When the Owl Cries

by Paul Alexander Bartlett

  9

  Donato Farias:

  1 bandana 0.25 2-1/2 kil. tobacco 2.30 cig. papers 0.70 shoes 3.50 2-1/2 met. cloth 2.25 (for trousers) 6 kil. beans 1.80 4 kil. sugar 1.20 salt 0.62 dried chili 0.10 ------ 12.72

  Farias had purchased these items during the last month.Each week he earned twelve pesos but received nothing incash. His total indebtedness at the _tienda de raya_ amountedto 1,291.68 pesos. Raul, perched on a three-legged stool atthe desk in the _tienda de raya_, mumbled Farias' name andx'd his account; then signed and dated the sheet. Flippingto the S pages, he canceled Salvador's account, which totaledover fifteen hundred pesos. Esperito, his father's bookkeeper,had faked entries and Raul spotted them with half an eye;the corroded brass pen between his fingers, he felt Esperito'spocked face over his shoulder, objecting. Let the ghostobject: Esperito had been packed off to Guadalajara, toanother job of pencil chewing and peso bickering.

  Raul wiped the nib of the pen on the desk blotter, pleasedthat he had control and could be generous. Deliberatelytapping the tobacco into his pipe bowl, liking the aroma, hesmoked a while, hacienda noises coming in through the openwindows. Sun streaked the freckled Petaca map, with itsresidence, ponds, villages, roads and mountains. His fatherhad tacked it up. A colored print of Porfirio Diaz (as ayoung man) dangled over the stained flattop desk. A Moslersafe, with New England autumn landscape on its door,squatted under a heap of account books, cattle magazines,boxes of nails, screws and bolts, its casters in dust, sand andpigeon feathers.

  All other space in the room was shelved with supplies,soap, boxes of nails and hinges, bundles of machetes, boltsof cloth, cans of tobacco and oil, packages of tobacco andcigarette papers, tins of coffee and gunpowder, the thousandand one things needed at an hacienda. A thousand times aweek Petacan men and women talked of the _tienda de raya_and cursed its prices. The same words were heard at athousand haciendas. The _tienda_ was the core of the peasants'lives, for there they bought their servitude, since no_hacendado_ permitted purchases anywhere else. The _tienda_was everyman's ball and chain. Sons inherited their father'sindebtedness. If a man fled, the rurales had a way of pickinghim up with uncanny rapidity.

  In the corner, the shelving was broken by a glass gun case:Winchesters and Remingtons stood in a row. Revolvers andpistols, holstered and unholstered, crowded the rack, withboxes of shells neatly stacked behind them. The guns andshells were the only neatly arranged things in the store.Everything else had been put down carelessly, was dusty andtangled with cobwebs.

  Raul fiddled with the counterfeit coins a forgotten _mayordomo_had nailed across the rim of his desk: the five-pesosilver piece turned rustily on its nail; the ten-peso coin hada big nick out of the side; he remembered the coppertwo-centavo coin was like one he had had as a boy; quite a bitof counterfeit money had found its way to the haciendaduring the nineties.

  Wind puffed through the open room.

  Feeling relaxed, he got up, shut the door and walkedtoward his father's room. His wound had stiffened, as he satat the desk, and he pumped his arm as he walked, appreciatingthe fit of his new red leather boots. His jeans and grayshirt, carefully tailored, were also new. Scratches from thepalmera marred his cheek and he picked the scab as hepaused in his father's open doorway.

  "Hello," he said.

  His father grunted.

  "I'd like to talk to you," said Raul.

  "I can't very well stop you," said Fernando. "Come in," headded peevishly.

  "I see you've had breakfast," Raul said.

  Chavela was removing dishes and silver and placed themon her Tarascan tray. A stupid grin on her face, she workedawkwardly. Amused, Raul watched her, knowing how clevershe could be in the kitchen, supervising others. When shehad gone he pulled a chair up to the bed. Through thegrilled window, the sun spread over the carvings on the uglywardrobe. Fernando smoked a fresh cigarette and asked:

  "Did Farias tell you that our rock fences had been deliberatelypulled down along the del Valle line? Or did he keepthat information to himself?"

  His voice quavered; propped on his pillows, one arm underthe sheet, his hair uncombed, his face unshaven, he filledRaul with pity and disgust.

  "I've talked with Farias. I plan to visit Santa Cruz. I'll talkwith Senor Oc."

  "You'll find him a trickster."

  "I've never met him. He's your enemy, not mine."

  "You imply...." The old man's voice climbed; he wantedthe peace of his own folly.

  "I came to talk to you about this." Raul tapped his shoulderwhere a bandage bulged under his shirt. He thought it wouldbe easy to say, but the words choked in his throat.

  "Don't accuse me of attempting to assassinate you!" Fernandoscreamed.

  "I'm leaving for Colima in an hour or so. I'll have a talkwith the police. I'll have Pedro picked up and jailed," Raulsaid, forcing himself to keep calm.

  "Who'll be your overseer?"

  "Salvador."

  "Salvador, the oxcart maker! Jesus, use your head!"

  "I like honest men."

  With tense fingers, Raul emptied and filled his pipe; hiseyes took in the smooth, familiar bowl and stem. Neitherman spoke and the chatter of servants crossed the room;a child called: "Run, Lupe, run."

  "You may as well get it into your head that I didn't sendPedro after you."

  "You sent him after Farias."

  "I wanted to involve those Jesuits. I hate those bastards.I wanted to work up a little trouble ... we've always haddifficulties with the del Valle people." He sounded extremelytired; a flip of his fingers sent his cigarette somersaultingacross the tiles.

  Raul saw himself in his father's mirror; he shut his eyesand bit his pipe stem.... In Guadalajara, his father hadsaid: "I sometimes see him...."

  "You think in terms of morals," Fernando went on. "Wedon't live in a moral age. Do you believe Diaz is a moralpresident? Surely, at your age, Raul, you're not that blind!You're not moral yourself--if we come to that. I've neverbeen moral but you, well, you seem to feel you're God himself!"

  Raul wished he could forget the decayed face, the glaring eyes.

  "I don't like what you've said."

  Fernando chortled.

  "You and your Lucienne don't like a lot of things, I gather.She hides in her flowers and you hide in her lap."

  Raul jabbed his pipestem at Fernando. "You hired Pedro;he's been your private assassin; get rid of him."

  Fernando's lips collapsed. His eyes slapped shut. Housenoises filled the room.

  "Let me say this," said Raul, pipe in both hands, eyes onthe smoke that trailed from its bowl. "Maybe I'm as corruptas you say. But I happen to love Lucienne, if that makes anydifference. I've been promiscuous.... We've all playedwith hacienda girls. But you have played with lives. You'velet people starve for a whim. You've had them kicked andwhipped and killed. You've stopped our school. You letEsperito fake entries in the account books. That's corruption."

  "You should be able to name things," growled Fernando,his hands under the sheet, the sheet under his chin. "I'msure you learned everything when you were in Europe, allthe pros and cons."

  "The record here at Petaca speaks for itself. I know howmany men you've had killed."

  "Many men have killed and not been held to account.Every general kills."

  "That kind of reasoning makes nothing right."

  "Do you know how dangerous these times are?" askedFernando. "Do you?"

  "I can only guess. Perhaps it will take only a spark."

  "A spark to touch off a conflagration," said Don Fernando,one eyebrow going up.

  "You mean a revolution?" asked Raul.

  "That."

  "I doubt if it will be revolution. It won't get that bad. Ifit gets that bad, we'll be put back a hundred years. Arevolution will cost us that much."

  "You sound prophetic," la
ughed Fernando.

  "I'm going to help," Raul said.

  "I don't want to lose Petaca, whatever happens," saidFernando, feeling the land to be his only friend.

  Raul shoved his hands in his pockets and rose to leave. Ittook all his will power to look at his father briefly.

  "I'll send Arrillo to shave you," he said. "I'm going toColima. I hear the quake damage has been serious ... Iwant to see what I can do to help."

  The room quiet, Fernando feared death: he wanted hisson's new boots, trousers and shirt; he wanted to strap on agun. Through his bloodshot eyes, as he gazed at the sunnypatio, he saw himself at twenty-five or thirty, in new clothes,stalking off to Colima. His arm refused to stop shaking; hegroaned; death would not let him alone. He tried to makeout the serpentine fountain. Was that a woman dippingwater? A girl dipping water? The dim figure reminded himof Caterina, and he heard her reading to him, as she had satbeside his bed. But he put Caterina out of his mind andgroped for his copper bell and rang.

  When Chavela came, he said: "Pedro's at the mill. I wanthim here.... Oh, Christ, stop looking like a scared calf!Pedro won't hurt you. Get out there and tell him I want him.And bring me another cigarette when you come back."

  Fernando enjoyed the prospect of seeing his renegade; itamused him, too, that Pedro had gotten himself into trouble.Like an old cat, Fernando drowsed till Pedro appeared.

  "What took you so long?" he began, instinctively awarethat considerable time had elapsed since Chavela had left.

  "I waited for Don Raul to leave."

  "Afraid of him!"

  Pedro did not care to reply; he was impervious to the oldman's jibes.

  One hand was stuck in his enormous leather belt, he wasdressed in white, no guns, no cartridges. His boots weredusty. He had left his hat somewhere. A long timothy strawdangled from his mouth.

  "You went too far," Fernando exclaimed. "I don't wantRaul killed.... you were to kill Manuel. Farias was tohave been a blunder for the Jesuits. That didn't work out.You're clever but you're not clever enough. I'm not themurderer of my son. My business with my father taught mesomething. Now, I want you to leave Petaca. Get out!"

  "What?" said Pedro, hand to the straw in his mouth.

  "Raul has gone to Colima to talk with the rurales. They'llcome here for you. They'll scour the hacienda. At least you'rewarned." Fernando grinned at the other's dilemma. "Getout. You're licked."

  This was something Pedro had not foreseen. He removedthe straw from between his teeth and smelled the end of it,frowning.

  "You may need me," he mumbled, unable to think.

  "Go to Mountain Rancheria. You have friends there. It'llbe safe enough. Get out, before I decide to turn you over tothe rurales." Fernando chuckled.

  "All right. Mountain Rancheria. I'll go there ... allright."

  "Come back here in an hour or so. I'll let you have somemoney."

  "Give me enough for some guns. I need guns."

  Pedro's face became eager; he tossed away the straw andmoved close to Fernando's bed, his spurs rattling. Bendinglow, he smiled.

  Fernando caught the rebel instinct in that grin. God, hethought, to be out of bed. "Guns," he said. "Why do you needguns? What will you do with guns?"

  "Sell them, Don Fernando."

  "Men are buying guns?"

  "Yes. Now I can make money. Big money."

  "Is General Matanzas in charge of the garrison?"

  "He doesn't know people are buying guns.... Hemustn't know."

  "Guns," Fernando muttered. "Money for guns."

  "There will be trouble," said Pedro.

  "I gather that," croaked Fernando. He no longer feareddeath. He asked Pedro to have men place him in a chair andcarry him to the _tienda_. Alone, at the desk, he opened hissafe and counted 2,000 pesos for his overseer. Guns! Withthe bills before him he felt powerful again. The smell of thepesos told him insane things. The map of Petaca confirmedhis illusion: 1,800,000 acres, corn land, wheat land, sugarcane, mountains, valleys ... his. Yet, as he stared at themap, he realized he could not distinguish one sector fromanother. Troubled, he began shuffling the bills; then henoticed the open account book. In spite of his shaky hands, hefound the accounts Raul had canceled. Groaning, he slidforward, tried to grasp the desk, tried to rise and collapsed.Somehow, he held to the top of the desk. The guns in thegun rack became sticks. The door became a black hole. Hefelt his eyes ... they were still open. Slowly, he rested hishead on his arms.

  Presently, someone rapped and the door opened.

  "Don Fernando?" called Pedro, coming inside and closingthe door. He stepped to the desk and jogged Fernando'sback and the old man looked up; instantly, Pedro realizedhe could not see.

  "Don Fernando," he whispered.

  Fernando could not reply. He lowered his head again.

  Without hesitation, Pedro picked up the money andjammed it into his trouser pockets; then he stood still andlistened carefully; he glanced through the open windows;an oriole sang; a horseman clattered by; then footstepsseemed to be coming toward the _tienda_.

  One of Fernando's bearers rapped. Pedro let him in andtogether they carried Fernando to his room, Chavelahovering about squeaking and clucking. Angelina broughtammonia. Someone went off for Father Gabriel.

  Calmly returning to the _tienda_, Pedro checked the safe.The old man had spun the dial. Hands in his pockets, walkingstiff-legged, he went to an empty stable and sat on afeed-box. He had never had so much money. His hands trembled.It frightened him to count it ... his tongue hung out.

  "... two hundred, three hundred, four-eighty, sixhundred, seven hundred ... seven hundred and twelve pesos." Hestopped counting, hurriedly stuffed the money inside hishat, and strapped the cord under his chin. His face was red.His jaw sagged. Guns ... guns. They'll be afraid of me atMountain Rancheria. His tongue skated round his teeth. Inthe gloom of the stall, he smoked a cigarette and thought ofhis Yaqui home, the Sonora country, how far away it was.Of a sudden, it seemed close. With hundreds of pesos hecould take the train.... Nobody would know him.

  Again he counted the money, got up to fifteen hundredand fifteen pesos and stuffed the bills inside his hat, fingeringhis chin strap. Rising, with a great sigh, he got his horse andthrew on his saddle.

  As he rode uphill, he watched volcano smoke elbow acrossthe lagoon, a calm gray surface. Petaca lay below. Oxcartscrowded the courtyard as men returned from an irrigationjob along the lagoon. Sitting his gray, a spirited stallion, heknew the renegade's fear: the Clarin had planned to payhim off, could trap him if he wanted to. Well, Don Fernandomight never recover. To hell with Petaca and the old man!He had money enough to make out. Roweling his horse,Pedro climbed the slope toward Mountain Rancheria. Hewould buy and sell guns there ... somebody would wanthis services.