“I can believe it.”
“She was a wild one, that woman. She said she was a witch. She had come from the desert, and was a Berber. Do you know of them? They were a white nomadic people who ruled all the Sahara and what lay north of it, from as long as could be remembered.
“He expected me to be killed or abandoned, but she carried me off at night to a remote village of the Indians, and at night when I had the headaches she would rock me to sleep and sing to me the songs of her people. I remember them yet. “The following year she took me into Mexico to a priest who was a wise man. His blood was as hers, and it was he who taught me to read, write, and work with numbers. Much else besides. He was a good, good man, educated far beyond his time.
“He explained to me that I would be very large and that there was within people a fear of anything different than themselves. It was a deep-seated, primitive fear found among many wild creatures. A white wolf to exist among gray wolves must become a fierce fighter or be killed. It is a fear, perhaps, of attracting attention and therefore danger.
“He told me that if I was to survive I must understand this, that I must be tolerant even when others were intolerant, that I must be wary of man.” “You knew my name,” Meghan said, remembering.
“Johannes is my nephew. His mother, Consuelo, was my sister. We brought double disgrace to my father. I by being born a giant, and she by marrying a poor seaman.”
He dished up several slices of bacon, adding a handful of pinon nuts and several cold tortillas to the plate.
“It is very little. Had I expected a visitor, I would have prepared for it.”
“Where is Johannes? I must find him! Is he all right?” “He lives, but he suffered much. I think he plans to move against them. It would be like him, and like his father.”
“You are sure he is all right? Alfredo, I must find himl I love him very, very much and I am afraid he will not come back to Los Angeles.” “Of course he will come back.”
“You do not understand. Don Federico came to see me. He was charming. I suppose I was flattered by it. He was an older man, and so handsome! I told Johannes, and I never thought…”
“You should have been wiser, but who of us is? Johannes wants to be nowhere where that man has been. Don Federico is an evil man, as he was an evil boy. He thinks only of himself.” Alfredo smiled suddenly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “He believes me dead, and wishes to believe it. Perhaps it is time to give him a hint.”
“Can you take me to Johannes? I must see him!”
“I can take you to where he is, or at least to where he was, or I can see you in safety to Los Angeles.”
“Take me to him! I must see him! I must see him before he goes off again!” “When the sun rises. Stay here … you will be safe.” He gestured toward the forest. “I have another place.”
“Why don’t you come to Los Angeles with me? There’s no need for you to stay here!”
He chuckled. “Los Angeles has never been surprised by anything, I think. It began with the Spanish and the Indians, and it began with a flair. It has always loved the flamboyant, the graceful dons riding their splendid horses, their saddles plated with silver, but it is not for me. Can you imagine me down there? “A man of six feet is considered unusually tall. Most men are five-feet-eight or less.” He smiled gently. “I am seven feet and eight inches and I usually weigh four hundred pounds.
“They would gasp, they would stare, they would ask how tall I am and be disappointed it is not taller. The doors will be too narrow, the ceilings too low, and the chairs are made for dwarfs.
“Out here it is different. I am made small by mountains. I am a midget among the trees. Down there is fear, hatred, and jealousy. Here there is pure air, simple food, and I have my books.
“You see, I have become a night person. I see as well by night as any bat or owl. The trails I walk are walked by me alone, and I have places where I can sit and look down upon the desert or even that hot spring where the palms grow. I can look down there where Johannes is-Johannes, my friend.” “You have talked to him?”
“Oh, no! Perhaps that is why he is my friend. We have shared books, and some thoughts, I expect. He knows of me, knows what I am. Perhaps he even knows who I am. I wished him to know me, so I left my signature, knowing it would explain more than words.
“To live in a city, one must be larger than one’s environment or enjoy belonging to the crowd. Out here a person can become a part of it all. He can walk the heights with the eagles and the clouds, but it needs a special land of person. “For me there is no other way. Down there I would be viewed as a monstrosity. My own father saw me that way, so what could I expect from others?” “Does no one ever see you here?”
“Perhaps an Indian now and again, but they are polite. I do not intrude upon them, and they avoid me.”
“They believe you are Tahquitz.”
“Nonsense! They call me that because I live on his mountain alone, but they know better. It is a joke among them.”
“They are a simple people, I think.”
“Simple in their needs, perhaps, but a very complex people.”
“You are complex.”
“No. Within this giant house of flesh lives a quiet man who would prefer working at a trade. Or perhaps he is a poet whose dreams are too large for his words. “My home is among the mountains. Men destroy what they do not understand, as they destroyed the son of God when he chose to walk among them. I do not wish to be understood. I wish to be left alone. Your Johannes has done this. He is a kind man, a thoughtful man.”
“Are you never lonely?”
“When would I not be lonely? When a man is one of a land, he will be lonely wherever he is. I am a man apart but have become adjusted to it. I have the mountains, and I have my books. I also have the friendship of Johannes.” He got to his feet, towering over her. Instinctively she shrank. “You see? Sleep well, then. I shall return in the morning. But please … rise early. I would like you to see sunrise on the desert from my mountains. Until you have seen sunrise from here, or from over there in the San Jacintos, you have seen nothing.”
He went out, ducking his head through the door, closing it softly behind him. In the night that followed, she wondered if he was out on the dark trails of night where owls cruised on silent wings among the dark ranks of the soldier pines, and only the wind for company.
Fifty-eight
When Don Isidro finished speaking, there was a moment of silence. If Miss Nesselrode was alarmed or frightened, she offered no evidence of it. “Senor, I am afraid you live in the past. Forty, perhaps even twenty years ago you might have gotten away with such a thing, but no more. “You have deliberately isolated yourself from the community to such an extent that you are not aware of the changes that have taken place. The story of your pursuit of Zachary Verne and your daughter are well known, but that was long ago. If anything were to happen either to me or to your sister Elena, there would be an immediate investigation, and I have been careful to record all the facts and leave them in safe hands.
“If anything happens to Johannes Verne, I shall see you hanged. If anything were to happen to your sister or to me, you would certainly be hanged, and these”-she waved a hand at the group in the doorway-“as well. What then of your pride in your family and your name? It would be disgraced forever, and by you.” She turned on the group in the door. “Put your guns away. Are you afraid of a woman, that you draw guns? Have you thought who will pay for what you do? He has no money. He can pay you nothing, nothing at all. You are fools to follow so blindly where a blind man leads!
“Get out of here! At once!” She gestured imperiously. “Mr. Kelso, if they do not leave, shoot them!”