Authors: Robbins Harold
Sergei came back from the door through which he had been looking into the crowded church. "I've yet to see a happy bridegroom."
Robert laughed. "You'll be all right once we start down the aisle."
Sergei looked at him. "I know, but it's not that I'm worrying about. It's after."
Robert didn't answer. He, too, had his doubts.
Sergei turned back to the door. "Dax should have been here. He would have been amused by all this. I wonder if he ever got the invitation. You haven't heard from him, have you?"
"Not one word, not since he left Cambridge a year ago. I wrote him several times but he never answered."
"It's a strange, wild country, I guess. I hope nothing has happened to him."
"He'll be all right. Much more will be happening to us."
Sergei shot him a quick look. "You still think there'll be war?"
"I don't see how they can stop it. The war in Spain is almost over. The Germans have finished their warm up. That much you know from your father's letters." Robert laughed. "So now Chamberlain is going to Munich to talk to that madman. It's all a waste of time. Nothing will do any good."
"What does your father say?"
"He's transferring everything he can to America. He even wants Caroline and me to go back there."
"Are you?"
Robert shook his head.
"Why not?"
Robert shrugged. "For two important reasons. I'm Jewish, and I'm French."
"What can you do? You're not even a soldier."
"There will be something," Robert said. "At least I can stay and fight. There are too many of us fleeing before that monster already."
The sound of the organ came into the room. Robert peeked out the door, then turned back. "Allons, mon enfant. Now it is your turn to be a man."
The wire-service reporters were standing at the back of the church as the couple knelt before the altar. "Think of it," the AP man said. "In ten minutes he walks out of here gone from broke to fifty million bucks."
"You sound jealous."
"You're damn right I am. At least it should have been an American boy. What's wrong with good old American boys?"
"I don't know," Irma Andersen, who was covering the nuptials for Cosmo-World, whispered cattily from his right, "but from what I heard she tried them all and they were found wanting."
"Now, now."
"I wish I could afford that caviar-and-champagne kick," the INS man said. "It really must do the trick."
"Don't get big ideas. Us poor people better stick to oysters."
The AP man looked at him and smiled. "That's fine, but what are we going to do all summer?"
CHAPTER 4
The rustling of fallen leaves brought him from sleep and he reached out, his hand closing over the rifle lying on the blanket beside him. From the corner of his eye he saw Fat Cat, already on his feet, blending silently into the trees. Muffling the sound with his blanket, he pumped a cartridge into the firing chamber of the rifle and waited.
There was silence all about him. He squinted up at the sky. He didn't have to check his watch to know it was around five o'clock in the morning. He put his ear to the ground and listened.
The footsteps had ceased. He took a deep breath. Fat Cat had intercepted whoever it had been. He still did not move. There was a faint hum of voices, and the mere sound reassured him. If it were anything dangerous there would be no conversation. Just the noises of death.
The footsteps began again. Dax raised his head and peered down the trail from the small cave in which he lay. Just as a precaution he raised his rifle and leveled the sight on the corner of the trail.
The bright red and blue uniform of the soldier appeared first. Behind him, Fat Cat, his revolver still in his hand, was almost invisible in his faded and nondescript khaki. Dax waited until they were almost upon him, then got to his feet.
The soldier started nervously, his face still pale from the encounter with Fat Cat. Then he pulled himself together and saluted. "Corporal Ortiz, Capitan," he said formally. "I come with dispatches from el Presidente."
"Sit down, corporal." Dax squatted. "We don't stand on ceremony here. Besides, you make too good a target in that uniform of yours."
With a sigh of relief the soldier sank to the ground. "I have been trying to find you for almost a month."
Dax squinted at him. "You did well. One hour more and we would have been gone." He looked at Fat Cat. "How about some coffee?"
Fat Cat nodded and set about making a small fire, where the wind would disperse the smoke before it could rise into the air. He looked down curiously as the soldier opened his knapsack and handed Dax a number of envelopes tied neatly together with a string.
Dax settled his back against the rock and opened the first envelope. He took out an engraved card. He glanced at it for a moment and then began to chuckle. He held it up for Fat Cat to see. "Mira! We are invited to a wedding!"
Fat Cat looked at him over the coffeepot. "Bueno, there's nothing I like better than a good fiesta. Food and music and pretty girls. Who's getting married?"
"Sergei. To Sue Ann Daley."
"The blond one?"
Dax nodded.
"She'll fuck him to death. Maybe there is still time to warn him?"
Dax looked at the soldier. "What is the date?"
"April twelfth."
"Too late; the wedding took place two days ago. In Switzerland."
Fat Cat shook his head sadly. "Too bad." Then he and Dax looked at each other and began to laugh.
Ortiz stared at them in amazement. Was it for this nonsense that he had been sent to find them? To risk his life in these terrible mountains against all manner of unknown terrors merely to bring an invitation to a wedding which they could not even attend? Truly the life of an ordinary soldier was a sorry one.
Quickly Dax opened the remaining envelopes, saving until last the official one bearing el Presidente's seal. One after the other they disappeared into the fire. When he had finished the last he looked up. "El Presidente wishes us to come in."
"What for?" Fat Cat poured steaming black coffee into a tin cup and gave it to Dax, then filled others for Ortiz and himself.
"He does not say." Dax looked at Ortiz. "Do you know why?"
"No, Capitan," Ortiz replied quickly. "I am but an ordinary soldier. I know nothing."
Fat Cat swore angrily. "For three months we have lived like animals in these hills and now that we're almost finished with the job we are told, 'Come in.' Why couldn't you wait two more days to find us? Just two more days."
The soldier paled at the anger in Fat Cat's voice. He seemed to shrink inside his uniform. "I—"
"Maybe it's not so bad," Dax said reassuringly. "Days have a way of getting mixed up out here in the mountains. The good corporal really didn't find us until the fourteenth, did you, corporal?"
Ortiz stared from one to the other. He could not make up his mind which of the two was more mad. The young one with his face burned almost black by the sun or the fat one who came upon you as silently as a puma. But there was one thing he did know. If they said he did not find them until the fourteenth, that's when he found them. What difference could two days make out here in the jungle? Especially when it was a matter of life and death. His own.
He cleared his throat. "But of course, Capitan. The fourteenth."
Dax smiled. He got to his feet. "Let's get going then. We have still a hard march to where we will meet with el Condor."
El Condor! Ortiz could feel his intestines shrivel. So that was what they were up to! El Condor, the bandolero, who had been terrorizing the mountains for the last five years and who had sworn to put to death any man who fell into his hands wearing the uniform of the army. "I think I'll be getting back now," he said, starting to his feet.
"I don't think so," Dax said quietly. "You'll be safer with us."
"Yes," Fat Cat replied, "especially in that uniform. It's not good to be wandering around in the hills wearing a monkey suit like that."
"Do you think we can find another set of pantalones for him?"
Fat Cat nodded. "I have an extra pair. They'll be a little big but—"
"He'll feel more comfortable."
Ortiz couldn't agree with him more. He couldn't get out of the uniform fast enough.
Dax looked down into the valley. "See?"
Ortiz and Fat Cat followed his finger. A faint wisp of smoke was rising from a corner of the valley.
"They are already there and waiting," Dax said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "Just as el Condor promised."
"What do you think his answer will be?"
Dax shrugged his shoulders. "Only God knows."
"Answer to what?" Ortiz asked.
Fat Cat looked at him. "El Presidente sent us with an offer of amnesty. If el Condor lays down his arms and comes in to Curatu all is forgiven."
"Amnesty for el Condor?" Ortiz shivered and crossed himself. "What makes you think he will believe you?"
"He knew my father," Dax said. "He knows I would not be a party to anything but the truth. It took us all this time to locate him. Last week he told us we would have his answer in seven days. We will spend the night here and go down in the morning."
"Do you really think el Condor will come in?" Ortiz whispered to Fat Cat as they spread their blankets on the ground.
"I'll be better able to answer that tomorrow night." Fat Cat then added an afterthought which kept Ortiz in a chill all through the night. "If we're still alive."
Dax stretched out on his blanket on his stomach, his chin resting on his crossed forearms. He looked down into the valley. Gradually the day faded into the purple of evening and night sounds began to come to his ears. The faint wavering smoke from the camp of the bandoleros could no longer be seen. Motionlessly he lay there, wrapping the safety of the night around him like a blanket. Everything was different from what he had expected, but that was only because he had thought things had changed.
It wasn't until he got home that he realized that nothing ever really changes. Someone had once said that the more things change, the more they are the same. It seemed to him that none of the things that his father had hoped would be achieved had yet been realized. There were still not enough schools, and those there were had quickly been preempted by the officials and minor officials for their own children. That was in Curatu. In the small villages and the countryside there were no schools at all.
And though around the capital there was a network of paved asphalt roads they went nowhere, ending abruptly in swamps or jungles only a few miles beyond the outskirts. In the mountains and valleys of the back country the bandoleros still struck terror into the hearts of the campesinos.
There had been a sadness in him those first few weeks he had been home. He was glad that his father was not there to see what he saw. It was not for this his father had spent his days.
He had gone down to the port and watched the ships come and go and the fishermen return with their catch. In the early hours of the morning he had wandered through the marketplace listening to the cries of the vendors. And everywhere he went he saw the small concrete statues of el Presidente—on the street corners, on each new building, at every pier in the port and entrance to the marketplace. And there was always the red and blue uniform of the soldiers.
It wasn't until a week had passed that he became aware that soldiers were following him. It wasn't until a few days later that he realized that the people looked at him as if he were a stranger, that the sound of his voice had a different accent from their own, that the cut of his clothes was of another society.
A sense of loneliness and isolation began to possess him. Suddenly the atmosphere of the city began to choke in his throat. It was not until then that he realized he was no longer the same person who had left here years ago. He was something else, someone else. What he was he did not know. Instinctively, hopefully, he left the city for the hacienda in the mountains where he had been born.
There, where the sky and the earth seemed to stretch forever before him and the mountains thrust their purple, craggy fingers at the sun and stars, he hoped to find again the sense of freedom he had lost. The reason for his being.
CHAPTER 5
On an afternoon several weeks later he was sitting in the patio looking out toward the mountains when Fat Cat came out of the house and sat down next to him. "It is not the same?"
Dax picked up a thin cigar and lit it before he answered. "No," he said, his voice flat and empty.
"Things are never the same." Fat Cat looked at Dax shrewdly. "But you must have known that."
Dax let out a cloud of blue smoke. "I knew."
A tinge of anger came into Fat Cat's voice. "I thought surely that el Presidente—"
"Would what?" Dax prompted.
The anger was strong in Fat Cat's voice. "Find something for you to do."
Dax smiled. "Such as?"
Fat Cat did not answer.
"El Presidente has many things on his mind besides me."
Fat Cat turned toward the mountains. After a moment he said, "There are men coming on horseback." He listened again. "Soldiers."
Dax got out of his chair and walked to the railing. There was nothing he could see or hear. "How do you know?"
"Only soldiers' horses move in step." He looked at Dax. "Are you expecting anyone?"
Dax shook his head. There, now he could hear a faint muffled beat of hooves. He turned. Fat Cat was checking his revolver. "I thought you said they were soldiers."
Fat Cat shoved the revolver into his belt. "They are soldiers. Still, one stays alive by not taking chances."
They stood there until the first red and blue uniform came into sight, then Fat Cat turned. "They will be hot and thirsty. I will see to their refreshment."
Dax watched the soldiers approaching. There seemed to be a full squad, about fourteen men, all mounted on the wiry brown mustangs that the army preferred. From his uniform Dax knew that the leader was a captain. But there was another, a slim young officer, though Dax could not distinguish his rank because his uniform bore no insignia. The captain held up a hand and the squad wheeled to a halt just beyond the gate.