselves, lower animals don’t, well, commit bestiality, if we define bestiality as two creatures of opposite sex but different species … ah …”

  “Fucking is the word in English, non?”

  She almost spilled her drink but recovered her calm, if now less severe, expression. He liked the way she’d let her hair down, too. Her soft salt and pepper waves framed her aristocratic if somewhat over-the-hill bone structure nicely. She said, “Very well, as long as you remember this is a scientific discussion, fucking is the most sensible word for it. Knowing how some people feel about the subject, more so here in a Catholic country where bestiality’s unheard of—”

  “You are wrong,” Gaston cut in flatly, adding, “If the practice was not so common, the church would not have made so many trés fatigue rules against it. You forget Mexico is mostly a rural society. A boy, or, merde, a girl who watches animals breeding all the time and never feels any curious stirrings is, at best, trés unimaginative, and if they then find nothing better to do about it but play with themselves—another vile sin according to the church—they are stupid as well, non?”

  “Oh, Gaston, what are you saying?”

  “That any farm boy who says he has never at least tried it with a trés friendly pet in heat is a liar, of course.”

  “You seem to know a lot about the subject. Have you ever …?”

  “I am a city boy. Besides, I never kiss and tell. However, speaking as a city boy who once worked in a trés exclusive Paris hotel, I can tell you it’s an accepted fact, in hotel circles, that any chic woman of the world, traveling alone with a brace of large dogs, say Russian wolfhounds, is always very fond of them. It is the two male dogs that gives the show away. From my observations at peepholes meant to catch more sinister crimes in progress, one observes one dog, alone, is not enough to satisfy the human female appetite. Dogs are worse than men when it comes to simply stopping once they come.”

  She blushed deeply and said, “I’m not sure this scientific conversation is as clinical as it should be. I know domestic pets can be trained to do almost anything for their masters. That is, I mean I’ve read the literature on the subject. I didn’t mean I knew … Oh, dear, I knew nobody else would understand my work!”

  Gaston sipped his drink, shrugged, and said, “I do not find it difficult to understand, m’selle. Everyone is trés curious about sex. I once paid ten pesos to watch a double-jointed homosexual, or perhaps autosexual is the better term, do something trés disgusting to himself on a cantina bar. I assure you I felt no desire to join him there!” He took another sip, chuckled to himself, and added, “Mais of course, once I got home, and nobody was looking … But getting back to your own scientific interests, ah, Prunella mon petite, would it help you stop blushing if I confessed I have, on a very few occasions, made the zig zig with a friendly creature who although unable to tell me how much it liked it, nevertheless seemed to enjoy the novelty, too?”

  “My God, how could you confess such a thing to a strange woman?”

  “If you’d ever seen my first wife, you’d agree a llama is prettier. I did not say I made a regular habit of the vile practice. I have never worked as a sheep herder. By the way, did you know sheep dogs do it, too? There’s an example of a beast of prey and an herbivore mating willingly, non? Of course, canines are more lusty than felines. Perhaps if you let your jaguar at that goat in the dark—”

  “I tried that. It ate the goat,” she cut in, adding with a sigh, “I know big cats are driven more by instinct than dogs. I have a Great Dane out back who seems willing to mate with goats, pigs, tapirs, even … never mind. I’m interested in species that, as you say, are more driven by instinct.”

  “I knew a girl one time who had a pet rabbit that kept fucking her cat every time it was in heat. We used to watch. Fifi said it made her trés hot to watch. Does it excite you sexually to watch other creatures fucking, Prunella?”

  “Of course not. I’m a scientist, not a sex maniac,” she protested. Then she drained her glass, put it down, and pulled Gaston up after her, saying, “Let’s go up to my lab. I want to show you something.” He went with her, resisting the impulse to ask if she had bed bugs indulging in sex with spiders under glass. The conversation had stimulated him a bit as well, and for a woman her age Prunella’s derriere certainly moved nicely under that thin smock. He wondered what she had on under it.

  Prunella Parsons had nothing on under her smock. As soon as she had Gaston alone behind a locked door she peeled it off, exposing a surprisingly youthful figure, when one considered how gray her hair was, all ova. Gaston naturally reached fa his own buttons as he asked to what he owed this great honor.

  She said, “I’ve been looking for someone like you to help me in my work. I’ve only one pair of hands and the creatures can be so stubborn. But let’s talk about it later, after we get this silly sexual tension between us out of the way!”

  So Gaston took her in his own naked arms, lowered her to the lab’s convenient leather chesterfield, and put his naked virile member right where they both wanted it. As he entered her, Prunella gasped, “Jesus! You seem to be a lot taller than you look!”

  “Merci. How would you say I stack up, say next to your jaguar? I never got to ask that other girl.”

  She laughed as she wrapped her long legs around his skinny hips and began to bump and grind, saying, “I wouldn’t know yet. I’ve been afraid to try, although that certainly would be a test of, ah, instinct versus conditioning. But now that I have you to help me, if you’re really as understanding as you say, w
ould you, could you, after everyone else is in bed tonight, come out to the cages with me?”

  He kissed her gallantly and said, “Why not, if I get to fuck the pretty nanny goat as well?”

  *

  Despite the sudden thaw, their hostess got to dine alone at eight that evening anyway, whether she wanted to or not, because a messenger arrived at five, or just about the time the soldiers of fortune were putting their pants back on, to tell them General Ramos was ready to see them now. So they told their new girlfriends to be faithful till they got back and followed the mestizo messenger back toward the main plaza. He was the first member of the Cuba Libre invasion force they’d seen that looked anything like a Cuban. But when Gaston commented on this, the darker-skinned hombre explained that like them he was simply a soldier of fortune, in his case from Panama. They didn’t ask him much more. He obviously had no idea what was going on around here either.

  General Ramos received them graciously on the veranda of the house he’d taken over from its original Mexican owners. The General was a portly middle-aged Creole seated in a big peacock chair of wickerwork. He was wearing a uniform that would have looked gaudy on a hotel doorman back in the States. The dame seated next to him in a less imposing chair was pretty spectacular, too. The General introduced her as his adelita, Señorita Vegas y Montez. She smiled graciously enough, but she looked as if she thought her shit didn’t stink.

  Other than that, the view down the front of her low-cut gown wasn’t bad. Like the General she was almost pure white, albeit that rather pleasing shade of peach girls seemed to come in in the south of Spain. The general indicated comfortable enough but much more humble wicker chairs across the low coffee table he and his mistress were enthroned behind. There was nothing on it to eat or drink. Captain Gringo and Gaston sat down anyway.

  General Ramos said, “Bueno. I like to get to know my officers a few at a time, in private man-to-man conversations. Naturally I know all about you two. Your records are most impressive. So I would like you to tell me, frankly, what you think of my army, so far.”

  For once Gaston had nothing to say. He seemed more interested in the yummy-looking dame across the table from them. So Captain Gringo said, “We haven’t seen very much of an army, yet, sir. But I do have a problem with the Maxim you issued me. It won’t shoot.”

  “Es verdad? Surely you can fix it, no? You were an ordinance officer in the U.S. Army before your, ah, misunderstanding with your superior, right?”

  “I know how to repair weapons, sir. But not without spare parts. My machine gun’s not broken. They shipped it missing its arming rod. Perhaps one of the other heavy weapons sections has a spare.”

  “What other heavy weapons section?” The general asked, adding, “You were issued the only machine gun that’s arrived so far, and if it won’t work…”

  “We’re in trouble.” Captain Gringo nodded. The he frowned mid said, “They told us you planned a full-scale landing at the Bay of Pigs, sir. No offense, but one machine gun doth not a full-scale anything make, even when it’s in shape to fire! Back home the current wisdom holds there should be at least two automatic weapons to cover every battalion front. If it was up to me there’d be two to a company.”

  General Ramos brushed a fly from his face and said, “You are not back home. The Spanish defenders probably won’t have any machine guns, and in any case we shall surely have a few more arriving any time now. In God’s truth our, ah, backers have been a bit slow in delivering the supplies they promised us. But it is no problem. Until I have this army of liberation up to full strength I do not intend to budge from here. Have you any other comments to make, Captain Gringo?”

  The tall American knew better. But what the hell, the slob had asked, so he nodded and said, “Yessir. As I said, we haven’t seen much yet. But I couldn’t help getting the impression you have an awful lot of chiefs and I don’t see any Indians.”

  The general frowned and said he didn’t understand. Captain Gringo could see that. But he still said, “You’ve recruited soldiers of fortune from all over Latin America. Most of us have taken up the trade because we have technical skills your average native soldado doesn’t have. So the guys like us will expect to serve as officers or at the very least noncommissioned technical sergeants. None of us seem to be drawing a private’s pay.”

  “That is true. But make your point, Captain Gringo.”

  “Isn’t it obvious, sir? For every corporal in every army, and you’re not about to get a soldier of fortune to serve as a corporal, there’s supposed to be a corporal’s squad of at least eight privates. Every second lieutenant is supposed to lead at least a twenty-four-man platoon, and every captain a minimum of seventy-two combat soldiers along with his orderly room staff and so forth.”

  “I know all that, son. Hell, I am a general!”

  “I was sure you’d have heard it somewhere, General. So, okay, where are the troops to follow all us officers and senior NCOs?”

  Ramos looked pained and explained, “We have been experiencing some difficulty in recruiting common soldados. Governor Weyler’s harsh methods have apparently impressed the lower-class Cubanos with less to gain and little understanding of politics. To even spell Libertad one must know how to read and write, no? But do not worry, mice we establish our beachhead and run up the new Cuban banner, no doubt the local populace will rally to our cause and we can arm all the common soldiers we need on the spot.”

  That was too stupid to even argue about. So Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “Let’s talk about here and now, then, sir. I couldn’t help but notice your recruits here on the mainland have been a little high-handed as far as the local populace goes. If you’re not planning on leaving soon, like say tonight, it might be a good idea to ease up on the Mexican townspeople. They’d see little point in a Cuban occupation even if they could be sure their chickens, pigs and women were going to be treated with respect and …” But the general cut him short with a weary wave of his hand and said, “You do not have to tell me some of the roughnecks we’ve recruited have been acting rough, Captain Gringo. I have done my utmost to make them behave like gentlemen. But this is war, and in wartime such things must be expected, no?”

  “Maybe, General. But Mexico hasn’t declared war on anybody and, just between us girls, Mexicans are tough fighting men when you push them into it. I try not to. The ones here in Yucatan are mostly pure Indian with a thin veneer of Spanish Catholic culture. That can be a pretty explosive mixture.”

  General Ramos chuckled and asked, “Are you trying to explain the customs of Spanish Catholics to me, Captain Gringo?”

  “Somebody has to, sir. You hidalgos of pure Spanish blood seem to have more trouble understanding your campesinos than Texans, and you should see Laredo on a Saturday night! Spaniards, like Anglos, are Europeans at heart. So despite the flamenco singing and other somewhat different notions, you share the white European’s caste system and serene indifference to what the servants are talking about in the kitchen. Knocking around down here as a guerrilla leader I’ve gotten to look behind the scenery. So I feel free to tell you half the comic opera revolutions could be avoided if the ruling classes bothered to consider the feelings of the ruled.”

  General Ramos frowned and said, “They never told us you were a follower of that strange German Jew, Karl Marx!”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “I’m not. I’ve read his so-called manifesto and I think he’s never talked to his servants either. I’m not accusing your class of deliberate wrong-doing, sir. I know many a paternalistic Hispanic landlord treats his people a lot nicer than some of the guys running cotton mills or coal mines back where I come from. I just wish someone would pay attention to the fact that the rulers and the ruled down here might as well have come from different worlds. Come to think of it, they did. A handful of Europeans arrived four hundred years or so ago, licked the native rulers, and told the survivors to put on pants and show up for mass the following Sunday or else. They did, and so you
r kind’s assumed ever since that you turned them into Spanish peasants. You didn’t. You made a mess of American Indians to outwardly conform to your own idea of civilization. But they don’t think like you and you don’t think like them. So this afternoon a skinny guy jumped out of a cactus hedge like a wild Indian and had to be treated as one. If this was a little European town the peasants would know they just had to take a certain amount of abuse from an occupation force. They’ve had lots of practice in the past few thousand years. These Mexicans you’re letting your guys walk over haven’t. They’ve only been peasants a little while, and they still think a warrior’s supposed to fight back when raiders from another tribe mess with their kith and kin!”

  General Ramos yawned. His adelita was getting bored, too. So the General took out his watch, sighed, and said, “This is all most interesting, Captain Gringo. But I have other officers to interview. Could we, ah, stick to practical matters? It is not my task to change the customs of unwashed Mexicans. We shall soon be off to liberate my own country and, meanwhile, we, not they, have all the guns.”

  “If we could get them to shoot,” sighed Captain Gringo.

  Gaston yawned, too, but suddenly chimed in, “We shall no doubt improvise a new arming rod for my young friend’s Maxim, Mon General. I know where we can get all the iron bars we might need. Mais before we take leave of you and your enchanting companion, may I ask what the latest reports on the Mexican Rurales may happen to be?”

  “Rurales? What Rurales? Nobody has said anything to me about Los Rurales.” Ramos frowned.

  Gaston said, “No doubt they did not wish to annoy you with petty details, Mon General. But we were told, earlier, some friendly local natives reported the species lurking in the forest just outside of town.”