by Blood
He had been here once before, the day Cousin Jorge Alejandro was laid to rest in the Duarte tomb.
They came to the Frade tomb. It was about the size of the Duarte Tomb, about thirty feet wide and twenty feet deep. Wrought-iron-barred glass doors offered a view of the interior, which was set up like a church altar. The monk reclaimed the key. "With your permission, Se¤or Frade," he said, and unlocked the door.
I'll be damned. 1 think he expects me to go inside.
He looked at Lauffer, his eyebrows raised in question, and Lauffer smiled, nodded, and handed Clete a flashlight.
That was nice of him to think about that, but I won't need a flashlight in there. I can see well enough, and I don't intend to stay long.
He followed the monk into the tomb. He looked around. There was a large Christ on the cross-either a statue or more likely a bronze casting-on the wall of the tomb above the altar; a large, formal cross-I wonder if that's gold? Probably not; if it was gold, somebody would climb the cemetery walls at night and steal it-and several other gold-or at least gold-plated-objects beside it on sort of a shelf against the wall. Two of them were filled with fresh flowers. Nice touch. Everything rested on a-what do you call that, an altar cloth ?- sheet of finely embroidered linen. That's fresh from the laundry. A similar but larger cloth covered a marble table, three feet wide and eight feet long, two feet from the altar against the wall. In a church, that's where the priest would have the wine and wafers for Holy Communion.
He turned to the monk, wondering if it would be appropriate to comment on the nice furnishings, or maybe to thank him-he had the key to this place, he's probably responsible.
The monk was on his knees, not praying, but instead lifting a section of the tomb floor. The floor, Clete noticed for the first time, was of steel. Like in the center of a bridge, where they put a section of steel like that, with holes, to keep cars from skidding when there's ice.
What the hell is he doing?
With a grunt, the monk pulled a five-foot-square section of the floor loose, and with an effort pushed it to the side of the room, resting it against a wall.
Then he took a small flashlight from the folds of his robe, put it in his mouth, and backed into the hole in the floor. When only his chest was above floor level, he took the flashlight from his mouth.
"Be careful, Se¤or. Sometimes the ladder is slippery."
Does he expect me to go down there? What the hell is down there, anyway?
When the monk disappeared from view, Clete went to the opening and stared down. A metal ladder, looking like something you'd find on a destroyer, went down as far as Clete could see.
At least three decks.
He shrugged-what the hell?-and backed carefully into the hole. Lauffer's flashlight was too large to put in his mouth, so he had to put it in his pocket. There was just enough light for him to find the round rungs of the lad-der with his feet. He started to climb down.
He found himself in a room as large as the altar room above. There was no altar. Instead there were shelves on all four sides of the room, four high, each holding a wooden casket. Most of them were full-size, but he saw three smaller caskets, one tiny. Children's caskets, and a baby's casket. On the wall in front of him, where two shelves would ordinarily be. he saw another Christ on a cross.
The monk was descending farther into the ground. Clete followed him.
There's no smell of death in here. A musty smell, and the smell of wood, that's all.
The thought triggered a clear and distinctly unpleasant memory of the sweet smell of corrupting corpses.
Shit!
Clete climbed down after the monk through three more burial chambers, each full of caskets on shelves, and then to a fourth chamber. In this one, all but two of the casket shelves were empty.
I guess this is where el Coronel will go. How the hell are they going to get that casket down here?
The monk flashed his light on the two shelved caskets. Both were massive and polished like good furniture, Clete saw, but not identical.
I'll be damned! That's one of those cedar caskets Beatrice was raving about!
"We have moved your grandfather here, Se¤or Frade," the monk said, lay-ing his hand on one of the caskets. "Beside your grandmother."
"I see," Clete said.
"I will now leave you to your private prayers for the repose of the souls of the departed," the monk said, and started for the ladder. He stopped. "I suggest you be careful with your torch. If you drop it... very little light gets this far down."
He waited until Clete had taken his flashlight from his pocket and turned it on, then offered a final word of advice. "You might find it convenient to place the torch under your belt. And mind the ladder!"
"Thank you," Clete said.
The only thing I want out of this place is me! But, shit, I can't just follow him immediately.
You've been around dead people before. Stop acting like a child.
He flashed the light on the caskets, noticing for the first time that engraved bronze plates were on them.
MARY ELIZABETH CONNERS DE FRADE
1861-1916
"Mary Elizabeth Conners"? That doesn't sound Spanish. What did the monk say, "beside my grandmother"? Mary Elizabeth Conners is-was-my grandmother? She bore my father? Changed his diapers, for Christ's sake? Suckled him? An Englishwoman? Or an Irishwoman? He flashed the light on the other casket.
EL CORONEL
GUILLERMO ALEJANDRO FRADE
1857-1919
My grandfather, another el Coronel Frade.
Clete saw in his mind's eye el Coronel Alejandro Frade's pistol. His father had given it to him as a Christmas present reflecting his heritage. It was a Colt.44-40 single-action, often fired, most of the blue gone, a working gun, not a decoration. On one of its well-worn grips, inlaid in silver, was the crest of the Husares de Pueyrred¢n, on the other the Frade family crest.
To judge by the gun, my grandfather was apparently a real soldier.
El Coronel-why do I think of him that way, rather than "Dad"?-told me his father died the rear before Dad came to New Orleans and married my mother.
Did some monk bring my father down here when his father died, to show him where his grandfather had been moved? What the hell is that "moved" business, anyway? Moved from where, and why?
Sorry, Grandpa, Grandma, I'm an Episcopalian, and I don't know what kind of a prayer I'm supposed to offer for the repose of your souls. If I knew what to say, I would.
I've been down here long enough.
Curiosity got to him before he reached the next level, however, and instead of climbing higher, he stepped off the ladder and moved around the chamber, looking for one casket in particular. He didn't find it on that level, although he came across a surprising number of people whose names were non-Spanish-sounding. Even some Germans, which he found disturbing, but mostly English. Mawson. Miller. Evans.
He found the casket he was looking for on the next level.
JORGE GUILLERMO FRADE
1850-1915
Uncle Willy's in there. Horse breeder, swordsman of national disrepute, and collector of dirty pictures. Maybe I do have some of your genes in me, Uncle Willy. God knows, I like horses, whiskey, and wild, wild, women, and I looked at every one of your dirty pictures the night I found them.
The discovery of Uncle Willy's casket somehow pleased him, and when he realized that, he was uncomfortable. He returned to the ladder and climbed up-ward again.
In the chamber immediately below ground level, where there was enough light from above to see more clearly, an ornately carved casket caught his eye- angels blowing trumpets; a hooded woman carrying a limp body, presumably to heaven-and he stepped off the ladder and looked for the nameplate on it.
MARIA ELENA PUEYRREDON DE FRADE
1812-1858
Jesus Christ, Pueyrred¢n's daughter! My what? My great-grandmother? This is the reason I got that saber salute from the Capit n of the Husares de Pueyrred¢n at the Edificio
Libertador yesterday. Down here, that's like being related to George Washington.
He touched the limp body the hooded woman was carrying, tenderly, al-most reverently, then climbed back on the ladder.
Why do I suspect that Colonel Graham knows more about my family tree than I do ? He's a clever sonofabitch, and damned well knows that nobody's go-ing to easily throw Pueyrred¢n's great-great-grandson out of Argentina.
When he put his head through the hole in the upper-chamber floor, he could see out of the tomb. Specifically, he found himself looking farther than decency allowed up the marvelously formed, silk-stocking-clad legs of a young woman in a black dress.
He had two thoughts, the first of them not very relevant:
There seems to be plenty of silk stockings down here. I wonder why there's such a shortage of them in the States? Women are painting their legs in the States, including a line down the back of the leg, so it looks like they're wearing stockings.
His second thought, since he had recognized the legs, was more to the point.
Jesus, Dorotea! I forgot all about her. Somebody must have told her where I was, and she came to personally deliver Part Two of the Dear John letter she started on the phone last night.
Christ, I'm going to miss her!
He came out of the hole. Dorotea had been waiting for him. He gave her a wait-a-second signal and turned to the monk to thank him for the tour of the family tomb.
And suddenly, on seeing the embroidered cloth-covered table, it was as if his brain, which had been out of gear, suddenly dropped into high.
They're going to put el Coronel's casket on that table. That's what he meant when he said they had moved my grandfather. He was here, for God only knows how long, until today, or yesterday. The casket of the last one to die goes on dis-play in front of the altar for however long it takes for the next family member to croak.
The next one to croak is very likely to be me.
Jesus, what a weird custom!
Christ, I better say something to Tony, leave a letter of instructions or something. I don't want to go on display in here!
Or do I? What's wrong with being with my father and Uncle Willy?
Jesus Christ!
"Is everything to your satisfaction, Se¤or Frade?" the monk asked.
"Perfectly. I am in your debt, Sir, for your thoughtfulness."
"Your father, Se¤or Frade, your family, have always generously supported the Recoleta Cemetery."
That's a pitch for money. I'll be damned!
What the hell do I say to him ?
I'll have to ask somebody-Humberto-about giving them money. How much and to whom.
"Again, I thank you for your thoughtfulness. And I will never forget it."
The monk smiled, turned, bowed before the altar, and walked out of the tomb.
Clete followed him. He saw Lauffer, standing twenty yards away, motion to the monk to join him.
He thinks I want to be alone with the pretty girl. What did General Lee say at Appomattox Courthouse? "I would rather die a thousand deaths..."?
"What do you say, Princess? How's tricks?"
"I really wish you wouldn't call me that," Dorotea said in British-accented English.
"Sorry. You said you had something on your mind, Dorotea?"
"This is probably the worst possible place, at the worst possible time, to tell you this," she said. "I'm really sorry."
Oh, I don't know. This is a cemetery. Shouldn't dead love get a decent bur-ial?
"What is it, Prin... Dorotea? I probably won't be nearly as upset as you think I'm going to be."
She moved close to him and looked into his eyes.
"We're going to have a baby," she announced softly.
Even as he spoke the words, looking into her eyes, he knew the question he was croaking-"Are you sure?"-was unnecessary.
"Of course I'm sure."
"Oh, Princess!"
"Does that mean 'Three cheers, hurrah!' or 'Oh, my God!'"
"Princess, you really surprised me with this one."
"In other words, "Oh, my God!'?"
"I thought I was going to get a Dear John," he said.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Cletus. What's a 'Dear John'?"
"It's a letter a girlfriend writes her boyfriend in the service. 'Dear John, I'm sorry to tell you this, but someone else has come into my life.'"
"Sometimes you are a bloody ass, Cletus," Dorotea said angrily, and loudly enough so that the monk turned. "I love you, and until this moment I was la-boring under the delusion that you loved me, too."
"Princess, I love you more than my life," Clete said. "When I thought I was going to lose you, I wanted to jump in the goddamned River Plate."
She looked at him. Her tongue came out and licked her lips in a nervous gesture he found exquisitely exciting.
"Yes," she said.
"Yes what?" he asked, confused.
"Yes, I will marry you. Or wasn't that a proposal?" she asked, a naughty glint in her eyes.
"It was," he said. "But I don't think this is the place to get on my knees."
"Or the time. You had better wait a couple of days before you ask Daddy for my hand. And speaking of the devil, so to speak, what he thinks I'm doing is trying to find the loo, so I'm going to have to go back."
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
"I would really like to put my arms around you and really kiss you," she said. "But not here with the monk watching. Can you wait?"
"I don't have any choice, do I?"
"None," she said brightly, turned, and walked away.
She's not wearing a girdle under that dress. She really has a magnificent fanny. And as far as that goes, a magnificent everything else, too.
And she's carrying my child!
Why couldn't you keep your pecker in your pocket, you stupid sonofabitch?
Capitan Lauffer raised his eyebrows questioningly: Don't you think you should be getting back to the church? Clete nodded and walked to him.
[TWO]
1420 Avenida Alvear
Buenos Aires, Argentina
1215 10 April 1943
"Would you like something to eat, Cletus?" Humberto Valdez Duarte asked, walking over to where Clete stood at the bar set up in the downstairs reception, helping himself to a bottle of scotch.
Is that just good manners, or an expression of concern for my welfare, or is he worried that I 'm going to climb into a bottle the way my father did when they buried Cousin Jorge Alejandro?
"I'm all right, thank you. Can I fix you one of these?"
"There is supposed to be someone..." Humberto said impatiently, and looked around the empty reception. A door leading to the butler's pantry opened as he watched, and two barmen in starched white jackets came through, carrying a large, galvanized tub filled with ice and various bottles. "Ah, there they are!"
He waited until they had placed the tub behind the bar, then ordered: "I'll have one of those, please."
"Are you all right, Cletus?" Humberto asked.
Just peachy-keen, Uncle Humberto. I have just watched my murdered fa-ther being buried, and have been standing here thinking that if I hadn't shown up down here, he would still be alive. And also thinking that heading the list of shitty things-sins, if you like-I have done in my life is impregnating an inno-cent nineteen-year-old. Fucking up not only her life, but that of a child, too.
"I'm fine. Thank you."
The barman handed Humberto his drink. He nodded his thanks, then raised the glass.
"To Jorge Guillermo," he said, "May he find your mother in heaven as beautiful as he remembered her."
Clete touched his glass.
"And the horses be fast, and the champagne properly chilled," Clete said.
Where the hell did that come from?
Humberto chuckled and took a sip.
"Yes," he said.
"I watched the Husares de Pueyrred¢n move him from the Edificio Libertador last night," Clete said. "
I think el Coronel would have been pleased with his funeral."
"He loved parades," Humberto said. "Particularly if he was leading it."
"He was too goddamned young to die," Clete said. "And like that!"