194
PARTISAN REVIEW
There was a dike of clouds settling low on the raw moun·
tainside, holding back the unglowing red upper pile from the
green daubed lower hills. They saw coming toward them the dim
print of the day's first rain. The noisy streams thrust through the
soft drift deeper than before and they brought with them tree
limbs, corn stalks and bristling plates of pear-cactus.
At the hotel the rooms were cold. The General called for
electric heaters in his and the girls' rooms. Paco and Citron went
to the game room where there was a fire and smoked and played
saveral games of
damas chinas.
Citron lost every one.
"Your mind isn't on the game,
hombre,"
Paco grinned. "You
can't win at
damas chinas
if you wander. What are you thinking
about, still that same business. It's over with, why not forget it?
Now if one of those little blonde
gringas
were here I could under–
stand your losing."
'~You're
right," said Citron. "And perhaps we ought to get in
a little rest before supper. They may decide they want to see
Rosa
de Xochimilco
afterwards or run over to Morelia to spend all hours
in the bar of that place where we had breakfast this morning."
"I'm ready; come on," said Paco.
In their room they took off their coats and shoes and crawled
under the blankets.
"It
gets so cold here towards night in the rainy
season," said Paco.
"Shsh! Do you hear that?"
"What?" Paco whispered.
"Just listen."
The General tapped once, twice, three times at the girls' wall
adjoining and called in a low voice.
"I wonder who'll come," whispered Paco. Now the General
seemed to be listening. "Who will it be, can you guess?"
"Gloria? Eulalia? I don't know. Perhaps we can tell if we
watch during dinner."
"No, do you think so?"
They listened to the ·soft steps at the General's door; it opened,
closed, and they remained upright in their beds, smiling at each
other through the gathering darkness.
