by John Horst
“I’d tell you, try to assure you that I didn’t. Can’t speak for Tolkenhorn. Frankly, I would put nothing past the man, but I don’t know that he has the guts for committing murder.”
“And how about you? What kind of guts do you have, Mr. Curtin?”
“Robert. Please call me Robert. Don’t know that either, Marta.”
“You’re not afraid to be in Mexico, though.”
“No. Not really.”
“Have you ever killed a man?”
He laughed at the question. It sounded funny, a little old fashioned. He responded without hesitation. “I’ve killed many.” He waited for her reaction. She looked up from her cigarette and into his eyes. She was a little impressed. “Alas, Marta, not the way you think. I’ve never outright killed a man, shot him or stabbed him or bludgeoned him. But I’ve been responsible for the deaths of a work party.” He took a drag on his cigarette. “Cleared of all wrong doing of course, not malicious or even incompetent. But that was a long time ago and I’ve gotta live with it.”
“I see.” She looked at her watch and stood up. “What are you doing next?”
“Going to New York, taking the next ship back.”
“And when is that?”
“Tuesday.”
That night, in bed, she called to Rebecca, lifting the covers for her to crawl in next to her. Rebecca complied and lay next to her sister. It was always the same with Marta. Whenever she had important things to discuss with Rebecca it was always after lights out, and always in bed. Marta felt the weight of it on her and it bothered her considerably all day. They’d not been apart since the horrible kidnapping of Rebecca some ten years ago. They were constant companions and Marta owed everything to her adopted sister. They’d been together so long that Rebecca could read the young woman’s mind. She rested her head on the pillow and waited.
“I’ve got to go to Mexico, Rebecca.”
“Oh?” They’d both followed the news carefully since the beginning of the troubles. The whole family’d discussed it and it was decided, ordered by Arvel and Chica, that none of the family would go to Mexico until things calmed down. They’d even ordered Dan George to stop checking on the ranch, but he apparently had not listened, and now he was missing. Rebecca thought of these things as she considered Marta’s declaration.
“I’ve been talking to one of the men from the mining company, and Adulio came to see me as well.”
Rebecca sat up, leaned on an elbow and looked into the dark, in the direction of Marta’s voice. “Here, he came here to see you?”
“Yes. Strange, isn’t it? Didn’t know he would ever leave Mexico. That’s why I’ve got to go.”
“Abuelita and Mamma and Daddy will be furious.”
“They’re not going to know. You’ll go on to Paris, and tell them I’m with you. You’ll do this for me, won’t you, Rebecca?”
“No.” She could feel the energy leave her adopted sister’s body. Could just as well feel the look she had on her face. She waited. Marta breathed deeply, the remnants of the cigarettes still on her breath. She began to speak when Rebecca continued. “I’m not going to Paris, darling.” She fell back onto the pillow and stared up into the darkness. “Because I’m going to Mexico.”
V Going Home
Rebecca wandered the decks of the Seguranca. They’d arrived to the docks on the East River ten hours before they were to set sail, as they had to pretend to leave for the ship that would take them across the Atlantic, where they’d summer in Paris. Their host was a cousin who’d proven at least as naughty and precocious as Marta. She was twenty-three and newly married to an investment banker. She was simultaneously heartbroken and enthralled by the news that the girls were headed to Mexico. She promised to keep the secret and keep the false news flowing to both Abuelita and their parents through summer.
Marta had no idea what she’d do once she’d arrived at the ranch, and didn’t even know for how long they’d be in Mexico. She decided she’d not worry about that now. She’d worry about it when it was time to start at Smith in the fall. A thousand things could transpire between now and then.
Rebecca never hesitated for a moment. All their lives, it was Rebecca who’d made all the sacrifices. It was Rebecca who held back. She was light, blue eyes with the porcelain pale complexion. Only the raven hair suggested her Mexican heritage. She could have passed for any of the society socialites in Baltimore, but her dark sister was always present, always giving them away, always keeping her from blending in, being fully embraced and Rebecca would not have it any other way.
Now her dark sister was taking her into the bedlam of a country in revolution to a ranch that was far off the beaten path, far from all the comforts that she’d known the past ten years, to a land that had more than likely claimed the life of one of their dearest and oldest friends.
And yet, oddly, Rebecca was excited for the adventure, sad for lying to Abuelita, and scared at the thought of what her mother would do when, not if, she found out. Her mother always found out. Daddy was a different story. He worried about them, worried about them more than anything else worried him in life, but he’d never get angry, never ever had he admonished them for any infraction, anything they had done. He was completely and unrepentantly in love with his girls and bent on supporting them in whatever they pursued, dangerous or not.
She leaned out over a rail looking down at the forward deck. A few other early passengers were milling about. It was a lightly booked cruise and they’d have a lot of the ship to themselves. She breathed in, smelled the sharp pungency of the East River, the tar coating the wood pilings and pier, the fuel burning off from the stacks. She felt the ship under her feet, the slightest motion; she loved sea travel and could not wait to get underway.
As she looked on, a young man caught her eye. He was a fine looking fellow, a bit older, likely late twenties. He was engaged in a lively conversation with a little girl and it made her feel good to see a gringo being so nice to a child that was, from the appearance of her outfit, a Mexican and of very modest means.
The little girl’s mother was nearby and could be seen, guarded but pleased that the man was being so pleasant to her child. She was dressed in the old style, a long rebozo wrapped about her. She opened it momentarily to make an adjustment and a strong breeze off the river caught it, pulling it from her grasp, sailed ocean ward as the young man lunged for it, dramatically, silly, caught it and wrestled it to the ground as if it had been some fantastic sea serpent thrown up onto the deck from below.
The little girl caught his meaning and laughed at the funny man as he finally got control of the errant material and returned it to its owner. He made a grand bow as he completed his performance, not knowing he had an audience above. He patted the child on the head and pulled some manner of treat from a pocket and was just as quickly on his way.
Rebecca moved about the ship as she waited to leave. She was fascinated by mechanical things. Her uncle Bob inspired her in this respect as he’d early on purchased one of the first automobiles in Arizona. They’d spend hours playing about the thing and Rebecca even helped him rebuild the engine once, just from some schematics they’d gotten from the manufacturer. She made her way below decks, heading in the direction of the engine room when she heard a man’s voice call out after her.
“Marta?”
She turned to find the rebozo wrestler close behind. He quickly recovered from his blunder. “Oh, I am sorry, Miss. From behind, you look like my employer.”
He had pretty eyes. Blue eyes, like hers, like her father’s. She liked that he referred to Marta as his employer. He had a nice smile. “Mr. Curtin?”
“Yes.” He was confused that she would know his name, then smiled sheepishly.
She extended her hand. “I’m Rebecca Walsh. My sister is Marta.”
“Oh, oh, I see. So, she’s, you’ve both decided to go back home.”
“Yes.” It felt funny to her to think of it as going back home, but it was. More so for Marta, but f
or Rebecca as well. She was half Mexican and it was her home.
“I like mechanical things, Mr. Curtin. I was just wandering about, hoping to see the engines. The captain welcomed me to go about as I wished, will you join me?”
They did wander about together and Curtin enjoyed his new companion. She knew a lot about ships and he let her show off a little. He was impressed with her already and he’d only known her less than an hour.
At one point he took her hand as he followed her over some steam lines. She was helping him and it felt so natural. Felt good and natural to see a woman so at ease in such an environment and felt good to see she could handle herself. He momentarily held her hand, felt the slightest hint of something more than the casual grip of a steadying hand and it felt especially nice. He looked her in the eye and she smiled a lovely smile to the point of distraction. He stumbled, nearly fell over the big pipes, caught himself and smiled back.
They made it down, deeper until they were assaulted by the odor of something horrible, rotting meat or fish, some manner of carcasses in decay. The stench was particularly appalling, overwhelming as they moved deeper, peered into a cavernous section of the hold. Something was moving about and strange, halting, labored breathing could be heard. Curtin found a light switch and turned it on.
They simultaneously gasped at the sight laid out before them. Row upon row of sea turtles lay on their backs. Their flippers had been pierced and ropes threaded, one after another through the slits so that they were tied, immobile, upside-down. The pressure exerted on their lovely almond eyes made them protrude painfully from their orbits and the creatures labored just to breathe. They lay about, their great, ancient heads lolling back and forth, seeming to await their fate, awaiting some sort of relief from this horrible torture. Some had succumbed to the mistreatment, the long journey too much to bear and these carcasses were mixed among the living, leaking the rotting affluent and stench of their inner shells.
Rebecca read her companion’s mind. She looked on at Curtin, furious. “This is an outrage!” She looked about them and then again on at the young man’s face. He was not fully comprehending. It simply would not register in his mind. Why would anyone treat creatures, any creatures, even beasts of burden or animals set for consumption as food, in such a way? They were distracted by someone coming toward them. Waited, jaws agape as the diminutive longshoreman surprised them. He understood what they were thinking and held up a hand so as to deflect blame.
“I know, I know. Think it’s a sin myself.”
“Why?” Is all Curtin could say.
“They’ll die if you put them on their bellies out of water and no one at the Fulton market will buy dead turtles. Can’t make soup of dead turtles, ah, well, turtles that’ve been dead for a while. Gotta be killed fresh. It’s an ugly business, folks.”
“It’s an outrage is what it is.” Curtin was disgusted. “Why not slaughter the poor beasts when they’re caught and sell the meat?”
“Hah! That’s a good one, sir. Refrigeration costs money, ice costs money, and that cuts into the bottom line.” He looked beyond them at the mess he’d soon be removing from the hold. More turtles than normal had perished and it was going to be an odiferous job.
“Please, folks, this is no place for a lady. He held out a hand for Rebecca who allowed the longshoreman to take her out of the hellish place.
On deck she looked on at Curtin who had tears in his eyes. He saw her see him so emotional and recovered as best he could. He looked on at the man already going about his business, preparing to remove the terrible cargo. He was, in a way, the poor beasts’ savior. At least in death they would no longer continue to suffer. Curtin called out to him.
“Can you take me to a telephone?” He reached out and shoved some bills into the man’s hand.
“Follow me.”
Curtin grabbed Rebecca by the hand and followed. In short order they were in a little shack near the loading dock. The man left them there and went on about his business. They were alone now.
Curtin pulled Rebecca into the shack with him. He held her hand, would not release it, would not let her go. They were inches apart and she could feel him breathe, feel his breath on her face as he waited for the call to go through. She waited, frozen. Did not want to change her position or move away from him, she wanted to stand in the little shack with him for the remainder of the afternoon.
“Abe? Bob Curtin. Yes. Yes. Good to hear your voice too, old friend. Yes, yes. Are you still with the papers, Abe? Good. Good. Can you come down to where the Seguranca’s docked. Yes, right, Ward Line, headed out in a few hours to Nassau then Tampico. Right. Pier, wait a minute.” Rebecca reluctantly pulled herself away, stepped out, looked down the pier and saw the number.
“Fourteen.”
“Pier fourteen, Abe. Got a good one for you. Cruelty to turtles. Yes, yes. I know sounds silly but you’ve gotta see this. Okay, hurry, they’re taking them off now, heading to the Fulton market. Hurry, Abe.” He absent mindedly reached out and took Rebecca’s hand, pulled her back in close, so close that he could smell her hair. He held onto her as he finished his conversation. When he was finished he looked her in the eye. He could not contain himself any longer and pulled her into his arms, kissed her gently on the mouth, then thought better of it.
“I’m sorry.”
She smiled coyly. “I’m not.”
They wandered back to the ship. Rebecca felt hollow, weak. Her head was fairly spinning from the kiss, the hand holding, the lovely man who was so kind and sensitive, yet so resolute in his actions. They got on deck and the little movement of the ship made her feel ill. She looked on at Curtin. She smiled weakly as she could see the concern in his eyes. “You don’t look so good, Miss Walsh.”
“Oh, I’ll be all right in a moment. Let’s sit for a while. They did and Curtin got her some water. She looked better now. They sat quietly and Curtin smoked downwind of his companion. He only just stopped shaking himself. He gave her a little smile.
“Abe is a friend from school. He’s been on the Times for a while. He did a big piece on cruelty at the racetrack a couple of years ago. I knew right away he’d be the man for this one. I hope he gets here soon enough. Sure he will.”
He waited for Rebecca’s response. She smiled at him and sat back. She was feeling better now. He took her hand again. It was clammy, cold despite the warmth of the late spring day. He continued to prattle on. He looked at her again.
“Miss Walsh, I was out of line kissing you back there.”
“Rebecca. And you are Bob?”
“Prefer Robert. Boys at school called me Bob, but prefer Robert.”
She looked at him again. Those eyes. She looked at his hand in hers. They were nice hands. They were rough hands, the hands of a laborer, yet he was a gentleman, an engineer, and he had the hands of a rancher.
“So, shall we forget about my little indiscretion, Rebecca? I’m no cad, ma’am. I don’t do that sort of thing, and you are a fine lady, a fine person, and I should not have taken such a liberty. It’s just…”
“Robert.”
“Yes, Rebecca?”
“You talk too much.” She leaned over and gave him a long, passionate kiss. Now they were both dizzy. “Mr. Curtin, that was the second kiss of my life. I’m not that kind of girl.”
Marta refused the first stateroom offered. It had two individual beds and she preferred one. The girls always slept together when they could. They’d done this since they’d met and slept best when they were together. She finished arranging a bouquet of roses when Rebecca finally tracked her down.
“You’ve gotten us a new room, darling? And they come with flowers.” She walked over to admire Marta’s handiwork.
“Oh no.” She looked at her sister. “I see why you’re so pale. Love sick.”
“You’re silly, I’m not pale.” She blushed now, how could Marta know that she was kissing a strange man. She looked into the mirror to check as Marta read the card.
“Robert.
” She grinned at her sister. “How can you be on deck for fewer than six hours and get a man’s attention so quickly?”
“It’s Mr. Curtin.”
“Oh, you little devil. I was saving him for myself. He’s a fine looking fellow. And good. He’s a good one, dear. How did you get him so quickly?”
“I didn’t get him.” She looked on at the flowers and the card, just to make certain Marta was correct. She was.
Rebecca suddenly felt faint. She plopped herself down on the edge of the bed. The color was fading from her face.
“What is the matter?” Marta got her a glass of water and began fanning her briskly.
“No, nothing. It’s just. We found turtles.”
“Turtles? In the river?” Marta was genuinely confused. She began undressing her sister and pushed her gently back onto the bed. She pulled her shoes off and opened a porthole.
“No, down below decks. In the hold. They were transporting them up from the Caribbean. It was horrible, Marta.”
“You mean foodstuffs? They are for slaughter?” Marta shook her head knowingly. Her sister had such a kind heart.
“It doesn’t matter if they’re to be eaten, Marta. It doesn’t mean the animals should be treated cruelly. They shouldn’t treat any creature in such a way.”
“And this has gotten you in such a state?”
“That and the whole issue of lying to Abuelita. She was so happy to see us off and we’ve lied to her. A big lie. I know you’ve lied to her over the years, but this is different, Marta.” She felt better now that she was off her feet. She looked on at the roses. “And, Curtin…he kissed me.”
“No!” Marta feigned shock. It was not an issue for her, but she could see it was for Rebecca. “Darling, your first real kiss.”
“Oh, Marta. He’s wonderful. He had a tear in his eye because of the turtles. And he made it right. He contacted a friend from the papers. There will be cruelty charges no doubt.” She was beaming now and the color was coming back into her cheeks.