Dance of the Dwarfs by Geoffrey Household Page B

and sees nothing, safe from duendes and disturbances behind his closed doors.
    I searched the llano with my torch from various points of vantage but saw nothing. When I returned to the house I threw open the shutters on the south side to see if the first gray of morning showed any movements between estancia and forest. It did not. One might as well be out to sea in an absolute calm.
    [ April 16, Saturday ]
    On the other shore of that sea are a bunch of frightened and murderous outlaws. Should I have foreseen what was on the way to me? I prefer duendes with no politics to men with them.
    This afternoon the Cuban and two other fellows, all bristling with automatic weapons, arrived in a jeep—the first motor vehicle I have ever seen in this vast corner of the llanos. They put a lot of trust in their weatherman. If the rains caught them in the middle of nowhere, they would have to get back to the Cordillera on foot.
    In Santa Eulalia they had found nobody to bully except women and children who did not even understand their questions. Futility and the searing heat had not improved their tempers. Chucha took one look at the party and dashed into the kitchen where she deliberately dirtied her face and hair to give the impression of some sort of half-witted slut working for her food. She instinctively felt that these three sullen revolutionaries had appeared from a traditionless world and might not even have the dubious, vestigial chivalry of the llaneros.
    I received them as caballeros, for which they did not give a damn. Marxism is too mannerless a creed for Latin America.
    The Cuban wanted to know if Pedro had been killed or not. He had no evidence one way or the other but a pile of ashes. I said that I had every reason to believe Pedro was alive, failing very bad luck, and explained what he had told me and how he had escaped.
    â€œHe was much too frightened of you to give your plans away,” I added.
    â€œHow do you know he was?”
    â€œBecause any fool could read his thoughts. He never could keep his mouth shut.”
    â€œSo it was you who informed the government?”
    I replied that I knew no details. Even if I had, how could I have passed them on?
    â€œThere are aircraft which come down here.”
    â€œNot since your last visit.”
    â€œYou expect me to believe that?”
    â€œGo back to Santa Eulalia tonight and ask. At least one horseman would have seen the plane and by the time it comes down there are always two or three of them on the spot, like ants.”
    â€œHave your servants in!”
    He could not let them off without a homily. Mario, Teresa and Chucha were lectured on the joys of a society in which ruthless capitalists would no longer own the land and exploit their labor. I did not point out that Mario was the only landowner present.
    Mario was quite calm and unaffected. He said that not a soul had visited the estancia but Pedro and the llaneros who were after him.
    â€œWhen did your master last go to Santa Eulalia?”
    â€œOn Tuesday.”
    â€œAnd before that?”
    Mario genuinely could not remember. Owing to anxiety over the lack of water and then the arrival of Chucha, I had not been in Santa Eulalia since the guitar-playing evening. He said that the last time the government canoe called he had gone himself to meet it.
    â€œWhat for?”
    I was relieved that Mario offered no unnecessary information. He just said that he had gone to fetch our stores.
    â€œDid you send off any letters?”
    â€œYes, many.”
    I interrupted to point out that it was unlikely any of them could have reached Bogotá yet. I was poked in the belly with a machine pistol and told to shut up.
    Teresa came next. Since she never left the estancia, she merely confirmed what Mario had said. If he had claimed to have visited the sun, she would have backed him up. The Cuban disregarded her mumblings and tried Chucha.
    â€œWhere do you come from?”
    â€œI am