Still drowsy, Demetrio ran his hand through his ruffled hair, which
hung over his moist forehead, pushed it back over his ears, and opened
his eyes.
Distinctly he heard the woman's melodious voice which he had already
sensed in his dream. He walked toward the door.
It was broad daylight; the rays of sunlight filtered through the thatch
of the hut.
The girl who had offered him water the day before, the girl of whom he
had dreamed all night long, now came forward, kindly and eager as ever.
This time she carried a pitcher of milk brimming over with foam.
"It's goat's milk, but fine just the same. Come on now: taste it."
Demetrio smiled gratefully, straightened up, grasped the clay pitcher,
and proceeded to drink the milk in little gulps, without removing his
eyes from the girl. She grew self-conscious, lowered her eyes.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Camilla."
"Ah, there's a lovely name! And the girl that bears it, lovelier still!"
Camilla blushed. As he sought to seize her wrist, she grew frightened,
and Picking up the empty pitcher, flew out the door.
"No, Demetrio," Anastasio Montanez commented gravely, "you've got to
break them in first. Hmm! It's a hell of a lot of scars the women have
left on my body. Yes, my friend, I've a heap of experience along that
line."
"I feel all right now, Compadre." Demetrio pretended he had not heard
him. "I had fever, and I sweated like a horse all night, but I feel
quite fresh today. The thing that's irking me hellishly is that Goddamn
wound. Can Venancio to look after me."
"What are we going to do with the tenderfoot we caught last night?"
Pancracio asked.
"That's right: I was forgetting all about him."
As usual, Demetrio hesitated a while before he reached a decision.
"Here, Quail, come here. Listen: you go and find out where's the
nearest church around here. I know there's one about six miles away. Go
and steal a priest's robe and bring it back."
"What's the idea?" asked Pancracio in surprise.
"Well, I'll soon find out if this tenderfoot came here to murder me.
I'll tell him he's to be shot, see, and Quail will put on the priest's
robes, say that he's a priest and hear his confession. If he's got
anything up his sleeve, he'll come out with it, and then I'll shoot
him. Otherwise I'll let him go."
"God, there's a roundabout way to tackle the question. If I were you,
I'd just shoot him and let it go at that," said Pancracio
contemptuously.
That night Quail returned with the priest's robes; Demetrio ordered the
prisoner to be led in. Luis Cervantes had not eaten or slept for two
days, there were deep black circles under his eyes; his face was
deathly pale, his lips dry and colorless. He spoke awkwardly, slowly:
"You can do as you please with me.... I am convinced I was wrong to
come looking for you."
There was a prolonged silence. Then:
"I thought that you would welcome a man who comes to offer his help,
with open arms, even though his help was quite worthless. After all,
you might perhaps have found some use for it. What, in heaven's name,
do I stand to gain, whether the revolution wins or loses?"
Little by little he grew more animated; at times the languor in his
eyes disappeared.
"The revolution benefits the poor, the ignorant, all those who have
been slaves all their lives, all the unhappy people who do not even
suspect they are poor because the rich who stand above them, the rich
who rule them, change their sweat and blood and tears into gold..."
"Well, what the hell is the gist of all this palaver? I'll be damned if
I can stomach a sermon," Pancracio broke in.
"I wanted to fight for the sacred cause of the oppressed, but you don't
understand ... you cast me aside.... Very well, then, you can do as you
please with me!"
"All I'm going to do now is to put this rope around your neck. Look
what a pretty white neck you've got."
"Yes, I know what brought you here," Demetrio interrupted dryly,
scratching his head. "I'm going to have you shot!"
Then, looking at Anastasio he said:
"Take him away. And ... if he wants to confess, bring the priest to
him."
Impassive as ever, Anastasio took the prisoner gently by the arm.
"Come along this way, Tenderfoot."
They all laughed uproariously, when a few minutes later, Quail appeared
in priestly robes.
"By God, this tenderfoot certainly talks his head off," Quail said.
"You know, I've a notion he was having a bit of a laugh on me when I
started asking him questions."
"But didn't he have anything to say?"
"Nothing, save what he said last night."
"I've a hunch he didn't come here to shoot you at all, Compadre," said
Anastasio.
"Give him something to eat and guard him."