Excerpt
“Leave me alone, will you?” he scowled.
But I wanted to make peace with him.
“I mean it, Gregorio. You need a bleeding to drain all those bad
humours and grudges. Hombre! I saw you in battle; if I hadn’t been
so busy running, I would have stayed put to watch you. What
shooting and fighting! You are a born conquistador. From now on, it
will be quite comforting to have you around.”
I uncorked a flask of marigold oil. Gregorio chortled at last. He
took a gulp from the mug he was holding.
“I saw you, too,” he said, “running like a hare.”
“Little wonder! I have never been so frightened in my life!”
Gregorio and Benjamin laughed. Perhaps I was more useful to
them as feckless character, someone to jeer at.
“Why, you don’t want to go to heaven, Friar?” Benjamin taunted.
“I know I am but a sinner,” I smiled. “But I could use a bit more
time before God blows out my candle. I’m hoping to find some way
to skip purgatory.”
“Trying to become a saint, are you?” Gregorio said. “Become a
martyr, then. That will do, won’t it?”
“That would be an improvement, no doubt. I’ve been thinking
about it. Perhaps one of these days someone will favour my
aspirations.”
Gregorio swatted at a hornet that came too close. “We’re going to
make it, I think,” Gregorio said. “Losada knows what he is doing.
You can see it in his face. I’m convinced he knows how the bastards
think. He has lots of experience. But, if you ask me, Francisco Infante
is the better of the two.”
Losada struck me as a man of principle whereas Francisco Infante
impressed me as a schemer, someone who would rather run things
for himself, so I decided not to respond to the bait. It was odd for me
to sometimes feel so close to Gregorio and Benjamin, and yet at the
same time I sensed their camaraderie was fickle, transitory. For
them, the New World was strictly a land of opportunity, and the
state of their souls was a distant second.
Were they ever my friends? Or did they even want to be?
Manolis Aligizakis 