“Come on!” Jason shouted. “We’ve got to get clear before someone is trampled,” and he broke through the now sizable crowd that had seemingly materialized from nowhere to put his horse into a gallop down the otherwise empty streets. The Others streamed after him, horses fighting bits in the excitement. They slowed as they got clear of the city and dropped down through the steepsided barranca and out onto a bare stony slope below.
Unrecognizable as that gruesome face was, she never questioned that the Don Fernando whose head hung spitted on that terrible great hook was the same Don Fernando of the meeting. Zaragoza was telling them, in unmistakable terms, that he was ahead of them every step of the way, and that indescribable things were in store for them if they persisted in crossing him. It was impossible to imagine that the twisted, bloodstained face had ever laughed at a jest or smiled at a child, that the open, silently shrieking mouth had ever kissed a woman. The contorted features in her mind’s eye subtly turned into those of Jason, and she suddenly felt as cold as death.
She felt a hand on her arm. “There, there, don’t take on so,” Will said as his Bravo kept pace with her mare, and only then did she realize that tears were running down her face. “It’s a brutal, heathen country and that’s a fact, but I’ve seen worse that the Indians did in Kentucky and Ohio.”
She gave him a grateful smile and patted his hand. “You’ve forgiven me then, lass?”
“Oh, Will, it’s you who should forgive me. I think God made me only half a woman, but I can’t help it.”
“You mustn’t think that, lass,” Will replied, his expression somber. “Promise me you’ll not go on believing a lie like that. ’Twas bad luck, lass, that’s all, just plain bad luck and nothing more. You’ll fall in love with a young man one of these days and you’ll see I’m right. You’ll be glad things turned out as they did.”
“I hope you’re right, Will,” but she didn’t in the least think so. “How — how did Jessica take it? I don’t feel very good about her either.”
“Not to worry, lass. When she’s taken with one of her spells, she knows nothing, and certainly no one here is going to enlighten her. I knew she was going into one or I would never have embarked on our al fresco venture. As I say, it could have been far worse.” He looked sad, though, and old and beaten. They rode on in silence with nothing left to say.
It was late afternoon of a grueling day before they came out of the badlands and onto a high plateau covered with short brown grass like fur and great stone outcroppings some of which looked like fantastic animals, prehistoric creatures, or grotesque faces. Other rocks looked as if they had been piled one on another haphazardly by some careless giant’s child. They were rendered even stranger by the long ebony shadows they cast that spilled across the grass like paint, elongating and distorting the already startling shapes. The plateau stretched before them as far as they could see, the setting sun limning the dark rock with red.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” Jason announced.
“What about water?” Sid asked, shifting his considerable bulk uncomfortably in the saddle.
Jason pointed at the mules. “See those two horsehide water bags? They’re plenty for drinking.”
“Oh no!” Josefina wailed. “Do you mean to tell me we can’t even wash?”
“Not if you want a drink,” Jason said.
“And f-fires?” Guy demanded. “I can’t see anything to burn.”
“There isn’t anything to burn. We’ll have a cold supper and get an early start in the morning.”
There was a chorus of groans as they all took in the barren vista before them, the rock formations like chessmen on a gigantic board looming up ominously against a rapidly darkening sky. Fortunately they were all too tired to squabble much, and after wolfing down cold meat and beans washed down with a rough red wine, they settled themselves for sleep, bothering neither to set up shelters nor even to undress.
Roberta fell into a short heavy sleep troubled by torturous dreams of Jason’s head on a hook; an unseen but nonetheless perceived executioner stripped to the waist and wearing a black hood, in his hand an enormous bloody ax; and finally a huge distended male phallus rising up black against the evening sky. She woke with a start, her heart beating wildly, and felt through the pallet the stony ground beneath the concealing grass. A waning moon rode high in the night sky, its light painting the grotesque cairns with a pale glow. Her eye caught a distant gleam that came and went several times before she realized that it must be a cigar. The smoker was sitting in the shadow of one of the rocks, leaning against it invisible in the dim moonlight. Still uneasy because of the dreams and the terrifying beginning to the journey, she got up and walked the hundred yards or so to where the smoker sat.
“Jason?” she said quietly, not sure how she knew it couldn't be anyone else.
He was silent for a moment, then, “Can't sleep?” came in a low voice.
“I slept all right, but wished I hadn't.”
“Bad dreams, ducks? Never mind, we won't be doing any more meetings. Even I can tell when enough is enough.”
“Jason, what if he decides to kill us?” There was no need to specify whom she meant.
He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “He won't. There is no reason for him to. The meetings in and for themselves aren't that important, and he knows it. Now, he might indeed feel uneasy were he to know that we were aware of the conclaves, but there is no way he can know. It's enough now that he continues to watch us.”
“What do you mean, the meetings aren't all that important in and for themselves?” she demanded. “You mean we've been doing all this for nothing?”
“Keep your voice down! Of course they were important, though possibly not the way you think. Where I made my mistake in Guanajuato, and I'm going to have to live with it, is that I contacted Don Fernando.”
“I'm glad it's not on my conscience,” she said.
“He deserved what he got.”
“You’re mad!”
“Robbie, Robbie, that rich old son of a bitch was playing both ends against the middle. He wanted to know how much Alarcón would pay him to back the revolt. I'll wager anything he made the mistake of going to Zaragoza with the same proposition.” He drew on his cigar. “No, it was that greedy old bastard himself who went to Zaragoza and got himself hung up on a hook for his pains. However, I do agree that we shouldn’t press things too far, though I'm going to have a time explaining no meeting in San Luis.” He shrugged. “There’s no help for it.”
“Jason, I think we should go on with the meetings. As long as Zaragoza continues to believe that he might still learn something important, he’ll leave us alone. Once we’re back in Guadalajara, your good friend Alarcón can protect us. If he can’t do that much, he surely will never be President.”
“No,” Jason replied shortly. “Have you forgotten what Don Fernando’s head was like, hanging on that hook?”
She had no answer. She could dimly make out Jason, staring off into the darkness of countless miles of wild, all but uninhabited country, across jutting mountain ranges piercing a bright sky, and lush tropical jungle where parrots screamed at the dark western sea sliced by a molten moonpath, and on to the unknown exotic islands lying somewhere out there far beyond. She felt a terrible desolation, as if all of those distances were slowly crushing the life from her, and she crept back to her pallet without even saying goodnight. In her dream a church bell clanged endlessly through the night in an unfamiliar town, in whose labyrinth of streets she wandered forever lost.
The third day found them on a high, barren plateau broken only by occasional hills, across which swept a tumultuous wind that blew the horses’ manes and tails straight out sideways and cruelly chapped the lips and faces of the riders. They could see the buildings of San Luis Potosi hours before they arrived to find the last of the sun gilding the church towers. Leaves and trash and dust blew through the cobbled streets, filling their mouths and eyes and hair with grit.
“God, why would anyone want to live here?” Gavin asked, huddled up in his manga like an old lady.
“Gold,” Sid replied. “Ever since the Spaniards came, there’s been a river of gold flowing from this very city. I’m surprised they didn’t pave the streets with it. Those hills out there may look barren, but they've got fortunes lying underneath.”
*
As they rose from the table after dinner, the innkeeper, a heavyset mournful-looking fellow with jowls like a bloodhound, announced sadly that Senorita DuPlessis and Senor Weetnee were wanted in the private room adjoining the bar.
“What’ve you two been up to?” Sid asked jovially. “That’s quick work to be in demand not an hour after arriving in town.”
Hugh looked worried but said nothing.
The innkeeper led them across the bar and politely opened the thick wooden door of the private room for them.
“Welcome to San Luis, dear friends,” Zaragoza said expansively, gesturing with his cigar for them to be seated.
CHAPTER XX
If Jason was taken aback, he didn’t show it. “Most kind of you,” he murmured equably. “May I stand you a drink, sir?”
“No, indeed,” Zaragoza laughed. “This is my party. I’ve already ordered a bottle of the best brandy in the house. Not bad, either: it was hidden during the revolution. Not a cognac, but quite creditable.”
The innkeeper appeared with a tray containing a bottle and glasses. Zaragoza gestured him out then and held the candle for Jason to light his cigar. The brandy was indeed creditable, an 1809 armagnac.
“It has come to my attention that there would be no rebel meeting here, and I thought it high time we had a little talk,” Zaragoza began.
“You have the advantage of me,” Jason replied. “Talk away.”
“I’ve been informed,” Zaragoza continued, “that here or in Zacatecas or in Aguascalientes you are scheduled to meet with gentlemen from Mexico City.” His eyes flicked to Roberta. “I am particularly anxious to get a look at them; that is coming rather close to home.”
Jason raised his eyebrows and smiled. “You surely don’t imagine that I would arrange such a meeting for your benefit? Sorry, old man, but they’ve all been canceled. Alarcón is no longer in the running.”
“A splendid try, my friend, but it won’t work,” Zaragoza said, laughing. Then he sobered. “I haven’t a great deal of time to waste, Whitney, and I’m sure you’re tired and want to go to bed. I have reason to believe that Aguascalientes is the rendezvous. If San Luis or Zacatecas were the place, there would have to be a sizable group of travelers on their way, but my informants tell me that no such activity exists on the roads. Since your engagements will coincide with the big fair at Aguascalientes, travelers would not be conspicuous, would they, a perfect opportunity for a clandestine conference. In my darker moments I almost wonder if the rest of those meetings weren’t merely a smoke screen to disguise this important one.”
“If you are right,” Jason answered him, “and I’m not saying you are, I would surely see to it that there was no meeting now that you say you are expecting it.”
“Oh, I don’t think you would,” Zaragoza said almost lazily, “not if you thought something unpleasant would happen to Miss DuPlessis here. I wonder, for example, how that face would look with burn scars.”
Roberta went cold.
Jason flicked the ash from his cigar. “Come now, you can’t possibly think she means anything to me.”
“I intend to find out.”
“Well, I can’t stop you. Go ahead if it makes you feel any better.”
“The first proof of good faith will be your calling a meeting here after all. The city will be surrounded by my men, and should any of your fellow conspirators attempt to sneak out to contact Mexico, Miss DuPlessis’ looks will be a thing of the past.”
“What’s to stop me from sending someone when we’re on the road?”
“Give me some credit, Whitney. You’ll be closely watched, never fear.” His voice hardened. “I want to know every conspirator who seeks to join you, arid you’ve conveniently provided me with a list of them.
“I’ve been on to you from the beginning. We’re approaching the end of the road now, and I don’t want you flagging. I didn’t mean for those pendejos in Guanajuato to get so carried away. A nice, quiet, tidy assassination was what I had in mind.”
Jason looked thoughtful. “I suppose I should have known the game was up when you were on the boat with us.”
“As a matter of fact, you should have. Surely you didn’t think those disguises, good as they were, would fool anyone for long.”
“I did think they would help. But to return to our original subject, you’ve put me in the position of heads I lose, tails you win. There isn’t any meeting to include anyone from Mexico City, there was never one planned, yet it is impossible to prove a negative. I’d hate to have that poor girl’s face burned for nothing — I’m not a monster.”
Even this last was said with a casual coldness that froze Roberta’s blood. She remembered his callousness over Carmelita’s death and suddenly believed that he was not merely trying to pull a colossal bluff after all. Naked pain shot through her. Everyone she cared for she lost one way or another: Margarita, her mother, her father, Will, and now Jason. She looked up to see both men watching her, Jason with a rather disinterested look as if he were about to yawn, and Zaragoza with an intent stare.
“You know,” Zaragoza said slowly, “I think perhaps you really don’t care what happens to her.”
“Bully for you,” Jason snapped. “I’ll tell you what. If you’re all that eager to have those meetings held, I’ll hold them. Since Alarcón is out, it won’t make much difference anyway. I will stay highly visible all the time, so that you can be positive I have nothing to do with the fact that there will be no delegation from Mexico. Fair enough?”
For the first time, Zaragoza seemed a little unsure of himself. He hadn’t expected this easy capitulation, and it worried him. Had he somehow been trapped into insisting upon what Jason had wanted all along? “Very well,” he agreed, “but just remember, you’re being watched constantly.”
Jason rose gracefully and bowed. “My compliments on the armagnac. Perhaps I can return the hospitality one day.”
Zaragoza was equally graceful as he rose. The two elegant men stood looking into each other’s eyes for a moment, then Jason held out his arm to escort her out. Was there something about being so unfeeling that lent these monsters such grace? Roberta ignored Jason’s proffered arm and sailed out with her chin in the air. To hell with both of them!
She had prepared herself to tell him in no uncertain terms that she refused to lend herself further to his farce, but he never gave her a chance. Without a word he turned into his own room and firmly closed the door behind him, leaving her standing in the hall, torn between fury and grief. Something she couldn’t identify, something she hadn’t been aware was there, had broken, and she felt like a puppet whose strings had parted.
At San Luis they played in an open churchyard whose wrought-iron fence was festooned with curious townspeople below and ragged urchins above. Hugh had booked them there on a whim, allowing the church to charge whatever they wanted.
“It’s bad for actors to play only to the rich,” he explained. “It ruins their style. There is a kind of life to an audience of ordinary people, a basic response, that you simply don’t get from the well-to-do, who do not respond honestly either to the very good or the very bad. It was the poor who made Will Shakespeare the playwright he was, not the rich.”
It was true that the crowd had a vitality and humor that had been lacking in all of their previous encounters with Mexican audiences. They played The Robbers' Roost as well as Othello, and the audience loved them, calling out ribald advice and laughing uproariously. Jason and Jessica especially responded with verve, giving their best performance ever in the pantomime. The watchers cheered them back five times, unheard of in a real theater, and th
ey obliged by replaying the last scene. Afterward Jason was in a marvelous humor, jesting with just about everyone except Roberta, whom he managed, without being obvious, to ignore. For all her resolutions, it still hurt.
Next came Zacatecas lying in the cup of the red ocher hills, Zacatecas with its maze of narrow medieval streets, it buildings of dusty rose stone, and its leather-clad vendors and their burros laden with great horsehide bags of water brought up from the mines by the patient blindfolded mules and oxen as they circled endlessly to pump the precious liquid to the surface.
Hugh wisely allowed them several days off until the mule train with their baggage arrived. They were all tired, tired of the hard riding, tired of doing the same lines in the same plays, tired of uncomfortable inns, and tired of each other. Gavin, sensing Roberta’s unhappiness, chose to press his suit again, leaving Silvia to wander about like a sad little wraith.
After the defection of Will and Jason, the thought of Gavin’s uncritical affection seemed like a drink of sweet cold water on a hot afternoon. It was reassuring to have someone gaze at her fondly with no disapproval, no reservations. Gavin wanted only to love her, not to use her. She tossed her head, as though to say she needed neither Jason nor Will. She did appreciate Gavin... he loved her, he was available, he was handsome, and he wanted to marry her. She would never do anything to hurt him; why should she? When he asked her to go with him on a picnic, it almost seemed unfair that everyone got so upset about her going with Will. They didn’t seem to care at all if she went on one with Gavin — quite the contrary.
A Masque of Chameleons Page 24