Under the Volcano - Malcolm Lowry [130]
An acquaintance of the driver's, perhaps the driver for the return journey, had by now added himself to the vehicle. He dodged round the outside of the bus with native skill, taking the fares through the open windows. Once, when they were breasting an incline, he even dropped off to the road on the left, swerved round behind the camión at a run, to appear again on the rights grinning in at them clownishly.
A friend of his sprang on the bus. They crouched, one on either side of the bonnet, by the two front mudguards, every so often joining hands over the radiator cap, while the first man, leaning dangerously outwards, looked back to see if one of the rear tyres, which had acquired a slow puncture, was holding. Then he went on taking fares.
Dust, dust, dust--it filtered in through the windows, a soft invasion of dissolution, filling the vehicle.
Suddenly the Consul was nudging Hugh, inclining his head towards the pelado, whom Hugh had not forgotten however: he had been sitting bolt upright all this time, fidgeting with something in his lap, coat buttoned, both hats on, crucifix adjusted, and wearing much the same expression as before, though after his oddly exemplary behaviour in the road, he seemed much refreshed and sobered.
Hugh nodded, smiling, lost interest; the Consul nudged him
again:
"Do you see what I see?"
"What is it?"
Hugh shook his head, looked obediently towards the pelado, could see nothing, then saw, at first without comprehending.
The pelado's smeared conquistador's hands, that had clutched the melon, now clutched a sad bloodstained pile of silver pesos and centavos.
The pelado had stolen the dying Indian's money.
Moreover, surprised at this point by the conductor grinning in the window, he carefully selected some coppers from this little pile, smiled round at the preoccupied passengers as though he almost expected some comment to be made upon his cleverness, and paid his fare with them.
But no comment was made, for the good reason none save the Consul and Hugh seemed aware quite how clever he was.
Hugh now produced the small pinch bottle of habanero, handing it to Geoff, who passed it to Yvonne. She choked, had still noticed nothing; and it was as simple as that; they all took a short drink.
--What was so astonishing on second thoughts was not that on an impulse the pelado should have stolen the money, but that he was making now only this half-hearted effort to conceal it, that he should be continually opening and closing his palm with the bloody silver and copper coins for anyone to see who wished.
It occurred to Hugh he was not trying to conceal it at all, that he was perhaps attempting to persuade the passengers, even though they knew nothing about it, that he had acted from motives explicable as just, that he had taken the money merely to keep it safe which, as had just been shown by his own action, no money could reasonably be called in a dying man's collar on the Tomalín road, in the shadow of the Sierra Madre.
And further, suppose he were suspected of being a thief, his eyes, that were now fully open, almost alert, and full of mischief, said to them, and were arrested, what chance then would the Indian should he survive have of seeing his money again? Of course, none, as everyone well knew. The real police might be honourable, of the people. But were he arrested by these deputies, these other fellows, they would simply steal it from him, that much was certain, as they would even now be stealing it from the Indian, but for his kindly action.
Nobody, therefore, who was genuinely concerned about the Indian's money, must suspect anything of the sort, or at any rate, must not think too clearly about it; even if now, in the camion, he should choose to stop juggling the money from hand to hand, like