Serenade (9 page)

When the searching was over, the guy with the star started up the line, jabbering at each one in Spanish. That took quite a while. When he got to me he gave me the same mouthful, but she said something and he stopped. He looked at me sharp, and jerked his thumb for me to stand aside. I don't like a thumb any better than I like a bum's rush.

He fired an order at the soldiers then, and they began going in and out of the rooms. In a minute one of them gave a yell and came running out. The guy with the star went in with them, and they came out with our beans, our eggs, our ground corn, our pots, bowls, charcoal, machetes, everything that had been packed on the car. A woman began to wail and the
hostelero
began to beg. Nothing doing. The guy with the star and the soldiers grabbed them and hustled them out of the court and up the street. Then he barked something else and waved his hand. The whole mob slunk to their rooms, and you could hear them in there mumbling and some of them moaning. He walked over to her, put his arm around her, and she laughed and they talked in Spanish. Quick work, getting the stolen stuff back, and he wanted appreciation.

She went into No. 16 and came out with the hatbox and the other stuff. He opened the door of the limousine.

"Where you going with that guy?"

I didn't know I was going to say it. My play was to stand there and let her go, but this growl came out of my mouth without my even intending it. She turned around, and her eyes opened wide like she couldn't believe what she heard. "But please, he is
político."

"I asked you where you're going with him."

"But yes. You stay here. I come
mańana,
very early. Then we looked at house, yes."

She was talking in a phoney kind of way, but not to fool me. It was to fool him, so I wouldn't get in trouble. She kept staring at me, trying to get me to shut up. I was standing by our car, and he came over and snapped something. She came over and spoke to him in Spanish, and he seemed satisfied. The idea seemed to be that I was an American, and was all mixed up on what it was about. I licked my lips, tried to make myself take it easy, play it safe till I got on that boat. I tried to tell myself she was nothing but an Indian girl, that she didn't mean a thing with me, that if she was going off to spend the night with this cluck it was no more than she had done plenty of times before, that she didn't know any different and it was none of my business anyway. No dice. Maybe if she hadn't looked so pretty out there in the moonlight I might have shut up, but I don't think so. Something had happened back in that church that made me feel she belonged to me. I heard my mouth growl again. "You're not going."

"But he is
político
--"

"And because he's
político,
and he's fixed you up with a lousy sailor's whorehouse, he thinks he's going to take part of his graft in trade. He made a mistake. You're not going."

"But--"

He stepped up, then, and shot a rattle at me in Spanish, so close I could feel the spit on my face. We hadn't been talking loud. I was too sore to yell, and Mexicans say it soft. He finished, straightened up, and jerked his thumb at me again, toward the hotel. I let him have it. He went down. I stamped my foot on his hand, grabbed the pistol out of the holster. "Get up."

He didn't move. He was out cold. I looked at the hotel. All you could hear was this mumbling and moaning. They hadn't heard anything at all. I jerked open the car door and shoved her in, hatboxes and all. Then I ran around, threw the pistol on the seat, jumped in and started. I went out of the court in second, and by the time I hit the road I was in high.

I snapped on the lights and gave her the gun. In a few seconds I was in the town, and then I knew what a mistake I had made when I came out of that court, and cut right instead of left. I had to get out of there, and get out of there quick before that guy came to, and I couldn't turn around. I mean literally I couldn't turn around. The street was so narrow, and so choked with burros, pigs, goats,
mariachis,
and people, that even when you met a car you had to saw by, and a turn was impossible. It was no through street. It went through the town, and then, at the hill, it led up to the big tourist hotel, and that was the end of it. I crawled along now, the sweat coming out on my brow, and got to the bottom of the hill. There was no traffic there, but it was still narrow. I turned right on a side road. I thought I might hit a way, after a block or two, that would lead back where I had come from. I didn't. The street just tapered off into two tracks on an open field, that as far as I could see just wandered up in the hills. I pulled into the field, to turn around. I thought I still might have time to slip back through the town, though it didn't look like even Jess Willard could stay out that long. Then back of me I heard shots, yells, and the screech of a motorcycle siren. It was too late. I was cut off. I doused the lights and bumped over to a grove of coconut palms, where anyway I would be shaded from the moonlight.

I lined up toward the town, so I could see, and tried to think. It all depended on whether I had been noticed, turning off the main street. If I hadn't, I might be able to lay low till the moon went down and they were asleep, then go through the town fast, and be on my way to Mexico City before they even knew I had got away. I tried not to think about the ship.

In a minute or so, the sirens began to screech louder, and three single lights streaked out of town around the harbor. That meant they had no idea I was still around. They thought I was on my way to Mexico, and were out after me. That meant we would be safe here for a little while, maybe the whole night. But where it put me, when I did start up to Mexico, and met those patrols coming back, I hated to think. And Mexico was the only place you could go. There wasn't any other road.

We sat there a long time, and then I knew she was crying. "Why you do this? Why you do this to me?"

"Don't you know? Why I--" I tried to make myself say "I love you," but it stuck in my throat.
"I
wanted you. I didn't want him to have you."

"That is not true. You go away."

"What makes you say that?"

"You sing now, yes? You sing better anybody in Mexico. You stay in Acapulco, in a house? Why you lie? You go away."

"I never even thought of it."

"Now for me, very bad. No house, no. Maybe he shoot me, yes. I can no work more in Mexico. He is very big
político.
I--why you do this? Why you do this?"

We sat there some more, and I wondered why I didn't feel like a heel. She had called it on me all right, and I had certainly busted up her run of luck with plenty to spare. But I didn't feel like a heel. I was in a spot, but my face wasn't red. Then it hit me between the eyes:
I wasn't going to run out on her.

"Juana."

"Yes?"

"Listen to me now. I've got some things to say."

"Please, say nothing."

"In the first place, you were right when you said I was going away, and I did lie to you. While I was out, pretending to look the town over, I arranged passage to the
Estados Unidos del Norte,
on a boat. I was to leave at twelve o'clock."

"I know you lie, when you go out. Yes."

"All right, I lied. You want to hear the rest?"

She didn't answer for a long time. But you could always tell when something was going on inside of her, because her breath would stop for a two beat, and then go on. She turned her head to me once, and then looked away. "Yes."

"When I went up to the hotel, I intended to take you out to dinner, sit around a while, then drift out to the
caballeros,
and not come back. Then you started off with him, and I knew I wasn't going to let you go, and it wasn't only that I didn't like him. I wanted you myself, and I wasn't going to let him have you, or anybody have you."

"But why?"

"I'll get to that. I'm not done yet. Now I'm going away. I told you I used to be a singer. I used to be a very good singer, one of the best in the world, and I made a lot of money, and I will again. But I can't do anything in Mexico. I'm going back to my own country, the
Estados Unidos del Norte.
Now, here's what I'm getting at. Do you want to come with me?"

"Is that very big country?"

"Much bigger than Mexico."

"How you go?"

"We have the car, and you still have a little money. In a little while, after things quiet down, we'll slip through the town and go as far as we can before daylight. Then tomorrow night, we'll start out again, and with luck we'll make Mexico City. We'll lay low another day, and the next night we'll be in Monterey. One more night and we're at Laredo, and I'll figure a way to get you across. Once we're in my country, we're all right."

"That is impossible."

"Why?"

"They know the auto. They catch us, sure."

I knew that was right, even before she said it. In the United States, once you're across a state line, you could go quite a while without being caught. But down there, the state line doesn't mean much. Those guys with rifles, they're federal troops, and with just a car now and then up that road, there wasn't a chance they would miss us, night time, day time, or any other time. "...In bus, perhaps."

"What was that, Juana?"

"Ride little way, hide auto. Then in morning, take bus. Maybe they no catch."

"All right, we'll do that."

"But why? Why you no go alone?"

"All right, now we come to the big why. You like me?"

"Yes, much."

"I like you."

I sat looking at her, wondering why I couldn't go the whole hog, tell her I loved her and be done with it. Then I remembered how many times I had sung those words, in three or four different languages, how phoney they sounded, and how much trouble I had in putting them across. Then it came to me that I hated them, not for what they said, but for what they didn't say. They told it all except what you felt in your bones, your belly, and all those other places. They said you might die for a woman, but missed how hungry you could get for her, just to be near her, just to know she was around. "...I could make it stronger than that, Juana. Maybe I don't have to."

"They catch us, sure. They kill us."

"You willing to take a chance?"

It was a long time before she said anything, and before she did she took my hand and pressed it. Then she looked up, and I knew that whatever it was going to be, there was no fooling around about it. It was the works..."Yes."

A little tingle went over me, but what I said was dumb enough. "Yes, what?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you think it's about time for us to pick out something for you to call me? I can't very well keep on being
Seńor."

"I call you Hoaney."

I half wished she had picked out something different than what she had called every Weehawken slob that had showed up at her crib, but I didn't say anything. Then something caught my throat. It came to me that she wasn't calling me "Honey." She was calling me Johnny--her way. "Kiss me, Juana. That's exactly what I want you to call me."

The town was dark now, and quiet. I started, pulled out of the grove, and got over the road. As soon as I could I went into high, not for speed, but for quiet. With all that stuff out of the car we didn't make much noise, but I cut her back to the slowest roll that was in her, and we crept along until we got to the main street. I stopped, and listened. I didn't hear anything, so I started up again, and turned the corner, to the left. I hadn't put the lights on, and the moon was hanging low over the ocean, so the right side of the main street was in shadow. I had gone half a block when she touched my arm. I rolled in to the curb and stopped. She pointed. About three blocks down the street, on the left, where the moonlight lit him up, was a cop. He was walking away from us. He was the only one in sight. She leaned to me and whispered: "He go, so."

She motioned with her hand, meaning around the corner. That's how I went. I gave him about five seconds, then reached for the started. The car tilted. Somebody was beside me, on the running board. I still had the gun beside me. I snatched it and turned. A brown face was there, not six inches from mine. Then I saw it was Conners.

"Is that you, lad?"

"Yes. God, you gave me a start."

"Where've you been? I've been looking all over for you! I've broken out my hook, I'm ready to go, I'm out of humor with you.

"I got in some trouble."

"...Don't tell me it was you that hit the general?"

"I did."

His eyes popped open and he began to talk in a whisper. "The penalty is death, lad, the penalty is death."

"Irregardless of that--"

"Not so loud. It's all over town. One of them could be sleeping, and if they hear the English, they'll yell and it'll be the end of you...Did you mind what I said? The penalty is death. He'll take you to the jail and they'll spend an hour booking you, filling out every paper they've got. Then he'll take you out and have them shoot you--for trying to escape."

"If they catch me."

"They'll catch you. For God's sake, come on."

"I'm not coming."

"Did you hear me? The penalty--"

"Since I saw you, there are two of us. Miss Montes, Capitán Conners."

"I'm happy to know you, Miss Montes."

"Gracias,
Capitán Conners."

He treated her like a princess, and she acted like one. But then he leaned close and put it in my ear. "You can't do it, man. You can't take up with some girl you met tonight, and you'll be putting her in terrible danger, too. She's a pretty little thing, but hark what I'm telling you. You must come on."

"I didn't just meet her tonight, and she's with me."

He looked up and down the street, and then at his watch. Then looked at me hard. "Lad--do you know the Leporello song?"

"I do."

"Then come on, the pair of you."

He slipped around the car and helped her out. She had the hatbox in her lap. He took it. She carried the other stuff. I grabbed the door, for fear he would slam it mechanically. He didn't. I slipped out on the right side, after her. He pulled us back of the car. "We'll keep the automobile between us and that policeman, down the street."