You’ll understand that it was absolutely essential that Tsiu should not be allowed to settle down for a moment. We fanned out and advanced across the plain. We had four torches between us. They were good enough within friendly walls, but in a blank outdoors their beams were just pool after pool of dust and stones and waving grass. They merely limited our fantastic world.
Timoteo managed to contact reality. His torch picked up a long tail, held straight and gripping the ground. Tsiu had crouched down and was about to get to business. Timoteo cautiously approached, offering a piece of prime liver that he had grabbed from the refrigerator as we dashed out. Tsiu was interested. There was no doubt that he was interested. We stood still, waiting for our daily life to return.
Tsiu let his master come near enough to reach out a hand. Then he skipped out of the circle of light with a little kittenish wriggle and dance, and the nation’s most precious possession still in his mouth, saying as plainly as grace and muscle could put it: what I have stolen, I have stolen.
The captain called us together to give a few swift orders, in a hoarse voice which kept choking on the word desecration. It was his duty to speak, and by speech he was able to relieve himself and us. He detailed the two troopers and the sergeant to keep Tsiu on the move, while the rest of us went back to the fonda for weapons. Action restored us to sanity. I could even feel sorry for Tsiu, but he should not have taken upon himself the mischievousness of the immortals.
The captain chose two rifles for the troopers and one for himself. He murmured savagely that the only army equipment his sergeant could understand was a typewriter. He was whispering to himself all the time. Myself, I borrowed a .45 automatic—in an experienced fist there’s no more accurate weapon at close quarters—and Timoteo stuffed his pockets with fresh fish.
When we returned to the distant flicker of the torches, we found that the soldiery had successfully prevented Tsiu from breaking off the engagement. I think he didn’t want to. This was a new and entertaining game, so he kept bobbing about just at the extreme range of vision.
At last the captain got him in the full, fair light of the sergeant’s torch, and let him have it. Tsiu sacrificed one of his nine lives then and there, and the bullet kicked up a spurt of dust exactly where he had been standing when the captain squeezed the trigger. He streaked for the Southern Cross with nothing in his mouth, and we all ran forward to recover our trust. The beams of the torches were wavering, of course, all over the sky and then over segments of savanna that were quite indistinguishable one from the other, and we arrived at six different positions.
The captain—as is, after all, the right of captains—insisted that his position was correct; so we joined him and began to search. The sergeant, who should have pinpointed the right spot, had brandished his torch in excitement, and then directed it heaven knows where. Timoteo was the only one of us who had any sense. As soon as he saw that some of the party were wandering off, eyes on the ground, quarter of a mile of nothingness from the proper area, he sat down where he was, right or wrong, and told us whenever we got impossibly far away from him.
We went over that ground for two frantic hours. I must have picked up and put down at least fifty stones, and when the battery began to run low I tried to pick up one of my own footprints. The only landmark was a little ditch or hollow that we all agreed was very near the right spot; but when the sergeant found a similar hollow two hundred yards away, and Timoteo was sitting right between the two, we were no longer sure which was the original.
Outside our own circle Tsiu was roaming about in one of his own. Every now and then, plaintively, as much as to say that he would like to call it all off and go home, he sung out:
‘Morow!’
And his master would answer invitingly:
‘Tsiu! Tsiu! Tsiu!’
At last Timoteo suggested that Tsiu was in the mood—if we all lay down and stayed quiet—to come back and find the Possession for us.
Patience was a lot to ask of desperate men, for we had little time. Dawn was not far away, and the special train from the capital would arrive soon after the sun. The captain, exhausted, lay down by my side. He asked me what I proposed to do in case we should not recover anything presentable. I replied that I was going to hire at any price one of the cars that would be waiting for the guests, and drive straight for the nearest frontier. I meant it, too. Americans have a lamentable habit of blaming the first available foreigner for anything that goes wrong.
His voice moaned in the darkness:
‘What can you be thinking of us?’
I said heartily that it might have happened anywhere, and then, more cautiously, that there was a certain element of comedy of which only our late and revered leader could be trusted to appreciate the full flavour—though possibly he would appreciate it more if the object of our search had belonged to someone else.
‘That is unjust!’ answered the captain severely, and stopped for thought.
‘Unjust!’ he exclaimed. ‘My great-uncle was very much a man! My great-uncle, if he could but see us from purgatory’—the captain began to make peculiar noises into a tuft of grass, and I feared I should never reach that frontier—‘if he could see us at grips upon the empty savanna with a cat, if he could read the agony in our hearts, my great-uncle would … he would … O Amigo mio, in all hell there never would have been heard such a shout of laughter!’
And the captain imitated it upon earth. Well, well, they all have a lot of Indian blood.
After that we lay still for about half an hour. The captain moved off somewhere along the line, and I was alone, with one of the two hollows to my immediate front. We formed more or less of a semi-circle, Timoteo being out on the left wing. The sky hadn’t noticeably got any lighter, but I realized that at last I could distinguish, ten yards away, one piece of blackness from another piece of blackness.
Tsiu, too, lay still, wondering what we were up to. Occasionally he asked Morow? to let us know he was still about and ready to join the party if invited for any really practical purpose. Timoteo would answer Tsiu! Tsiu! Tsiu! but he didn’t use his fish—for we wanted Tsiu, I remind you, to show us what he had done with the most precious possession of the nation. On the other hand he could not be allowed to pick it up. Any determined move of his was certain to draw fire.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
‘My God, look out!’ yelled Timoteo. ‘I am over here. Me, Timoteo!’
BANG!
I felt sure that the last shot was the captain’s. There was a certain drill-book deliberation about it. It was an exhibition of the right way to shoot cats in darkness. I don’t know how near the bullet went to Tsiu, but it continued through the grass about one foot from my ear. I took refuge in the ditch, calling Tsiu, Tsiu! very loudly to show that I was on the move.
After a bit something told me—as the big-game hunters say—that I was being stalked. The two troopers were in no mood for trifling. They didn’t care whether they killed or were killed. If the essential part were not in fit condition for the family ceremony, the captain and the sergeant would pass the blame downwards through the usual channels, and the troopers, I expect, were praying that half the party, including themselves, would be safe in hospital. So before they started to shoot imaginary cats in my hollow I chucked my hat up the bank and over as far as I could. Sure enough the results were startling.
As soon as I heard them reloading with fresh clips, I cleared out to the left wing, well behind the present battle front. When I had settled down, I saw Tsiu’s head peering out from behind a tuft of grass. I was very careful. I had had enough of irresponsible firing. I rested my elbows fairly on the ground, and clasped my right wrist in my left hand. I could just see the foresight of the automatic, and I took my time.
BANG!
Old Timoteo jumped up cursing. I had shot the heel off his boot at seven yards.
Then we all heard the cat purring and growling behind us. As we turned round, the names addressed to him and his mother showed that we had taken up a pret
ty straight line. Unconscious self-preservation, I suppose.
‘Don’t shoot!’ Timoteo appealed. ‘I’ll get him! I’ll get him!’
And he crawled forward, murmuring Tsiu, Tsiu, Tsiu!
It was a gallant deed. He was fond of that cat. Up to now he had accepted insistent necessity, but at last there was a chance of recovering the stolen goods without slaughtering the thief.
Tsiu still didn’t understand that this was a serious crisis. He laughed. At least that’s the only way I can explain a soft, merry sound like eeyo, eeyo. Then he jumped into the air with the nation’s most precious possession in his mouth.
Timoteo had the sense to fall flat. The army were all round and all over the target. I got a clear shot and heard the bullet strike—though I’m never admitting that officially, mind you. Up to then Tsiu hadn’t realized that these noisy flying things were intended to hit him. People didn’t shoot when he stole; they said Tsiu, Tsiu. You never saw such a surprised cat in your life. He bolted in the general direction of the railway. I wouldn’t put it past him to think of boarding the first familiar train that came along.
We picked up what Tsiu had left us. It was in fairly good condition, except that it had a bullet-hole through the middle. It also needed a wash.
There was much to do before that special train arrived, and the light was already grey as we hurried back to the fonda. The mestiza cook and her maids were weeping and praying in the yard. The captain shoved the Possession under his tunic, and passionately explained to them that for the greater glory of the nation’s army, so dear to the heart of their late and revered leader, he had employed, while others rested, the idle hours of the night in giving his men some battle practice. You couldn’t have failed to believe him. Stern duty and military science shone through every word.
Timoteo again became the solid functionary. He told the captain to leave all arrangements to him, and surreptitiously took over the essential object. Then he provided the cavalry with rooms, clothes brushes, petrol, hot water and polishes, and he and I retired to my bedroom. He was solemnity itself, just as if he’d been trained as an undertaker.
Manzanares station was beginning to fill with limousines, and the drivers were flicking the dust of the rough tracks off the coachwork and examining their springs. Timoteo summoned two of his underlings, and called to them from the window to cut the flowers off every plant in the garden and every creeper in the patio, and to pile the lot in the dining-room. Meanwhile, with only forty minutes to go, we were working desperately on the Possession. Tsiu had left some dainty marks along the outer edges, but they might have been caused by anything, and a little crushed ice did wonders. The bullet-hole, however, was a nightmare problem. We couldn’t sew it up in case the stitches were noticed. So at last we tried carpentry. We took the hospital’s box to pieces, made it two inches narrower and put it together again, so that it fitted tightly round the contents. The lips of that unfortunate wound disappeared in the crush.
Timoteo propped up two legs of a table in the dining-room, covered it with a beautiful lace cloth and tacked on a batten to prevent the box slipping down the slope. While I dealt with the ice and the flowers, he stuck up candles and all the religious emblems that he could find in the servants’ bedrooms. We heard the train in the distance, and he just had time to leap into his best uniform and lumber over to the station like a dignified butler a bit late with the drinks.
I stayed on guard, for the military were still before their mirrors. It was as well that I did, for who should drop in (through the window) but our old friend Tsiu? He was none the worse for his night’s adventure, and explained to me, with a great show of affection, that he was hungry. I shoved him though the service hatch and locked it.
The cortège of generals, family friends, politicians and dear old boys from the Jockey Club was already at the fonda’s front door, when the cavalry, damning and blasting away, dashed into the dining-room. They had taken the big black cloaks off their saddles, and put them on. You could see just enough pale blue and gold underneath, but not too much. The captain drew his sword, took a swipe at the nearest trooper with it, and then, as the dining room was thrown open, fell into an attitude of profound mourning.
I skipped out by the door into the kitchen, and watched through the glass panel. The old boys were immensely impressed by the reverence and foresight of Timoteo and the glorious army.
‘Que espectáculo dignísimo! Que hermoso! Que noble!’ they exclaimed, and all began to file past.
The guard of honour stood motionless. They were putting on a very good show indeed for scratch troops from provincial barracks, and they knew it. I felt that great-uncle, if he had stopped laughing, would approve.
The Jockey Club had provided a handsome little chest of gold and mahogany. When the time came for the transfer, Timoteo, who was respectfully hovering in the foreground and was accepted without question (since, as you’ve gathered, official organization had been rather overlooked) as master of ceremonies, took the initiative, and tried to pop the hospital box, all complete, into the chest.
They weren’t having any. There was an aged cousin who had been detailed for that job. He leaned his ebony stick against the table, the starch of his linen creaking and scraping at every movement, and fluttered his hands. At the last moment he didn’t like the actual touch, and beckoned to Timoteo to act as his proxy.
Timoteo used the most firm and solemn care, but as soon as he laid the heart in its permanent home, it expanded a little. The captain, watching out of his downcast eyes, jumped in front of the table and saluted, and his chaps presented arms. It was an inspiration. All those cloaks, swirling in bull-ring veronicas, distracted attention just long enough for Timoteo to slap the lid on—but I’d seen the antique cousin adjusting his glasses as if he couldn’t believe his eyes; and the reporter from the Noticias de la Tarde, who was out at the side of the room and hadn’t got the captain between him and the table, started a little drawing in his notebook to refresh his memory. There may have been others who saw. I don’t think there were. But those two were the biggest gossips in the capital.
Timoteo and the captain both received minor decorations from the President of the Republic: For Devotion to the National Honour. They aren’t likely to mention the refrigerator door. And as for me, who am I that I should deny the assassination of Covadillas? Especially since I’m almost certain the bullet through his heart was mine.
3
Letter to a Sister
DEAREST CONCHITA,
You will have had my telegram that I am in Lima. I could not have stayed another day on that ship. I had to leave it.
Do not let Mama be worried. As we all told her, it is perfectly correct in these days for an unmarried woman to travel alone. No one showed me the slightest disrespect.
I am quite well, and I am not in love—at least not in the usual sense. I am remaining here for a few days before I continue my journey up the coast to join Papa in Panama. I have of course sent a telegram to him, too. What has happened is nearly unbelievable.
You remember the untidy foreigner who came on board singing at Valparaiso when you were saying good-bye to me, and saluted us all with such exaggerated politeness that we thought he must be drunk. He and I turned out to be the only passengers. He was travelling on the Naarden only as far as Peru, so I had no reason to discourage him. Besides, there was no one else to talk to.
The German captain and his officers were appallingly formal. I would not like to marry a German; it would be difficult to call him by his Christian name. And the officers would stare at my face, which I hate. I can always tell what people are like by the way they look at me. Those who are truly kind forget all about my disfigurement after the first few minutes. I do not mean that they try to forget. They really do. Are you surprised at my mentioning what we never speak of?
The tall foreigner was an Englishman, and of tradition! Our grandfathers always said they were mad, but people of our generation have found them most dull and re
spectable. Now I know what our grandfathers meant.
His name was unpronounceable. It was written Harborough-Jones. He said that he was once a major in the Horse Guards of the Queen of England, but that he found it ridiculous to use the title of rank while travelling in jams and jellies.
Jams and jellies! You would expect them to be sold by a fat Greek from Argentina, not a major in an aristocratic regiment! I could not tell what he really was, and it would have been useless to press him for an answer. He amused himself by making the wildest fantasies sound like truth. Even when sober, his imagination was out of control.
He spoke Spanish with a queer, clipped accent and tremendous gusto. I think our language and our Latin-American civilisation intoxicated him as much as the glass which was too frequently in his hand. He told me that when he spoke English he was quite a different person and of the utmost propriety.
‘I have no sympathy for Major Francis Harborough-Jones,’ he said. ‘The man I like is Don Francisco Jones y Harborough.’
You will see that he had the mixture of nobility and craziness which we all adore. He behaved to me at once as if I were a daughter from whom he had long been absent. Mama will think that an impertinence. But I liked it. I am so shy with strangers. With him I could be gay as I only dare to be at home. He made me feel completely irresponsible, as if nothing in life mattered but to enjoy it. I forgot my loneliness and that doctors could not help me without leaving a scar as hideous as what they removed. If he had been twenty years younger I should have fallen desperately in love.
On the last evening before the ship reached Lima, where Don Francisco was to disembark, we were sitting together as usual on deck. I will give you his own words as exactly as I can remember them, and you must fancy that you are listening to a play. My own deep voice you can imagine; his was always loud and kind and laughing. Think of Papa telling us stories in bed, and how there was nothing we could believe but his affection.
‘I should like to give a party tomorrow in the ship’s lounge,’ he said, ‘if I can get the permission of the other passenger and the purser.’
Capricorn and Cancer Page 5
