Puzzle for Pilgrims Read Online Free PDF

always been Martin’s song. And that’s always been Martin’s way. ‘Let him in constancy follow the Master.’ ”
    “The Master being what? His writing?”
    “In a way. But mostly Martin—Martin with his cheeks puffed out and his tongue between his teeth driving up to the top of the hill. He knows Sally’s wrong for him now. She’s stopping him from being a pilgrim. He’ll never go back.”
    “Then he’s in for a pilgrimage to jail.”
    She laughed, a small, secret laugh. “What’s jail? It’s only a discouragement.”
    I said, “Marietta, be serious. Should I go to Sally? Try and stop her?”
    “If you’re that noble, you can talk to her.”
    “But it won’t be any good?”
    “It won’t do any good.”
    “Nothing can stop her?”
    “Nothing,” said Marietta languidly, “except a knife in the back. She has her own hill to climb too. God knows where it leads to, but it’s there.”
    I said, “If you’re telling the truth, you’ll end up in jail too. You’re taking it very calmly, aren’t you?”
    “Calm, darling?” She laughed the little, secret laugh. “I’m not calm. I’m frightened.”
    And I realized retroactively that she was telling the truth, that she had been frightened ever since I had found her in my apartment. I knew then that Sally’s threat was genuine and that the danger to Martin and to Marietta was real. Marietta didn’t frighten easily.
    I thought she was a little drunk too. And that was even more unusual. She was leaning out of the booth and making the Mexican hissing sound to attract the waiter. He nodded, went downstairs and came with another tequila. I didn’t try to stop her drinking it. So long as tequila helped her, more power to it.
    She raised the glass. “To discouragement.”
    “Okay, Marietta.”
    “To you too. You with those sleepy eyes that look so quiet and aren’t. You with that square, sailor’s face.” She watched me sadly. “You’re a discouragement, too.”
    “Me?”
    “Because you only like your wife.” She tossed back the thick, clean hair. “If only you liked me.”
    “Marietta, I’m all for you. You know that.”
    She leaned across the table and put her hand on mine. It wasn’t cool. “You’re not all for me. That’s the point. I want someone who’s all for me.” She paused. “Someone was all for me once.”
    “Who?”
    “Martin.”
    The guitar was still drumming behind her. She twisted around, looking at the man who was playing it.
    That was when the American came up the stairs. No one could have missed the American-ness of him. He was tall, husky, with cropped red hair and the swaggering good looks of an Irish cop. He wore a gabardine suit, a little too tight for his wrestler’s body. He also wore a dark blue shirt and a red tie. I recognized him at once as the man who either had or had not been with Sally at the bullfight.
    He stared around the bar with faintly amused good humor, making it seem small and foreign. Then he saw us and came straight toward us.
    He slapped down a large-knuckled hand on Marietta’s shoulder. “Hi, baby. Sorry I’m late. Got tied up with a bottle of rum.”
    Marietta looked up at him and the blinding smile came. “Hello, Jake.” She gestured across the table at me. “Peter, this is Jake.” She moved over on the bench. “Sit down, Jake.”
    He sat down, keeping his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t move away.
    I said, “I didn’t know you had a date, Marietta.”
    She shrugged vaguely and said again. “This is Jake. He’s in the—the—what is it, Jake? No, don’t tell me. The citrus business.”
    “Oranges, lemons, grapefruit, California.” Jake grinned at me. “Glad to see you. Lord’s the name.”
    “I’ve seen you already,” I said.
    His blue eyes lost their blandness and became guarded, as if I had implied I had seen him somewhere disreputable. “You have?”
    “At the bullfight this afternoon.”
    The grin came again. “Why, sure.”
    “I thought you were with a