The voices seemed different now, Luz less scared, the males less belligerent. Everybody was still talking, but it seemed to be merely a general discussion at this point, without suspicion in it. Talking about me? Where I might be, probably.
Out here, wet and naked.
The quality of the light changed in there, and I had just realized that must mean the bedroom doorway curtain had been pulled back when into my line of vision stepped a Mexican bandit. It’s true he didn’t wear a sombrero or a bandoleer, but he did have the slouching walk and the walrus mustache and he did carry — oh, Lord! — a machete.
I pressed myself against the wall of the house. He turned, almost facing me, and spoke, and two more of them entered the picture. So that was Luis with the bad arm: ugly son of a bitch.
Next Luz came into view, smiling nervously, wearing a great white cotton sack of a nightgown she must own for hospital stays and visits to grandma’s house; I couldn’t believe that was how she normally spent her nights.
Did I hear her use the word cerveza? If she was being a hostess now, asking them to stay, it was a perfect way to remind them they had to go; they had miles to travel, podner, and an ornery in-law to kill.
Yes. That was the way it was working; they were all trending toward the door. Six of them in all, and there’s poco Pedro; I could probably take him if he weren’t carrying that machete. Three of them held machetes; the other three apparently would prefer to rip me apart with their bare hands.
Out the door they went, still taking their time, Luz wishing them luck in their quest, assuring them there was no problem in their having showed up so unexpectedly, drop in any time, bring your machetes, come by when you can stay longer, give my love to the dogs and the chickens back at the hacienda.... Would they never leave?
Yes. There they go, poco Pedro last. Luz stood in the doorway for more farewells, these hushed for the sake of the neighbors. I crept forward, trying to duck under the light from the window, and saw their pickup truck, big and dirty and saggy. They came into sight one at a time, moseying toward their truck just as though it actually was a passel of ponies. They climbed aboard, three inside the cab and three in the open back. It wasn’t as dramatic as a posse on a passel of ponies, but it would do.
I was so absorbed in watching them, I almost forgot to duck out of sight of the headlights. The truck faced the house, which meant it faced me. But then the starter ground and ground, and I suddenly realized what was going to happen next, and I moved back and downslope along the side of the house as far as the window. I looked in there, and Luz still stood in the open doorway, smiling, waving bye-bye, until she was suddenly flooded with glary light. Then she slammed the door and turned, and her expression had switched to great worry.
I wanted to speak, but the truck was slowly backing off, headlight beams spraying everywhere, and I didn’t dare move. Luz hurried away, toward the rear of the house, no doubt looking for me, and the truck at last completed its turning retreat. It stopped, then moved forward, engine rasping, and limped away toward San Cristobal.
Now I hurried around to the front and in. I shut the door behind me just at the instant Luz came rushing back through the doorway from the bedroom, still looking deeply worried until she saw me, then becoming joyously relieved. “Felicio! You’re okay!”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve been in the river. I’ve probably got most of the world’s tropical diseases by now.”
“Oh, we gotta get you washed,” she said. “C’mere.”
I followed her to the sink, where she pulled out a gleaming metal contraption and attached it to the faucet, saying, “Here. This’s how you get clean.”
Ah. It was a telephone shower, a shower head attached to a flexible metal hose. I took it, and she said, “There’s the soap. Get the water hot like you want it. I’ll do your back.”
I said, “Luz, I’ll get the whole house wet.”
She pointed down and said, “You stand there.”
I looked and there was a metal grid, about two feet by three, in the floor in front of the sink. “That’s terrific,” I said. “What’ll they think of next?”
I ran warm water over my chest and arms. Some splashed on the floor, but most of it ran down me and through the grid.
Luz said, “I’ll do your back.”
“Okay.” I gave her the shower head and started to soap my front. She ran water over my back, and all at once I saw the situation I was in: wet and naked, being washed by Luz Garrigues. Then, to make matters worse, I immediately produced physical evidence of my awareness.
“Okay, here’s the water,” she said, coming around front. “Gimme the soap, I’ll do your back.” Then she did her loose smile and said, “Well. You are glad to see me.”
“Warm water,” I said. “It’s a well-known turn-on.”
“Uh-huh.” She took the soap, went around behind me, and soaped me very well indeed, while I tried to think about other things. Any other things.
Even those guys. I said, “Why did they come here, anyway? Did they think I was here?”
“They don’t know what they think, those bums,” she said in disgust. “A couple of them — I think Manfredo, maybe not — they said I give you a warning so you could run away. They argue, did I do it, did I not do it. Then I was dancin’ with somebody tonight nobody knows. Somebody got on the phone, called Manfredo or somebody, ask about this guy. So they come down, look around, just in case you’re here.”
“Somebody called your cousins about me?”
“They wanna know who you are. Nosy people. So they call a cousin of mine: Who’s this guy stayin’ with Luz? So that’s why they come down. I say you ain’t stayin’ with me, you’re a truck driver work for the factory, you off on your run.”
“Jesus, that was close.”
“I pray to Jesus, too, lemme tell you,” she said. “Those guys can get mean. Especially that poco Pedro, he’s a mean guy even when he ain’t drunk.”
“Luz, tomorrow, from the factory, could you call Arturo? Tell him to come down here. Don’t say why, just tell him come down, it’s important.”
“Sure, in the morning. Okay, you’re done. Here’s the water.”
I kept my back to her. “Thanks, Luz, I’ll just rinse the rest, you know, myself.”
“I seen those before,” she told me. “I’m goin’ to bed, I’m tired.”
“Thanks,” I said. “For... you know, for everything.”
“Sure. Goo’night.”
What with one thing and another, it took me a long while to get back to sleep.
26
Friday. Another slow day, alone in Luz’s house. I was running out of photo novels, and the river was running out of different kinds of boats to show me. The Rolex said it was only eleven-thirty, too early for lunch, but I decided to eat anyway, just for something to do. I got up from the saggy living room sofa, meaning to go to the refrigerator and spend a long time choosing my menu, when a car stopped out front.
Oh, no. The cousins again? I didn’t want to go back in that miserable river, this time with all my clothes on. Crouched over, I ran to the front window and looked out and saw Arturo just climbing out of his Impala.
Arturo! I’d forgotten all about him. I’d asked Luz to phone him, so this morning she must have, because here he was.