Under the Volcano - Malcolm Lowry [162]
"¿Qué hacéis aquí?"
"Nada," he said, and smiled at the man resembling a Mexican sergeant of police who had snatched the bridle from his hands. "Nothing. Veo que la tierra anda; estoy esperando que pase mi casa por aquí para meterme en ella," he brilliantly managed. The brasswork on the amazed policeman's uniform buckles caught the light from the doorway of the Farolito, then, as he turned, the leather on his sam-browne caught it, so that it was glossy as a plantain leaf, and lastly his boots, which shone like dull silver. The Consul laughed: just to glance at him was to feel that mankind was on the point of being saved immediately. He repeated the good Mexican joke, not quite right, in English, patting the policeman, whose jaw had dropped in bewilderment and who was eyeing him blankly, on the arm. "I learn that the world goes round so I am waiting here for my house to pass by." He held out his hand."Amigo," he said.
The policeman grunted, brushing the Consul's hand off. Then, giving him quick suspicious glances over his shoulder, he fastened the horse more securely to the tree. In those swift glances there was something serious indeed, the Consul was aware, something that bade him escape at his peril. Slightly hurt, he now remembered too, the look Diosdado had given him. But the Consul felt neither serious nor like escaping. Nor did his feelings change as he found himself impelled by the policeman from behind towards the cantina, beyond which, by lightning, the east briefly appeared, in onrush, a towering thunderhead. Preceding him through the door, it actually struck the Consul that the sergeant was trying to be polite. He stood aside quite nimbly, bidding, with a gesture, the other go first. "Mi amigo," he repeated. The policeman shoved him in and they made for one end of the bar which was empty.
"¿Americano, eh?" this policeman said now firmly. "Wait, aquí. ¿Comprende, señor?" He went behind the bar to speak with Diosdado.
The Consul unsuccessfully tried to intrude, on his conduct's behalf, a cordial note of explanation for the Elephant, who appeared grim as if he'd just murdered another of his wives to cure her neurasthenia. Meantime, A Few Fleas, temporarily otiose, and with surprising charity, slid him a mescal along the counter. People were looking at him again. Then the policeman confronted him from the other side of the bar. "They say there ees trouble about you no pay," he said, "you no pay for--ah--Mehican whisky. You no pay for Mehican girl. You no have money, hey?"
"Zicker," said the Consul, whose Spanish, in spite of a temporary insurgence, he knew virtually gone. "Sí. Yes. Mucho dinero," he added, placing a peso on the counter for A Few Fleas. He saw that the policeman was a heavy-necked handsome man with a black gritty moustache, flashing teeth, and a rather consciously swashbuckling manner. He was joined at this moment by a tall slim man in well-cut American tweeds with a hard sombre face and long beautiful hands. Glancing periodically at the Consul he spoke in undertones with Diosdado and the policeman. This man, who looked pure-bred Castilian, seemed familiar and the Consul wondered where he had seen him before. The policeman, disengaging himself from him, leaned over with his elbows on the bar, talking to the Consul. "You no have money, hey, and now you steal my horse." He winked at the Godgiven. "What for you ah run away with Mehican caballo? for to no pay Mehican money--hey?"
The Consul stared at him. "No. Decidedly not. Of course I wasn't going to steal your horse. I was merely looking at it, admiring it."