12 Stories They Wouldn't Let Me Do on TV by Alfred Hitchcock (ed)
Authors: Alfred Hitchcock (ed)
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them. No, of no importance was the money of Senora Ellen (the other two women were always Senora to him, Miss Lucy alone was Senorita). The important thing was that he should show them everything. Here the strong arms waved to embrace the sun, the sky, the mountains, all of Mexico. And the dark eyes with the two thick lashes embraced Miss Lucy too.
And Miss Lucy, against some deeply rooted instinct, yielded.
Mario went with them to Mexico City.
***
It was the second week of their stay in Mexico City and they had decided upon a trip to the pyramids at Teotihuacan. As usual Miss Lucy sat in front with Mario. He was an excellent driver and she loved to watch his profile as he concentrated on the road; loved his occasional murmurs to himself when something pleased or displeased him. She liked it less when he turned to her, flashing his dark eyes caressingly on her face and lowering them to her breast.
His gaze embarrassed her and today something prompted her to say to him in English, "Mario, you are what in America we call a flirt. I imagine you are very popular with the girls here in Mexico." For a moment he did not seem to understand her remark. Then he burst out, "Girls-muchachas. Para me, no." His hand went into his breast pocket and he brought out a small battered photograph. "Mi muchacha. My girl, mi unica muchacha… Una sola…" Miss Lucy took the photograph. It was of a woman older than herself with gray hair and large sad eyes. There were lines of worry and illness in her face.
"Your mother?" said Miss Lucy gently. "Tell me about her." Mario rattled on, not in the slow careful Spanish which he generally reserved for the ladies, but in a rapid monologue of which Miss Lucy understood but part. She gathered that Mario's mother was terribly poor, that she had devoted her life in a tiny Guerreros village to raising fatherless children, and was a saint on earth. It was obvious that Mario felt the almost idolatrous love for his mother that is so frequent in young Mexican males.
While he talked excitedly, Miss Lucy reached a decision. Somehow, before her vacation was over, she'd get from Mario his mother's address and she'd write and send her money, enough money to finance Mario at college. A mother surely would accept it even though her son might be too proud to yield to persuasion.
"Is that one of the pyramids?" It was Ellen's disappointed voice that broke the chain of Miss Lucy's thought. "Why, it's nothing compared to the pyramids in Egypt!"
Miss Lucy was thrilled, however, by the Pyramids of the Sun and the Moon. And as she gazed at their somber, ancient magnificence, she felt that strange inner elation which she had felt on the morning when she had genuflected and crossed herself in the church at Taxco.
"I'm not going to climb up all those crumbly steps," said Ellen peevishly. "I'm too old and it's too hot."
And Vera, though never too hot, was far too old. She stood at the foot of the pyramid, her coat hanging sleevelessly over her shoulders, the inevitable cigarette held in her clawlike hand. "You go, Lucy- you're young and active."
Lucy went.
With Mario's help she climbed to the very top of the Pyramid of the Sun and she was hardly out of breath when she reached the summit, so great was her sense of mystic exaltation.
They sat alone and close together on the summit, this cultivated woman past fifty with a degree from Bryn Mawr, and this almost ignorant boy from an adobe hut in the hinterland of Guerreros. They looked over the vast design of the square where the ancient village had been with its Temple of Quetzalcoatl of the Plumed Serpents, gazing down at the Road of the Dead which led from the Temple to the Pyramid of the Moon.
Mario started to tell her of the sacrificial rites of the feast of Toxcatl which, in ancient days, took place once a year.
As he talked, Miss
And Miss Lucy, against some deeply rooted instinct, yielded.
Mario went with them to Mexico City.
***
It was the second week of their stay in Mexico City and they had decided upon a trip to the pyramids at Teotihuacan. As usual Miss Lucy sat in front with Mario. He was an excellent driver and she loved to watch his profile as he concentrated on the road; loved his occasional murmurs to himself when something pleased or displeased him. She liked it less when he turned to her, flashing his dark eyes caressingly on her face and lowering them to her breast.
His gaze embarrassed her and today something prompted her to say to him in English, "Mario, you are what in America we call a flirt. I imagine you are very popular with the girls here in Mexico." For a moment he did not seem to understand her remark. Then he burst out, "Girls-muchachas. Para me, no." His hand went into his breast pocket and he brought out a small battered photograph. "Mi muchacha. My girl, mi unica muchacha… Una sola…" Miss Lucy took the photograph. It was of a woman older than herself with gray hair and large sad eyes. There were lines of worry and illness in her face.
"Your mother?" said Miss Lucy gently. "Tell me about her." Mario rattled on, not in the slow careful Spanish which he generally reserved for the ladies, but in a rapid monologue of which Miss Lucy understood but part. She gathered that Mario's mother was terribly poor, that she had devoted her life in a tiny Guerreros village to raising fatherless children, and was a saint on earth. It was obvious that Mario felt the almost idolatrous love for his mother that is so frequent in young Mexican males.
While he talked excitedly, Miss Lucy reached a decision. Somehow, before her vacation was over, she'd get from Mario his mother's address and she'd write and send her money, enough money to finance Mario at college. A mother surely would accept it even though her son might be too proud to yield to persuasion.
"Is that one of the pyramids?" It was Ellen's disappointed voice that broke the chain of Miss Lucy's thought. "Why, it's nothing compared to the pyramids in Egypt!"
Miss Lucy was thrilled, however, by the Pyramids of the Sun and the Moon. And as she gazed at their somber, ancient magnificence, she felt that strange inner elation which she had felt on the morning when she had genuflected and crossed herself in the church at Taxco.
"I'm not going to climb up all those crumbly steps," said Ellen peevishly. "I'm too old and it's too hot."
And Vera, though never too hot, was far too old. She stood at the foot of the pyramid, her coat hanging sleevelessly over her shoulders, the inevitable cigarette held in her clawlike hand. "You go, Lucy- you're young and active."
Lucy went.
With Mario's help she climbed to the very top of the Pyramid of the Sun and she was hardly out of breath when she reached the summit, so great was her sense of mystic exaltation.
They sat alone and close together on the summit, this cultivated woman past fifty with a degree from Bryn Mawr, and this almost ignorant boy from an adobe hut in the hinterland of Guerreros. They looked over the vast design of the square where the ancient village had been with its Temple of Quetzalcoatl of the Plumed Serpents, gazing down at the Road of the Dead which led from the Temple to the Pyramid of the Moon.
Mario started to tell her of the sacrificial rites of the feast of Toxcatl which, in ancient days, took place once a year.
As he talked, Miss
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