Wind of Destiny

by Christopher Nicole

  He did so, and then Lumbrera ushered him out, closed and then locked the door. ‘That was a very pretty picture,’ he mimicked. ‘You did not have to expose yourself.’

  ‘I thought that was what you wanted.’

  ‘I wanted you to look loving,’ he grumbled. ‘Not expose yourself to the whole world.’ But he put his arm round her waist, and began to nuzzle her cheek, while the dressing gown fell away to reveal just how passionate he was. Close your eyes and think of him hanging, Christina had recommended. But it didn’t entirely work, especially as she had to endure him for several hours. He was insatiable, in every way, explored her as Rafael had never done, and as she hoped no man would ever do again. She felt turned inside out, and curiously defiled, far more so than by the mere entry of his penis, the spurt of his semen, while she waited for him to tire, which he never did until he grew hungry again. Then he commanded her to put on her dressing gown while he bellowed down the stairs for supper, which he wanted in the bedroom. It was brought up by the cook, a huge mulatto woman, who had already given Toni an appraising stare when she had first arrived, and now repeated it. No doubt she had also suffered Lumbrera’s attentions, from time to time.

  It was another enormous meal, and dragged on until nearly midnight. Then he wanted to return to bed again. But first he bellowed downstairs for the tray to be removed. ‘We do not wish to be interrupted,’ he said with a grin.

  This was a disappointment, both because his shout had to have awakened the whole house, and because there had been a good sized knife on the tray. She did not know if she would have been able to use it, but it was the only weapon she could see; he had carefully left his sword and revolver downstairs with the men, and there was nothing else the least bit useful in the room, save for the china ewer which stood on the washstand.

  Yet she could not let her nerves fail her now, she told herself as he resumed working on her, for all their mutual indigestion. This would be her only chance … and however weaponless, she was still big and strong, and her muscles, if unexercised for too long, remained those of the girl who had handled her own sailboat on Long Island Sound.

  At last he rolled off her, and lay gasping. The bed was set sideways on to the wall, and he had rolled to the inner side. She waited for several minutes, while her heartbeat increased in intensity. But surely he was asleep. He was even beginning to snore. It had to be now. Now, she told herself. If she could gain that ewer, and smash it across his head. Now! She rose to her knees.

  ‘What are you doing,’ he grunted, without opening his eyes.

  Her heart sagged. ‘I am going to use the pot,’ she said.

  ‘Stay here,’ he commanded, and now his eyes opened; he had not been asleep after all. But she could no longer delay, no matter what was involved. She tensed all of her muscles, drew the longest breath of her life while she smiled at him — then seized his head between her hands and with all the force she possessed, smashed it against the wall.

  *

  It made a terrible thump, which she was sure would have awakened the people downstairs, but there was no time for hesitation. His eyes flopped shut again, dazed, and still holding his head, she hit him against the brickwork again. This time there was a bloody mess left on the wall, and his body sagged. But she made herself do it a third time, and then leapt away from him, as he seemed to sink into the bed, while the sheets and pillows turned red, and red dripped down the wall.

  She backed away from the bed, aghast at the ease with which she had smashed his skull. Still staring at him, she dragged on her clothes, having rinsed her hands in the ewer; that water turned as red as everything else. She had no hat, and only drawers, a single petticoat, boots, and a somewhat patched gown; she would have preferred trousers, but there was nothing she could do about that now — the gown was at least dark blue; she had selected it from the three she still possessed, each in a similar state of disrepair, as the best for concealment at night.

  She made herself go back to the bed, look down at him. But she could not bring herself to touch him again. He looked dead. She believed he was dead. She had therefore killed a man. But what a man. Certainly no one who deserved to live.

  She opened the French windows leading on to the little balcony. This looked only into the interior courtyard, but the window on to the street was barred. She stood on the balcony for several seconds, waiting and listening. It was well past midnight, and indeed, she even heard a cock crow in the distance. To hesitate any longer would be fatal; certainly the house was in darkness.

  Taking another of her long breaths, she swung her legs over the rail and lowered herself, hung by her hands for a moment, then dropped; the ground was only four feet below her toes, and she hardly made a sound. She had gained but the sketchiest idea of the layout of the house, but a quick walk around the courtyard identified the snores coming from one of the downstairs rooms. She stood at the window and looked in, saw three men asleep. The fourth sat in the hallway beyond an opened doorway, in a chair with his rifle across his knees, but he too was nodding. She went to the other side of the courtyard, and located the kitchen by the smell. This was empty; the cook apparently slept above it, and there was, as she had anticipated, a door leading to the street. This was both locked and barred, but the key was in the lock. It was very large, and rusty, and seemed to make a very loud sound as she turned it, while the bolt screeched, so much so that she panicked and made even more noise in opening the door too hurriedly and stepping through — but there was still no movement from the other side of the house. And she was free. How easy it had all been — once she had made up her mind to kill a man.

  Free of Lumbrera. But not free of the hangman’s noose for murdering him. She crept along the alley beyond the kitchen door, and came out on the main street of the little town. The fort was to her left, and to either side of the houses there stretched the barbed wire entanglement, while now she saw that the cleared forward slope, the glacis, was swept by a searchlight, constantly moving to and fro, drifting across the open ground, making any stealthy assault next to impossible. Then what of stealthy escapes?

  She made her way to the end of the houses, encountered a single dog which snarled at her and then wandered off, reached the wire. It was strung from post to post out of sight into the darkness, and with dawn only a couple of hours off she did not think she could risk trying to find the end — if there was an end. While the searchlight constantly played across it. So the only way out was through it; the alternative was to go back into Santiago, and there she was certain to be caught once the hue and cry was raised in the morning, as she did not doubt it would be.

  She lay down next to the wire. As part of her plan, she waited for the searchlight to play across her, holding her breath, and then move on into the night. There was no sign anyone had noticed the dark hump. Gaining confidence, she carefully inserted herself beneath the first strand, staring at the barb inches in front of her face, waiting to tear her cheek open if she made the slightest jerky movement. Slowly she inched herself, on her back, the next barb brushing her breast. Then the light came again, and she had to He absolutely still, trying to stop herself from panting, and then screaming as the beam seemed to hover for a moment, over her, before moving on. But there was no reason for the soldiers, probably as sleepy as she was herself, to suppose anyone would be trying to get out of Santiago; all those who supported the rebels were either locked up or had already fled.

  Slowly she edged her way onward. A barb caught her skirt and she heard the material rip, but there was nothing she could do about that. And then suddenly, miraculously it seemed, there was no more wire. Not that she was out of danger. In fact, she was more exposed on this outer slope than before. She crawled forward, making herself resist the temptation to get to her feet and run, to be cut down within a few yards by machine gun fire. When the searchlight came again she lay next to a bush, keeping absolutely still. By now she was used to the pattern, and gaining in confidence all the time. It took her over an hour to cros
s the glacis and reach the bushes at the foot of the slope, but by then she knew she was going to escape, and if her heart still pounded whenever the light came, she no longer gasped for breath.

  Now she could crawl into the trees, and once there, get to her feet and run, for a while, before she ran out of breath and realised how foolish she was being. She had a long way to go, she was both mentally and physically exhausted, and she had neither food nor water. But she was free. For the first time in nearly three years, she was free. She was not going to let anything stop her now.

  *

  Soon after dawn she collapsed and slept, lying just where she had fallen. She was awakened by rain, a solid, teeming, tropical downpour. She rolled on to her back and allowed the water to pour into her mouth, and then sat up and caught some in her hands. The rain refreshed her, made her aware of how hungry she was, and how she had to keep moving — surely Lumbrera’s body had been discovered by now.

  Only a couple of miles further on she came across an apparently abandoned and overgrown banana plantation, where she found some fruit just ripening. These provided breakfast. The houses themselves she avoided, as she did not know whether or not they might still be occupied. Her destination was the high sierra, where she was sure she would find the guerrillas.

  She had taken several more of the bananas, which she stuffed down her bodice, and these kept her going into the next day. She slept that night under a silk cotton tree, whose spreading branches seemed to provide ample shelter, but when it again came on to rain she was quickly soaked, and spent the last couple of hours of darkness in a huddled, sodden mass. But then she went on again. She wondered what was happening behind her, when they had found Lumbrera’s body. But there had been no sounds of pursuit.

  She made her way resolutely onwards, using the sun to guide her, following a south easterly direction all the time. Sometimes she saw people, hill folk, gathering their crops. She was enormously tempted to go to them and ask about the whereabouts of the insurgents, but she decided against it. By now she was adept at finding pools of water left by the rain — and it rained every night and often during the day as well — and she was equally skilful at lying concealed near one of the vegetable gardens, and sneaking out at night to secure her bananas or tomatoes, or to pull her carrots out of the ground — she happily chewed them raw. She had no meat, and no means of procuring any, but did not miss it. It was too exhilarating to be free, her own mistress. That was what she had liked most about sailing by herself. Perhaps one day she would, after all, again sail her cat-boat on the Sound.

  It was on the fourth morning when she awoke to the understanding that she was no longer alone, and opened her eyes to gaze at the men. The men she sought, certainly. She had been climbing for the past twenty-four hours, and besides, they looked the part; their clothes were ragged and several were barefooted, but they carried rifles and bandoliers as well as machetes.

  Their gazes were hungry, but she was not afraid of them, for all that she was unarmed, and that she knew her skirt and bodice were torn, her hair untidy, her boots cracked. She could never be afraid of anyone ever again, after Juan Lumbrera. She pushed herself to her feet and they stared at her height. ‘I am Senora Antoinette Diaz de Obrigar,’ she told them. ‘I am the wife of General Rafael Diaz de Obrigar.’

  The men exchanged glances. ‘General Diaz is a long way away,’ one said.

  ‘In the north,’ said another.

  ‘Four days march,’ said a third.

  ‘Then you will take me to him,’ she commanded, ‘and be well rewarded.’

  She never doubted they would obey her.

  ‘Toni?’ Rafael stared at his wife in total consternation. ‘My God! Toni?’

  *

  She stared back. He was only twenty-six years old, she recalled, but he looked double that. Not that he had put on any weight; he was even more slender than when she had last seen him, on the morning they had buried his father. But he wore a beard, thick and black, and his face was that of a man who lived on his nerves and his wits, and his courage. Certainly the naivety and uncertainty of the boy had quite disappeared.

  ‘Aren’t you glad to see me?’ she asked. He had made no immediate move toward her. ‘I told these men you would reward them for bringing me to you.’

  ‘Toni,’ he said. ‘Oh, Toni.’ He took her in his arms, held her close. Gone too was the scent of pomade; here was only sweat. But she did not suppose she smelt any different, and here too was a muscular strength she did not remember. ‘Reward them,’ he said. ‘Oh, I shall reward them. My wife,’ he shouted, turning her to face the encampment. Here was certainly a collection of brigands, she realised. All bearded, all armed; even the women were armed, and there were several women to be seen, as well as even some children. There were no houses, not even huts or tents; apparently they lived in caves in the hillside or merely in the open. In the Cuban climate they were unlikely to die of exposure, however uncomfortable the rain might be from time to time. And they were even more raggedly dressed than she. But they were free, and had the look of freedom, too. Yet there were so few of them. Not more than sixty, all told — and none that she recognised as peons from Obrigar. Could they all be dead? Or had they already given up the fight and refused to follow their employer any longer?

  And there was no sign of Jack. Her heart gave a lurch, but less of one than she would have expected. It had been too long, and her own emotions were too confused. But would she have risked all that she had, were it not for the expectation of seeing him again? ‘Where is Jack?’ she asked.

  ‘He is near. He will soon be here. But you … you have escaped? Or have they let you out?’

  ‘I will tell you about it,’ she said, while relief flooded through her mind. ‘When Jack returns.’

  He arrived an hour later. It was impossible to say he had aged, because his reason for being in Cuba at all had always meant he had never been young, for her. He too wore a beard, in his case reddish brown, and his skin was burned almost black by exposure to the sun and the wind. And he too had the look of a man to whom death was no stranger. Had he and Rafael ever perpetrated any of the horrible massacres upon loyalists of which Lumbrera had spoken? That was something she would have to find out. But Jack was certainly glad to see her, even if he, like Rafael, was apparently dumbfounded by her appearance.

  They sat round a fire and drank rum while they ate goat’s meat — high tasting and stringy — and vegetable stew and drank a very rough red wine. As it was not actually raining, but quite mild and with a Caribbean moon bathing the scene, it was at once romantic and exhilarating. The guerrillas were a jolly lot, especially after they had begun drinking, and Toni’s enjoyment of the evening was spoiled only by the baleful looks of one of the women, hardly older than herself but small and dark, whose name, it appeared, was Incarna, and who, she very rapidly gathered, had been Rafael’s wife-substitute for some time, and was not at all pleased to be so suddenly relegated to a supporting role. Toni wished she wouldn’t be. She was not at all sure that she wanted to resume being Rafael’s wife right this minute; certainly she wanted time to appreciate her new situation, and forget Lumbrera. And Christina? If only Christina could have been here with her … but she had made that decision, because it was the only one she could make. She could not brood on it now.

  They wanted to hear about her experiences, so she told them everything she could remember, from the beginning.

  ‘We saw the flames of the house burning,’ Rafael said.

  ‘That was when we decided to move north,’ Jack told her. ‘I am sorry we could not break through that time we attacked Obrigar, but they were stronger than we had supposed. In defensive positions, they are very good troops. And with these fellows, enthusiastic though they are, anything like a proper manoeuvre is impossible. We suffered too many casualties to be able to try it again.’

  ‘My house,’ Rafael brooded. ‘Burned to the ground.’

  ‘You will rebuild it, one day,’ Toni told him, and then tol
d them about the camp, about what had happened to Christina, and about Dona Carlotta’s death.

  ‘Dead,’ Rafael said. ‘My mother dead. My father dead. Both were killed by these monsters who would rule over us. And my sister, debauched.’ He curled his fingers into fists. ‘For every finger laid on their bodies, I shall take a Spanish life,’ he declared.

  Toni looked at Jack. His face remained impassive, and she could not see his eyes in the darkness. ‘How did you escape?’ he asked.

  Toni told them.

  ‘You killed Lumbrera?’ Rafael cried, and for the first time hugged her with true warmth. ‘Oh, my dearest wife. You are truly worthy of me. You killed Lumbrera with your bare hands. I have never killed anyone with my bare hands.’

  He sounded almost as if he was making a mental note to do so, as soon as possible. Again Toni looked at Jack. This Rafael was someone she had never met before.

  ‘Quite a feat,’ he agreed. ‘And then you escaped from El Caney? I have reconnoitred El Caney. It looked like a strong position.’

  ‘It is,’ she said. ‘But it is meant to keep people out, not people in.’

  ‘That’s how it seemed to me. Well … ’ he grinned at her. ‘I’m afraid you’ve exchanged one pretty desperate existence for another, senora. Our people are melting away. Since the announcement of the amnesty. We really don’t have enough men to launch an attack upon anywhere, much less El Caney. Oh, Garcia maintains himself in the south, but then he always has. He is quite content to revert to being a brigand for the rest of his life. And we still get occasional shipments of arms and ammunition, smuggled in by our American friends. But what we are going to do with them … ’

  ‘You speak like a defeatist,’ Rafael growled. ‘Are you too losing your spirit? Or has Toni’s arrival reminded you that there are better things in life? You, who dreamed only of vengeance.’