“Am I beautiful?” she asked softly.
I looked at her in surprise. Her dark-green eyes were smiling at me. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
“Am I beautiful?”
I nodded. “Very beautiful.”
She closed her eyes slowly. “Was I—was I all right?”
“You were wonderful,” I answered quietly. And she was.
“I was afraid at first,” she whispered. “Not for myself, but for you. So many things could go wrong. I heard such stories. You know. How painful it could be, how a girl could spoil everything for her husband. I wanted to be perfect for you. I wanted everything to be right.”
“It was.”
Beatriz opened her eyes and looked at me. “Did you mean it? What you said last night?” Then she stopped for a moment and added quickly, “No, you don’t have to answer. It’s not fair of me. I don’t want you to feel you must lie to me.”
“I usually don’t answer such personal questions.” I smiled at her. “But I’d like to answer that one.”
She looked at me, her eyes wide.
“I meant what I said last night. I love you.”
Beatriz smiled slowly and closed her eyes again. “I love you,” she said, reaching out and touching me with her hand. With her eyes still closed, she bent down and kissed me.
Then she opened her eyes and looked up at me, her lips still against me. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, “so hard and strong. I never dreamed it would always be like this.”
I began to laugh. But I was ready to kill myself rather than disillusion her.
***
“That’s it,” I said, putting the last flower into place and tamping the earth down around it. I straightened up and looked at Beatriz.
She stood there leaning against the fence, then came over and kissed me. “The next time I will help. This time I understood. You had to do it by yourself.”
“I should have done it a long time ago.”
“You could not help it, you were not home.” She went over and knelt beside my sister’s grave. “So young,” she said softly, “only thirteen. How did she die?”
I stared at her. “The bandoleros came down from the mountains,” I said tightly. “They killed her, and my mother, and La Perla, our cook.”
“Your father wasn’t here?”
I shook my head. “There used to be a village a dozen miles from here. He was there.”
“And you?”
“I was hiding in the cellar in back of a box my sister had pushed me behind.”
“Then you saw—”
“Everything. And there was nothing I could do. When they finally discovered me I ran out into the road. Luckily my father was coming toward the hacienda with the general and his soldiers.”
“The general?”
I nodded. “El Presidente. But that was a long time before he took over.”
Beatriz got to her feet, and I saw the tears in her eyes. “Poor Dax,” she whispered, “what a poor frightened baby you must have been.”
“In a way it wasn’t so bad,” I said. “I was too young to understand really what had happened. But not my father, and he was never quite the same after that. Oh, he kept on living. Working. And taking care of me. But something had gone out of his life.”
Beatriz came close and pressed her lips gently to mine. I could taste the salt of her tears. “Someday,” she whispered, “this house will be alive again with the sounds of children. Your children. And then the memory will not be so bitter.”
The sound of approaching footsteps came from behind me. I turned to see Fat Cat.
“It is past one o’clock,” he said, “and Martínez is not yet here.”
“Something must have held him up. Do we have food for lunch?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind eating what you had for breakfast this morning.”
Beatriz smiled and I laughed. “We don’t mind. We like tortillas and beans.”
He turned back toward the house and I gathered up the tools—the shovel, the hoe and the rake—and slung them over my shoulder. “Can you carry the rifle?”
“Yes,” she said, picking it up, the muzzle toward her.
“Not that way.” I straightened the rifle in her hand. “Always keep the muzzle pointing away and down from you.”
“I don’t like guns. I never liked them.” Beatriz looked at me. “I don’t see why you feel you need one here. There isn’t anyone for miles.”
“See that tall grass?” I asked, pointing.
Beatriz nodded.
“A hundred men could be out there and you would never see them until they were upon you.”
“And if there were,” she said, “what could they hope to gain by attacking us?”
“What did they gain by attacking my mother and my sister?” I asked coldly.
Beatriz didn’t answer.
“The only excuse they need is the guns. The guns give them a feeling of power, and they are getting more of them every day.”
“Some of them must have guns to defend themselves.”
“Against what? Whom?”
“Against the terrorist soldiers of the government,” she replied defiantly.
I looked at her. “You don’t know soldiers like I do,” I said dryly. “I don’t know one of them who really likes to fight. They are perfectly happy to hang around their warm barracks and never go out into the field where they might be hurt.”
We were at the house now and I put down the tools and took the gun from her. “No, the only reason men want guns is to make war. If we could stop the guns perhaps we could prevent the bloodshed that is bound to follow. That is if we’re not already too late.”
We walked silently around to the front of the house. Fat Cat was waiting for us on the galería. He was silent until Beatriz had gone in to wash up, then he gestured to me.
“Look,” he said, handing me a pair of field glasses. He pointed in the direction of Martínez’s hut.
I put the glasses to my eyes and swept the horizon. “I don’t see anything.”
“In the sky, just above where the house is.”
I looked again and then I saw them. Three condors floating lazily on the air currents. I put down the glasses. “So what?” I asked. “There is probably a dead animal in the field. You’re getting to be an old woman.”
“I don’t like it,” Fat Cat said stubbornly.
I stared at him. I’d known him long enough to trust his intuitions. In many ways he was like an animal of the forest. He could smell trouble before it arrived.
“All right,” I said finally, “we’ll go over there after lunch. O.K.?”
He looked at me with the quizzical expression he used whenever I dropped an English word into my Spanish. Finally he nodded. “D’accord.”
***
“I don’t want to leave here,” Beatriz had whispered as we watched Fat Cat load our things into the car. “It’s so calm and quiet and beautiful.” She turned suddenly and pressed her head against my chest. “Promise me we’ll come back here one day, Dax!”
“We’ll come back.”
But that had been before we got to Martínez’s house and found what we did. Now she sat shivering in the seat beside me as we hurtled through the night toward the city. I wondered if she thought of returning to the hacienda now.
I glanced over at her for a moment. She sat wrapped in the car blanket to protect her from the chill of the night, her eyes staring straight ahead. I wondered what she was thinking, what she felt. And more than anything else I wondered if she regretted coming to me. But she didn’t speak and I didn’t press her. Beatriz had been through enough that day.
It was almost four in the morning when I finally stopped the car in front of her house. I got out and walked with her to the front door.
She turned. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
I nodded. I knew that she wanted to ask something more but had changed her mind. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I love you too much not
to be.”
Suddenly she flung her arms around me and started crying. “Dax, Dax!” she sobbed huskily. “Nothing makes sense any more. I don’t know what to think.”
“You did right. The guns must be stopped. And no one need ever know.”
Beatriz looked up into my eyes for a long time. Gradually her tears stopped. “I believe you. Perhaps it’s because I’m a woman, because I’m in love with you. But I believe you.”
I kissed her. “Go in to sleep,” I said gently, “you’re exhausted.”
She nodded. “Dax, I forgot to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For my uncle. He told me what you did.”
“Your uncle is a fool,” I said harshly. “He might have killed you. And he should have realized he’d be caught.”
“You don’t understand. He worships my father and since my father is not here he thinks it is up to him to protect me.” Beatriz laughed a little and I was relieved to hear the sound. “Actually more than half the time I have to protect him.”
“Well, don’t let him get into any more trouble.”
She put her hand on my arm. “The amnesty? It’s not just a trick this time?”
“It’s not a trick.”
Beatriz looked up into my eyes for a moment, then reached up swiftly and kissed me. “Good night.”
11
The hold of the ship was dark and full of the heavy stench of the fuel oil in its tanks. “Is there a light in here?”
The captain nodded and gestured with his flashlight. A sailor turned on a switch, and two bulbs emitted a sick yellow glow. The tiny hold was filled with heavy wooden cases. I turned to Lieutenant Giraldo. “This looks like it.”
“Open a case,” Giraldo ordered.
Two of the soldiers pulled one down and began to pry it open with their machetes. I watched the captain. His face was impassive amidst the ripping sound of the wood.
“Guns!” The soldier’s voice was harsh and echoed in the steel hold.
The captain’s expression did not change. I turned and looked at the opened case. The automatic rifles gleamed black and shiny under their light protective film of oil. I picked one up and examined it. The markings were tiny but clearly etched. No attempt had been made to disguise them.
kuppen farben gesellschaft e.g.
I knew what the small initials meant. East Germany. The old armament factory in the Russian Zone. They had kept the name because it still commanded respect in certain parts of the world. Who was to know that this company was under a completely different management than the one in the west which had been put out of the armament business?
I threw the rifle back at the soldier. “Open the other cases.”
I turned back to the captain. “You have bills of lading for these?”
“Of course. They are part of a consignment for our next port of call.”
“I see. May I see them?”
For the first time the captain’s expression changed slightly. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes at the customs inspector who was standing silently next to him. “I do not have them.”
“Then who does, Captain?”
He did not answer.
“Come, Captain,” I said, “someone must have them.”
He seemed to answer with difficulty. “I think they may have been included with other bills by mistake.”
“You mean that customs has the bills?”
He nodded reluctantly.
I turned to the customs inspector. “Have you seen them?”
The man’s eyes were frightened. “No, excellency,” he stammered. “We are not permitted to see such bills. They are processed by the chief inspector himself.”
I turned to Giraldo. “Leave half your men here. Bring the rest and come with me.”
“Sí, excelencia!” For the first time I noted a growing respect in the young lieutenant’s eyes. It had not been there at six this morning when I strode into his barracks. He had protested that he had no authority to embark on such a raid, and that his only duty was to protect me.
“Then your duty is clear,” I said, “you must accompany me for my own protection.”
He had stared at me for a moment. “I will have to take it up with my superiors.”
“Lieutenant, you will clear it with no one!” I had allowed my voice to grow sarcastic. “Your instructions are very explicit. How will it look if I tell el Presidente that you have already breached them? That I have just returned from two days in the mountains while you were lolling around your barracks?”
Giraldo had thought for a moment, but it did not take him long to decide which was the lesser of two evils. Even if his decision was wrong in accompanying me, at least it would not cost him his commission. If they ever found out I had been alone in the mountains he’d be lucky if all el Presidente did was strip him of his commission.
He had turned his men out and they piled into two jeeps and followed my car to the port. The ship was already secured to the pier. I stood there in the gray light of the morning and looked up at the foremast, where the ruby and green insignia of the Campion Lines flew. It would have to be one of his ships, I thought, as we began to climb the gangplank.
Now that we had found the guns, I could tell by his manner that Giraldo felt differently. All hesitancy was gone as he issued his orders. I turned to the captain and the customs inspector. “Will you both please come to the chief inspector’s office with me?”
Without waiting for an answer, I climbed up the steel ladder to the open deck. After the stench of the hold the warm sweet sea air smelled good. I took a deep breath.
Fat Cat came hurrying down the deck. “El Presidente has just arrived!”
I stared at him. “Here?”
“Sí. On the docks. He is waiting for you.”
I didn’t speak. I didn’t have to. Fat Cat knew what I was thinking. I could not make a move anywhere in the city that el Presidente didn’t know about.
I followed Fat Cat to the edge of the gangplank and looked down. El Presidente was standing beside his big black limousine surrounded by soldiers. He looked up and saw me and waved. I returned the greeting and came down the gangplank. The soldiers parted to let me through.
“What did you find?”
I stared at el Presidente for a moment before I answered. “What I expected to find. Guns. Communist guns. The same kind you captured from the bandoleros in the mountains.”
El Presidente looked at me for a moment, then turned away. “Hoyos!”
The policeman came quickly from behind the car. It was the first time I had ever seen him in uniform. The gold crescent of a colonel of the army shone on his shoulders. “Sí, excelencia!”
“Put a squad of men aboard the ship to take possession of the guns, Colonel.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” I said quickly, “Lieutenant Giraldo’s men are already guarding them.”
“You have Giraldo with you? Good.”
“I am on my way to the chief inspector’s office. I have been told the bills of lading are there.”
“I will go with you,” el Presidente said grimly. “My cousin, it seems, has a great deal to explain.”
The ship’s captain and the customs inspector moved on ahead as we walked down the dock to the building that housed customs. El Presidente’s voice was low as he took my arm confidentially. “How did you learn about the guns? From the girl?”
“No, from Martínez, the old farmer who lives near my hacienda. The bandoleros tortured him and left him for dead because he was my friend. He heard them talking.” The lie was an apt one. They would have to dig him up to disprove it and they wouldn’t bother.
“Martínez? You mean the animal man?”
I stared at el Presidente. Sometimes there was no end to the surprises he furnished me. It was at least thirty years since he had seen Martínez and yet he recalled him immediately. “Yes.”
“I had no idea he was still alive,” el Presidente said thoughtfully. “We used
to get chickens from him. He must be a very old man by now.”
We were at the door of the customs shed and Hoyos sprang forward to open it, then stepped aside to allow el Presidente and myself to enter. The two clerks seated at their desks looked up, startled.
“Is my cousin in?”
“I—I don’t know,” one of them answered nervously, half rising. “I will see, excellency.”
“I will see for myself!”
The clerk sank back into his seat as el Presidente pushed past him into the private office. Through the open door I could see the chief inspector jump up from behind his desk and stand at attention.
“There are guns on that ship out there!” el Presidente roared.
The chief inspector’s face was suddenly white. “Excellency, I did not know, believe me.”
“Liar! Traitor! The bills of lading are here in your office, get them for me!” El Presidente strode toward the desk, his hand outstretched imperiously.
I walked into the office, with Hoyos at my shoulder, just as the chief inspector frantically pulled open a desk drawer. It stuck for a moment, then came open, and he reached in with his hand. There was a glint of metal, and a gun went off almost in my ear. The force of the bullet propelled the chief inspector back against the wall. He hung there for a moment, the surprise in his eyes abruptly fading to nothingness as he crumpled awkwardly to the floor.
I turned to Hoyos. He was standing there, the gun still smoking in his hand, his thin lips drawn back slightly. “I saw a gun!”
I didn’t answer. Instead I went behind the desk, stepped over the dead man, and reached into the drawer. I took out the papers, which were held together by a large metal clamp. “That is your gun,” I said quietly.
I saw the look that flashed between Hoyos and el Presidente, and I realized it wouldn’t have mattered what the man had done. He was dead before we ever came into the office. I looked down at the papers, flipping through them rapidly, but the bills of lading, if there ever had been any, were gone.
There was more to the story of the guns than they were willing to have me discover.
12
The Adventurers Page 71
