Country of the Bad Wolfes (60 page)

Having settled on this course of action, Reynaldo felt both relief and the full weight of his years. In the past few months he'd had recurrent episodes of breathlessness. Of nausea. He sometimes felt a tingling semi-numbness in his arm, a feeling similar to when he awoke from sleeping on it the wrong way. It was without question long past time for him to retire. All right then, when? Why not tomorrow? Just like that? Yes, just like that. He felt himself grinning. Tomorrow, at the end of the day. Don't tell Alfredo till then. Best not give him too much time to dwell on it. Tomorrow afternoon you tell him, have him write the letter—or write it yourself, if need be—then have it notarized and go to Don Juan.

He fell asleep smiling.

Alfredo was aware of his father's perception of him as unsuitable to be mayordomo, and he could tell that the patrón felt the same way. But he knew he could do the job and that Mauricio thought so too. Alfredo had last seen his brother five years prior, on which occasion Mauricio had told their father once again that he was not interested in managing the hacienda and did not intend to leave the army until it forced him to retire. Let Alfredo have the job, Mauricio said, and gave his brother a wink.

Alfredo had always idolized Mauricio. He believed his brother was the only one who saw the truth of him and respected him and recognized that he would make a fine mayordomo. The great desire of his father and Don Juan for Mauricio to manage the hacienda was of course understandable, Mauricio was so talented in so many ways. What galled Alfredo wasn't that they so badly wanted Mauricio for the job, but that they didn't want
him
for it at all. His father's poor opinion of him had become more evident in recent years. Alfredo saw it in his face every time his father delivered the same tired lecture on the importance of how a mayordomo should conduct himself, in his every harping on the dangers of drink. Good Christ! As if he were one of those hopeless rummies who needed help getting home from the cantina every night! Yes, he took a drink now and then—what man did not? And what man didn't get a little tipsy sometimes, for God's sake? Or have some fun with a girl? What was more natural than
that
? Did they think Mauricio never took a drink? Never put his hand under a girl's skirt? Like hell he didn't!

Well, they could think what they liked, his father and the patrón. The simple fact was that Mauricio was never going to take the job and his father couldn't keep at it forever—or even much longer. Very soon he would have to retire and they would have no choice but to give it to
him
, of whom they thought so little. Then, father mine, Alfredo thought,
then
you'll see. Mauricio and I will have the last laughs on you and the patrón when you see the kind of mayordomo I am.

On Friday, the sixteenth of July, Reynaldo awoke before dawn as always—and smiled once again for having found a satisfactory solution to a long-vexing problem. He would put in this last day of work and at the end of it go to Alfredo and then to Don Juan and it would be done with.

There was a peculiar aura to the day. The sunlight itself seemed somehow different, its cast softer than usual. But he felt an ease of mind such as he had not known for years, and the workday glided by. And then it was over and he became melancholic. He felt a vague ache in his chest. He was halfway across the casa grande courtyard on the way home to talk to Alfredo when his arm began to tingle in the familiar way of recent months. And again he felt faint nausea. This time the arm pain did not abate after a minute or so but began to intensify. Then his chest was seized by a band of pain so tight he felt his entire body constrict and he doubled over, hugging himself, breathless, his cry stoppered in his throat. And saw the flagstone rising to meet his face as the world came to an end.

As soon as John Samuel heard the news he went to see his father and found him already informed. John Roger was saddened by the old mayordomo's death—and not unaware that his sadness contained more than a touch of self-pity for his own dwindled life. He poured drinks and they raised their glasses to Reynaldo. John Samuel said he knew that his father and Reynaldo had been very close and had shared a great respect for each other. John Roger nodded and sensed what was coming. But there were shows of respect to the living, John Samuel said, that were of no worth at all to the dead. And now that the noble Reynaldo was gone—God rest his soul—there was really no obligation to subject Buenaventura to even a brief period of mismanagement, was there? John Roger said he supposed not. He had been thinking the same thing before John Samuel arrived.

“Well then,” John Samuel said.

On Saturday morning Alfredo telegraphed the news to his brother. Mauricio wired back his commiseration, but it was needless to say he could not make it to the Sunday funeral, as far away as he was. Alfredo was disappointed that Mauricio did not offer congratulations to him on becoming the new mayordomo, then realized his brother would have thought it unseemly to do that in the same telegram devoted to the sadness of their father's death. Such congratulations would anyhow have been premature, as he had not yet received official appointment as his father's successor. The patrón would of course want to wait—also as a gesture of respect—until after the funeral before naming him the new mayordomo.

And, as he expected, immediately after the funeral he was invited by the patrón to come to his office the next afternoon. For a talk, as Don Juan put it. Alfredo was a long time falling asleep that night, so keen was he for tomorrow.

He sat down across the desk from Don Juan, and John Samuel sat off to the side. The patrón again tendered his condolences and again said that Reynaldo had been like a father to him, who had never known his own father. And I know, John Roger said, that your father was very happy about what I am about to tell you. Happy and very proud.

Alfredo beamed.

John Roger told him that the volume of shipping through the hacienda's rail depot had become so great that there was a need for someone to be in charge of it all, a depot manager, a man with the intelligence and skill to insure that all the necessary documents pertaining to goods passing through the depot were in proper order and recorded accurately. It was a most important position and would of course fetch a salary commensurate with its responsibilities. It also came with an assistant, a young man well-trained in every facet of accounting and who was already on the job. It is my very great pleasure, Fredo, John Roger said, to appoint you the first depot manager in the history of Buenaventura de la Espada. I am confident, as was your father, that you are the right man for this vital responsibility.

Alfredo sat stunned before Don Juan's smile. Don Juanito simply stared. His face had always been hard for Alfredo to read and had become more so after its alteration in the fight with the twins. Alfredo cleared his throat twice. I don't understand, he said. I was the next in line. To be the mayordomo, I was next.

Mayordomo? John Roger said. But son, didn't your father tell you? We discussed that matter, he and I, when he told me he was ready to retire. Just two days before . . . no, the very
day
before he, ah, was so suddenly taken from us. He said he would tell you.

Tell me what? Alfredo said. Confusion stark on his face.

John Roger leaned forward in an attitude of earnest sincerity. Look, Fredo, he said, I have three sons and already one grandson, and when Don Reynaldo told me he was ready to retire, he understood completely my intention to begin a line of mayordomos from my own family. Johnny here, my eldest, will be the first of them, of course. But let me tell you, Fredo, your father was very happy about the position I have just given to you. He was concerned, of course, that you might be disappointed not to be his replacement, but he was sure that when he explained the new job to you, you would be as pleased with it as he. I thought he was going to tell you that night, but, well, he obviously delayed for some reason. Perhaps he intended to tell you the next evening. Ah well, may his soul rest in peace. In any case, I'm sorry this comes as a surprise to you, Fredo, but as I said, I am very confident, as was your father, that you will like the job very much and will excel at it.

Alfredo could not think what to say.

There was no hurry about starting on the new job, the patrón told him. His new salary was effective that very day, but of course he would still need time to mourn his father. Take all the time you need, John Roger said. The job will be there waiting for you when you feel ready.

John Roger stood up and offered his hand. Alfredo stood and shook it, looking like a man waked from a dream and not yet sure of where he is. Then shook John Samuel's extended hand. John Samuel saw him to the door and closed it after him and turned to John Roger and smiled. “I think that went rather well,” he said. “You know, Father, you have a gift for diplomacy.”