The Stories of Paul Bowles by Paul Bowles Page B

She put the lamp where it had been before, by the wall, and turned her chair to face it. She sat watching the wall until very late.
    AT DAWN the air was cool, full of the sound of continuous lowing of cattle, nearby and far. Breakfast was served as soon as the sky was completely light. In the kitchen there was a hubbub of women’s voices. The dining room smelled of kerosene and oranges. A great platter heaped with thick slices of pale pineapple was in the center of the table. Don Federico sat at the end, his back to the wall. Behind him was a small niche, bright with candles, and the Virgin stood there in a blue and silver gown.
    “Did you sleep well?” said Don Federico to Lucha.
    “Ah, wonderfully well!”
    “And you?” to Chalía.
    “I never sleep well,” she said.
    A hen ran distractedly into the room from the veranda and was chased out by the serving girl. Outside the door a group of Indian children stood guard around a square of clothesline along which was draped a red assortment of meat: strips of flesh and loops of internal organs. When a vulture swooped low, the children jumped up and down, screaming in chorus, and drove it into the air again. Chalía frowned at their noise. Don Federico smiled.
    “This is all in your honor,” he said. “We killed a cow yesterday. Tomorrow all that will be gone.”
    “Not the vultures!” exclaimed Lucha.
    “Certainly not. All the cowboys and servants take some home to their families. And they manage to get rid of quite a bit of it themselves.”
    “You’re too generous,” said Chalía. “It’s bad for them. It makes them dissatisfied and unhappy. But I suppose if you didn’t give it to them, they’d steal it anyway.”
    Don Federico pushed back his chair.
    “No one here has ever stolen anything from me.” He rose and went out.
    After breakfast while it was still early, before the sun got too high in the sky, he regularly made a two-hour tour of the ranch. Since he preferredto pay unexpected visits to the vaqueros in charge of the various districts, he did not always cover the same regions. He was explaining this to Lucha as he untethered his horse outside the high barbed-wire fence that enclosed the house. “Not because I hope to find something wrong. But this is the best way always to find everything right.”
    Like Chalía, Lucha was skeptical of the Indians’ ability to do anything properly. “A very good idea,” she said. “I’m sure you are much too lenient with those boys. They need a strong hand and no pity.”
    Above the high trees that grew behind the house the red and blue macaws screamed, endlessly repeating their elliptical path in the sky. Lucha looked up in their direction and saw Chalía on the upper porch, tucking a khaki shirt into her breeches.
    “Rico, wait! I want to go with you,” she called, and rushed into her room.
    Lucha turned back to her brother. “You won’t take her? She couldn’t! With Mamá…”
    Don Federico cut her short, so as not to hear what would have been painful to him. “You both need fresh air and exercise. Come, both of you.”
    Lucha was silent a moment, looking aghast into his face. Finally she said, “I couldn’t,” and moved away to open the gate. Several cowboys were riding their horses slowly up from the paddock toward the front of the house. Chalía appeared on the lower porch and hurried to the gate, where Lucha stood looking at her.
    “So you’re going horseback riding,” said Lucha. Her voice had no expression.
    “Yes. Are you coming? I suppose not. We should be back soon; no, Rico?”
    Don Federico disregarded her, saying to Lucha: “It would be good if you came.”
    When she did not reply, but went through the gate and shut it, he had one of the cowboys dismount and help Chalía onto his horse. She sat astride the animal beaming down at the youth.
    “Now, you can’t come. You have no horse!” she cried, pulling the reins taut violently so that the horse stood absolutely still.
    “Yes,