Get a Load of This

     De Crespedes turned to the soldier. “Hold him very tightly.” Then he began to walk towards the woman. She turned to run into the other room, but the other soldier was standing against the door. He was smiling, and his teeth looked like piano keys. As she hesitated, de Crespedes caught up with her and his hand fell on the back of her blouse. He ripped it from her. She crouched against the wall, hiding her breasts with her hands, weeping softly.

     De Crespedes looked over his shoulder at Lopez. “When you are dead,” he said, “I will have your woman—she is good.”

     Lopez controlled himself with a great effort. He was completely powerless in the grip of the soldier.

     De Crespedes said to the soldiers who came in at this moment, “Cut off his fingers until he's ready to talk.”

     The woman screamed. She fell on her knees in front of de Crespedes, wringing her hands. “We know nothing, Excellency,” she said wildly. “Don't touch my man.”

     De Crespedes looked down at her with a smile. Then he put his dusty boot on her bare breasts and shoved her away. She fell on her side and lay there, her head hidden under her arms.

     The soldiers forced Lopez to sit at the table, and they spread his hands flat on the rough wood. Then, using his bayonet like a hatchet, one of the negroes lopped off a finger.

     De Crespedes sat looking at the blood that ran across the table and dripped on to the floor. He stood up with a little grimace of disgust.

     A thin wailing sound came from Lopez, although he didn't open his lips. The two soldiers who held him shifted as they strained to keep his hands in position.

     “Until he talks,” de Crespedes said, unhooking his jacket and removing his sword-belt.

     The negro raised his bayonet and brought it down with a swish. There was a little clicking sound as it went through bone, and he had difficulty in getting the blade out of the hard wood.

     De Crespedes threw his jacket and sword-belt on the bench and walked over to the woman. With a grunt, he bent over her. Taking her under her arms, he dragged her into the other room. He threw her on the bed. Then he went back and kicked the door shut. He noticed that it was very hot in the room, although the shutters kept out the sun.

     The woman lay on her side, her knees drawn up to her chin. She kept her eyes shut, and her lips moved as she prayed. De Crespedes lowered his bulk on to the bed. He took her knees in his hands and turned her on her back. Then he forced her knees down and ripped the rest of her clothes from her. He did not hurry, and once, when she resisted, pushing at him with her small hands, he thumped her on her chest with his fist, like he was driving in a nail with a hammer.

     Then, because he knew this rigid body could give him no pleasure, and because he had much experience, he set about breaking her down. His two hands settled on her arms and his fingers dug into her soft muscles. Her eyes opened and she screamed. He leant on her, crushing her with his bulk, and dug further with his fat, thick fingers. It was not long before the violence of the pain turned the woman into a weeping, gibbering thing of clay on the bed. And when he took her, she lay placid, her tears falling on his shoulder.

     Later on, one of the soldiers had to go out and get a bucket of water to throw over Lopez, and although they did many things to him, they could not get him to speak, so they lost patience with him and they killed him.

     When de Crespedes came out of the room he found his soldiers standing uneasily waiting for him. He looked down at Lopez and stirred him with his boot. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and yawned. “Did he talk?” he asked indifferently. He was thinking of the long tramp back to the barracks. When they shook their heads, he shrugged and put on his jacket. He was feeling devilishly tired. Listlessly he tightened the sword-belt round his thick middle and put on his cap. Then he went back and looked at Lopez again. “It is possible he knew nothing about guns,” he said half aloud, “they've made a lot of mistakes before.” He shrugged and turned to the door.

     The soldiers picked up their rifles and moved after him. Outside, he paused. “The woman,” he said irritably, “I was forgetting the woman.” He looked at one of the soldiers. “Attend to her. Use your bayonet.”

     While they waited in the blinding heat, he thought regretfully how much better it would have been if she had loved him. There was little satisfaction to be had from a weeping woman. Still, he felt better for it. Women were necessary to him.

     When the soldier came out, they gave him time to clean his bayonet and then they all tramped across the uneven ground towards the barracks.

TWIST IN THE TALE