When the Owl Cries Part 28

At first, he had tried to share these things with Angelina but she had not cared for the rough life and so he had gone with his men, storing up the hours, making his own calendar, riding most often with Manuel, including Lucienne when he dared.

High up, in the darkening sky, a hawk drifted.

Surely, the Medinas were monarchs of a kind.

Lights burned at Petaca, in the windows and in the kerosene lamps atop the wooden posts in the courtyard. Raul saw rurales, some mounted, some afoot, their uniforms unmistakable. He had heard that they had been encountered in the remote sections of the hacienda but this was the first time he had seen them and he was glad to have an indication of their interest in apprehending Pedro. His trip to Colima had been successful.

He did not doubt that his father knew where Pedro had gone. (Would this new stroke end his life?) Some said guns were being smuggled, bought and sold. At other haciendas, men had been placed on guard duty. Count de Selva, it was rumored, had clamped men in irons for demanding the right to buy matches in Colima.

A peculiar fear washed over him, as he rode into Petaca. It seemed to be hooked up in his mind with the birthday party Lucienne was planning next week at Palma Sola. A foolish fear, no doubt.

11

As he stood in the living room at Lucienne's, a little tipsy, gla.s.s in hand, Roberto las Casas called the roll, talking to himself:

"Baroness Radziwill and family, Count and Countess de Selva (the old boy's not doing well), Lucienne (very pretty), Joaquin Siquiros, Federicka Kolb (ah!), Benito Serrato (new mayor of Colima), Raul, Gabriel, Jesus Peza, General Matanzas (drunk) ... quite a birthday gathering...."

Roberto flicked ash from his beautifully tailored dinner suit and lifted his gla.s.s. For a man in his late fifties, he was handsome.

Standing to one side, near some candles, his diamond cuff links and studs glittered. Bald as a man can be, he had the air of a diplomat.

Angular, taller than Raul, he had none of Raul's physical toughness ...

he was a Guadalajara lawyer, promoter of mining interests and capable dabbler in city real estate. His mother had been the sister of Raul's mother. He liked the city, but appreciated Petaca's s.p.a.ciousness, hunts, rodeos, fiestas and gambling.

Tonight the roulette wheel spun and the tiny _pelota_ clicked like a race horse; it clicked and stopped, and the sound of the surf came through the room. For days the wind had boiled offsh.o.r.e and now the rollers foamed and thudded.

"Twenty," Joaquin Siquiros called.

"Twenty," someone repeated.

No one had placed money on that number and the wheel began again.

"Forty-one," Siquiros called, in his boyish voice.

Roberto strolled from guest to guest, drinking, eating, chatting, bored with roulette since he had lost heavily; the asthmatic Selva had stolen his luck and Lucienne had won more than her share of the evening's cash. He found Lucienne, beside a big _mafafa_, and put his arm around her.

"Were you lucky the last round?" he asked.

"Yes, but where have you been?"

"Just talking to people, catching up on Palma gossip."

"You're drinking too much."

"Not too much. I'm just tall and hold more. I leave the drinking to the Baroness. See, she can hardly take in her winnings." He laughed gently.

Half asleep, losing, gaining, she leaned on the roulette table, jewels sparkling in her hair.

"... Sister of the Polish pope," said Roberto. "Let's have something to eat," he whispered. "Food has been known to help people in my condition. May I bring you some sandwiches?"

"Please. I'm really hungry."

He served sandwiches and _entremes_ from a silver tray that salt air and time had darkened to a pewter finish.

"Now, my dear, I'll get us some coffee. Let's sit here."

"Twenty-four," Siquiros called.

"Mine, mine!" shouted the Baroness.

"Where did you buy that lovely gown? In Paris?" asked Roberto, bringing the coffee, and sitting down by Lucienne.

"In Rome," she said.

"Rome ... I remember Rome ... but I never saw a gown like yours there."

He sipped his drink and said: "Lucienne, you're a beautiful woman; you make the gown more beautiful."

Lucienne laughed happily.

"I'm fairly sober," he said. "And it is your birthday.... Shall I go on? About your hair, your tiara ... your..."

"Ah, no ... no more, dear Roberto." But her hand went to her platinum tiara; she pushed it forward on her head; the rubies, diamonds and sapphires seemed to glow a little more. The gown was dark, almost a velvet green, very long, very simple. She wore no jewelry other than the tiara, a Humboldt heirloom.

"You know, it's almost 2:00 A.M.," she said.

"Why do you think about time on your birthday! When it's four, we'll be able to see the sun. Has it been a wonderful party?"

"Very wonderful, Roberto."

"Have you opened my gift?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he agreed, and took a sandwich from the tray on a side table. "Come, Raul, join us," he said, grasping his cousin's arm.

"Aren't you hungry? We have a sandwich tray here."

"I've been hungry all evening," said Raul. "Lucienne, where are the venison steaks you promised?"

"You don't sound like a man who has lost a lot of money," said Roberto.

"I didn't lose so much."

"I'll see to it that you win next year," said Lucienne, bringing him close.

"What could he win next year that he hasn't got now?" laughed Roberto.

"Here, Raul, take my chair. I feel better.... I'll try a whirl at that wheel again. What's your lucky number, Lucienne?"