Bella Page 5

  Envy Is a Poisonous Snake

  Next morning, Lucie was roused much less sharply than the sunrise previous. Robert did not scream, or curse, on account of any missing article of property; but merely shook his sister roughly, and ordered her to be up, for they were off.

  “Off where?” she asked.

  “To César Vicente’s apartment,” Robert answered, unusually complacent. “You’ll stay with his sisters, while he and I see to our affairs. You’ll most likely be there all day.”

  Lucie thought of Clara with a faint smile; but then remembered Alejandra, and shivered. “Why can’t I stay here?” she asked.

  “Because,” Robert answered, with an expression of good humor that frightened Lucie even more than the thought of Alejandra, “if I leave you here alone all day long, I’ll come back at night – and discover you gone, never again to be found.”

  “You won’t,” Lucie contested; though to some degree she knew all the while that she could not in good faith make such a promise. So she rose and dressed without an additional grumble, and walked herself out to the car, without the need of a single helpful shove from Robert’s large hand.

  He accompanied her up the stairs to the apartment (doubtless afraid that if he didn’t, his charge would fail to arrive at all), and guided her into the parlor, where they found all of the Vicente women seated together. Mr. Vicente and Eduardo were of course at the press; but César appeared from out of a back room at the sound of the Benoits’ arrival, and greeted them heartily. With an air much different from what hostility had reigned the day before, he and Robert turned to one another, and shook hands. César then motioned for Robert to follow, and started on his way out of the apartment. Robert saluted the women politely, pinched Lucie’s arm as a familiar reminder to be on her best behavior, and left.

  Quite by accident, Alejandra’s eyes were the very first pair which met Lucie’s; and she found in them nothing altered in respect to their opinion of herself. The young woman even went so far as to sigh loudly; to leap from the couch; and to storm across the room, blowing past Lucie like a cold wind. Lucie hung her head, and went to sit alone at the kitchen table.

  “Miss Lucie!” cried Maríbel. “Do not let my sister upset you! Come and sit with us, chica.”

  Lucie made no reply. A dust-filled beam of sunlight, streaming in through the little kitchen window, had caught her attention. It flowed brightly across the room, shimmered a bit as it approached the floor, and then died abruptly away. Lucie dropped her head onto her hand, and looked for a while at this endpoint.

  It seemed that the sympathetic Maríbel thought it best to leave the strange white woman to herself in the kitchen. Lucie didn’t think much of this, either good or bad; for she was lost in thought. It was a very particular thought, too, concerning an unfinished game of rummy she had once played with her sister Sylvie. She thought often of all the things she had left undone with Sylvie, which could never now be done up rightly. It wasn’t so with her parents, who were gone too; for the fact was that they had not been the kind to leave behind fragments. Or perhaps it was only that way with adults – and the children that Lucie and Sylvie had been, were incapable of such a thorough sticking of broken pieces.

  Did she see all this in that narrow shaft of light? Well, no. But it seemed there was something in the light, that made her think of Sylvie. Perhaps it had something to do with the place where the light ended, so quickly that you didn’t know where it had gone.

  It had been that way with Sylvie.

  But Lucie was startled by a sudden presence at her elbow. She hadn’t expected anyone to come out to her, just as she never expected her brother to come while they were at home – when her thoughts took a turn that made her a little sad, and a little afraid.

  But it seemed that there was someone there now. She turned her head, and saw Clara standing beside her.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello,” said Clara. She drew up a chair, and added, “It seems you were thinking very hard about something.”

  “My sister,” Lucie answered plainly.

  “Is she in Texas?”

  “She’s dead.”

  Clara’s eyes widened. “If your thoughts were private – you didn’t have to tell me.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Lucie. She smiled thinly, and turned back to the window. She was thinking suddenly of Elinor and Marianne Dashwood, the former of whom was so grieved and frightened, when she thought that the latter would die. But Marianne hadn’t died – and for that, Lucie felt somewhat cheated.

  “You seemed to enjoy our walk yesterday,” Clara said. “Do you want to go for another?”

  “If you like,” Lucie replied.

  Clara laughed. “If you like, Lucie.”

  Lucie smiled more brightly. “All right, then,” she said.

  As they went out of the apartment, Clara called out a farewell to her mother and sister; and their voices could be heard chiming cheerfully from the parlor.

  “You have a very nice family,” Lucie said.

  “I think so,” Clara rejoined. “I’ve seen few better.”

  “You’re very lucky, you know.”

  Clara looked into Lucie’s face, and she understood all that was writ there, without a word passed between them. But then, perhaps it was not such a unique feat, after all – for we must recollect that she had had the pleasure of Robert Benoit’s acquaintance.

  ~

  Instead of stopping by Pepito’s cart, today Clara said that they would go to meet a friend of hers at a little restaurant downtown. They arrived beneath a green-striped awning, where there were several little tables scattered round the sidewalk, just about noontime.

  “We’ll wait here,” said Clara, taking a seat at a table beside the large window, across which was simply scrolled, “Julio’s.”

  “Do you know Julio?” Lucie asked.

  “I know his son,” Clara answered. “Juan’s papá died a few years ago.”

  “That’s too bad,” Lucie observed; though she was distracted almost immediately by the honking of a car horn in the street; and she forgot all about Julio, who was dead. But she was called back to attention by the sound of Clara’s name, uttered from just behind her. She turned, and saw a tall man approaching, whose hair was rather long and curling, and above whose lip was perched a shapely mustache.

  “Hola, Tomás,” said Clara, as she rose to greet him.

  “Hola, hermosa!” said Tomás. He stooped to kiss her – full on the mouth. Then he pressed his cheek (which was admittedly smooth) to hers, and embraced her for a length of time sufficient to bring a silent snarl to Lucie’s lips.

  “Tomás,” said Clara, when she was finally released from his grasp, “this is my friend, Lucie Benoit. Lucie – this is Tomás Ayala.”

  Lucie was caught sharply between a warm little glow which started up, when Clara called her “friend,” and a crestfallen bitterness which was much larger – and which grew and grew, as Tomás took his seat beside Clara, and moved to put his arm around her.

  “Hello,” she managed to say.

  “Hello!” Tomás returned merrily. Lucie could appreciate his apparent kindness; but she found that, despite it, she still wished to lean across the table, and rip at his mustache.

  She was very glum, all through lunch. But she was very glad, when the waiter came with the check, that Robert in his strange contentment had deigned to offer her a sum of money that morning. She counted out very carefully what amounted to her share of the bill.

  “You can keep that, Lucie,” Clara said, pushing the money away.

  “No,” said Lucie – perhaps a little coldly. “Take it.”

  She was even further disappointed, when Clara offered to take Tomás along home with them. But she only fell into the position of submissive silence to which she was so accustomed, and walked at a little distance behind the pair, as they all began to work their way through the streets. Sometimes Clara looked back at her with a bewildered countenance; but Lucie
never saw her.

  Upon re-entering the apartment at Little Tortuga Street, Lucie found that all the Vicente women were quite familiar with Tomás. They hugged and kissed him with honest smiles of affection. Well, perhaps there was nothing honest in the look which Alejandra gave him; and which appeared to disturb her sister greatly. So the two fell to glaring at one another – though of course Tomás didn’t notice.

  Mrs. Vicente asked him something, and received an emphatic no, accompanied by all sorts of little bits and bobs that Lucie couldn’t understand.

  “Mamá asks Tomás if he must return to the office,” Maríbel told her. “He has been Señor Allende’s clerk for three years now. Señor Allende is a very famous lawyer! But Tomás says that he has given him the rest of the day off.”

  Here she clapped her hands together for joy; and it was decided that everyone should play at cards till the rest of the house returned for supper. Mrs. Vicente shuffled into the kitchen to pour out cold beverages for the party. When she came back to the parlor, however, to offer a glass to Lucie, she found that the young woman had disappeared. And it was hardly clear to where she had disappeared. All anyone knew was that, when finally her brother came to retrieve her, she was waiting for him directly by the door (no one could tell just how she had got there), much like an abandoned puppy.

  9

  Gunfight at the Granite Corral

  Robert received a call, that night – in the middle of the night – on his cell phone. Instructions were hissed menacingly into his ear, to come immediately to the quarry by the bridge – “he knew where.”

  So he got out of bed, and began to tremble more violently than had ever been his habit. He looked for a while at his sister, who was sleeping peacefully. Then he decided (with neither as much remorse nor trepidation as would have been becoming) to rouse her, and take her along with him to the bridge. He knew very well that the interview concerned his own honor and trustworthiness – either of which, he knew just as well, were highly doubtful. So he hoped to use the presence of his innocent sister as something of a bargaining chip (or, at the very least, as a makeshift bulletproof vest).

  So he woke her, and thrust her out the door in her pajamas. He placed her roughly into the car, and strapped the safety belt down over her, so that his scant collateral (César was admittedly fond of her, after all) would not expire prematurely, on account of his driving-foot which twitched and seized grievously.

  She was scarcely awake, as they pulled out of the lot. She was not entirely sure how she had come to be in the car in the first place; but she asked no questions, and only looked on uneasily as the landscape grew more and more unsavory. A torrent of wind began to howl through the darkness, buffeting the side of the car. It was the fierce wind that comes before rain.

  Robert said nothing in explanation of himself. He only drove on, and gritted his teeth, as the ailment of his foot began to spread to the rest of his body. The car swerved from side to side, to and fro between the concrete blocks which lined the road.

  When they pulled up beside the bridge, they sat quiet for a long while. Lucie could hear the sound of Robert’s gasping breath, just beside her; and his anxiety inspired a paranoia between her temples, which made it so that she couldn’t keep from turning her head this way and that, searching for signs of approaching danger.

  She could not but augur evil, what with the look on Robert’s face – his face which resembled, in that moment, dripping wax more than anything else. It was the color of chalk, with bits of black stubble standing out across his jaw, and thick streaks of sweat rolling down his cheeks. It looked almost as if he were crying; and indeed, Lucie couldn’t have sworn that there weren’t tears mixed in with that cold perspiration.

  A black shape appeared suddenly before the vehicle, and banged violently against the hood. “Come out, Benoit!” it shouted.

  “Get out of the car,” Robert whispered to Lucie. “And follow me.”

  By the time they had transposed themselves to the surrounding rocky ground, the black shape had disappeared. But Lucie detected movement up ahead, and not a moment later César’s voice beckoned Robert forward. So he took hold of Lucie’s arm, and dragged her along beside him. Meanwhile, Lucie could only stare at him. She had never seen him before, with simultaneously neither a roof nor a hat over his head.

  “Ay, gringo!” César exclaimed, when he caught sight of Lucie. “I told you to come alone! This is no place for Miss Lucie.”

  At these words, Lucie performed a quick but thorough survey of the area; and deemed César correct in his thinking. There were piles of granite all around, sliding down in sheets as the wind gusted past. There were shadows lurking everywhere (the only illumination being cast down from a small and solitary lamp atop the bridge). And finally, there was the sound of loud and hostile shouting, seemingly echoing forth from a band of young men beneath the bridge. They were huddled round a fire that burned in a rubbish can, and were glaring insolently towards the party in the quarry. Several of them lifted their shirts to reveal the butts of pistols, tucked into their belts.

  But César looked towards them fearlessly, flashed a gun from out of his own belt, and hollered his name into the darkness. The young ruffians dropped their shirts, and fled with remarkable alacrity.

  Lucie looked to César with a dubious countenance, but was met only by his familiar grin. She realized that she couldn’t mistrust him; he seemed to her too good. So she fell behind Robert, and looked towards the ensuing transaction in silence.

  Grouped round César were three dark figures. Lucie recognized one as Manolo, on account of his hat; but of course she didn’t know the others. Still they inspired a chill within her breast, and she shivered as she stood by her brother, shrinking a little more fully behind him each moment.

  But he stepped forward suddenly, leaving her alone. She didn’t know whether to pursue him, or to hide herself behind a mound of granite. So she thought for a moment; and then opted for the latter.

  “I believe that I’ve proven myself to you,” Robert said to César. “You spoke this afternoon with my man in El Paso – he assured you of my legitimacy. You’ve had your man examine the sample I gave you. All’s square, isn’t it?”

  But here his authoritative voice began to falter – an event which caused Lucie to look up at him, astonished. What was there in this world that could make her brother afraid? Well, she looked then towards the men who stood by César; and needed admit, as she tried and failed to view their shadowed faces, that she herself was not a little uneasy.

  “I am not sure, amigo,” said César. “After speaking with your man today, I made a few calls of my own. It seems there is talk of a man, who looks exactly like you, and who has cheated a good friend of mine in Tijuana! I do not need to tell you this man’s name, seeing as you made it up yourself. He gave a case of – something – to this friend of mine (only a small portion of what they had agreed on) and then took what money had been promised to him. But it seems that he failed to give this good friend of mine – one Jorge Gonzalez, who works just as I do for Domingo Jiménez – all the rest of what he owed!”

  As César spoke, his voice grew steadily hotter, and angrier. His accent became thicker, as he neared the end of his statement; and finally he burst out into a fit of Spanish curses. He stamped his feet, and spit upon the ground as he hollered, with his gun waving about in the air above his head. Lucie had to turn her face away, the sight was so frightful.

  “I – I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Robert said, backing slowly towards the granite pile which Lucie was hunkered behind.

  “You do, gringo!” César cried. “You do know! Do not lie to me!”

  He fired off a shot; and Robert screamed. Lucie thought she would faint.

  But she was distracted from such a luxury, as Robert turned from his persecutors, and began to sprint from the quarry. He said not a word to Lucie. He didn’t even look at her.

  “Robert!” she cried, leaning a little out of her hiding
place, so as to look for him. “Robert, come back!”

  But she could only see the dot of white that was her brother, growing smaller and smaller in the enclosing darkness. Shots rang out suddenly at her right-hand, from all four guns. And Robert fell.

  Lucie was about to scream out again, and duck back behind the mound, when she felt a sharp bite taken from her waist – and then from her shoulder, as the bullets continued to whiz past. She dropped down to the dusty ground; felt the first drop of the rain that had finally arrived; and knew no more of the sordid affair.

  10

  A Temporary Home

  When Lucie woke, it was to a scene which juxtaposed the lightest shade of light, and the darkest shade of dark. The image was somewhat blurry, and she had to blink several times to clear the fog from her eyes; but a closer examination showed only a finer detail of what she had already seen. Everything around her was white. The walls; the ceiling; the blanket that covered her; her hands which lay atop it. But there were two small spaces of black, in the air on her left-hand, hovering there between the floor and the ceiling. Again she blinked. There came into focus, then, the most welcome sight of Clara Vicente’s lovely face. Her dark eyes – those two small spaces of black – were fixed intently on Lucie.

  “Are you all right?” she asked hastily, reaching to take hold of one of Lucie’s hands. “Do you want me to call a nurse?”

  “No,” said Lucie. Her throat was dry. Her voice was thick, and hoarse, and was lodged in the midst of the dryness. “Water,” she requested softly.

  There was none in sight, but Clara was off like a shot; and she returned in an admirable number of seconds, with a little paper cup in her hand. Lucie reached for it; but there came a terrible pain into her wounded shoulder, which brought scalding tears to her eyes. So Clara came to the bed, and put one hand gently behind the invalid’s head, while the other brought the cup to her lips.

  When Lucie had drunk her fill, her first question was for Robert. But it seemed to bring a flashing scorn into Clara’s eyes, and a derisive sneer to her lips. She asked, with seemingly no attempt at all to hide her opinion, “What does he matter?”