When the Owl Cries Part 46

"Nothing now. I want to see their families. Perhaps..." But he did not bother to finish; instead he read Raul's face, the pain, the struggle for hope.

Shortly after Gabriel had gone, Salvador tramped in, boots clacking. A ricochet bullet had hit him in the head and he had a b.l.o.o.d.y rag around his skull. A bandolier x'd his chest; he carried a Winchester; his trousers, ripped on the side, sagged over his stomach.

"I have two men at each turret now," he said. "They all have extra bullets. We're ready." He grinned, obviously enjoying himself.

"That should be all right," said Raul. "I wish we could spare a few men and go after Pedro."

"Where would we find him?"

"A couple of men might turn up information."

"Spies?"

"Why not? Let's also find out where the attackers went. We've lots of friends; let's use them. We can't wait for the rurales."

"I'd like to get Pedro, you know that," said Salvador.

"See what you can learn. This may be revolution. We've got to know how things stand." He smelled Salvador's sweat and liked it.

"I'll see what I can find out," said Salvador.

"If you can, contact the rurales; get some of them here."

"h.e.l.l, they ran off," he scoffed. Settling his belt over his shoulder, he stalked away. His hat, dangling from a cord around his neck, banged the doorframe as he went out.

When Raul went upstairs he found Angelina in bed, a tray of untouched food on the side table; two maids were with her; one of them was offering her a cup of tea.

"How's everything?" she asked quietly.

"We have men in the turrets and there are men at the gate," he said, making an effort to be calm.

"Will they come back?"

"It's not at all likely."

"Tomorrow anything can happen," she murmured, refusing the tea. "I'm worried about Vicente. What's happening in Colima?" Her nervousness increased the huskiness of her voice. "All this mob, all these killings."

"Vicente's probably all right. The revolutionists won't harm Colima."

"Then what? Is it truly revolution, Raul?"

He sat by the window, bent forward, trying to puzzle it out. He did not answer her because he did not know the answer.

The servants left the room.

"Just as soon as I can, I'll go with you to Guadalajara, just as soon as the railroad operates again. They'll be running cars soon. You'll be all right there, with Maria. You mustn't stay here." He remembered the newspaper account of street fighting, and asked himself where she should go to be safe.

"Can I take Vicente with me?"

He wanted to encourage her as much as possible. "If you want to, take him," he said.

"Surely the troubled times won't last long," she said, hoping.

She wanted to sob into her pillows: she peered at shadows created by the evening lamp, curious forms on the ceiling: she separated the forms: evil faces, women's faces, Estelle laughing at her, everyone ridiculing her for being so weak. She buried herself in her pillows.

"Raul, Raul," she whispered. "Chavela told me what took place at Refugio.... Take me away."

17

Morning sun polished one of the wooden dragons on Fernando's wardrobe.

"... I can remember Andrea. As blind as I am, I can see her. I wanted to marry her, but you know all that folly. That was the year we got almost no corn at all." Bitterness and rotten teeth and food left over from breakfast clogged his speech and yet Angelina understood him and listened because she felt sick and lonely.

"What a stupid man I was." He chuckled. "I sold her, sold my Andrea.

Slave ... I was her slave and I sold her. What if she loved somebody else? I still wanted her. Can you remember a beautiful face?" He stirred painfully on his bed. "I was nineteen--that was the year I killed my father. Out of my head ... I sold her." His voice had slowed, the gravity of those days pressing him. "G.o.d, that was a dreadful year...."

"What ever became of Andrea?" Angelina asked, taking a piece of toast from his tray. They were having breakfast together.

"She died in Manzanillo ... typhoid."

He felt the weight of Angelina's body on the bed and groped to touch her.

"My eyes are worse today. Those gla.s.ses haven't helped much. I'll have to have another pair made."

Angelina forgot to listen; Chavela came for the dishes, rattling things and talking at the same time. "There's no beef to eat today," she said. "Marcelino says there's been no slaughtering."

"We must have some eggs," said Angelina. "Chickens lay eggs even when there's shooting. I suppose you could have someone kill a chicken or two."

Chavela inspected her tray of soiled dishes blankly. "An omelette,"

she suggested.

"Better a hen," said Angelina.

"Chavela ... cigarette," said Fernando.

Chavela gazed questioningly at Angelina.

"Give him a cigarette, Chavela."

"Si ... right away."

Chavela's bare feet retreated soundlessly, the dishes rattling. She wondered if all of them were to be killed at Petaca, ignominiously, falling about the fountain, bleeding on the cobbles, moaning. She tripped on a crack, hurt her toe and swore furiously.

Angelina lost herself in reverie. She saw the rays of sun, the bedroom, a picture on the wall; she saw Petaca as a fort and imagined herself stealthily opening the gate, fleeing across fields to the lagoon; she would cross it in a dugout ... on the other side it was dark; she was alone, weeping. She felt her way through the bush and a hand reached toward her, the fingers transparent, evolving into a dog's paw ... finally, a dog trotted beside her.