stood when we entered.
One of them was Indian, the other Latin American. Don Juan introduced me first
to the Indian, who was nearer to me.
"This
is Silvio Manuel," don Juan said to me. "He's the most powerful and
dangerous sorcerer of my party, and the most mysterious too."
Silvio
Manuel's features were out of a Mayan fresco. His complexion was pale, almost
yellow. I thought he looked Chinese. His eyes were slanted, but without the
epicanthic fold. They were big, black, and brilliant. He was beardless. His
hair was jet-black with specks of gray in it. He had high cheekbones and full
lips. He was perhaps five feet seven, thin, wiry, and he wore a yellow sport shirt,
brown slacks, and a thin beige jacket. Judging from his clothes and general
mannerisms, he seemed to be Mexican-American.
I smiled
and extended my hand to Silvio Manuel, but he did not take it. He nodded
perfunctorily.
"And
this is Vicente Medrano," don Juan said, turning to the other man.
"He's the most knowledgeable and the oldest of my companions. He is oldest
not in terms of age, but because he was my benefactor's first disciple."
Vicente
nodded just as perfunctorily as Silvio Manuel had, and also did not say a word.
He was a
bit taller than Silvio Manuel, but just as lean. He had a pinkish complexion
and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His features were almost delicate: a
thin, beautifully chiseled nose, a small mouth, thin lips. Bushy, dark eyebrows
contrasted with his graying beard and hair. His eyes were brown and also
brilliant and laughed in spite of his frowning expression.
He was
conservatively dressed in a greenish seersucker suit and open-collared sport
shirt. He too seemed to be Mexican-American. I guessed him to be the owner of
the house.
In
contrast, don Juan looked like an Indian peon. His straw hat, his worn-out
shoes, his old khaki pants and plaid shirt were those of a gardener or a
handyman.
The
impression I had, upon seeing all three of them together, was that don Juan was
in disguise. The military image came to me that don Juan was the commanding
officer of a clandestine operation, an officer who, no matter how hard he
tried, could not hide his years of command.
I also had
the feeling that they must all have been around the same age, although don Juan
looked much older than the other two, yet seemed infinitely stronger.
"I
think you already know that Carlos is by far the biggest indulger I have ever
met," don Juan told them with a most serious expression. "Bigger even
than our benefactor. I assure you that if there is someone who takes indulging
seriously, this is the man."
I laughed,
but no one else did. The two men observed me with a strange glint in their
eyes. "For sure you'll make a memorable trio," don Juan continued.
"The oldest and most knowledgeable, the most dangerous and powerful, and
the most self-indulgent."
They still
did not laugh. They scrutinized me until I became self-conscious. Then Vicente
broke the silence.
"I
don't know why you brought him inside the house," he said in a dry,
cutting tone. "He's of little use to us. Put him out in the
backyard."
"And
tie him," Silvio Manuel added.
Don Juan
turned to me. "Come on," he said in a soft voice and pointed with a quick
sideways movement of his head to the back of the house.
It was more
than obvious that the two men did not like me. I did not know what to say. I
was definitely angry and hurt, but those feelings were somehow deflected by my
state of heightened awareness.
We walked
into the backyard. Don Juan casually picked up a leather rope and twirled it
around my neck with tremendous speed. His movements were so fast and so nimble
that an instant later, before I could realize what was happening, I was tied at
the neck, like a dog, to one of the two cinder-block columns supporting the
heavy roof over the back porch.
Don Juan
shook his head from side to side in a gesture of resignation or disbelief and
went back into the house as I began to yell at him to
One of them was Indian, the other Latin American. Don Juan introduced me first
to the Indian, who was nearer to me.
"This
is Silvio Manuel," don Juan said to me. "He's the most powerful and
dangerous sorcerer of my party, and the most mysterious too."
Silvio
Manuel's features were out of a Mayan fresco. His complexion was pale, almost
yellow. I thought he looked Chinese. His eyes were slanted, but without the
epicanthic fold. They were big, black, and brilliant. He was beardless. His
hair was jet-black with specks of gray in it. He had high cheekbones and full
lips. He was perhaps five feet seven, thin, wiry, and he wore a yellow sport shirt,
brown slacks, and a thin beige jacket. Judging from his clothes and general
mannerisms, he seemed to be Mexican-American.
I smiled
and extended my hand to Silvio Manuel, but he did not take it. He nodded
perfunctorily.
"And
this is Vicente Medrano," don Juan said, turning to the other man.
"He's the most knowledgeable and the oldest of my companions. He is oldest
not in terms of age, but because he was my benefactor's first disciple."
Vicente
nodded just as perfunctorily as Silvio Manuel had, and also did not say a word.
He was a
bit taller than Silvio Manuel, but just as lean. He had a pinkish complexion
and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His features were almost delicate: a
thin, beautifully chiseled nose, a small mouth, thin lips. Bushy, dark eyebrows
contrasted with his graying beard and hair. His eyes were brown and also
brilliant and laughed in spite of his frowning expression.
He was
conservatively dressed in a greenish seersucker suit and open-collared sport
shirt. He too seemed to be Mexican-American. I guessed him to be the owner of
the house.
In
contrast, don Juan looked like an Indian peon. His straw hat, his worn-out
shoes, his old khaki pants and plaid shirt were those of a gardener or a
handyman.
The
impression I had, upon seeing all three of them together, was that don Juan was
in disguise. The military image came to me that don Juan was the commanding
officer of a clandestine operation, an officer who, no matter how hard he
tried, could not hide his years of command.
I also had
the feeling that they must all have been around the same age, although don Juan
looked much older than the other two, yet seemed infinitely stronger.
"I
think you already know that Carlos is by far the biggest indulger I have ever
met," don Juan told them with a most serious expression. "Bigger even
than our benefactor. I assure you that if there is someone who takes indulging
seriously, this is the man."
I laughed,
but no one else did. The two men observed me with a strange glint in their
eyes. "For sure you'll make a memorable trio," don Juan continued.
"The oldest and most knowledgeable, the most dangerous and powerful, and
the most self-indulgent."
They still
did not laugh. They scrutinized me until I became self-conscious. Then Vicente
broke the silence.
"I
don't know why you brought him inside the house," he said in a dry,
cutting tone. "He's of little use to us. Put him out in the
backyard."
"And
tie him," Silvio Manuel added.
Don Juan
turned to me. "Come on," he said in a soft voice and pointed with a quick
sideways movement of his head to the back of the house.
It was more
than obvious that the two men did not like me. I did not know what to say. I
was definitely angry and hurt, but those feelings were somehow deflected by my
state of heightened awareness.
We walked
into the backyard. Don Juan casually picked up a leather rope and twirled it
around my neck with tremendous speed. His movements were so fast and so nimble
that an instant later, before I could realize what was happening, I was tied at
the neck, like a dog, to one of the two cinder-block columns supporting the
heavy roof over the back porch.
Don Juan
shook his head from side to side in a gesture of resignation or disbelief and
went back into the house as I began to yell at him to
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