Limekiller!

Next day, passion — well, that was not exactly the right word — but what was? Infatuation? Scarcely even that. An uncommon interest in, plus a great desire for, an uncommonly comely young woman who also spoke his own language with familiar, or familiar enough, accents — oh, well — Hell! — whatever the word was, whatever his own state of mind had been, next morning had given way to something more like common sense. Common sense, then, told him that if the young woman (vaguely he amended this to the young women) had intended to come to St. Michael of the Mountains to stay at a hotel… or wherever it was, which they thought might take a reservation. had even considered writing for the reservation, well, they had not intended to come here at once. In other words: enthusiasm (that was the word!. damn it.) enthusiasm had made him arrive early.

So, since he was already there, he might as well relax and enjoy it.

— He was already where?

Filiberto Marin plunged his hands into the river and was noisily splashing water onto his soapy face. Jack paused in the act of doing the same thing for himself, waited till his host had become a trifle less audible — how the man could snort! — “Don Fili, what is the name of this place?”

Don Fili beamed at him, reached for the towel. “These place?” He waved his broad hand to include the broad river and the broad clearing, with its scattered fields and cabins. “These place, Jock, se llame Pahrot Bend. You like reside here? Tell me, just. I build you house.” He buried his face in his towel. Jack had no doubt that the man meant exactly what he said, gave another look around to see what was being so openhandedly — and openheartedly — offered him; this time he looked across to the other bank. Great boles of trees: immense! Immense! The eye grew lost and dizzy gazing upward toward the lofty, distant crowns. Suddenly a flock of parrots, yellowheads, flew shrieking round and round; then vanished.

Was it some kind of an omen? Any kind of an omen? To live here would not be to live just anywhere. He thought of the piss- soaked bogs which made up too large a part of the slums of King Town, wondered how anybody could live there when anybody could live here. But here was simply too far from the sea, and it was to live upon the sunwarm sea that he had come to this small country, so far from his vast own one. Still. might not be such a bad idea. well, not to live here all the time. But… a smaller version of the not-very-large cabins of the hamlet… a sort of country home… as it were. ha-ha. well, why not? Something to think about. anyway.

“Crahs de river, be one nice spot for build you cabanita,“ said Don Filiberto, reading his mind.

“Mmm. what might it cost?” he could not help asking, even though knowing whatever answer he might receive would almost certainly not in the long run prove accurate.

“Cahst?” Filiberto Marin, pulling his shirt over his huge dark torso, considered. Cost, clearly, was not a matter of daily concern. Calculations, muttering from his mouth, living and audible thoughts, struggling to take form: “Cahst. May-be, ooohhh, say-be torty dollar?”

“Forty dollars?”

Don Filiberto started to shake his head, reconsidered. “I suppose may-be. Not take lahng. May-be one hahf day, collect wild cane for make wall, bay leaf ior make techo, roof. An may-be ’nother hahf day for put everything togedder. Cahst? So: twenty dollar. Torty dollar. An ten dollar rum! Most eeem-por-tont!” He laughed. Rum! The oil which lubricates the neighbors’ labors. A houseraising bee, Hidalgo style.

“And the land itself? The cost of the land?”

But Don Fili was done with figures. “What ‘cahst of de lond’? Lond not cahst nah-ting. Lond belahng to Pike Es-tate.”

A bell went ding-a-ling in Limekiller’s ear. The Pike Estate. The great Pike Estate Case was the Jarndyce vs. Jarndyce of British Hidalgo. Half the lawyers in the colony lived off it. Was there a valid will? Were there valid heirs? Had old Pike died intestate? ¿ Quien sabe? There were barroom barristers would talk your ears off about the First Codicil and the Second Codicil and the Alleged Statement of Intention and the Holograph Document and all the rest of it. Limekiller had heard enough about the Pike Estate Case. He followed after Don Fili up the bank. All, but -

“Well, mavbe nobodv would bother me now if I had a cabin built there. But what about when the estate is finally settled?”

Marin waved an arm, as impatiently as his vast good nature would allow. “By dot time, hijo mio. what you care? You no hahv Squatter Rights by den? Meb-be you dead by den!”

Mrs. Don Filiberto, part American Indian, part East Indian, and altogether Amiable and Fat, was already fanning the coals on the raised fire-hearth for breakfast.