Bella Page 9

  “No, I –”

  But again, she was not allowed to finish. Robert only huffed a bit, pecked her coldly on the cheek, and then took his leave, without an additional word or glance for anyone.

  “Well, it is settled, then!” said Maríbel, in her usual chipper tones.

  But Lucie was feeling far from chipper herself. She smiled weakly at Maríbel, and then peered into the parlor, where Clara sat holding the hand of Tomás, and laughing loudly as he talked. The party all around her spoke in rapid Spanish; and though of course we know that it was not the case (though it may have been, if Alejandra had kept to that room; but it appeared that she had trailed Robert outside), it seemed very much to Lucie that they were talking about her – and laughing all the more for it.

  She sighed, and went off to bed silently, feeling for the first time very out of place in the little apartment.

  Needless to say, her relations with Clara were quite injured for that evening; and with no one to remind her, of course she forgot to take what medication had been prescribed her, and woke up in a fierce sweat, and in terrible discomfort, in the middle of the night. She took two of the pain pills, but it was too late – the deep aches would not be assuaged. So she threw herself back on the bed, and clutched wildly at the mattress. It was all she could do not to take up the little lamp between the beds, and pound it to pieces over the floor – just to make herself feel better.

  15

  Lost

  Lucie didn’t sleep a single wink more. At first light, she flung herself out of bed, and crept quietly into the hall. Then she went directly out the door of the apartment; down the stairs; out the big metal door of the building; and down the sidewalk.

  But what a beautiful morning it was! It was just warm enough. The sun was protruding its full face from a sky that was reddening in the east, but still looking a cold steel-grey everywhere else. This made the sun appear all the more brilliant, and Lucie smiled up at it for a few moments, having come to a temporary standstill on account of her awe. But by and by she started up again, and moved off down the street.

  It being so early on a Monday morning, most places still seemed asleep, and catching the last of whatever rest was their due. Yet we must remember, that it was no peaceful suburb through which Lucie walked; and so of course there were straggling roamers here and there, looking like dangerous vipers with their pale faces and bloodshot eyes, just returning to their dark and hidden nests after a night of (in most cases) excessive troublemaking. Lucie steered clear of these people, and was comforted by the fact that they took no notice of her, so low had they come by now from their highs of the evening previous.

  It was a wonderful sight to see, as the daylight spread in full force over the battered city, illuminating the dark places, casting out the shadows, and making the windows all around shine like diamonds. Little birds could be seen flying round the rooftops, darting this way and that in pursuit of one another, and looking everywhere for a morsel to eat. Their chirping was immensely pleasant, and buoyed Lucie’s spirits no less effectively than if a ray of that overhead sunshine had come to penetrate directly through to her heart. Here, she thought, she would not see any of the poor little creatures made a breakfast of. But even as she assured herself of this, she spotted a dirty little calico cat slinking out of an alley, and quickened her pace so as not to witness the execution of whatever plans it may have had in mind.

  She went so far as the little park where Pepito’s cart was accustomed to stand, but of course it was too early for him. So she went on past, tracing her way through the streets from memory, and ended up finally outside El Diablo en El Vestido Negro. Of course the place was vacant, with its windows all shuttered and lonesome-looking. Yet Lucie stood for a moment on the sidewalk, pondering the face of the little building with a very serious countenance. She went on, then, to Julio’s, and looked to the table where she had sat, that day with Clara and Tomás – and her blood boiled so fiercely, she could do nothing but turn away from the place in a white-hot fury.

  After this, the enjoyment went all out of everything, and she walked along faster and faster, till all the buildings on either side began to blur together, and she couldn’t see anything distinctly. After a time she stopped, and whirled all around, looking in vain for something she recognized; but of course there was nothing, for she had never come this far before. She only swallowed down her nervousness, however, and turned around, to try and go back the way she had come. But she had turned too many times, and she couldn’t find her way. So she broke eventually into a dead run, flying up and down the streets like a stray bullet, with no aim and no destination in mind.

  She grew tired after a little, and turned into the mouth of an alley, so as to sink down to the ground beside the brick wall, where she would not be disturbed. As she sat, she saw a steady increase in traffic in the street without, and considered going to inquire her location of one of the passers-by. But it was rather too late, just as late as her medicine had been the night before; though instead of pain, now, it was a rapid onslaught of fear and forgetfulness that overtook her. She looked up from her place in the narrow alley, and had not the faintest idea in the world where she was. She didn’t even know that she was in Mexico; but thought instead that she was still in Texas. So she rose up from the ground, and took to the streets.

  It was not long, however, before she began to realize that something was awry. All around, she read words in Spanish, and she didn’t know why. When she glanced about, most people she saw were considerably darker than the ones back home; for the neighborhood in which she lived was rather exclusively white, on account of what dab of prejudice was customarily present in Robert’s disposition, causing him to love the hue of his own person better than that of any other. If Lucie could have remembered where she was, and why she was, she would have taken a moment to wonder over the strange something that seemed to be developing between her brother and Alejandra, on account of Alejandra’s – well, brownness, never mind at all how pretty she happened to be.

  But she didn’t remember Alejandra, or César – or even Clara. She did, however, experience a strange sensation that was almost uncomfortable, when she passed by Julio’s. Her eyes were drawn to that same table she had stared at before – though of course she didn’t recollect that she had ever seen it.

  A little farther on, she came to El Vestido Negro; and experienced another shot of what was almost recognition. Yet it was gone as quickly as it came, and she couldn’t remember ever having laid eyes on the cantina before. It was as strange to her (excluding the pang round her heart that it engendered, which she attributed at the time to fright) as everything had been in the opposite direction.

  She began to fret in earnest, now, she was feeling so very confused. She seemed to recall, somewhere in the very back of her mind, that something like this had happened to her before – perhaps more than once. But she didn’t concentrate much on that, she was so eager to find a way out of her current predicament.

  The sun had risen to its noontime position, before her feet grew so sore that she had to pause to sit down on a little bench, situated outside what appeared to be a post office. She let her head fall back, for just a moment – and fell fast asleep. But when she woke, she was in an even worse state than she had been previously; for now, she had forgotten who she was.

  She looked all around, and recognized nothing; then looked down at her hands, and didn’t recognize them.

  “I wonder what my name is,” she murmured. “I wish it was . . . Sylvie. I think I like Sylvie.”

  She sat quiet for a while, but then began to feel as if a fit were going to come over her, if she didn’t remember soon just what was what. So she closed her eyes, and breathed slowly, in and out. She lay down on the bench, and tried to relax. She didn’t know where she was, or who she was; so she imagined she was Huckleberry Finn, floating along down the Mississippi on a raft. She could almost feel the ground shift beneath her, as if moved by a swift current, and her raft (which wa
s the bench) rocked softly to and fro.

  16

  Tom Folsom

  As Lucie lay alone on the bench, muttering to herself, with her hands shoved underneath her head for a pillow, a striking-looking woman of about thirty-five glided along past her. She was very tall, and well-dressed, with a shining coif of black hair atop her head. Her skin was pale as powder, and seemed almost to glisten in the sunlight. Had Lucie not been at the moment away down the Mississippi River, and oblivious to any goings-on in Juárez, she would have been intrigued by this woman.

  Behind her dark sunglasses, there was not the slightest hint that the woman’s eyes turned towards Lucie; but they did turn, and they remained fixed on Lucie, till she had come abreast of the end of the bench. Then she made a little show of looking out into the street, and at the opposite sidewalk, as if she were searching for something. But she had already found what she was looking for.

  Cora Folsom pulled her thin, pearl-colored shawl round her shoulders, and picked up her pace, intent on her destination. She had done her scouting – and now she had to report back. She spent the time she walked, thinking of the strange young woman she had seen on the bench, who was most certainly the same young woman as she had been out to find. She couldn’t help but puzzle over what strangeness the girl had exhibited, in the mere moment or two that she had studied her; but she knew well enough to leave that sort of deciphering to her husband. He would sort it out for himself, sooner or later. She only went where she was told to go – and that was the end of it.

  When she got a little out of the cluttered, cramped part of the city, and came into a section where there was more room between the buildings, better bricks to make those buildings, and fewer shady characters frequenting the sidewalks in front of them, she hailed a little cab, and issued the driver his directions. About ten minutes later, the car pulled up alongside a grand-looking apartment complex, larger than the buildings to either side. Cora flung some money at the driver, without bothering to count it; and then took herself haughtily up out of the car, and onto the sidewalk. The driver watched her with an open mouth, till she was out of sight, but she never once even glanced at him.

  There was a man just inside the entrance to the building, who stepped out to open the door for her. When she had passed through the doorway, he fell back again, and took up his customary position, which was on a chair just beside the elevator. He tipped his hat to Cora, adjusted his tie, and shrugged his shoulders in his black jacket (the competent conditioning of the air of the lobby seemed to give him no qualms about keeping it on), as he began to make himself comfortable again. Cora eyed him for a moment.

  “Any visitors today, Larson?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” he answered. “Quiet as a church all morning.”

  “That’s well enough. Poor Tom’s been run ragged these past few weeks – and he could do with a little rest.”

  “He works terribly hard, ma’am, I’m sure,” said Larson, who had taken up a newspaper, which he had flung to the floor when he saw Cora approaching the building.

  “He certainly does,” said Cora. She watched the lights above the elevator; but none blinked. She jabbed again at the ascending arrow.

  “I haven’t seen him since the day before last. Give him my best,” Larson said absently; for he had just come across an article about three severed heads discovered in a dockyard, which interested him immensely. One of the heads, you see, was identified as belonging to a bitter enemy of his, whose name was Ramón Rios, and who was in the employ of one Domingo Jiménez – the latter of whom we are already acquainted with. Rios had once swindled two thousand dollars out of Larson in a single night of fixed poker; and Larson had never been able to find him again, so as to serve him his recompense. So he smiled very sincerely when he read of his head, found in a shipping crate near Tijuana.

  “That’s very good of you, Larson,” said Cora, as she stepped into the elevator. “I’ll be sure to do it.”

  Just as soon as the metal doors had closed behind her, Larson threw the paper down to the ground, stamped his feet, and burst into a fit of laughter. “Rios,” he cried, wiping the water from his eyes, “you greedy bastard!”

  When Cora let herself into her husband’s big apartment, she immediately stripped off her outer layers of clothing, and then fell onto a great white sofa, fanning herself languidly with a little paper fan from the coffee table. The day without had grown exceedingly hot. She was tired from her tramping. The cab had had no air conditioning, and rather smelled of old bologna. So she dropped her head back against the cushions, feeling most tortured, and called loudly for Belén.

  The young servant-woman appeared straightaway. She took up the shorn silk shawl, and asked whether Mrs. Folsom would like something cold to drink?

  “Make me a margarita,” said Cora. “Don’t skimp on the ice – and put it in that frosted glass I like so much.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Folsom. Will there be anything else?”

  “No,” said Cora. “Only – did Mr. Folsom give you any message for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He said earlier that he is finished with his business for today, and will receive you at your convenience.”

  “Thank you,” said Cora, waving her hand. “You may go.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  But Cora didn’t even wait for the arrival of her drink. Instead she crossed the parlor, and then her own study, at the edge of which there was a door that led to the adjoining apartment. She punched a four-digit code into a small metal box over the handle, and opened the door.

  There appeared before her a little lobby, at the head of which sat a shining mahogany desk. This desk belonged to her husband’s secretary, but presently it was vacant, and the secretary was nowhere to be seen. Cora checked her watch; but it was well past the girl’s lunch hour.

  She was about to go up to the door of her husband’s office, when suddenly it opened, and the secretary stepped out, her hair and blouse all askew. Her eyes fell on Cora, and she gave a little squeak; but she made a visible attempt to collect herself.

  “Mrs. Folsom!” she exclaimed. “Tom didn’t – I mean to say, Mr. Folsom didn’t expect you back till this evening. He thought you had gone to lunch with friends.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” Cora rejoined, very coldly. Then she narrowed her eyes, and asked, “What were you doing in there, Natalie?”

  The girl flushed scarlet, and smoothed her blonde hair self-consciously. “I was taking notes for Mr. Folsom,” she said.

  “Tell me, Natalie – have you taken lately to wearing the top four buttons of your blouse undone?”

  If possible, Natalie blushed even more deeply, and nearly fell into her chair. Then she pulled a stack of papers towards her, and let her hair hang down over her face, to shield herself as best she could from Cora’s view. But Cora only sighed, and swept off into the office.

  Though of course she had no doubts, she still wished very much that she had waited just a few more seconds to do her sweeping; for when she entered the room, she saw her husband just tucking in his shirt, and cinching his belt.

  But Tom made no show of it. He smiled at Cora just the same as always, and sat down comfortably at his desk. He looked so majestic there, perched like an eagle eyeing its prey in the river below, that she hated him genuinely. His fair hair lay neatly atop his head, perfectly combed and oiled; and there wasn’t a spot of crimson on his white face. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, and took a moment to ensure that they were quite even, before he spoke.

  “Hello, Cor,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “How did it go today?”

  Cora glared at him for a moment – but knew, even before she had started anything, that it wouldn’t do any good. Tom would never buckle. He only frowned back at her, and repeated his question.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell you,” she said, clenching her teeth, “because you didn’t come home last night. But I followed the white man from Vicente’s apartment – Martín gave me word that he was there
, after so many days’ absence – and found the place where he’s staying. It’s nothing but a rundown motel at the edge of your district. It seems that the woman who came with him, though – whoever she is – isn’t staying with him. She’s been at Little Tortuga Street for well over a week now – and Martín tells me that Vicente even took her to meet with Jiménez.”

  “Ah!” said Tom. “A heavy-hitter, I see. Well, that only confirms my suspicions. Now I need to know more about them. Keep the boys on the lookout – but don’t quit with your own surveillance. I can’t do without it.”

  He flashed her a handsome smile – but he had never seemed to her more ugly. So she simply nodded at him, and then turned on her heel to quit the room. She only paused when he called out to her.

  “I love you, dear,” he said.

  “And I love you,” Cora answered; though if Tom could have seen her face as she said it, he would perhaps have begun to wonder if he shouldn’t put better locks on his gun-box.

  17

  Welcome Back, Huck

  Lucie lay on her raft for a very long while, swinging this way and that on the current, and singing to herself all those songs that Huck and Jim must certainly have sung. She didn’t see the street, or the people around her, but only the river; and when night began to fall, she saw all the lights of the make-believe towns winking at her from the banks, as she swished and swished along. She closed her eyes, and sang: “There was a woman in our town – in our town did dwell – her husband she loved dear-i-lee – but another man twice as well –”

  She was distracted from her song, however, when someone touched her shoulder.

  “What’s that, Jim?” she said. “Day breaking already? Pull her to the towhead! Lay her up! Set out the lines – we’re having fish for dinner.”

  This ramble, of course, made no sense at all to old Teodoro, who was the one actually standing beside the raft – or the bench. Teodoro, barkeep of El Vestido Negro, was on his way home under the moonshine; and whom did that moonshine happen to light upon, but the friend of Clara Vicente he had seen once before? Surely she was the same girl, though she was scarcely recognizable, with her arm draped over her eyes, and her feet kicking the air, as she paddled along down the river. But Teodoro knew her, and he went up to her, concerned that she should be out all alone at this time of night. So he prodded her in the shoulder. She didn’t seem to see him, though; so he tried again, only much to the same effect, and was doubly confused at the name of “Jim,” which he knew very well was not his own.