He placed her saddlebags on the floor near her. "Your horse is cared for. All is well. You may rest."
There was an amazing resonance to his voice, as though he spoke from a deep well. "The banditos? Do not fear them. They are gone."
"What happened?"
He sat upon the floor. Sitting down, he was almost as tall as she. "One caught you with his rope. He was surprised when I stepped down from the rocks, but he reached for his gun." The giant was embarrassed. "I slapped him over the cliff. He fell on rocks, far below."
"And the other one?"
"His horse was frightened." There was a shadow of amusement in the big man's eyes. "I have that effect on horses that do not know me. The horse ran away with him."
He turned to the fire. "Will you have coffee? You must pardon the poor things I have here. This is just a place where I stay sometimes when I am in these mountains." He paused, glancing at her. "Sometimes I am not well. I have headaches and must be prepared for that." He pointed off to the south. "My home is in the San Jacintos."
"You are Tahquitz!"
He chuckled. It was an amazing, rather marvelous sound. "Tahquitz! He used to capture maidens and take them to his cave and eat them." He gave her a sidelong glance. "But I am not hungry!"
"I'm certainly glad you're not, but I am! Dreadfully hungry!"
He handed her the coffee. "I have little here, but I will see what can be done." He glanced around at her. "You are Meghan Laurel. I am Alfredo."
He took down a frying pan and a slab of bacon. He began slicing bacon into the pan with an amazingly sharp knife. "Do you know who Alfredo is? Alfredo is the disgrace. Alfredo is the shame. Alfredo was born large and grew larger, and my father was embarrassed. He hid me away and then brought me to California, but on a different ship. Then he gave me to a servant and gave her money to take me away. Anywhere away from him. He could not stand it that he had sired a monster." He added sticks to the fire. "She was a rare woman, that servant, a rare, rare woman.
"She had come from Spain with him, and she loved my mother and loved me, too, if you can believe that."
"I can believe it."
"She was a wild one, that woman. She said she was a witch. She had come from the desert, and was a Berber. "Do you know of them? They were a white nomadic people who ruled all the Sahara and what lay north of it, from as long as could be remembered.
"He expected me to be killed or abandoned, but she carried me off at night to a remote village of the Indians, and at night when I had the headaches she would rock me to sleep and sing to me the songs of her people. I remember them yet.
"The following year she took me into Mexico to a priest who was a wise man. His blood was as hers, and it was he who taught me to read, write, and work with numbers. Much else besides. He was a good, good man, educated far beyond his time.
"He explained to me that I would be very large and that there was within people a fear of anything different than themselves. It was a deep-seated, primitive fear found among many wild creatures. A white wolf to exist among gray wolves must become a fierce fighter or be killed. It is a fear, perhaps, of attracting attention and therefore danger.
"He told me that if I was to survive I must understand this, that I most be tolerant even when others were intolerant, that I must be wary of man."
"You knew my name," Meghan said, remembering. "Johannes is my nephew. His mother, Consuelo, was my sister.
"We brought double disgrace to my father. I by being born a giant, and she by marrying a poor seaman."
He dished up several slices of bacon, adding a handful of pinon nuts and several cold tortillas to the plate.
"It is very little. Had I expected a visitor, I would have prepared for it."
"Where is Johannes? I must find him! Is he all right?" "He lives, but he suffered much. I think he plans to move against them. It would be like him, and like his father."
"You are sure he is all right? Alfredo, I most find him! I love him very, very much and I am afraid he will not come back to Los Angeles."
"Of course he will come back."
"You do not understand. Don Federico came to see me. He was charming. I suppose I was flattered by it. He was an older man, and so handsome! I told Johannes, and I never thought ..."
"You should have been wiser, but who of as is? Johannes wants to be nowhere where that man has been. Don Federico is an evil man, as he was an evil boy. He thinks only of himself." Alfredo smiled suddenly, amusement dancing in his eyes. "He believes me dead, and wishes to believe it. Perhaps it is time to give him a hint."
"Can you take me to Johannes? I must see him!"
"I can take you to where he is, or at least to where he was, or I can see you in safety to Los Angeles."
"Take me to him! I must see him! I must see him before he goes off again!"
"When the sun rises. Stay here ... you will be safe." He gestured toward the forest. "I have another place." "Why don't you come to Los Angeles with me? There's no need for you to stay here!"
He chuckled. "Los Angeles has never been surprised by anything, I think. It began with the Spanish and the Indians, and it began with a flair. It has always loved the flamboyant, the graceful dons riding their splendid horses, their saddles plated with silver, but it is not for me. Can you imagine me down there?
"A man of six feet is considered unusually tall. Most men are five-feet-eight or less." He smiled gently. "I am seven feet and eight inches and I usually weigh four hundred pounds.
"They would gasp, they would stare, they would ask how tall I am and be disappointed it is not taller. The doors will be too narrow, the ceilings too low, and the chairs are made for dwarfs.
"Out here it is different. I am made small by mountains. I am a midget among the trees. Down there is fear, hatred, and jealousy. Here there is pure air, simple food, and I have my books.
"You see, I have become a night person. I see as well by night as any bat or owl. The trails I walk are walked by me alone, and I have places where I can sit and look down upon the desert or even that hot spring where the palms grow. I can look down there where Johannes is--Johannes, my friend."
"You have talked to him?"
"Oh, no! Perhaps that is why he is my friend. We have shared books, and some thoughts, I expect. He knows of me, knows what I am. Perhaps he even knows who I am. I wished him to know me, so I left my signature, knowing it would explain more than words.
"To live in a city, one must be larger than one's environment or enjoy belonging to the crowd. Out here a person can become a part of it all. He can walk the heights with the eagles and the clouds, but it needs a special kind of person.
"For me there is no other way. Down there I would be viewed as a monstrosity. My own father saw me that way, so what could I expect from others?"
"Does no one ever see you here?"
"Perhaps an Indian now and again, but they are polite. I do not intrude upon them, and they avoid me."
"They believe you are Tahquitz."
"Nonsense! They call me that because I live on his mountain alone, but they know better. It is a joke among them."
"They are a simple people, I think."
"Simple in their needs, perhaps, but a very complex people."
"You are complex."
"No. Within this giant house of flesh lives a quiet man who would prefer working at a trade. Or perhaps he is a poet whose dreams are too large for his words.
"My home is among the mountains. Men destroy what they do not understand, as they destroyed the son of God when he chose to walk among them. I do not wish to be understood. I wish to be left alone. Your Johannes has done this. He is a kind man, a thoughtful man."
"Are you never lonely?"
"When would I not be lonely? When a man is one of a kind, he will be lonely wherever he is. I am a man apart but have become adjusted to it. I have the mountains, and I have my books. I also have the friendship of Johannes."
He got to his feet, towering over her. Instinctively she sh
rank. "You see? Sleep well, then. I shall return in the morning. But please ... rise early. I would like you to see sunrise on the desert from my mountains. Until you have seen sunrise from here, or from over there in the San Jacintos, you have seen nothing."
He went out, ducking his head through the door, closing it softly behind him.
In the night that followed, she wondered if he was out on the dark trails of night where owls cruised on silent wings among the dark ranks of the soldier pines, and only the wind for company.
Chapter 58
When Don Isidro finished speaking, there was a moment of silence. If Miss Nesselrode was alarmed or frightened, she offered no evidence of it.
"Senor, I am afraid you live in the past. Forty, perhaps even twenty years ago you might have gotten away with such a thing, but no more.
"You have deliberately isolated yourself from the community to such an extent that you are not aware of the changes that have taken place.
"The story of your pursuit of Zachary Verne and your daughter are well known, but that was long ago. If anything were to happen either to me or to your sister Elena, there would be an immediate investigation, and I have been careful to record all the facts and leave them in safe hands.
"If anything happens to Johannes Verne, I shall see you hanged. If anything were to happen to your sister or to me, you would certainly be hanged, and these"--she waved a hand at the group in the doorway--"as well. What then of your pride in your family and your name? It would be disgraced forever, and by you."
She turned on the group in the door. "Put your guns away. Are you afraid of a woman, that you draw guns? Have you thought who will pay for what you do? He has no money. He can pay you nothing, nothing at all. You are fools to follow so blindly where a blind man leads! "Get out of here! At once!" She gestured imperiously. "Mr. Kelso, if they do not leave, shoot them!"
The guns lowered. Confused, the men looked from one to the other, then at Don Isidro. Kelso had drawn his gun. It was a colossal bluff, and nobody knew it better than he, but he stood quietly, waiting.
A man at the back of the group silently turned away, then another. The woman was the last to leave.
"Don Isidro." Miss Nesselrode spoke quietly but her tone was cold and level. "If I were you, I would send a man to recall your Don Federico. I would suggest, also, that you tell him he is not your heir, and never will be. Until he knows that, your own life is not secure. He has shown himself to be a man who will stop at nothing."
"What she says is true, my brother. Even as a boy, he tried to kill Alfredo. A few days ago he threatened me. He only pursues Johannes because he is a possible heir who might dispute his claims to your estate."
Don Isidro stared at her with sullen eyes. "If what you say is true, I have no estate. I have nothing."
"That is true," Elena replied, her voice low. "You have not managed well, my brother, so I have done what was needed, with Miss Nesselrode's help, but Don Federico does not know this. You must recall him. You must recall him at once, before more damage is done."
"According to our laws, you would be an accessory, Don Isidro," Miss Nesselrode added. "It is your own safety you must consider."
"I have no messenger. You have sent them away." "Write the order," Miss Nesselrode replied. "I will see it delivered by one of those who used to work for you." Elena went to a desk and brought paper, ink, and a quill to him.
For a moment he stared at the paper; then slowly, reluctantly, he wrote the order.
He looked up at her, his eyes ugly. "You have destroyed me."
"No, my brother. I have tried to save you. You have been destroying yourself. From the first, this foolish pride and your hatred destroyed everything you were or could have been.
"You were harsh and cruel, but how much of it was due to Don Federico? A good deal, I believe. It is he who has been your evil genius, always at your elbow, advising or suggesting. I think you would have relented long ago had it not been for Federico."
The old man shifted in his chair. "The little one," he muttered. "He called me grandpa!"
Kelso holstered his gun. "Ma'am, it's late. I don't know about you, but I was a tired man when the evening began."
"Yes, yes, we must go." Miss Nesselrode turned. "Elena? Will you come with us?"
"I shall stay. He will need me now."
Peter Burkin stripped the gear from his horse at the pole corral among the pines. Through the trees he could see the gleam of water from Hidden Lake. He was later than he had planned to be and would spend the night, something he rarely did.
Hoisting a heavy burlap sack to his shoulder and gripping another sack in his hand, he started over the trail. It was late afternoon and the sky was clear, the air cool. Twice he paused to rest. "Ain't as young as y'used to be," he said aloud, "or else this here trail is gittin' steeper!" Alfredo was sitting outside, holding his head in his huge hands.
"You all right, boy?"
Alfredo looked up. His features seemed to have grown heavier, his flesh thicker, but that was probably the way the light fell.
"No, Peter, I do not feel well. It is harder to walk now. I ... I think my muscles grow weak."
"Brought you some extry grub, some books, an' such. I ain't so spry on these trails, m'self. Gittin' old, I reckon." Burkin looked around. "Got you a place here, boy. You surely have! Ain't a purtier or more peaceful place anywhere."
"I found Meghan Laurel," he said.
"She is safe?"
"She is with the Indians. With Francisco's woman."
"Was there trouble?"
"Two men. One ran away. The other I ... I slapped him."
"You slapped him?"
They were silent, watching the sun's face grow red as it slipped beyond the mountains where the ocean was. "You all right, boy? Anything I can do for you?"
"You have done too much, Peter. Without you ... without you I could do nothing."
"Don't worry yourself, Al." Peter took up a stick and poked at the pine needles. "Never had nobody m'self until I met her. An' you.
"I had a lot of dreams, one time, but they come to nothin'. Never had eddication enough, an' I wasn't much of a hand for readin' like you an' them Vernes. I missed out on a lot until I met your ma."
"She wasn't my mother, not really."
"I know that, boy. I know that. But she thought of herself as such, an' so did I. When she was dyin', she told me you was different an' that I should sort of look after you."
"And you did. You've been the father I never experienced, Peter. You've been kind."
"I'm gittin' along, boy. That trail seems to git steeper all the while. If anything should happen to me--"
"Don't worry about it, Peter. I don't believe I shall be around long." As Peter started to speak, he lifted a hand. "No, Peter, I feel it. And just as well. I ant tired, you know? I've loved these mountains, loved them so much. And Johannes? He's meant a lot to me.
"We talked, you know? With the books, I mean. If there was one he liked especially, he'd sort of pull it out from the rest.
"I never wanted him to see me. I just wanted to be a person, a friend, like. If he saw me, he might think different of me. When I left a book for him, I could think of him reading it, and I could wonder what he thought of it. He could do the same with me."
"He's a nice boy. Got a good feelin' for country."
"When they burned the house, I thought it was the worst thing could happen to me."
"I know how it is, how you worked on that floor." "I wanted to build something, something that would last. In some of those old books you found in the mission, it showed some mosaics. That was what I wanted to do." "Gittin' late, boy. Maybe you better go in an' lie down. Take a rest, like."
Peter Burkin sat alone after Alfredo had gone inside. Be a blessing, he told himself. Not that he wished harm to the boy, for he was all he had left. Only, that trail was getting steeper and he was getting kind of stiff in the joints and long in the tooth for the long rides.
Folks wer
e beginning to notice, too. They'd seen him come and go, and they were asking themselves why. Someday one of them would take a notion to follow.
When he went inside, Alfredo was lying on his huge bed. He was staring up at the ceiling of the cave.
"Fix you some grub," Peter said. "You just take it easy." He began slicing potatoes into a pan, and got out the slab of bacon he had brought with him. "Anything I can do for you, boy?"
"If you are in the San Bernardinos sometime, you can pack the best of that stuff over here. I doubt if I shall go back."
Peter glanced at him. "That bad, eh?"
"Yes, Peter. It is an effort now. Once everything was so easy."
"But you're a young man!"
"Once, before we left Spain, my sister got an old woman she knew to take us to a Moorish man. As he was a Moslem, nobody went to him, but my sister heard that he knew more about medicine than anyone.
"She told him about me and he said he had known such cases, but they were rare. He told her what I could expect, so I have been ready for this." He smiled suddenly. "And I am only a young man to you, Peter. I have not been a young man for a long time."
"You ain't as old as me. My pappy was one o' them Kentucky riflemen who f't with Jackson in the Battle of New Orleans. I was born whilst he was away at war." Alfredo closed his eyes and rested. It felt good just to lie quiet in the half-darkness. After all, he had had a good life. All this mountain country had been his for a time, and he had learned to live as the Cahuillas did. When occasionally he encroached on their groves he had always left something in payment to acknowledge their ownership and his trespass.
Often he would lie in some secure place above them and watch where they gathered their food and what plants they used. Peter Burkin and his mother--he thopght of her so--had taught him even more.
Peter had told him that Zachary Verne and his son were returning, and they had agreed he must be stopped from going to Los Angeles.
He avoided Indian trails but moved through the woods or mountains parallel to them, trying not to use the same exact route twice. In his earlier years, when he had been very strong, he could travel incredible distances, and he had ventured far into the desert. Peter had taught him about gold and precious or semiprecious stones he might find. Over the years he had made several small finds of gold and several fine opals.
the Lonesome Gods (1983) Page 39
