Bella

by C M Blackwood

  “Oh, just stop it, you naughty thing,” Robert continued, swerving his eyes not a fraction of an inch from the boiling countenance of César. “If you want to see me so badly, I’ll come to you. Where? Yes, I remember the place. See you there.”

  He ended the call, and dropped the phone back into his pocket, with a great deal of satisfaction.

  “Where are you going?” César demanded.

  Robert leaned back again, and began to pick at his fingernails. “Let me see,” he said. “What was the place? A very long name, it was. A little too long – let me see – “El Diablo en El Vestido Negro.”

  “Are you meeting my sister there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will come with you.”

  Robert sneered, and said, most provokingly: “We haven’t required the pleasure of your company, sir, any other time we’ve enjoyed a visit to that fine establishment. What will this be – the fourth time? An entire bottle of tequila, every night we go. That sister of yours has a very hardy constitution, for being so small and dainty. So thin and fragile – so breakable.”

  César began to seethe, and almost to foam at the mouth.

  “So you see,” Robert said, “that we’ll be just fine on our own.”

  He stepped out onto the cracked concrete walk, and locked the door to his room very carefully behind him. Then he strode arrogantly past César, and across the lot to his car. He settled himself behind the wheel – with César not far behind – and tooled very slowly and coolly out into the street. César was on him, nearly bumper to bumper, all the way to El Vestido Negro.

  24

  What Passed in the Cantina

  Lucie’s brief comments concerning her brother, at the behest of Alejandra, extended into something of a conversation, in which all three of the young women took part. Alejandra even seemed, at times, to be taking Lucie almost seriously; but when it became known that Clara planned to walk to the cantina in pursuit of her paycheck, and that she wished very much for Lucie to accompany her, Alejandra jumped immediately to her feet, and ran off with the vague apology that she had “something to do.” Both Lucie and Clara knew what that something was, and they sighed in unison.

  But perhaps we can go so far as to give Alejandra credit for her selection of a venue for the meeting. She knew very well that Clara intended to stop over at El Vestido Negro; and maybe it was a desire to show her sister, that she didn’t want to be so obdurate anymore about keeping Robert as her own special secret. It was as if she conceded to allowing Clara to catch a glimpse of him, while he was on her arm – thus demonstrating that there was nothing so bad about being in his company.

  For this improved manner of thinking, as we said, we can certainly commend her; but still we must sigh a little, and frown a little, for it’s obvious that all of Lucie’s counsel was, in the end, of no effect whatsoever.

  But there was, really, nothing at all that either the counselor or the sister could do, to dissuade the lover from her object. So they went about stowing the chopped vegetables in the refrigerator, and cleaning what mess they had made in the kitchen, before sallying forth together for their walk.

  Outside, the evening was warm – but not terribly sticky. The traffic in the streets was surprisingly little, and sounds were so few, that it was perhaps the very closest thing to silence that Lucie had heard so far in Juárez. The sun was sliding slowly away, and the faint moon was stealing steadily nearer, floating like a hazy white orb across a dark blue sky.

  Lucie was so very pleased with this current state of the world, that she walked along very slowly at Clara’s side, saying nothing. She smiled complacently, and uttered a long, soft sigh of contentment. She thought nothing of it, at first, when Clara took her by the hand; but merely pressed her fingers in response, and drew a little closer to her.

  It was only when the last of the light had begun to disperse, and the night had fallen in earnest, that a slight chill began to take hold of her, and she looked doubtfully towards the spot where her hand was twined with Clara’s. Still, she didn’t say a word – but she did, after a moment or two’s additional thought, draw her hand away rather quickly, almost as if she had been burned.

  Clara started, and turned towards her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Now, Lucie would have been willing enough to tell her – that is, if she had understood clearly herself what was wrong. The only thoughts she could manage to connect were as follows: that she loved to be near to Clara, and that it felt as almost her own personal right, to hold her hand whenever she wished. All she needed do was close her eyes – and she could feel the pressing of Clara’s lips, against her mouth, her face and her neck, as real as anything. But it seemed that Clara had loved Tomás for a very long time; and though she had once gone so far as to ask Lucie about her feelings concerning him, she had never renewed the subject again. So, to cap the matter, Lucie thought that she loved Clara very much, perhaps more than she had ever loved anyone at all – but she was not, to be true, entirely sure whether Clara loved her, as well.

  She wanted to introduce this problem to Clara, and to ask her quite as honestly as she was able, what was the real answer to it. But then – the more she thought, and the more she wondered, she couldn’t help but ask herself whether it was better not to know. So long as she didn’t, she could believe what she wished, and tell herself just as many times as she liked, whatever she liked. But then – so long as this was the case, there was a small matter of pride which sprang up round her uncertain heart, to render such an act as holding Clara’s hand, potentially disastrous in the long-term.

  This was the train of thought which forced her to drop said hand. Or, rather, she actually flung it away from her, for fear that it would even do her some immediate harm.

  But how to say it, exactly – when all the words, even within the safe walls of her own mind, sounded ludicrous?

  So she merely answered, “Nothing.” Clara, however, did not appear the least bit convinced, and seemed, for a moment, to intend to pursue her line of questioning. But Lucie held up a hand in peremptory refusal. She tried, at the same time, to smile; but this second gesture didn’t seem to come across so sincerely as the first.

  There were several long minutes of quiet, perfectly unbroken as the two companions continued to walk – side by side, but a great deal more distant than they had been a few moments before. If they could have seen into one another’s minds (an ability which, we find, would come in very handy very often, if only we could discover the method), then they would have known that either one’s thoughts were revolving round the same identical point. From that point, admittedly, they branched off into many different paths, and left tracks in their wandering which were by no means the same; but it’s only to say, that if they had simply spoken aloud what mental turmoil they passed through, they could have been nothing but sympathetic to each other’s plights. Perhaps, too, they would have come to some resolution that served to ease both their minds. But they didn’t speak.

  It was some twenty minutes later when they finally arrived at the cantina. They passed together through the door, and Clara made to lead Lucie towards the bar, whence Teodoro was beckoning her to come over to him. But they were interrupted in their progress by a loud shout from the center of the smoky room. They wouldn’t have been so taken by the sound (common as the lifting of a rowdy voice seems to be, in the midst of a crowded bar), if it hadn’t been heard very clearly to pronounce Clara’s name. She and Lucie turned towards the voice, and saw with some surprise that Alejandra was waving frantically to them, from a table at which she sat in between Robert and César. Her countenance was incredibly anxious, and appeared somewhat pained, as she waved her arm, more wildly each moment, for her sister to come to her.

  Clara looked for a moment at Alejandra, feeling somehow certain that whatever was passing at the table was of an ill nature. Lucie looked for a moment at Robert, and was nearly frightened by the sight of him, though of course she couldn’t wholly recollect the flav
or of their last meeting and parting (far as she had been, you will remember, from her usual self). But she was wary just the same, as she followed along slowly behind Clara.

  When they reached the table, they were met with an uncomfortable state of affairs. Robert, sitting on Alejandra’s left, was staring hatefully at César, and very obviously wishing that he would go away; while César, sitting on Alejandra’s right, was staring with all the poison he could muster towards Robert, and very obviously wishing that he would go away – no doubt far, far away, well past the boundary of his native country.

  Alejandra, meanwhile, sat uncomfortably in betwixt, with a most melancholy expression on her face; and was very obviously wishing that she could simply disappear. But, considering her complete inability to accomplish this feat, she looked with whatever hope she had at her sister. It was apparent that she wished for Clara to save her.

  “Hello, everyone,” Clara said stiffly, looking all around at the circle of unpleasant faces. “How are you all doing?”

  “I would be very well, madam, if your brother didn’t insist on poking his dirty little nose into places where it doesn’t belong,” said Robert, in a manner very proud and condescending; but at the same time in a tone which might make a less acquainted ear believe that he was actually very ill-used.

  “And I would be very well, sister,” said César, “if this – this gamberro – would leave our Alejandra alone, and go back where he belongs!”

  “Though I’m not entirely sure what that word means,” Robert said dryly, “I think it no great inference to assume that it’s one designated to insult my honor.”

  “Your – your honor?” asked César, disbelieving. “You have no honor, sir! You – you – oh, you!”

  “How very articulate of you,” observed Robert.

  Alejandra simply sighed, threw up her hands, and seemed very much on the verge of tears.

  “Maybe we should all call it a night,” Clara suggested, “and go home.”

  “Wonderful idea!” exclaimed César, pounding his fist on the table. “Alejandra, Clara, Lucie – let us all go home. And you, señor, will be kind enough to return to whatever dark and slimy hole you crawled out of.”

  “Why, you self-righteous son of a –”

  “How dare you, you piece of –”

  “Enough!” hollered Clara.

  This last offering, to a conversation which had been quickly increasing in volume, was quite loud enough to cause several tipsy heads to turn in their direction. But, being tipsy, they were soon distracted by any other number of considerable noises, and turned away again without a word.

  After the little party had sat and stood for some moments, all silent and some seething, Clara repeated her proposal of quitting the place.

  “I won’t leave,” said Robert, through clenched teeth. “Alejandra solicited this appointment with me – very much of her own free will – and I intend to keep it for just as long as I feel like. Now I, for one, considering the disagreeable circumstances of the evening, have had nowhere near enough to drink. I won’t quit this place, till I’ve had my fill of liquor and pleasure. I defy you, sir –” (he pointed with a trembling finger to César) “– to make me move against my will.”

  “I will not touch you, sir,” returned César. “But neither will I leave, while you sit with my innocent sister clutched tight in your claws.”

  Robert opened his mouth to respond, and it seemed very much that the table was bound for yet another breach in its relative peace, when Clara slammed her own hand down atop it. She stood drawing deep breaths, with her chest heaving furiously, and her eyes flashing in a most frightening fashion. She then drew two additional chairs to the table, took one of them for herself, and gestured for Lucie to sit in the other. In so doing, Lucie found herself seated beside a fuming and frothing César, while Clara was situated directly next to Robert, whose countenance was eerily composed, and whose blue eyes had turned hard, as if filled with dark ice. He looked once to his sister, with a grin expressing infinite amounts of hate and disgust, and a fierce chill took hold of her heart.

  When they had sat quiet for some moments, Robert called in a high and haughty voice for more tequila. Old Teodoro, who was innately aware of the disturbance taking place at the table, shuffled over with a bottle himself.

  Clara sighed, and put a hand to her head. “Mientras estamos aquí,” she murmured to herself; for she was thinking that, so long as they were there, they might as well all calm their nerves with a swig of the liquor. Then she said, more loudly to Teodoro, “Tráenos copitas, por favor.”

  Teodoro nodded; disappeared for a moment into the smoky crowd; and returned presently with five clean glasses. Clara, who seemed very ruffled, was the first to take hold of the bottle. It was then passed all around, and applied heartily to, till it reached Lucie. But she didn’t want to take any. All past experience with alcohol left her head thick and muddled, no matter how little she took. What moderate difficulty she sometimes had, grasping as tightly as she ought to the reality of a situation, was swept with a single drink into a very extreme one. Therefore she shook her head to decline, and pushed the bottle to the middle of the table.

  “Oh, what’s the matter with you?” demanded Robert, in a voice very low and nasty. “Why do you have to spoil everything, Lucie? You see us drinking – all with glasses – and you push the bottle away? You don’t want to drink with your own brother? Do you shun my company, Lucie, is that it? Do you bear me ill will?”

  “No,” Lucie said quietly.

  “Is that so? Then why don’t you look at me, Lucie – look at me, and share a toast with me!”

  “A toast to what?” she asked sullenly.

  He leered menacingly, and spat with a sibilance much akin to that of a ferocious cat, “To us.”

  Lucie sighed, and reached for the bottle.

  “You don’t have to do that, Lucie,” Clara said.

  “Give it to me,” Lucie demanded.

  “I can tell you don’t want it. Why take it, just to make him happy?”

  “Give it to me!”

  Clara started, and passed the bottle without another word. Lucie filled her glass to the brim, sloshing a bit onto the table in her sudden passion, and then held it up in the air. “To you, Robert,” she said. Her voice was caught somewhere between mockery and submission; but her brother paid no heed to the former. He only refilled his own glass, lifted it likewise, and said, in a surprisingly sincere tone, “To you, Lucie.”

  They both drained their glasses. Following their example, the other three emptied theirs; and then all five applied themselves again to the bottle. Lucie felt as if she were running a race without victory, looking constantly at her brother, and doing only as he did, till she had drunk off four glassfuls. Her head began to swim, and her cheeks broke out into a violent flush, while her hands were clammy and cold. She wobbled a little in her chair, as Robert handed her the bottle once more, but she succeeded in plying it without dropping it. Robert reached across the table, then, and took her hand. He dropped his chin nearly down to the table, and stared intently into her face. “One,” he said.

  “Two,” she said.

  “Three,” he said; and together they drank off another glass.

  Afterwards they both began to totter a bit, and continued to hold to each other’s hands, if only to keep themselves from falling out of their chairs.

  César and Alejandra were sitting quietly on the other side of the table, seeming only to drink and think to themselves – and that, to no very agreeable result. Their faces were etched with frowns, and covered in shadows. But neither spoke.

  Clara was looking worriedly into Lucie’s face. “Did you take any of your pills today?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Lucie answered, with not a little slurring of her words.

  “How many times?”

  “Three?”

  Really, this was not a guess. Lucie knew perfectly well, that she had swallowed them four times that day. She had recently
ceased forgetting to take them, and had actually grown quite fond of them, on account of the heady, invincible sensation they provided. Perhaps, if she were accustomed to thinking more clearly, she would have seen the potential disaster in this – but alas, she wasn’t, and so she didn’t.

  “My God, Lucie – you shouldn’t be drinking! Never mind as much as you’ve been drinking.”

  This Clara could certainly say, with a very minimal amount of hypocrisy; for she had so far refilled her glass only once, and its contents were untouched. Her wits were very evidently about her, and her eyes shone with an intelligence and clarity that Lucie felt very much as if she herself were lacking. But this only made her angry.

  “Mind your own business,” she muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  She and Robert looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

  “What is the matter with you?” Clara asked indignantly. But then her eyes lighted on the bottle, and she said, “And what do I mean by that? It’s obvious what’s the matter with you. Give up that bottle, Lucie.”

  “I won’t.”

  “She won’t!” Robert echoed, very supportively.

  “You –” said Clara, looking irritably at Robert, “– you just be quiet.”

  “Eh?”

  “Don’t talk to him like that!” Lucie cried.

  “And take that!” said Robert.

  Brother and sister began to roar once again with laughter. Here Alejandra rose from her chair, and hurried off towards the restroom. In her absence, César became even more moody, and sank only farther back in his seat, with his eyes fixed on Robert.

  “And what are you looking at?” asked Robert. But then he waved his hand, took a sip of tequila, and said, “But I suppose I should make an allowance. You’re only looking at the face of a real man – and no doubt wishing it was yours! What do you think of that, Lucie?”

  It seemed that, as Robert’s drunkenness increased, so did his dependency on Lucie’s thoughts and opinions. He looked to her every other moment. Finally he grasped her hand again, more roughly this time. He darted his eyes at César, and then at Clara – and couldn’t have (even if he tried) appeared more possessive.