CHAPTER TWELVE
The car couldn’t quite make the hill. Blake shifted gears carelessly, so that they made a terrifying noise and his teeth hurt. Then he settled down again behind the wheel and resumed his gloomy thoughts. The little twists and turns in the road had become second nature to him and nothing interfered with his meditations. He was occupied with a premature regret for a beautiful day which was really just started. For him it was over. He had hurried with his breakfast, very cheerful and making plans in his mind to go right down to the plaza afterwards and see what was going on in town. Probably there would be nothing, but at least he could spend a pleasant morning talking to someone, lounging in front of the Capitol Drug Store and having a Coca-Cola now and then. Besides, who knows? Someone new and exciting might happen along.
Then Mary spoiled it all. He could not blame her as much as he wished, for after all it was simply another morning and she would have been sure to act the same way some other day if she had postponed it this time. It was just one of those conversations. And yet once again he was overwhelmed with that sense of the world outside of him, expecting him to rise up and act in some preposterous worthwhile manner. The world of the adult was perilously close. He hated to be reminded of it.
“Blake darling,” she had said, “are you doing anything this morning?” Harmless enough as far as it went. He answered without suspecting anything.
“Nothing special. Can I help you?”
“If you would. I haven’t anyone to send up to Sunmount with some flowers I promised to Mrs. Meriwether, because Paul is busy over at the garage overhauling the Packard, and I’ll need it this afternoon. I did promise Mrs. Meriwether, and the poor thing’s so ill. Could you possibly——”
“Certainly. I’ll take them over now, if you like.” He stood up and pushed back his chair.
“Wait a minute, dear. It isn’t so important that it can’t wait a little. I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you.”
He hesitated, badly frightened at her tone. Something was going to happen; something unpleasant.
“It’s about school.”
He sat down again slowly and hopelessly. “I knew it,” he said. “What about it?”
“Well.... Here’s a letter from the people in California. They’re willing to take you for the next year; isn’t that nice?”
“No, it isn’t.” He mused bitterly and added, “How do you know they’re willing? They haven’t even seen me.”
“Well, I pointed out to them that there wasn’t much time for preparation. I explained about your last school——”
“Did you have to?” he asked quickly.
“Yes, darling. I was very fair to you, I think. I said that I understood that they had a modern viewpoint, and I said I was sure they’d agree that the preliminary meeting was a formality that wasn’t really important. I must say that they sound extremely reasonable. They seem to agree to everything I say. In fact, I’m sure it will turn out very well.”
He tried to answer her, but at his expression she laughed. “Oh, darling, don’t look so miserable! What a baby you are!”
“Listen,” he said desperately. “I’ve been talking about this place to Phyllis and she says it’s terrible.”
“Does she? I’m surprised at Phyllis. Her mother said that she was very happy there.”
“She doesn’t know how terrible it is: she’s too dumb. But I could tell from what she said. She says they understand the kids.” He spoke in deep loathing.
“Well? Why do you object to that?”
“Oh, what’s the use?” he cried.
“Blake! What do you propose to do with yourself if you don’t go to school? You can’t go on like this.”
“Why not?” he asked, without any real hope.
“Besides, when you grow up you won’t be satisfied with yourself. You’re just a baby, really. I know you don’t think of yourself that way, but you are. An ignorant little child. I can’t let you grow up without learning any more, can I? How will you ever get into college?”
He answered quickly, “But I keep telling you, I don’t want to go to college. I won’t go.”
“You’ll change your mind when the time comes,” she said benevolently.
He drew pictures on the tablecloth with a fork, and tried hard to think of what he could say. He would feel his way.
“Listen. Why can’t I go away somewhere and have a private education? Lots of people send their sons abroad with tutors. Couldn’t you do that? Why can’t I go to a foreign country and study languages? If I studied a language I would be learning something. Let me go to Europe or China or——”
“That wouldn’t be possible. Not at your age.”
“What has my age got to do with it?”
“Darling, I couldn’t think of letting you go away alone.”
“But if someone should go with me?”
She stood up and gathered her letters. “Let’s not argue, dear. I wouldn’t think of it. You’re too young to be that far away from your family; the Ashton boy got into a lot of trouble in Paris and I don’t want to see it happen to you. You won’t understand: I can’t expect you to understand, but you must take my word for it. Hadn’t you better get the flowers and go to the sanatorium?”
Now as he left the car in the shade of a cottonwood he reflected that it was a good thing he hadn’t told her about Mexico. He had almost said something about it, but she had interrupted. At any rate—he rang the bell at the white stuccoed gate—one thing was certain: he would run away in spite of any objection that Teddy might raise at the last minute. He trusted Teddy to come along if it should get too hot for them in town, but he would need a little managing to crash through promptly. Teddy or no Teddy, however, he must get out of all this or before he knew it he would be on the train with all his text-books packed into the baggage-car. He thought of the new school. A horrible place most likely, with the walls as white as the gate here, whitewashed and lined with dreadful grinning scientific instructors, all understanding him. Understanding him! That was the limit.
He held out the flowers to the assistant and gave the name of his mother’s friend.
“She’s a little better,” the assistant said. “You may see her if you care to.”
“No thanks. I—I’m too busy.” He hurried out again and climbed into the car. The place always made him nervous, and he could not even remember which of his mother’s sick friends was Mrs. Meriwether. He could not face the idea of following a nurse down the corridor to find out. He was afraid of the place; all the quiet little white rooms with windows opening on the green patio. He had spent many hours here and there, sitting on little straight-backed chairs while his mother visited people. Which was Mrs. Meriwether? There was one woman who was thinner every time they came: she always wore pink or blue voile bed-jackets and her hands were skinny and very clean, with shining red fingernails. She kept talking about her fingernails and her lotions and the doctors who were in love with her. Some of the patients were in love with her too, she said. Mary was always very gentle about her afterwards, and never said much on the way home.
Perhaps that was Mrs. Meriwether, or perhaps she was the other one, the jolly one with red hair whose room always smelled sickeningly of ether.
He looked around and found that he had driven all the way down town, and he hadn’t intended to take the car down. He started around the plaza, meaning to go back. As he passed the Cathedral he heard an unfamiliar voice calling; it sounded like his name. There it was again—“Blake! Blake!”
He stopped suddenly and the Oklahoma Ford that had been plodding along behind him turned out so sharply that the fenders kissed and made a ringing noise.
“Damn fool!” called the driver from Oklahoma. Blake looked after him nervously and then turned to see who had called. There was a line of cars parked at the kerb, but he could see no one. Exasperated, he backed and looked closely.
“Blake! Here! It was me.” A girl leaned from one of the autos, waving at him. He brought the car up next to hers, but could not recognize her. It was very confusing because she undoubtedly knew him very well.
He tried to hide his hesitation. “Oh, hello,” he said feebly. “I couldn’t see you. How have you been?”
“I’m fine. Where were you going in such a hurry?”
She must know him, but who was she?
“Nowhere. Nowhere special. Would you like to come for a ride?” It was a long shot, but there seemed to be nothing else to do.
She obviously wanted to, but——
“Do you think I’d better?” She glanced over her shoulder at the church. “I’m waiting for my mother and father. They are at mass. I didn’t want to go in and they told me to wait for them.”
“I’m sorry.” He stepped on the starter, but she said quickly,
“Just a minute. I think it will be all right, just a little ride. You will get me back soon?” Without waiting for an answer she climbed over the side of the battered door and stepped into his car next to him. This activity exposed a good deal of black cotton stocking (where had he known her?) and she giggled and jerked her skirt down.
“I don’t know if we can go very far,” he said doubtfully. “How long will they be in there? Where should we drive?”
“Let’s go out to the Albuquerque road. I must be back in ten minutes. It is safer there, because no one will see us.”
“Why shouldn’t they see us?” he asked wonderingly.
She laughed excitedly and glanced at him with black eyes that looked like kitten’s. Where on earth could they have known each other? There was certainly something about her that seemed familiar, but who was she? Had she ever been at the house? Perhaps she had, but if so when? And yet he had a memory that her name was Maria. Certainly, that much he knew—Maria.
“I have not seen you for a long time,” she told him. “I think it has been a month.”
This was even more mystifying. He answered, “I know, I’ve been busy.”
“So have we,” she said. “We have been very busy because Mr. Lyons has started a beautiful big picture. I work very hard with him.”
Suddenly he knew. She was the little girl who posed for Tommy Lyons when he did his Mexican murals. Maria Martinez: Mrs. Lyons was very fond of her and treated her like a daughter. He’d been up at Lyons’ one day with Mary, trying to prevent her buying a picture from Tommy, and Maria had been posing with a jar on her shoulder. That was all. He was glad that he knew, though.
“How is Teddy?” she was asking. “I never see him any more. I ask Revelita why he is never at home, but she says nothing about him. I cannot make her talk.”
“Revelita? Who is that?”
“She works for Meester Stuart. You know—Revelita. Teddy was much in love with her.”
“No, he wasn’t,” said Blake angrily. “You’re crazy.”
Maria stuck her nose up in the air. “You ask him,” she said. “Ask him about Revelita and see how he looks.”
Slightly worried, Blake did not argue with her. He had an instinct about it: if he stopped talking about it perhaps he could forget. Maria waited for more conversation, and when it was not forthcoming she changed the subject.
“I see you with Teddy all the time. Every afternoon, nearly, you pass the window when you go to play tennis. I am working every day now in the afternoon. Mr. Lyons is very nice, I think. Mrs. Lyons too, she is a nice lady. She says she will find work for me with the other artists when it is time for them to go away in the fall.”
“That would be fine,” Blake said absently. Teddy had never even mentioned Revelita.
“But my mother will not let me. Mr. Lyons she says is all right for me to work for, but all the other artists are too young, she says. My mother is very particular.”
She paused sadly, and he said, “That’s too bad. That’s a shame.”
“Yes, it is,” she sighed. “I must go back to the convent in the fall, she says.”
“You too? That’s a shame.”
“It is silly. My mother thinks that the artists might want me to take off my clothes. She has read about it. I do not want to go back to school.”
“I know,” he said eagerly. “I know just how you feel.”
“I could make so much money by my posing. It is not everyone who can pose. Mrs. Lyons says so. She says I am a good type. What does she mean by that? Does she mean that I am pretty? Blake, you are not listening.”
“I am too,” he protested. “She means you’re strange-looking: your eyes are strange.”
“Oh, no! You mean—” her voice was hurt “you mean I am ugly. I know!”
“No, no. You’re pretty.” He blurted it out, then blushed.
“Oh. Well, my mother thinks that artists are bad and always make love to models. It is not true. Mr. Lyons does not make love to me.”
“Of course he doesn’t. People don’t make love.” He hit the railroad tracks with a great bump, and slowed down. “I say, hasn’t it been ten minutes?” he asked, uneasily. He hoped that he could go back.
“Not yet surely. Are you afraid? It is nothing to you, is it? Must you go home?”
“No, no.” He speeded up again. It didn’t matter: he couldn’t ask Teddy about it anyway. There must be some mistake. Revelita? No. It was a mistake.
“I think,” she said, “that you tell all the girls that you meet that they are pretty. Do you?”
“Me? Of course not.”
“I think you do,” she said. “I think we are driving too far. Let’s stop for a minute and then go back.”
“We ought to go back now,” he said.
“In a minute. I want to smoke.”
“I haven’t any cigarettes,” he said. “I don’t smoke, I’m afraid.”
“You are a very nice little boy,” said Maria.
“Little? I’m older than you are.”
“I think not. I am fifteen.”
“I am sixteen,” he said loftily. “I think it is time.”
“What do you do all day in Santa Fé?” she asked. “Do you play tennis?”
“Most of the time, or ride. This is vacation. What else would I do?”
She sighed and looked at the mountains. “It must be so nice, playing tennis. Don’t you have a girl? My brother has a girl. He told me. He comes home so late at night that my father is always angry with him. It is not fair. I must go to bed every night at ten. Sometimes I think it is even better at the convent.”
“Are they very strict with you there?” asked Blake.
Her exclamation was an indrawn breath. “It is terrible. It is a prison.”
“That must be awful.”
“It is terrible. My mother says that they must not know that I pose for artists. I do not think it is bad, but she says they will think that the artists always make love. That is silly: my father would kill anyone who makes love to me. He says so. He would——”
Suddenly, with no warning at all, she threw her arms around his neck fervently and dropped her head onto his shoulder.
Blake did not move noticeably, but his blood froze and his muscles stiffened. He was petrified with shock. His mind registered a vague scent of hair, black and rather oily. It tickled his cheek. He waited for a long time, hoping that she would release him, but she did not even relax. At last, his resistance broken by waiting, he shifted a little and put an arm around her tentatively. He stopped again and waited to see what it felt like. There was no change in his emotions: he simply noticed that she felt very thin. What could he do? What should he do? He thought of someone coming around the corner, and he grew more and more afraid.
“Oh, Blake,” said Maria at last in a high voice, “we are being bad.” She lifted her head and he thought that her face looked very odd at close view. She was waiting for something. Oh, yes. He struggled with the conviction that she was waiting for him to kiss her. Would she let go? He kissed her with a sudden little peck at her lips, and she let go.
“You’re going to be awfully late,” he said.
“Yes, we must go.”
He turned the car and started back, going as fast as he dared. He was shaking, and so flustered that he almost ran into a tree. He wanted to get home. He wanted to put her out as soon as possible and get home. Was this what she meant about Revelita? Now he couldn’t possibly ask Madden anything about it: some day, perhaps——
“You’re not very fast, are you?” she asked him, breaking the silence for the first time.
“Well, I could go faster, but I’m afraid of the traffic cop,” he explained.
“That is not what I mean.”
A sudden scream rang out from the sidewalk, and Maria clutched his arm. He pulled on the brake and looked over.
“Maria!” someone was yelling, very stridently. There was a large crowd on the pavement, made of children and a woman. No, there was a little man too, standing behind the woman and pulling feebly at her dress. She was making all the noise, and oddly enough she seemed to be angry at him, at Blake. He blinked and looked at her again.
As he stared, terrified, she came over to the car and jerked Maria out by the arm. She shrieked at him in Spanish, then translated in a louder tone than ever.
“But Mamma....” said Maria, and was forced to stop while Mamma screamed. “Mamma,” she wailed at last, “it was all right! It was all right! It was all right!”
The little man approached and tried again to soothe Mamma. She swept him aside and cried to Blake,
“You have taken my little girl riding! She is only fifteen! I will tell the police. I will have you put in jail. I will——”
“It was all right, Mamma. I tell you we were gone only ten minutes. It was all right.”
Maria turned to Blake and added softly, “Go away, quick!”
“Her father will kill you,” said Mamma loudly. “He will kill you.” She turned and seized the little man by the arm.
Maria stamped her heel in the dust. “Go away,” she repeated.
Blake went.