When the Owl Cries Part 37

"I want to be with you.... Let me sit at the dining table with you. I can't bear it alone." The husky voice moved him as much as what she said.

Taking her arm, he led her downstairs. She curled her feet under her legs on a chair next to his. A new maid, a charming village girl, served, walking lightly, humming, her stiff skirt swis.h.i.+ng. Angelina mentioned the quake to her and the maid said, with a shrug, "It was nothing."

A tall kerosene lamp with a pewter base and blue shade lit the table.

All the windows stood open; the air, warm with _pastora_ clouds, did not move. A dead moth lay beside Raul's plate; he pushed it about with a spoon, too tired to think.

"Father set fire to his bed while you were gone," she said.

"What ... was he smoking?"

"Cigarette or matches ... anyhow, Chavela threw water on him."

His face brightened.

"She threw it all over him."

They laughed together, a little ashamed of their disrespect.

"How he must have spluttered," said Raul.

"Oh, he did, he really did! And while you were away, the optometrist came to fit his gla.s.ses. They had a time. But he'll have new ones tomorrow. The doctor thinks he'll be able to see fairly well."

"I hope so," Raul said, though Velasco had told him that gla.s.ses would not remedy his father's eye condition or would be temporary, at best.

He enjoyed the dinner, his first meal since morning. The new maid served steak, dry rice, sliced tomatoes and tortillas. She poured a dark Spanish wine. For dessert he ate a _flan_, hot chocolate and _pan dulce_. The bright face of the village girl went in and out of the blue lamplight, as Angelina talked.

Quite abruptly, he said:

"I'll go with you on the train to Guadalajara. I can get away in a day or two. I have to see about our mine shares. The bank's correspondence with me is so much wasted paper. I have a hunch it's time to sell because Roberto is selling some of his stock."

"I like hunches," she said, nibbling a mango. She thought of Lucienne's mining interests in Guanajuato, and bit into her mango harder than she wanted to.

In the morning, Gabriel received a letter that excited him and made him feel better, and he sent a man for Raul. He was having breakfast when Raul arrived. While Storni munched a roll and drank coffee, Raul waited, troubled by his friend's yellow face and fingernails. For the time being, he had no fever or chills, but when would they come again?

With a flourish, Gabriel put down his cup, rubbed his hands together, and cleared his throat.

Raul glimpsed a coat of arms on the letter.

"I had to make you wait a little but now I'll read it to you: 'Dear Gabriel, I have not written you for a long time. Your letters have gone unanswered because I am a careless, busy hulk, as you know. Far busier these trying days than you might surmise. Still, busy as I am, worried by political conditions, I have been thinking of you. You won't be able to say I have no heart, when you lay down this letter.

"'I have not forgotten the part you have played in my thinking. I am not always foolish. Years ago we used to discuss things that shape the world. Those were memorable days.'"

Gabriel stopped to fix his gla.s.ses and wipe his nose, and ask, "Do you know now?"

"Roberto."

"I'll read on," Gabriel said: "'You have wanted to brighten your chapel for a long time. Since I, too, love Petaca I want to donate the stained-gla.s.s windows. In fact, I have ordered them. Salvador got the dimensions for me. The windows are being made in Mexico City; only a small part of the leading has yet to be done. They will be coming to you very soon.

"'In remembrance of meaningful days. Perhaps I am religious--who knows? Cordially'...."

Gabriel could not speak Roberto's name; tears shone in his eyes. He removed his gla.s.ses and blew his nose.

"Good for Roberto," said Raul.

"Ah, yes," said Gabriel.

"Get rid of that malaria so you'll be up and around soon. It wouldn't do to have the windows arrive and you in bed. I'm sure they'll be beautiful," said Raul, ready to leave. "All of us will enjoy them. I wish I had given them."

"Ah, to be sure ... well, I can't say how grateful I am.... But I have something else to tell you, before you go. The same man who brought Roberto's letter brought another one. You know how it is: good news and bad news, a pair of horses."

"What's the bad news?"

"The Colima hospital isn't getting along. They haven't money to hire workers. They're facing a serious situation."

"How much money do they need to hire workers?"

"Several thousand pesos. Father Gamio tells me that they have to pay more for workers and that ... they wonder if you could help. They mention several thousand pesos, no exact amount."

"Shall I send five thousand--for the Medinas?"

"G.o.d bless you, Raul!"

"We need His blessing, Gabriel."

"With five thousand they can get some new equipment perhaps!"

Gabriel's outburst delighted Raul.

"I should look after the hospital better than I do. Father Gamio can't do it all himself. I'm off to Guadalajara later today, Angelina and I.

She'll remain there. I'll be bringing Vicente back when I return. He wants to ride and hunt ... there's another fiesta. You can expect us in three or four days."

"If you see Roberto, tell him how grateful I am."

"I'll tell him. Is there anything you need?"

"Nothing, thank you, Don Raul. Maybe some newspapers?"

"I'll bring back papers and magazines. I'll leave my check for the hospital in the _tienda_. Will you have someone pick it up off my desk? Write an accompanying letter, a gracious one, for Petaca."

"I'll be glad to."

"Goodbye, Gabriel." He smiled affectionately. "Get well."

"I'll pray for you and Angelina," said Gabriel.

"Adios."

"Que le vaya bien."

Shortly after lunch, Raul and Angelina drove toward Colima, the horses pulling well. Gray clouds darkened the landscape; across the lagoon, between its sh.o.r.e line and the volcano, a sandstorm blew. The great peak seemed old, harmless, a dusty, withered thing.