Lucie, who was already up and browsing the shelves, looked excitedly at her companion. “Anything I like?” she asked.
“Anything,” repeated Clara, whose smile seemed unable, or unwilling, to fade.
“Even when you’re not here?”
“Of course.”
“Good heavens!” Lucie repeated, slapping a palm to her forehead, clearly overwhelmed with the great assortment of volumes hanging all round her head (for admittedly there were hundreds, a collection fit to rival her own). She scanned their spines with a fingertip, and seemed several times about to lift one up; but she shook her head each time, and laughed aloud. At last she gave them all a final sweep of her eyes, sighed contentedly, and returned to Clara.
“Very nice,” she said, with many emphatic bobs of her head. “Very nice indeed.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Ah – but anyone would say so!”
Clara shook her head. “Not everyone. To tell you the truth, I’m the only who ever touches them. Well – except for my brothers, when they were younger. They liked to snatch one every once in a while, and tear out a few pages before I could get it back.” She laughed. “There are quite a few books in here, that aren’t quite as long as they used to be.”
Lucie gasped, and looked aghast. “No!” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” Clara insisted, still laughing.
But Lucie could only shake her head, horrified. She couldn’t imagine anyone doing such a thing to a book. (Even Robert had never performed such an atrocity as that.)
Suddenly, however, her thoughts shifted from the subject of mutilated books, and her eyes sought the table on which the radio stood, where before she had seen a glowing alarm clock. But the finding of it did her little good, as she had forgotten what time it was when she first entered the room.
But Clara seemed to sense her thoughts. “I still have a little time,” she said.
“I wasn’t –”
“Yes, you were.”
“But I only –”
“Oh, just come and sit next to me!”
“Aren’t I already?”
“You’re too far away.”
Lucie looked at the very small space that separated them. She didn’t know how she could come any closer, without coming very close indeed. Her confusion made her frown, and her eyebrows knitted together.
But Clara only grinned, and patted the empty space beside her. So Lucie crawled over to it, and leaned back against the pillows. She sat for a little, silent and still – and then, almost without thinking, lowered her head to Clara’s shoulder.
She felt Clara’s head touch the top of her own, and closed her eyes.
“Lucie?” said Clara.
“Hmmm?”
“Look at me.”
Lucie made to pull away a little, so that she wouldn’t be so near when she turned her head; but Clara held her arm to stop her.
“No,” she said. “Don’t move. Just look.”
Lucie kept her head rather stubbornly averted, and pinched her leg in anxiety. “Why?” she asked.
“Fine,” said Clara. “I’ll do it.”
She put her hand under Lucie’s chin, and tipped her head up. “There you are,” she said with a smile.
Lucie felt that she was having some minor difficulty breathing. She opened her mouth slightly, to draw in some air; but she hardly got any of it, for suddenly her mouth was covered with Clara’s own. She was so dizzy, she thought it a wonder she didn’t faint.
When Clara pulled back, her face was unsure. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Did you not want me to do that?”
Lucie didn’t know what to say. Anything she tried to say, probably wouldn’t have come out the way she intended; so again, she moved without thinking. She raised herself up, threw one leg over Clara’s waist, and propped her elbows against the mattress to either side of her.
“I guess you did,” Clara said softly.
Lucie looked down into her face, and asked, “Can I?”
Clara nodded.
“When do you have to leave?”
Clara watched her with wide eyes, and circled her arms round her back. “I don’t care,” she answered.
Lucie slid down to lay against her, and kissed her lips.
She wondered if she should have locked the bedroom door.
22
The Courtship of Alejandra
Unbeknownst to anyone but himself, César arrived home very late that night. When finally he came to consciousness on the walk of Diamond Place, with a great swollen lump under his hair, and a twisted arm which he straightened with rather a nasty crack, he struggled to his feet, and stumbled home, where all was dark and all were slumbering.
Next day (after sleeping off the mild concussion inflicted upon him), he placed a call to Manolo, and requested an immediate meeting to be scheduled with Domingo Jiménez, who he hoped very dearly could assist him in his troubles with Folsom.
But that’s all we’ll say at present, concerning those troubles. Assuredly we will return to them later – but let’s diverge for now to other matters at hand.
After concluding his brief conversation with Manolo, and treating his sore head to another short nap, César shuffled out into the kitchen, where his family was gathering for supper.
Everyone was talking merrily, and laughing at one another’s jokes, as they helped Mrs. Vicente to set all of the dishes on the table. Then they sat down together, and began to eat.
“Where is Alejandra?” Eduardo asked suddenly, looking all about.
What with this inquiry hanging in the air, and all the others having begun glancing around, and calling Alejandra’s name intermittently, it was surely impossible for that young lady to accomplish what stealthy escape she had been plotting. She was spotted by her father, as she tried to sneak silently down the hall. That good fellow laid down his fork, set his wrinkled face into a stern frown, and called after his daughter, asking what she meant by leaving the house at suppertime. The young woman answered, that she was having dinner somewhere else.
Uncommon as this occurrence was for any member of the family, Alejandra was immediately questioned; and rather haughtily she answered, that she was meeting Robert.
Before anyone could think to argue, Alejandra had turned on her heel, and was flying towards the door with all the alacrity which was necessary for the effectual evasion of her parents’ reproofs. By the time old Mateo began hollering (an act very uncharacteristic of that kind and quiet gentleman) about all of the many things he disliked concerning Robert Benoit, the door to the apartment had been slammed shut, and his daughter’s ears had flown beyond the reach of his noisy discontent.
“Well!” exclaimed Maríbel, who seemed inclined at that moment to fix her astonished countenance on the sister of the perpetrator. “I just never!”
Lucie began immediately to squirm; for Maríbel’s honest indignation was followed by the righteous outrage of every other member of the family, and for some reason it all happened to fall on her. In the absence of the brother, she supposed, the sister would have to do, as a recipient of all these expressions of contempt.
But she was obliged to think that this wasn’t quite fair. Already they had seen that Robert thought little more of her than he thought of them; and she disliked very much being placed in league with his wrongdoing. What had she done to deserve it?
Unfortunately, it was only Clara who seemed to also be thinking along these sensible lines. She sighed at the unchecked frustration of her family, and looked to Lucie with compassion for her unwarranted circumstance. As if eager to dispel the heavy brooding of the table, she cleared her throat, and offered a generic smile, as a possible remedy for all hurts and discomforts occasioned by Alejandra’s departure. Then she said, with far less reserve than she was accustomed to show in such matters, “Why are you all looking so hard at Lucie? I’ll admit, her resemblance to her brother isn’t small – but still you are all wise enough to understand that she is not her brother?”
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The very moment these words were spoken, all eyes were dropped from Lucie’s face. There was a good deal of blushing, and nervous laughter; which was followed by several brief, gruff apologies to Lucie, for any unsavory looks that may have unwittingly been given her. But quickly the subject was brought back around, to the reason for which their ire had been kindled in the first place; and old Mateo began with his younger son to swear many oaths, all delivered in their own native tongue, so that the exact verbiage – if not the overall spirit in which the words were spoken – was lost upon Lucie. She looked down at the untouched food on her plate, and realized that she was no longer hungry.
The dinner hour passed slowly, with not much eating on anyone’s part – but a wonderfully vast amount of heated dialogue being passed in the biscuits’ stead. Lucie only hung her head, and felt her cheeks burn, though she thought it an inappropriate time to take her leave. Thankfully, however, the moment for rising arrived; and she took full advantage of it, by leaping out of her chair, and pelting down the back hall, before any eyes could turn on her. For the first time since having begun her stay at Little Tortuga Street, she abandoned the duty of tidying the kitchen to the others, and simply dashed into her room, where she locked the door, and flung herself on the bed. She hid her head beneath the pillow, consumed by a fit of shame that was not her own. When Clara knocked, she wouldn’t open the door.
Only another word more on the matter, for now. Something had worked to create an attraction between Robert and Alejandra, this much is true. So far as Lucie could detect, the phenomenon was very fierce and passionate on Alejandra’s own side, but incredibly cold and unyielding on Robert’s – perhaps so very much so, that Lucie was struck dumb in finding a cause for it.
There was, of course, Robert’s familiar aversion to all living things save himself. And then, to make matters more bizarre, there was Alejandra’s questionable temperament. But it didn’t take Lucie long at all to resolve, that it was quite akin to Robert’s own (in some respects, at least), and in that way it eliminated its overall unpleasantness in regard to himself – as compared to, for example, how it was in regard to herself, which we know was not very pleasant at all.
Robert began with Alejandra this torrid affair, which was hardly unknown to the Vicentes. They found it very difficult to express approval of the relationship, unimpressed as they were with the young man’s manners and behavior.
Several days after Alejandra’s scandalous dinner exit, Lucie ran into her while she was looking for Clara. Sure enough she found Clara; but also she found Alejandra, standing in the kitchen beside her sister, and assisting her in the chopping of a myriad of piled vegetables. Lucie frowned at the sight of Alejandra, and doubled back, but she was beckoned by Clara before she could slip away. So she moved reluctantly forward, and went to stand beside the sisters.
She was startled nearly to distraction, when Alejandra looked up at her and smiled. She followed this unbelievable gesture with a gracious wave of her hand, and the question: “Do you want to help?”
“Of course,” Lucie replied. She took with wide eyes the little knife that Alejandra handed to her, and proceeded somewhat dreamily to slice and dice, following the skilled and deft example of the sisters.
They had worked in silence for a while, when suddenly Lucie looked up from a half-mutilated carrot, and settled her eyes on Alejandra. She hardly knew where the words came from – or why they came from that mysterious place – but the reasons mattered very little, for in the end she said:
“I know that you’re a very intelligent person, Alejandra. I don’t doubt it for a second. But Robert has – well, he’s been my brother for a very long time. I only want to tell you, that you should be careful of him. You should be very careful.”
Alejandra’s eyes snapped to Lucie’s face. While they were filled with amazement, however, there was not a trace of wrath to be seen. She only stared quietly.
“I love my brother,” Lucie went on, returning to the easy solace of cutting the carrot. “But he’s never been only one thing. He’s many things, all at the same time – and you never know which.” She paused, and crinkled her brow in the recollection of something she had read, many years ago.
“Once, in a story,” she said, “there was a crocodile. He said – and I think that I should say it now – that ‘a liar, a flatterer and a jackal were all hatched out of the same egg.’ My brother may flatter you, Alejandra. But know that he is a liar – and a jackal, too.”
Lucie had to drop her knife for a moment, and draw a deep breath. Never before, did she think, had she ever spoken ill of her brother; but now she had done it, and somehow meant it.
23
A Tense Conference
While Lucie was making use of her energies in warning Alejandra as best she could, as to the sometimes-treacherous qualities of her brother, César Vicente had more on his mind in regard to Robert Benoit, than merely his sister’s foolish infatuation. In fact, he had no intention at all of screaming or scolding, when he pulled into the lot of that little motel where Robert was lodged. Rather, his thoughts were all of business again – and there was nothing (seemingly even his own dear sister’s honor and virtue) that could cause them to stray.
Remembering very well which room was Robert’s, and not having to guess at all as to which door he should knock on, César went on his way to performing just that action. He rapped loudly, and several times in a row, so that he couldn’t be missed. And assuredly he wasn’t; for only a few seconds later, the door went swinging inwards, and Robert Benoit’s vicious countenance was exposed to the moonlight.
“I have nothing to say to you,” he snarled, “till your merchandise arrives. It will be a few more days.”
“That is not what I wish to speak to you about, amigo,” César said plainly.
“Amigo?” Robert repeated. “I am not your amigo, sir. I thought that we had settled that pretty conclusively.”
“Fine, then,” César returned – but with the utmost rations of politeness and sweetness as his voice could accommodate, without flowing all the way over with the nauseating, sugary syrup. “Have it whatever way you want it, Mr. Benoit. I only came to discuss a certain . . . article of business with you.”
“Article of business? What are you yammering about? We have no more business – till your merchandise arrives.”
César forced a smile, and rubbed a nervous hand over the back of his neck. His skin seemed to have broken out in a cold and sticky sweat.
“It is about the money I gave you, amigo,” he said.
“What about it?”
“I came to ask you, to beg you, for some of it back. I promise it will be returned, before you leave Mexico –”
“Excuse me?” Robert barked. “You want – you want some of it back? You’ve already stolen it once! You won’t set eyes on it again, I promise you.”
“You must listen to me,” said César, with a voice growing quickly desperate. “I am in trouble – very much trouble. If I cannot pay a certain debt I owe, then I will have no need of your merchandise, for I will be ruined!”
Robert smirked, and asked, “Is there any specific reason why I should care?”
“Are you so heartless, amigo?”
“Completely.”
César hung his head for a moment; but he would not be defeated so easily. “Perhaps you will take a little more interest,” he began, “if I give you a few more particulars.”
“I sincerely doubt it.”
“I do not. You see, amigo – there is a man in Mexico, a white devil like you, who is even more powerful than me. I owe him money, and he wants it badly. If I do not give it to him, I will be ruined – and so, perhaps, will you.”
Robert twisted his face unpleasantly. “Explain,” he ordered.
“If Tom Folsom swallows my clients,” César went on, “then I will not be able to move what product you give me. If I cannot move it, then I will have no money to give you, six months from now – and then who will you
sell to? No one likes you, Robert Benoit. If you lose me, then you will have to go to Jiménez himself – and he hates you.”
“I’m aware,” Robert muttered.
“Then will you help me?” César asked. “If you do, you will only be helping yourself.”
Robert was quiet, and seemed to think for a very long moment. He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, and crossed his arms over his burly chest, while he stared into César’s anxious face. Finally he said, “I don’t think so.”
“What!” César cried.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“Think about what? What will you do – without me? No one will pay you what I do.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And I have a very strong will, Mr. Vicente, if you haven’t already noticed.”
“You will regret it.”
“Maybe,” conceded Robert, with a gracious nod of the head. “But mind – I didn’t say no. I told you I would think.”
“You must think quickly, amigo. Tom Folsom offers no grace periods.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The two men were gazing venomously into one another’s faces, poised like cobras at the ready to strike, when suddenly there sounded the tinny ringing of a cell phone. Both men put their hands to their pockets, but it was only Robert who came up with one of the little black gadgets. It was his which had rung, and he looked at it carelessly, as if he were always so very overwhelmed with calls that he could scarcely stand to bear this one – before pressing a button, and speaking a bland “Hello” into the mouthpiece.
But his eyes lit up, when a high voice (which even César could hear somewhat) came to greet him. And who could it have been, but Alejandra Vicente?
“Hello, love,” said Robert. “I missed you terribly, you know, after you left last night.”
He looked rapturously at César while he said this; for he knew well enough, that César knew exactly who he was talking to. Proof of it lay in the violent shaking of that gentleman’s fists, and a livid flush which sprang up into his cheeks.
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