He took the cigar from his mouth and looked at it for a moment then threw it over the railing. It burst into a scatter of sparks. “I’ve thought about that,” he said slowly. “But I don’t see that there’s anything for me to do. I hung around Curatu for almost three weeks. No one offered me anything so I came home.”
“El Presidente is very hurt that you did not come to talk with him before you left.”
“How could I? Every time I sent in a request to see him he was too busy.”
“How could he have known you were planning to leave?”
“Would it have made any difference? What was I supposed to do? Hang around forever like a dog hoping for a bone?”
“Come back to Curatu with me and see him.” He looked at her. “Is that your idea or his?” She hesitated a moment. “Mine. He would never admit he is hurt and longs to see you.” Dax looked at her for a moment, then shook his head.
“No, I think I’ll stay here. When your father wants me he’ll send for me.”
That had been almost a year ago, and Dax had remained at the hacienda for almost nine months before el Presidente had summoned him. When he was ushered into the office el Presidente threw his arms around him and greeted him as if it had been only yesterday when last they had seen each other.
“Your father’s greatest ambition,” he said to Dax, “was to see the country united under one government representing all the people equally. It is also mine. This has been almost accomplished. But in Asiento el Condor, the old bandolero, still resists. El Condor knew your father and respected him. He would listen were you to approach him with an offer of amnesty. His participation in the government would be without prejudice.”
6
“I am not a politico,” the old bandolero said. “I am only a simple murderer so there is much of which you speak that I do not understand. But this I do know. I would like my son to go to school. To learn to read and write and speak with the smoothness of your tongue. I would not wish for him to spend his life in these hills engaged merely in a struggle for his existence.”
Dax looked across the fire at el Condor. The old man was seated on the ground, his legs crossed in front of him Indian fashion, the thin cheroot gripped between his lips, his hawklike face tight over the bones. He glanced around at the others. The bandolero’s lieutenants stared back at him expressionlessly. The morning sun glinted on their knives and guns. Behind the old one stood the son of whom he spoke.
Slim and straight, he stared at Dax, his fourteen-year-old eyes filled with an animal wariness. Like his elders, he had a knife and revolver in his belt.
Dax turned back to el Condor. “Then you will accept el Presidente’s offer?”
“I am an old man,” the bandolero replied. “It does not matter much if I die. But I would not wish my son to die with me.”
“No one will be harmed. That is the personal guarantee of el Presidente.”
“I do not desire to become governor of Asiento,” el Condor went on as if he had not heard. “What do I know of government? I just do not want that my son should die.” He took the cheroot from his mouth and looked at it then raked out an ember from the fire and relit it. “I had eight sons and three daughters. They are all dead but this one.”
“No one will die,” Dax repeated. “El Presidente himself guarantees that.”
The old man kicked the ember back into the fire. “Diablo Rojo is a fool. Guiterrez will kill us all.”
Dax stared at the bandolero. The old one’s face was impassive; only the faint glitter in his coal-black eyes betrayed his Indian heritage. He wondered how to explain to a man for whom time did not exist that Guiterrez had long since gone. That this was a new government even though the soldiers wore the same uniform. That it had been many years since Presidente de Cordoba had been Diablo Rojo, a bandolero in the hills, and that he himself had seen Guiterrez captured and taken away to die. Before an answer had taken shape in his mind the old man spoke again.
“If you will guarantee the life of my son. You personally, swearing on the soul of your sainted father whom we all loved and respected. Then I am prepared to accept Diablo Rojo’s offer.”
“I swear it.”
El Condor sighed softly. “Bueno.” He got stiffly to his feet. “Go then to Diablo Rojo and tell him I will meet him in the village of Asiento on the last day of this month. There will be no more war between us.”
***
El Presidente waited until the door had closed behind his secretary before he spoke. “You have done well in the mountains.”
Dax did not answer, for no answer was expected. He looked across the desk at el Presidente. The man seemed never to change. Save for the slight graying of his hair he looked exactly as he had the first time Dax saw him. He was dressed in the uniform of a general but without medals, insignia, or braid. This, he believed, showed him to be a man of the people.
“There will be peace now. El Condor was the last of the important ones. The others, they are nothing. We can pick them off like flies.”
“Perhaps the same arrangement could be made with them? They would be willing once they saw how el Condor was received.”
El Presidente dismissed this with a gesture. “They are not worth the bother. We shall take care of them.” He clasped his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “At any rate you will not have to concern yourself with such problems. I am appointing you consul at large. You are going back to Europe.”
Dax stared at him. “To Europe? What for?”
El Presidente opened his hands. “The war in Spain is drawing to a close. It is time we established relations with the new government of Francisco Franco.”
“But what of General Mola?” Dax asked. “I thought he was to be president.”
El Presidente shook his head. “Mola talks too much. I realized that as soon as I heard his statement about the fifth column before the siege of Madrid. With those words he lost his power, because Madrid did not fall immediately. The first thing a leader must learn is to keep his mouth shut. He must never let anyone, friend or enemy, know what he is thinking or planning.”
Dax was silent for a moment. He wondered how many men besides his own father had been deceived by el Presidente’s calculated silence. He pushed the thought from his mind. “What do you expect me to do in Spain?”
“Spain will need food. We have food to sell. Spain will also need supplies with which to rebuild. All kinds. The stupidity of the gringos will keep them from doing business with Franco. We can obtain whatever is required from them and transship it to Spain.”
Dax looked at the older man with a growing respect.
Suddenly he understood what had set him apart from the countless other bandoleros who had come down from the hills. Now he knew what had attracted his father. Right or wrong, selfishly or unselfishly, el Presidente always planned ahead. And no matter how much disappeared into his own pocket, Corteguay benefited.
“You will go to Franco,” el Presidente continued, “and you will make a deal with him. We will be the agents for Spain in the markets of the world.”
“What if Franco is not interested?”
El Presidente smiled. “Franco will be interested, I know the man. He is like me, a realist. He knows that he can no longer count on his allies Germany and Italy once his war is over. They will soon be involved in a war of their own. Have no fears, Franco will make a deal.”
“When do you want me to leave?”
“On the third of next month a ship sails for France. You will be aboard.” He got out of his chair and walked around the desk to Dax. “And now there is just one more thing.”
Dax smiled. “Yes?”
El Presidente did not answer immediately. He pulled a chair close to Dax and sat down. Subtly his voice changed. “You know for a long time now I have thought of you as my own son. I remember when my two boys died, when you came down from the hills with Amparo. I think often of you two.”
Suddenly Dax knew what was coming. He raised his hand to try and stop the olde
r man. “We were only children then.”
But el Presidente was not to be stopped. “I remember even thinking how well you looked together. She so fair and blond, you so dark and fiercely protective. I recall turning to your father and saying, ‘Someday.’”
Dax got to his feet. “No, excellency, no. It is much too soon to speak of such things.”
El Presidente looked at him. “Too soon? Is it too soon for me to want a son to take my place? I am getting no younger. Someday I would like to lay down the burden of this office and retire to the peace of a small farm knowing that the country would be in the hands of my son.”
El Presidente’s face was sincere, his eyes warm. For a moment Dax was almost convinced that he meant it. But the very next words dispelled the illusion.
“The marriage of the two of you will truly unite the country. The respected name of your father joined to mine will convince the people of the mountains that we are sincere in our efforts.”
Dax did not answer, and el Presidente took advantage of his silence to continue. “Amparo is wonderful. But she is only a girl. And there is only so much a girl can do. What I need is a son. You. To be my right arm,”
Dax sank back into the chair. “Have you spoken to Amparo?”
A look of surprise came across el Presidente’s face. “What for?”
“She might not want to marry me.”
“Amparo will do what I wish. She will do whatever is best for Corteguay.”
“I still think she should have the right to choose her own husband.”
“Of course. Then you will ask her?”
Dax nodded. He would ask her, perhaps next year when he returned from Europe. By then many things might change. Even El Presidente’s mind.
“Excellent.” El Presidente went back behind his desk. The meeting was over.
Dax got to his feet. “Is there anything else, sir?”
“Yes.” El Presidente looked up at him, a faint smile around his eyes. “I would appreciate it if you spoke to Amparo as soon as you leave here.”
“Must we be in that much of a hurry?” A faint suspicion that he had been outmaneuvered entered Dax’s mind.
“Oh, yes. We must,” El Presidente replied, smiling. “You see I have already given out the story of your engagement. It will be in all our papers tomorrow morning.”
7
Dax thought he noticed traces of tears around Amparo’s eyes. “You’ve been crying?”
She shook her head. “You just saw my father?”
He nodded. “Congratulations, we’re engaged.”
She looked at him a moment, then turned and walked across the room to the window. When she spoke her voice was so low that at first he could scarcely hear her. “I told him not to do it.”
He didn’t answer.
She turned and looked at him. “You believe that don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“El Presidente has his own way of doing things. I told him that you should be allowed to make up your own mind.”
“What about you? I’m not the only one involved.”
She didn’t answer for a moment then her eyes met his steadily. “I made up my mind a long time ago.” A hint of a smile came to her lips. “Have you forgotten?”
He laughed. “I haven’t forgotten. I thought you would outgrow it.”
“I thought so, too. But when I came to see you in the mountains I knew I hadn’t.”
“Why didn’t you say something then?”
“Why didn’t you?” she retorted. “Girls aren’t supposed to suggest such things. Were you so blind you could not see?”
“I’m sorry. It never entered my mind.”
Suddenly there was a flash of her childish temper. “Oh, get out! You’re as stupid as all men!”
He reached out for her. “Amparo.”
She shook off his hand angrily. “You don’t have to marry me! Nobody has to marry me! I don’t have to beg any man!”
She ran out of the room. Dax stood for a moment listening to her angry footsteps on the stairway. Just as he started out el Presidente came in.
There was a smile on the older man’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asked slyly. “A lovers’ quarrel?”
***
Amparo had just finished repairing her makeup when she heard a knock at the door. “Who is it?”
“Me.”
She walked to the door and opened it. El Presidente followed her into the room, closing the door behind him. He peered at her from under his bushy eyebrows.
“I hope you didn’t make a fool of yourself.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t tell him?” Again she shook her head.
“Good,” he said, satisfaction in his voice. “De Ortega is gone. He won’t cause us any trouble.”
“You didn’t hurt him?” she asked, sudden concern in her voice.
“No,” he replied, lying. A bullet through the brain never really hurt anyone. “I sent him to a station in the south.”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
He felt the anger rise in him. “Whose fault was it then? I placed you in his charge. He was supposed to protect you, not rape you.”
“He didn’t rape me.”
“That makes it worse,” he said wearily. He stared at her for a moment. “I don’t understand you. I sent you to the university in Mexico for five years. To become a lady. To be educated. Was it only to have you tumble into bed with the first good-looking caballero that came along, like any common puta off the streets?”
She didn’t answer.
“Well, thank God, it’s over.” He sighed. “Dax will make you a good husband. You will have children and there will be no more nonsense.”
She looked directly into her father’s eyes. “I am not going to marry him.”
“Why not?”
“I am already with child.”
His mouth hung open. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I am entering my third month.” She turned to pick up a cigarette from the dressing table. “I won’t marry him. He would know in a minute.”
El Presidente seemed paralyzed for a moment. Then he exploded. Viciously he slapped her across the face, tumbling her backward onto the bed.
“Puta! Whore!” he shouted. “Isn’t it enough that I must defend myself against my enemies? Must I also bear the cross of betrayal by my own?”
***
A photographer came over to them. “One more picture, your excellency, please.”
“Of course, of course.” El Presidente was very much the proud father. He moved closer to Amparo and stood on his toes. At least this way he appeared to be taller than she. Not as tall as Dax on the other side of her, but tall enough not to seem ridiculous.
The flashbulb popped. They blinked their eyes. “Thank you, your excellency.” The photographer bowed and moved away.
Dax looked at Amparo. She seemed pale and drawn. “Are you all right?”
“I’m just tired.”
“It’s too much, too quickly,” he said. “Just yesterday we were engaged. Today this—”
He gestured at the room. The large reception hall in the presidential palace was filled. For the first time he realized that a whole new society had sprung up since he had been away. There were so many people whose names he did not even know. New people who had become important. Many of the old families were still there, but they were the window dressing. It was the new people who really held the power.
“What you need is a vacation, Amparo.”
“I’ll be all right, Dax.”
“You’ve become a political adjunct to your father. The Women’s League. The Worker’s Association. The Children’s Society. It is too much.”
“Someone has to do it.”
“You can’t do it all yourself. It is unfair of your father to think you can.”
“I go where my father cannot. How else do you think he can retain the support of the people? I have to do it. Governing has a responsibility all its own.”
<
br /> “The responsibility is your father’s.”
“It is mine also,” Amparo replied. “They look to me for the little things they dare not bring to him.”
Dax looked out over the hall. El Presidente was talking to a group of men. Every few moments he would glance toward them as if to reassure himself that Amparo was still there. He wondered what the old man would do after they were married. Amparo would be his wife, not el Presidente’s political assistant.
He turned back to Amparo but she was already deep in a conversation with a small group of women. He caught fragmentary snatches about a campaign for the improvement of certain health conditions. There was no doubt that Amparo dominated the small group. When she spoke the others listened with respect.
The women were all strangers to him, members of the new class that had evolved while he had been away. He took out one of his thin cigarros and lit it. So many things had changed. Nothing seemed the same any more.
The graciousness of the old society of his grandfather’s time, and even of his father’s, was gone. The new society just evolving from the middle and lower classes still carried traces of these backgrounds. But their speech, though carrying the stamp of education, still had overtones of the common people; and their manners were a curious overlay of form and style upon the rough directness of the campesino.
And their dress. He half smiled to himself thinking of the women of Europe and the United States whom he had known. Corteguayan ideas of fashion ran the spectrum of colors, and featured elaborate laces, frills and furbelows that reminded him of old photographs. But there was an energy and vitality about them that awakened his sympathy and pride. His father would have been proud of these people.
He looked again toward the men surrounding el Presidente. The men had not changed as much. They were still much the same. The fawning sycophants with the same inbred respect for power and carelessness about the privileges of others. They groveled to those above them, spat on those beneath them.
Suddenly he was glad to be returning to Europe. In a way he was more at home there than here. As a matter of fact he was more at home almost anywhere than here. He was Corteguayan. But he felt himself almost an outsider among a primitive people.
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