"Your father will fight you," she said.
Her fingers rolled her hair into a competent bun. She slid a dark
green band of velvet around the pile of black hair and got up and
paused by the window. Their room was on the upper floor, facing both
front and patio sides, a long, broad room with shuttered windows on
each side, allowing cross ventilation, so desirable in the summer. He
stood beside her and they watched a boy spin a wooden top in the
sunlight by the serpent fountain. Someone was patting tortillas in the
kitchen. The smell of stewing beef crossed the patio.
"I'm going to the corral and stables. I know the animals haven't been
getting enough grain," he said.
"What about Pedro?" she asked. "Have you thought of him?"
"I'll dismiss him," Raul said.
"I wonder whether you can do that?"
"What do you mean?"
"He works for your father."
"Pedro's been a killer long enough. I'll get him out of here!"
"Remember, change things slowly," she warned, huskily.
"I'll do the right things," he protested. "Pedro will be the first man
to go. I can't work with him here. I see no reason for delaying his
dismissal. With all there is to do, I want no complications."
"Pedro has friends. Talk with Gabriel. Maybe he'll be helpful. Your
father will know of your decision by tonight, because someone will tell
him. Manuel and Salvador will talk, and the news will travel fast."
Angelina's voice had taken on a harsh quality. She stared at the sky,
dreading responsibilities. "There are so many of us here at the
hacienda," she said.
The boy went on spinning his top by the fountain.
From the corrals came the noise of a horse being shod: the crack of
hammer against nail sounded as if it had all the time in the world
behind it.
Raul decided to talk with Gabriel. Perhaps Gabriel, who had the
hacienda problems at heart, could judge things reasonably.
Angelina had gone back to her dressing table and was scenting her hair.
A peacock screamed in the garden and from somewhere along the lagoon
another answered, putting in amorous cackles, ironical and derisive
cries.
When Raul went out, she leaned far back in her chair and stretched and
yawned. It had been nice in the garden, nicer still playing the organ
for Caterina in the chapel, the chapel cool, Caterina singing, humming,
tapping the organ keys ... que chula ... her face serious, why so
serious, as if she were old? She would be able to play pretty well
soon. She'll play for me and I'll sit and gaze through the ex-eye
window ... cielito voices.... When St. Catherine played, the roses
fell about her ... Philadelphia organ ... in gold letters on the front
... a long way to Philadelphia, a long way to happiness sometimes.
Tears came but she squeezed them back with her knuckles.
Tears ... why tears? We buried our love long ago. Go to Guadalajara,
see Carlos and Rico, see Estelle....
3
Gabriel Storni's small room was in a one-story stone building across
the court from the main house. There had been a school there, next
door to Gabriel's room, until Don Fernando had discontinued it after he
and the teacher had quarreled. As Raul walked across the forecourt,
pigeons lit on the roof, then fluttered off nervously and swarmed
through the air above the chapel spire. Raul heard the wings, but did
not see them as he walked along. Horsemen clopped over cobbles, yet he
did not turn his head. Rapping on Storni's door he waited, fingers
nicking at the sun ridged wood, wood that was more slab than door.
Rusty hinges hung the slab and they squealed as Gabriel opened the door.
"Come in, come in," he said affably.
The robe was Franciscan, the face Italian. Gabriel, at fifty-seven,
had lustrous brown eyes, a bald head, a compassionate mouth, thick
neck, large ears, a reddish wen under one eye. His front teeth had
been capped with gold. He wore gold-rimmed glasses. He walked with a
limp. But his defects were forgotten when he smiled.
The smile welcomed Raul.
"So nice to see you."
Momentarily the dark room, after brilliant sun, bothered Raul and he
bumped into one of the familiar leather chairs. He only half saw the
Spanish desk with papers in every pigeonhole, its reed-bottom chair,
the shelves of books, and the plain wall cross carved from a scrap of
high altitude cedar. Raul touched Gabriel's silver and bone rosary,
where it lay on a corner of the desk.
"I'd like to talk with you."
"Sit down. Let me take these papers off the chair."
They faced each other on leather chairs, the door slightly open; again
horsemen crossed the court, the hoof beats making the cobbles sound
like empty clay bowls.
"One of these days you'll have your stained-glass windows," said Raul.
"Ah," said Gabriel, amused at such an unprompted declaration. "Right
now, I think we ought to have a school teacher. We must reopen our
school."
"I'm going to see to it," said Raul.
"What made your father change his mind?" asked Gabriel eagerly.
"I've decided to make these changes, now."
Gabriel began to laugh softly, one hand on his knee. His glasses shook
and seemed about to fall.
"My dear boy, what's happened? Hadn't you better explain?"
"I've decided to take over Petaca. I should have done it long ago."
Gabriel blinked at Raul as if seeing him through smudged lenses. He
trusted Raul, but he cleared his throat and knotted together the edge
of his robe.
"We're in for trouble," Gabriel said, drawing his feet underneath his
chair and bending forward thoughtfully. "This will really upset the
hacienda."
"I don't want trouble; that's why I came to you."
Gabriel sighed. He was willing to assume responsibility, but he could
not see where he could help. He had looked forward to the young man's
administration of the estate at the death of his father. Removing his
glasses, he pinched his nose, and then put the glasses on again.
"There's Pedro Chávez," he said. "You'll have to deal with him."
"Angelina reminded me," Raul said.
"Did you have to be reminded?" asked Gabriel. "Who else knows your
decision besides Angelina?"
"Salvador and Manuel."
"Well, in a short time everyone will know."
"Father doesn't know. Shall I tell him today?"
"We'll tell him later. I see no reason to go to him now."
"I think I should tell him today. He should hear it from me.
"What precipitated your decision? I thought you would wait until..."
He did not bother to finish the sentence; he was trying to consider
problems dispassionately.
"It's the shortage of corn. Father has refused to supply grain. Many
are ill, but you know the situation better than I do. I won't wait any
longer. Farias was sent to check the corn and fences along the del
Valle line. I don't want any shootings and I don't want any trouble."
Gabriel chuckled. "You don't want trouble," he said. "Now you'll have
your hands full."
"Maybe it won't be so bad."
"Come--what about Pedro Chávez?"
"I'll order him to leave the hacienda." Raul slapped the side of his
boot with the palm of his hand. "I've had more than enough of Pedro."
"I'm with you," cried Gabriel. "Let's get him out of here as soon as
possible."
Raul grabbed the priest's arm, and squeezed it. Gabriel's eyes
glittered, and he stood up and said: "I remember the talks we've had in
this room. I'll help you see that our people are treated right at
Petaca. The Americans fought for their liberty.... Their war brought
freedom! God will bless your decision, Raul. We'll work together."
"I'll talk to my father," said Raul, rising.
"Perhaps we should wait till Dr. Velasco comes," said Gabriel.
"I'd rather not."
"The shock may be too much for Don Fernando. I'd wait." Gabriel
hesitated.
"You're wrong. Father will fight. He won't give in to me, in spite of
his stroke. Let's talk to him before Velasco comes. Come with me."
"I suppose we may as well," sighed Gabriel.
Together they crossed the cobbles, a mangy yellow dog trailing them,
sniffing the priest's robes. Entering by the veranda, they went
directly into Don Fernando's bedroom. He was asleep. Gabriel bent
over him, made the sign of the cross, and counted his pulse, the old
man's skin cold to his fingers.
"It's steady," he whispered to Raul.
Fernando opened his eyes.
"Is it time for Mass?" he jibed thickly. He disliked Father Gabriel.
To his way of thinking, his kind of mental superiority was out of place
on an hacienda. It had been Gabriel who had influenced Raul to study
abroad. Priests were for women and children. He had been a fool to
put money into Raul's education. Education destroyed a man's
strength.... Lids barely open, he glared at his son and the priest's
bald head.
"How are you feeling?" Gabriel asked, avoiding his stare.
"Thirsty," said Fernando.
Raul poured water from the table bottle and gave the glass to his
father.
"More water, Father?"
"No."
"You look rested," said Gabriel.
"I'm hungry."
"I'll speak to Chavela," said Gabriel, and started to leave the room.
"I came to tell you I have taken charge of the hacienda. People are
hungry and sick. They can't wait any longer." Raul realized that
Gabriel had halted abruptly, to listen. He had spoken distinctly but
not loudly. He was not disturbed. He felt ashamed of himself for not
declaring himself long ago.
His father's eyes flashed with wild anger; his mouth twitched; his jaw
dropped; his decayed teeth showed. He raised one hand but it shook,
and he shoved it underneath his sheet and tried to sit up. His Adam's
apple rose and fell; he gulped and rolled on his pillow. He tried to
get one leg out of bed but could not. Patches scabbed his sight; he
shook his head but saw his father riding a white range horse. With
great difficulty, Fernando made out that Gabriel had returned to his
bedside.
"Get out," Fernando managed. "Get out!" he shrilled.
"It's time Raul managed Petaca," said Gabriel kindly. "You must see it
his way. You need to rest." He was alarmed by the man's tortured face.
"I am dismissing Pedro Chávez," said Raul. "There will be no more
killings on my hacienda."
Fernando's eyes were bloodshot; they flicked from left to right; tears
oozed at the corners.
"God damn you!" he said hoarsely. He puckered his lips to spit,
wanting to catch them both.
"It's time our sick were cared for, Don Fernando," said Gabriel.
"Shut up," said the old man.
They waited a few moments longer by his bed. A burro screeched and
hollered in a field. A cloud passed over the sun. The old man coughed
and faced the ceiling, one hand clenched; the other, beneath the sheet,
trembled.
Raul tapped Gabriel's arm and they went out.