Pedro Paramo Page 9

  "I didn't m-move a hair. I waited for n-night, and here I am to t-tell you what happened."

  "Well, what are you hanging around for? Get on your way. Go tell those men that I'm here anytime they want to see me. I'll deal with them. But first ride by La Consagracion ranch. You know El Tilcuate? He'll be there. Tell him I need to see him. And tell those men that I'll expect them at the first opportunity. What brand of revolutionaries are they?"

  "I don't know. Th-that's what they c-called themselves."

  "Tell El Tilcuate that I need him here yesterday."

  "I w-will, patron."

  Pedro Paramo again closed the door to his office. He felt old and weary. He lost no time worrying about Fulgor, who'd been, after all, "more of the next world than this." He'd given all he had to give. He could be useful, though no more than any other man. "But those dumb bastards have never run into a boa constrictor like El Tilcuate," he thought.

  And then his thoughts turned to Susana San Juan, always in her room sleeping, or if not sleeping, pretending to be. He had spent the whole night in her room, standing against the wall and observing her in the wan candlelight: sweaty face, hands fidgeting with the sheets and tugging at her pillow until it was in shreds.

  Ever since he had brought her to live with him, every night had been like this, nights spent watching her suffering, her endless agitation. He asked himself how long it would go on.

  He hoped not long. Nothing can last forever; there is no memory, however intense, that does not fade.

  If only he knew what was tormenting her, what made her toss and turn in her sleeplessness until it seemed she was being torn apart inside.

  He had thought he knew her. But even when he found he didn't, wasn't it enough to know that she was the person he loved most on this earth? And - and this was what mattered most - that because of her he would leave this earth illuminated by the image that erased all other memories.

  But what world was Susana San Juan living in? That was one of the things Pedro Paramo would never know.

  The warm sand felt so good against my body. My eyes were closed, my arms flung wide and my legs open to the breeze from the sea. The sea there before me, stretching toward the horizon, leaving its foam on my feet as the waves washed in. . . ."

  "Now that's her talking, Juan Preciado. Don't forget to tell me what she says."

  ". . . It was early morning. The sea rose and fell. It slipped from its foam and raced away in clear green silent waves.

  '"I always swim naked in the sea,' I told him. And he followed me that first day, naked too, phosphorescent as he walked from the sea. There were no gulls; only those birds they call 'sword beaks,' that grunt as if they're snoring and disappear once the sun is up. He followed me the first day; he felt lonely, even though I was there.

  '"You might just as well be one of the birds,' he said. 'I like you better at night when we're lying on the same pillow beneath the same sheets in the darkness.'

  "He went away.

  "I went back. I would always go back. The sea bathes my ankles, and retreats; it bathes my knees, my thighs; it puts its gentle arm around my waist, circles my breasts, embraces my throat, presses my shoulders. Then I sink into it, my whole body. I give myself to its pulsing strength, to its gentle possession, holding nothing back.

  '"I love to swim in the sea,' I told him.

  "But he didn't understand.

  "And the next morning I was again in the sea, purifying myself. Giving myself to the waves."

  As dusk fell, the men appeared. They were carrying carbines, and cartridge belts crisscrossed their chests. There were about twenty of them. Pedro Paramo invited them in to eat. Without removing their sombreros, or uttering a word, they sat down at the table and waited. The only sounds came as they drank their chocolate and ate repeated servings of tortillas and beans.

  Pedro Paramo watched them. These were not faces he knew. El Tilcuate stood right behind him, in the shadows.

  "Senores," said Pedro Paramo, when he saw they were through. "What else can I do for you?"

  "You own all this?" one of them asked with a sweeping gesture.

  But another man interrupted:

  "I do the talking here!"

  "All right. What can I do for you?" Pedro Paramo repeated.

  "Like you see, we've taken up arms."

  "And?"

  "And nothing. That's it. Isn't that enough?"

  "But why have you done it?"

  "Well, because others have done the same. Didn't you know? Hang on a little till we get our instructions, and then we'll tell you why. For now, we're just here."

  "I know why," another said. "And if you want, I'll tell you. We've rebelled against the government and against people like you because we're tired of putting up with you.

  Everyone in the government is a crook, and you and your kind are nothing but a bunch of lowdown bandits and slick thieves. And as for the governor himself, I won't say nothing, because what we have to say to him we'll say with bullets."

  "How much do you need for your revolution?" Pedro Paramo asked. "Maybe I can help you."

  "The senor is talking sense, Perseverancio. You shouldn't let your tongue run on like that. We need to get us a rich man to help outfit us, and who better than this senor here.

  Casildo, how much do we need?"

  "Well, whatever the senor feels he can give us."

  "What! This man wouldn't throw a crumb to a starving man. Now that we're here, we'd ought to grab our chance and take everything he's got, right down to the last scrap of food stuffed in his filthy mouth."

  "Easy now, Perseverancio. You catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar. We can make a deal here. How much, Casildo?"

  "Well, I figure off the top of my head that twenty thousand pesos wouldn't be too bad as a starter. What do the rest of you think? Now, who knows but what our senor here maybe could do a little more, seeing he's so willing to help us. So, let's say fifty thousand. How does that strike you?"

  "I'll give you a hundred thousand," Pedro Paramo told them. "How many are there of you?"

  "I'd say three hundred."

  "All right. I'm going to lend you another three hundred men to beef up your contingent.

  Within a week you'll have both men and money at your disposal. I'm giving you the money; the men are just a loan. As soon as you're through with them, send them back here. Is that a bargain?

  "You bet."

  "So until a week from now, senores. It's been a pleasure to meet you."

  "All right," said the last to leave. "But remember, if you don't live up to your word, you'll hear 54

  from Perseverancio, and that's me."

  Pedro Paramo shook the man's hand as he left.

  Which one of them do you think is the leader?" he asked El Tilcuate after they'd gone.

  "Well, I think maybe the one in the middle, the one with the big belly who never even looked up. I have a feeling he's the one. I'm not often wrong, don Pedro."

  "You are this time, Damasio. You're the leader. Or would you rather not get tied up in this revolution?"

  "Well, I have been a little slow getting to it. Considering how much I like a good scrap."

  "You have an idea now what it's all about, so you don't need my advice. Get yourself three hundred men you can trust and sign up with these rebels. Tell them you're bringing the men I promised them. You'll know how to take care of the rest."

  "And what do I tell them about the money? Do I hand that over, too?"

  "I'll give you ten pesos for each man. Just enough for their most pressing needs. You tell them I'm keeping the rest here for them. That it isn't a good idea to haul so much money around in times like these. By the way, how would you like that little rancho over in Puerta de Piedra? Fine. It's yours, as of this minute. Take this note to my lawyer in Comala, old Gerardo Trujillo, and he'll put the property in your name then and there. How does that sound, Damasio?"

  "No need to ask, patron. Though I'd be happy to do this with or wit
hout the rancho - just for the hell of it. You know me. At any rate, I'm grateful to you. My old woman will have something to keep her busy while I'm off roaring around."

  "And look, while you're at it, round up a few head of cattle. What that rancho needs is a little activity."

  "Would you mind if I took Brahmas?"

  "Choose any you want, your wife can look after them. Now, to get back to our business.

  Try not to get too far away from my land, so that when anyone comes they'll find men already here. And come by whenever you can, or when you have news."

  "Be seeing you, patron."

  What is it she's saying, Juan Preciado?"

  "She's saying she used to hide her feet between his legs. Feet icy as cold stones, and that he warmed them, like bread baking in the oven. She says he nibbled her feet, saying they were like golden loaves from the oven. And that she slept cuddled close to him, inside his skin, lost in nothingness as she felt her flesh part like a furrow turned by a plow first burning, then warm and gentle, thrusting against her soft flesh, deeper, deeper, until she cried out.

  But she says his death hurt her much much more. That's what she said."

  "Whose death does she mean?"

  "Must have been someone who died before she did."

  "But who could it have been?"

  "I don't know. She says that the night he was late coming home, she felt sure he'd come back very late, maybe about dawn. She thought that because her poor cold feet felt as if they'd been wrapped in something, as if someone had covered them and warmed them.

  When she woke up she found that her feet were under the newspaper she had been reading while she was waiting for him; although the paper had fallen to the floor when she couldn't stay awake any longer, her feet were wrapped in it when they came to tell her he was dead."

  "The box they buried her in must have split open, because I hear something like boards creaking."

  "Yes, I hear it, too."

  That night she had the dreams again. Why such intense remembering of so many things?

  Why not simply his death, instead of this tender music from the past? "Florencio is dead, senora."

  How big the man was! How tall! And how hard his voice was. Dry as the driest dirt. She couldn't see his body clearly; or had it become blurred in memory? As if rain were falling between them. What was it he had said? Florencio? What Florencio? Mine? Oh, why didn't I weep then and drown myself in tears to wash away my anguish? Oh, God! You are not in Your heaven! I asked You to protect him. To look after him. I asked that of You. But all You care about is souls. And what I want is his body. Naked and hot with love; boiling with desire; stroking my trembling breasts and arms.

  My transparent body suspended from his. My lustful body held and released by his strength.

  What shall I do now with my lips without his lips to cover them? What shall become of my poor lips?

  While Susana San Juan tossed and turned, Pedro Paramo, standing by the door, watched her and counted the seconds of this long new dream. The oil in the lamp sputtered, and the flame flickered and grew weaker. Soon it would go out.

  If only she were suffering pain, and not these relentless, interminable, exhausting dreams, he could find some way to comfort her. Those were Pedro Paramo's thoughts as he stood watching Susana San Juan, following her every movement. What would he do if she died like the flame of the pale light that allowed him to watch her?

  He left the room, noiselessly closing the door behind him. Outside, the cool night air erased Susana San Juan's image from his mind.

  Just before dawn, Susana awakened. She was sweating. She threw the heavy covers to the floor, and freed herself of the heat of the sheets. She was naked, cooled by the early morning air. She sighed, and then fell back to sleep.

  That was how Father Renteria found her hours later; naked and sleeping.

  Have you heard, don Pedro? They got the best of El Tilcuate." "I knew there was shooting last night, because I could hear the racket. But that's all I knew. Who told you this, Gerardo?" "Some of the wounded made it to Comala. My wife helped bandage them.

  They said they'd been with Damasio, and that a lot of men died. Seems like they met up with some men who called themselves Villistas."

  "Good God, Gerardo! I see bad times ahead. What do you plan to do?"

  "I'm leaving, don Pedro. For Sayula. I'll start over there."

  "You lawyers have the advantage; you can take your fortune with you anywhere, as long as they don't knock you off."

  "Don't you believe it, don Pedro. We have our problems. Besides, it hurts to leave people like you; all your courtesies will be sorely missed. It's fair to say that our world is constantly changing. Where would you like me to leave your papers?"

  "Don't leave them. Take them with you. Or won't you be able to look after my affairs where you're going?"

  "I appreciate your confidence, don Pedro. Truly I do. Although I venture to say that it won't be possible for me to continue. Certain irregularities. . . Let's say. . . information no one but you should have. Your papers could be put to bad use if they fell into the wrong hands. The surest thing would be to leave them with you."

  "You're right, Gerardo. Leave them here. I'll burn them. With papers or without them, who's going to argue with me over my property."

  "No one, I'm sure of that, don Pedro. No one. Now I must be going."

  "Go with God, Gerardo."

  "What did you say?"

  "I said, may God be with you."

  Gerardo Trujillo, lawyer left very slowly. He was old, but not so old he had to walk so haltingly, so reluctantly. The truth was that he had expected a reward. He had served don Lucas - might he rest in peace - don Pedro's father; then, and up till now, don Pedro.

  Even Miguel, don Pedro's son. The truth was that he expected some recognition. A large, and welcome, return for his services. He had told his wife:

  "I'm going over to tell don Pedro I'm leaving. I know he'll want to thank me. Let me say that with the money he gives me we can establish ourselves in Sayula and live in comfort for the rest of our days."

  But why is it that women always have doubts? What is it, anyway? Do they receive their information from on high? His wife had not been at all sure he would be rewarded.

  "You'll have to work like a dog to keep your head above water. You won't get anything from him."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I just know."

  He was still walking toward the front door, listening for a sudden summons:

  "Oh, Gerardo! I've been so preoccupied that I wasn't thinking straight. You know I owe you favors that can't be repaid with money. Here, take this: a small thank-you."

  But the summons never came. He left through the front entrance and untied his horse from the hitching post. He mounted and slowly started back toward Comala, trying not tq ride out of earshot, in case anyone called. When he realized that the Media Luna had faded from sight, he thought, "What a terrible comedown it would be to ask for a loan."

  Don Pedro. I've come back because I'm not happy with myself. I'd be pleased to continue to look after your affairs."

  He was again sitting in Pedro Paramo's office, which he'd left less than a half hour before.

  "Fine with me, Gerardo. Here are the papers, right where you left them."

  "I'd also appreciate . . . My expenses . . . Moving . . . A small advance on my fees . . . And a little something extra, if that seems all right."

  "Five hundred?"

  "Couldn't we make it a little, well, just a little more?"

  "Will a thousand do?"

  "How about five?"

  "Five what? Five thousand pesos? I don't have that much. You of all people know that everything I have is tied up. Land, cattle. You know that. Take a thousand. That's all you'll need."

  Trujillo sat thinking. With his head on his chest. He heard pesos clinking on the desk where Pedro Paramo was counting the money. He was remembering don Lucas, who had always put off paying his fees.
And don Pedro, who'd started with a clean slate. And his son Miguel. What a lot of trouble that boy had caused!

  He had got him out of jail at least fifteen times, if not more. And there was the time he'd murdered that man. What was his name? Renteria, yes, that was it. They'd put a pistol in the corpse's hand.

  Miguelito'd been scared to death, though he'd laughed about it later. How much would just that one time have cost don Pedro if things had moved ahead to legal proceedings? And what about all the rapes, eh? Think of all the times he'd taken money from his own pocket to keep the girls quiet. "You should be thankful," he'd told them, "that you'll be having a fair-skinned baby."

  "Here you are, Gerardo. Take good care of this, because money doesn't grow on trees."

  And Trujillo, who was still deep in his meditations, replied, "Just like dead men don't spring up from their graves."

  It was a long time till dawn. The sky was fil ed with fat stars, swollen from the long night.

  The moon had risen briefly and then slipped out of sight. It was one of those sad moons that no one looks at or pays attention to. It had hung there a while, misshapen, not shedding any light, and then gone to hide behind the hills.

  From far away, shrouded in darkness, came the bellowing of bulls.

  "Those creatures never sleep," said Damiana Qusneros. "They never sleep. They're like the Devil, who's away, out looking for souls to spirit away."

  She turned over in bed, putting her face close to the wall. That was when she heard the knocking.

  She held her breath and opened her eyes. Again she heard three sharp taps, as if someone were rapping on the wall. Not right beside her, but farther away - although on the same wall.

  "Heaven help us! It must have been San Pascual, tapping three times as warning to one of his faithful that his hour has come."

  Since she hadn't made a novena for so long because of her rheumatism, she didn't worry; but she was afraid, and even more than afraid, curious.

  She quietly got up from her cot and peered out the window.

  The fields were black. Even so, she knew the landscape so well that she could see the large mass of Pedro Paramo's body swinging into the window of young Margarita.