No Job for a Lady (20 page)

“No, they weren’t Day of the Dead costumes,” I told him, though I’d seen enough bones on the street to haunt my sleep for a long time to come. “Jaguars or people dressed as ones.”

I didn’t know how to say
were-jaguars,
and maybe that was for the better, for he clamped his mouth shut and looked away, pressing his lips together. I’m sure he had to smother a laugh.

“Perhaps they were going to rob you,” he said, “and this foreign hombre, the one who helped you, stopped them.”

I asked to speak to his supervisor, but it was useless. He translated for the senior officer, who listened and then simply nodded and tapped his head.

“Sol,”
he said, again tapping his head.

Sunstroke.

When I arrived back at the hotel, I was as confused as I had been at the police station. I honestly don’t know what to think. Had I been watched? Followed from the hotel until they saw an opportunity to ambush me? But why? Was there actually something deliberately put in the flowers that took my mind? Opium or something like it that robs one of one’s senses? Or did I faint because I really did have a reaction to flower pollen, dehydration, and too much sun?

What about the beastly faces—or was my imagination fed by what I saw on the train?

I sit on the edge of the cot with my head in my hands, trying to make some kind of sense out of it all, but all that keeps flying at me are more questions: Where did the German man fit in, and how did he happen to be there at the right time?

Mexico City is not a small town. But he miraculously appeared when I fainted. I don’t swallow that. Yet, what motive would he have had to have followed me? And then come to my rescue?

Mother’s words of warning blare in my head:
Venture to where you are not wanted and you will get hurt. And you don’t have nine lives like a cat.
Mother hates it when she says “Curiosity killed the cat” and my retort is “Satisfaction brought him back.”

We haggled over my impulsiveness like children, but I’d better get satisfactory answers, or maybe Mexico will be the end of this kitten.

Since no answers are coming to me, I lie back down on the cot. I might as well get some much-needed sleep.

It seems like I had just closed my eyes when I’m awakened by knocking on the door. It’s a bellman with flowers and a note with “Please Respond” written on the envelope.

Hope you feel better. Will you dine with me at eight? Hotel dining room.

Traven

I write “Yes” on the note and give it back to the bellman. As I shut my door, I almost open it again to call him back. What am I thinking? I have no idea who Traven is. I just assumed that he’s the German donkey man who came to my aid. Well, dinner in the hotel is a safe bet, even if he turns out to be an ax murderer.

I’m glad he contacted me, for I had been pondering how to contact him and thank him, and get some answers. I wonder if he is staying at this hotel.

A soft tapping comes and the door slowly opens. Roger sticks his head in.

“Nellie?”

“It’s okay; come in.”

He slips in and closes the door behind him. “I ordered a pitcher of fresh lemonade from room service for you. You need to keep fluids in you in this warm climate. It’ll be up shortly.”

“Thanks.”

“And”—he holds up his index finger to emphasize his proclamation—“I have given a hotel clerk a large gratuity to find me a room anywhere in the city so that you can have this one all to yourself.”

“Afraid you’ll be murdered along with me?”

His face falls, and I am slammed with instant guilt. I don’t know why I say these things.

“I’m only joking, Roger.”

“Uh-huh.” He notices the flowers.

“They just came. I think they’re from the man who came to my rescue after I, uh, fainted.”

“Who is he?”

“A German who got on the train when we stopped about an hour outside the city. He loaded goods onto the train from pack animals.”

“I remember him. Nice of him to send flowers.”

“He invited me to dinner, too.”

“Hmm.”

He takes off his shirt, tosses it aside, and sacks out on the cot. It’s not hard to see he is peeved. Why, I am not sure. He can’t be jealous?

“That’s so nice of you.” I try to heal his wounds. “For the room and the lemonade. And the cot.”

His eyebrows rise and he gives me a puzzled look. “The cot?”

“Yes, you did offer me the cot.”

“And I’m sure you enjoyed it, but you appear well now. Maybe your friend Traven has a spare cot.”

“You bastard.”
More of my description of his persona is interrupted by a knock on the door. My lemonade has arrived.

“Come in!” I snap at the door.

The door opens and Gertrude steps in.

“Nellie, darling, I’m so glad—” She stops cold and stares wide-eyed.

I’m in my petticoat and Roger is lying on the cot, decked out in his undershirt.

“I—I—” she fumbles, and backs out, closing the door behind her.

I howl something completely unladylike as I rush to the door. Opening it, I yell at Gertrude’s back as she hurries down the corridor.

“Wait! I have an explanation!”

She stops and turns around slowly.

“I … I…” It’s one of those rare moments when I am at a loss at what to say, so all I do is smile and say, “I’ll explain later.”

She grins and shakes her head. “I can hardly wait to hear what you dream up. Don Antonio is downstairs. We heard about your incident and came over to check on you, but you seem to be fine.”

“Thank you. I’ll be down in a moment.”

I shut the door and turn back to Roger. “You almost did it.”

He cocks his head and stares at me. “Did what?”

“Got me to like you. Fortunately, once again, you showed your true colors.”

35

“You had us greatly concerned,” Don Antonio says when I am seated at a corner table of the hotel café, where lunch is served.

The café is closed, but the consul general is important enough to get the three of us a table and refreshments.

Gertrude gives no clue that she has discovered once again that I am a fallen woman. To the contrary, from the glint in her eye and small, secretive smile, I do believe her opinion of me as an independent woman has risen to new heights.

“I was notified by the police department, but that word came only a short time ago,” Don Antonio tells me.

I explain what happened, giving them the short version: I fainted from the sun and dehydration. I don’t know what the police told him, but I hope it wasn’t any more than what I offered, because I fear that Don Antonio will escort me to the train station and give me a one-way ticket to El Paso if he believes I am fantasizing about being attacked by bizarre mythical creatures from Mexican history.

It’s evident from his rather official tone that I am on probation. If he knew what Gertrude knew about my “morals,” he’d have me on that train pronto.

“How is your room?” Don Antonio asks. “Is it comfortable? The city is crowded, but I could—”

“It’s okay, Uncle,” Gertrude says, interrupting him. “I saw it. Very comfortable.” She gives me a smile.

Damn—damn—damn. I know she’s only trying to help, but I would have complained about the room, in the hopes of getting one where I didn’t have to sleep on the floor.

He draws on his cigar and eyes me narrowly through the smoke. “The note from the chief of police said you were hallucinating when you arrived there from the hospital.”

Taking a deep breath, I try to keep my voice calm and not reveal my panic as I give him a version of the truth. Not knowing how much he knows puts me in a bad spot. If he catches me in a lie, I’m doomed.

“I’m so embarrassed. All those stories about strange creatures on the train. I’m not exactly sure what I told the doctor or the police, but I think the heat and not being used to this high altitude affected me. I’m sure they got an earful of hallucinating gibberish.”

I hope I was vague enough not to excite his interest further on exactly what I did say.

“I can understand that,” Gertrude pipes up. “It was a really strange journey—that old prospector going missing and all that. Then there’re all the walking horrors on the streets as the town gets ready for the Day of the Dead. It’s completely understandable. I think we should get together tomorrow, Nellie.” She turns to her uncle and gives him a loving smile. “You’ll give us a list of nice things to see, won’t you, Uncle?”

“Oh course, my dear.” He smile and nods, but there is something in the way he stares at me with half-closed eyes that makes me nervous.

“Great! You get a good night’s sleep, Nellie.” She gives me a wink. “We’ll meet up in the afternoon. I have a commitment for lunch, but I will come by about two.”

I let out a little sigh and tell them truthfully, “All I want to do for the rest of my time in Mexico is see the many wonderful things the country has to offer and share them with my readers.”

It isn’t just a little bit of sugar for Don Antonio. The truth is that I have no intention of getting into any more messes, and I decide to cement this by taking a bold step.

“Would you do me a great favor?” I ask Don Antonio. “I am so thrilled about what I’ve already seen, especially the delightful festival honoring the dead that’s coming up, would you mind reading my first article before I wire it to my paper?”

I am so pleased with myself for figuring out a way to reassure him of my good intentions so I don’t get thrown out of the country, I grin like a banshee.

“Of course, señorita. It will be my pleasure. In fact, it will be my honor to assist you with
all
your articles. I will instruct the post office that your transmittals must all come through me first.”

Now I’ve really done it. Me and my big mouth.

36

As I reach the bottom of the hotel stairs at dinnertime, the man who tried to whip the donkey and who came to my aid on the street is waiting.

“Fräulein, what a pleasure it is to see you again.”

He kisses my hand.

“Nice to see you, too … when I’m not lying on the ground.”

He chuckles. “The sun, the water…”

I groan. “If I hear about the sun or anything else one more time, I will run out of this hotel screaming.”

He stares at me, speechless, and I give him a smile to break the ice I’ve created. “
Guten Abend,
Herr Traven.”

“Ah, I see you also speak German. You are a woman of many talents.” He smiles and takes my hand as we head for the dining room.

“Thank you, but I must warn you, I speak very little of your language.
Muy poquito,
as the Mexicans would say. Where I’m from, we have German-speaking neighbors who are called Pennsylvania Dutch. Don’t ask me why they’re called Dutch. From Deutsch, I guess. It’s from them I have picked up a few phrases. Very nice people. And they don’t whip their animals.”

“Are you ever going to forgive me for that moment of frustration?”

“It’s the donkey’s forgiveness you should ask for.”

“Good enough. After we have dinner, I will find a jackass and beg for absolution.”

“There may be one right here in the hotel I could introduce you to.” I am thinking of Roger, of course.

We are seated before I ask him a question that’s been puzzling me. “I’m curious. Is Traven your first or last name?”

“Both. It keeps things simple.”

It always intrigues me when people are vague about their names. This usually means they have a good reason—often connected to avoiding the police. I’d like to know what his is.

“No. I’m not on the run from the police.”

“You read minds?”

“Only through a person’s eyes. I saw the thought churning in your brain.”

“And what is a gentleman from Germany doing with pack animals in rural Mexico?”

“I’m an archaeologist, conducting a dig. And you are in Mexico for…”

“I’m a foreign correspondent for
The Pittsburgh Dispatch.
But I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Yes. I heard about you on the train.”

Oh great.

“I can see your mind working again, Nellie. In answer to the question in your head, yes, I heard that you are a hysterical woman who was seeing things because she had too much to drink. Champagne, I believe. A good vintage, I’m told. But I also heard that the American man—someone called him a gold prospector—you saw go off the train actually was missing.”

“Then you must have also heard that because of my fragile female constitution, I suffered such severe mental trauma that I was imagining strange creatures that attack and kill people.”

“Something of that nature. But after verbally dueling with you over a donkey, I don’t believe you are any more fragile than anyone else who witnesses traumatic events.”

I sit back as if I am relaxed, but I can’t help but tense up. I don’t know how to take him. He’s not taunting me. To the contrary, I get the impression that he’s opening the subject for discussion. There is something behind the dinner invitation besides inquiring about my health after the incident today. But I don’t know where to direct the conversation, because I know almost nothing about him. I don’t want word to get back to Don Antonio that I talk incessantly about Mexican creatures from nightmares.

“I want to thank you for your assistance today. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come along.”

“You would have been all right. Not speaking the language fluently would have posed something of a problem, but Mexican people are generally quite helpful and would have gotten you to the hospital. But I was happy to be in the area. Fortunately, the artifacts I brought from my dig are stored near where you fainted.”

Well, that answers one of my questions. I suspect he knew I was going to ask how he happened along; otherwise, he wouldn’t have offered the information.

The waiter arrives and converses in Spanish with Traven. This is fine with me because it gives me a breather. Things are moving too fast. I have no idea if he’s telling the truth about his being in the area when I passed out, but I also have no reason to doubt him … except that it is a coincidence. And I don’t like coincidence.