Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [196]
“We’re doing the best we can,” Severo said. “Keep a squad here to finish up,” he ordered a foreman. “Send the rest to the east fields.”
“Will you be able to save some of the crop?”
“We’ll try. Those fires are smaller and seem to have been a diversion. Still, there might be injuries. I’d feel better if you were in the lower batey. Things are under control here.” He walked with her toward Marigalante. “That was excellent marksmanship, by the way.”
“I can’t believe I did that,” she said, looking where the bull fell.
“Very impressive,” he said with a tight smile. “Now I’d better see what’s happened in San Bernabé.” He checked the holstered revolver and cinched the strapped rifle on his back. “Efraín, you come with me, and Indio, take la patrona back to the batey and stay with her.”
“He needn’t stay. He’s more needed in the fire squads.”
He nodded and ordered a boy to bring a machete for Efraín.
“Severo,” Ana said so that only he could hear. “Be careful. Remember that Conciencia has seen a man on fire. Twice.”
He touched her cheek. “I’ll be careful. Don’t forget that mala hierba no muere.”
“If bad weeds don’t die, we’ll both live forever,” she said grimly.
He lifted Ana onto her saddle and watched her go until Marigalante disappeared.
He reckoned it was well past midnight, and the fire in San Bernabé had been blazing for at least five hours. He turned Penumbra toward the shortcut along the edge of the forest and up the slope that approached the farm from the back. Seis, Siete, and Ocho led the way. The dogs were familiar with this approach because that was how Severo went to call on Luis from Los Gemelos. It was slow and treacherous on the narrow uphill path in the dark. For most of the way, he had to rely on the dogs’ superior night vision to lead them. There were times when Severo had to stop to let his eyes get accustomed to the darkness. He kept one hand on the reins and the other by his revolver. Efraín rode behind him, and even though he’d never given him trouble, Severo knew that a slave at your back with a machete in hand wasn’t to be trusted, no matter how obedient he’d always been. Severo now wondered how long it had been since he’d allowed a man to walk behind him.
They crossed an orchard, and just as they were about to enter the yard, the dogs raced into the bushes, barking wildly. Severo pointed his rifle at a woman carrying a child and dragging another by the hand who ran out of the shadows, screaming as Seis nipped at her heels.
At his signal, the dog backed away, but Siete and Ocho were yapping at more figures emerging from the shadows.
“Where are the others?” Severo demanded, sweeping the dark.
“Gone,” one woman said.
Severo scanned the shrubbery as the dogs flushed out more people. He counted with his rifle barrel as they emerged—five women, seven children, three infants, two bent and slow-moving elders, one of them missing an arm. A tall man with a peg leg almost as thin as his real one led a blind woman. All the able-bodied men were gone. Six men, Severo remembered, not counting Yayo and Quique.
Severo ordered Efraín to dismount and lead the group to the batey, the dogs circling them, biting when they lagged or appeared to want to run. He rode ahead.
The farm was in ruins. The barracks were ashes, the warehouses and barns smoldering heaps of lumber. The air was thick with the smell of burned hair and flesh; animals had been left to perish in their stalls. Santos, the overseer, and his sister sat in perpetual watchfulness on the cement steps of the house, their necks slashed. The fire was still blazing inside, and it was obvious that no one could have survived. Luis, fat and ungainly, had been unable to walk on his own since his stroke several years earlier. His wheelchair was tipped on its side in the yard.
“Severo!”
Luis was cowering behind the cement cistern across from the house. What was left of his torn nightshirt was bunched around his privates,