My father had the biggest funeral ever held in this part of the state. Even the Governor came down. I had closed the plant and the little church was packed to the rafters, with the overflow spilling out into the street.
Rina and I stood alone in the small pew down in front. She stood straight and tall in her black dress, her blond hair and her face hidden by the black veil. I looked down at the new black shoes on my feet. They were my father's shoes and they hurt. At the last minute, I'd discovered I didn't have anything in the house except huarachos. Robair had brought the shoes down from my father's closet. He had never worn them. I promised myself I would never wear them again, either.
I heard a sigh run through the congregation and looked up. They were closing my father's coffin. I had a last quick glimpse of his face, then it was gone and there was a curious kind of blankness in my mind and for a moment I couldn't even remember what he looked like.
Then the sound of weeping came to my ears and I looked around out of the corners of my eyes. The Mex women from the plant were crying. I heard a snuffle behind me. I half turned. It was Jake Platt, tears in his whisky eyes.
I looked at Rina standing next to me. I could see her eyes through the dark veil. They were clear and calm. From the congregation behind us came the sound of many people weeping for my father.
But Rina, his wife, didn't weep. And neither did I, his son.
10
IT WAS A WARM NIGHT, EVEN WITH THE BREEZE THAT came in through the open windows from across the desert. I tossed restlessly on the bed and pushed the sheets down from me. It had been a long day, starting with the funeral and then going over plans with McAllister until it was time for him to leave. I was tired but I couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts were racing through my mind. I wondered if that was the reason I used to hear my father pacing up and down in his room long after the rest of the house had gone to bed.
There was a sound at the door. I sat up in bed. My voice jarred the stillness. "Who is it?"
The door opened farther and I could see her face; the rest of her dissolved into the darkness along with the black negligee. Her voice was very low as she closed the door behind her. "I thought you might be awake, Jonas. I couldn't sleep, either."
"Worried about your money?" I asked sarcastically. "The check's over there on the dresser along with the notes. Just sign the release and it's yours."
"It isn't the money," she said, coming still further into the room.
"What is it, then?" I asked coldly. "You came to say you're sorry? To express your sympathy? Is this a condolence call?"
She was standing next to the bed now and looked down at me. "You don't have to say things like that, Jonas," she said simply. "Even if he was your father, I was his wife. Yes, I came to say I'm sorry."
But I wasn't satisfied with that. "Sorry about what?" I flung at her. "Sorry he didn't give you more than he did? Sorry that you didn't marry me instead of him?" I laughed bitterly. "You didn't love him."
"No, I didn't love him," she said tightly. "But I respected him. He was more a man than anyone I ever met."
I didn't speak.
Suddenly she was crying. She sat down on the edge of the bed and hid her face in her hands.
"Cut it out," I said roughly. "It's too late for tears."
She put her hands down and stared at me. In the darkness, I could see the wet silver sparkle rolling down her cheeks. "What do you know it's too late for?" she cried. "Too late to love him? It isn't that I didn't try. It's just that I'm not capable of love. I don't know why. It's the way I am, that's all. Your father knew that and understood it. That's why I married him. Not for his money. He knew that, too. And he was content with what I gave him."
"If that's the truth," I said, "then what are you crying for?"
"Because I'm frightened," she said.
"Frightened?" I laughed. It just didn't fit her. "What are you afraid of?"
She took a cigarette from somewhere in her negligee and put it in her mouth unlit. Her eyes shone at me like a panther's eyes must in a desert campfire at night. "Men," she said shortly.
"Men?" I repeated. "You – afraid of men? Why, you're the original teasing- "
"That's right, you stupid fool!" she said angrily. "I’m afraid of men, listening to their demands, putting up with their lecherous hands and one-track minds. And hearing them disguise their desire with the words of love when all they want is just one thing. To get inside me!"
"You're crazy!" I said angrily. "That's not the only thing we think of!"
"No?" she asked. I heard the rasp of a match and the flame broke the darkness. She looked down at me. "Then look at yourself, Jonas. Look at yourself lusting for your father's wife!"
I didn't have to look to know she was right. I knocked the match angrily from her hand.
Then, all at once, she was clinging to me, her lips placing tiny kisses on my face and chin, her body trembling with her fears. "Jonas, Jonas. Please let me stay with you. Just for to-night," she cried. "I’m afraid to be alone!"
I raised my hands to push her away. She was naked beneath the black negligee. Her flesh was cool and soft as the summer desert breeze and her thrusting nipples rasped across the palms of my rising hands.
I froze, staring at her in the darkness. There was only her face before me, then the taste of her salty tears on her lips and mine. The anger inside me washed away in the cascading torrent of desire. And with only my devil to guide us, together we plunged into the fiery pleasures of our own particular hell.
I awoke and glanced at the window. The first flicker of dawn was spilling into the room. I turned to look at Rina. She was lying on my pillow, her arm flung across her eyes. I touched her shoulder lightly.
She took away her arm. Her eyes were open; they were clear and calm.
She got out of bed in a smooth, fluid motion. Her body shone with a young, golden translucence. She picked up her black negligee from the foot of the bed and slipped into it. I sat there watching her as she walked over to the dresser.
"There's a pen in the top right drawer," I said.
She took out the pen and signed the release.
"Aren't you going to read it?" I asked.
She shook her head. "What for? You can't get any more than I agreed to give you."
She was right. She had forgone all rights to any further claims in the estate. Picking up the check and the notes, she walked to the door. She turned there and looked back at me.
"I won't be here when you get back from the plant."
I looked at her for a moment. "You don't have to go," I said.
Her eyes met mine. I thought I caught a hint of sadness in them. "No, Jonas," she said softly. "It wouldn't work out."
"Maybe," I said.
"No, Jonas," she said. "It's time you got out from under the shadow of your father. He was a great man but so will you be. In your own way."
I reached for a cigarette on the bedside table and lit it without speaking. The smoke burned into my lungs.
"Good-by, Jonas," she said. "Good luck."
I stared at her for a moment, then I spoke. My voice was husky from the cigarette. "Thank you," I said. "Good-by, Rina."
The door opened and shut quickly and she was gone. I got out of bed and walked over to the window. The first morning red of the sun was on the horizon. It was going to be a scorcher.
I heard the door open behind me and my heart leaped inside my breast. She had come back. I turned around.
Robair came into the room carrying a tray. His white teeth flashed in a gentle smile. "I thought you might do with a cup of coffee."
When I got down to the plant, Jake Platt had a gang of men up on the roof, painting it white. I grinned to myself and went inside.
That first day was hectic. It seemed that nothing went right. The detonator caps we had sent to Endicott Mines were faulted and we had to rush-ship replacements. For the third time that year, Du Pont underbid us on a government contract for pressed cordite.