Aztec Blood - Jennings Gary - Страница 42
- Предыдущая
- 42/174
- Следующая
Sell cat for hare and steal with two fingers.
To my misfortune she knew not only her poetry, but the lepero's larcenous heart as well.
"Why are you in this coach?"
"I'm hiding."
"What crime did you commit?"
"Murder."
She gasped again. Her hand went to the door.
"But I am innocent."
"No lepero is innocent."
"True, senorita, I am guilty of many thefts—food and blankets—and my begging techniques may be questionable, but I've never killed anyone."
"Then why do they say you killed someone?"
"It is a Spaniard who killed them both, and it is his word against my own."
"You can tell the authorities—"
"Can I?"
Even at her innocent age she knew the answer to that one.
"They say I killed Fray Antonio—"
"Holy Maria! A priest!" She crossed herself.
"But he's the only father I've ever known. He raised me when I was abandoned and taught me to read, write, and think. I wouldn't hurt him; I loved him."
Voices and footsteps silenced my words.
"My life is in your hands."
I slipped my head back behind the curtain.
Trunks thumped on top of the coach, and it rocked as passengers climbed aboard. From the shoes and voices I was able to identify two women and a boy. From the boy's shoes, pants legs, and the sound of his voice I took him to be about twelve or thirteen and realized he was the boy who tried to hit me. Of the two women, one was quite a bit older.
The girl I had spoken to was addressed as Elena. The voice of the older woman was commanding, an old matron.
The boy started to stow a bundle under the seat where I was hiding, and I heard the girl stop him. "No, Luis, I filled the space already. Put it under the other one."
Thank God the boy obeyed.
Luis sat next to Elena and the two older women took the seat I was hidden under. Once the travelers were settled in, the coach started up the cobblestone streets. As the coach rumbled along, the older woman began questioning Elena about remarks the girl had made earlier. The comments had angered the old woman.
I soon realized that Elena was unrelated to the other passengers. The women were Luis's mother and his grandmother. I could not pick up the older woman's name.
As was the custom among genteel Spanish families, despite their age, a marriage between Elena and Luis was already arranged. The union was deemed propitious, but it didn't seem that way to me. Among other things everything Elena said irritated the old woman.
"You made a statement at dinner last night that disturbed Dona Juanita and me," the old matron said. "You actually said that when you were old enough, you would disguise yourself as a man, enter the university, and get a degree."
Cho! What a statement for a young girl to make—for any woman to make. Women were not allowed at universities. Even women of good families were frequently illiterate.
"Men are not the only ones with minds," Elena said. "Women should also study the world around them."
"A woman's sole vocation is her husband, her children, and the management of her household," the old matron said sternly. "An education would put false ideas in her head and teach her nothing she can use. I, for one, am proud that we have never had our minds weakened and polluted with book learning."
"Is that all there is for us?" Elena asked. "All we are good for—bearing babies and baking bread? Was not one of the greatest monarchs in the history of Spain, our beloved Isabella, a woman? Didn't the warrior called Joan of Arc lead the armies of France to victory? Elizabeth of England was on the throne of that cold island when our great and proud Armada was—"
A hard, sharp slap sounded and Elena cried out in surprise.
"You impertinent girl. I shall advise Don Diego of your unladylike remarks. Like all of us, your place in life has been set by God. If your uncle has not instructed you of that, you will soon learn when you marry and your husband takes the strap to you."
"No man will take a strap to me," Elena said defiantly.
Another slap, but this time Elena did not cry out.
Ojala! Had I been on the seat beside Elena, I would have slapped that old woman's head off.
"Great Mother, she's only a girl with foolish ideas," the other woman said.
"Then it's time she learned her place as a woman. What kind of wife would she make for Luis with these crazy thoughts racing through her brain?"
"I shall marry whom I please."
Another slap. Dios mio, this girl had heart!
"You are not to speak again unless I speak directly to you. Do you understand? Not one word from you."
At which point Luis emitted a mean, malicious laugh, clearly amused at his bride-to-be's discomfort.
"Don Ramon has instructed me on the handling of a woman," Luis said, "and trust me, my hand will be firm."
I so recoiled at Ramon's name that I almost exposed myself.
"He told me they're like horses," Luis said. "When breaking them in your saddle, he said, do not forget to use your whip."
The older woman laughed, the mother's guffaws segued into a rasping, hacking cough. I had heard that grate before. On the streets they called it "a death rattle." One day she would expectorate blood. Soon after that she would be gone.
If the Dark Diceman cast lots for her soul, the lots would come up coffins.
Elena's response to their ridicule was blood-chilling silence. What spirit the girl had! If Luis thought to break this one to saddle, he would be bitterly disappointed.
"I've heard from your married cousin that you've been writing poetry, Elena," the old woman said. "She said it scandalizes the family. When we return you to Don Diego after your visit, I shall discuss this and other matters with him. These strange interests you evince are the devil's idle hands, not God's handiwork. If necessary, I shall whip that devil out of you—personally."
From my vantage point I could see Elena's foot tapping, tapping, tapping. She seethed under the lecture—but was not one bit cowed.
The side of Luis's boots bore his family's coat of arms, etched in silver: a shield featuring a rose and a knight's steel, mesh glove forming a fist. There was something vaguely familiar about the coat of arms, but many wealthy Spanish possessed them.
The city's cobblestone streets now yielded to the sandy Jalapa road, presently taking us through the dunes and swamps. Even though it was reinforced by timbers, the coach wouldn't follow it for long. The mountain foothills were impassable for anything larger than a donkey cart.
Where the passengers were ultimately headed, I had no idea. They could have been journeying to the City of Mexico for all I knew. Whatever their destination, they would not be continuing by coach. Soon they would choose between mule litter or horseback.
I was just starting to doze off, when the driver yelled down that we were being stopped by soldados.
A moment later one of them said to us, "We are checking all travelers departing the city. A notorious lepero thief has murdered a beloved priest in cold blood. Cut open his stomach and twisted the blade by the looks of it. Apparently, the priest caught him stealing."
Juanita gasped. I could see Elena's legs stiffen. The heinous accusation put her conscience to the test. The fray's words echoed in my mind: If they catch you, nothing will save you.
"Are you sure he did it?" Elena asked. She was clearly troubled, even forgetting to follow the old woman's injunction to remain silent.
- Предыдущая
- 42/174
- Следующая
