Under the Volcano Read Online Free PDF Page B

Sierra Madre Oriental, the two volcanoes, Popocateped and Ixtaccihutl, rose clear and magnificent into the sunset. Nearer, perhaps ten miles distant, and on a lower level than the main valley, he made out the village of Tomalíin, nestling behind the jungle, from which rose a thin blue scarf of illegal smoke, someone burning wood for carbon. Before him, on the other side of the American highway, spread fields and groves, through which meandered a river, and the Alcapancingo road. The watchtower of a prison rose over a wood between the river and the road which lost itself farther on where the purple hills of a Doré Paradise sloped away into the distance. Over in the town the lights of Quauhnahuac’s one cinema, built on an incline and standing out sharply, suddenly came on, flickered off, came on again. ‘
No se puede vivir sin amar
,’ M. Laruelle said… ‘As that
estúpido
inscribed on my house.’
    â€˜Come,
amigo
, throw away your mind,’ Dr Vigil said behind him.
    â€˜ – But
hombre
, Yvonne came back! That’s what I shall never understand. She came back to the man!’ M. Laruelle returned to the table where he poured himself and drank a glass of Tehuacan mineral water. He said:
    â€˜
Salud y pesetas
.’
    â€˜
Y tiempo para gastarlas
,’ his friend returned thoughtfully.
    M. Laruelle watched the doctor leaning back in the steamer chair, yawning, the handsome, impossibly handsome, dark imperturbable Mexican face, the kind deep brown eyes, innocent too, like the eyes of those wistful beautiful Oaxaqueñan children one saw in Tehuantepec (that ideal spot where the women did the work while the men bathed in the river all day), the slender small hands and delicate wrists, upon the back of which it was almost a shock to see the sprinkling of coarse black hair. ‘I threw away my mind long ago, Arturo,’ he said in English, withdrawing his cigarette from his mouth with refined nervous fingers on which he was aware he wore too many rings. ‘What I find more –’ M. Laruelle noted the cigarette was out and gave himself another
anís
.
    â€˜
Con permiso
.’ Dr Vigil conjured a flaring lighter out of his pocket so swiftly it seemed it must have been already ignited there, that he had drawn a flame out of himself, the gesture and the igniting one movement; he held the light for M. Laruelle. ‘Did you never go to the church for the bereavèd here,’ he asked suddenly, ‘where is the Virgin for those who have nobody with?’
    M. Laruelle shook his head.
    â€˜Nobody go there. Only those who have nobody them with,’ the doctor said, slowly. He pocketed the lighter and looked at his watch, turning his wrist upwards with a neat flick. ‘
Allons-nous-en
,’ he added, ‘
vamonos
,’ and laughed yawningly with a series of nods that seemed to carry his body forward until his head was resting between his hands. Then he rose and joined M. Laruelle at the parapet, drawing deep breaths. ‘Ah, but this is the hour I love, with the sun coming down, when all the man began to sing and all the dogs to shark –’
    M. Laruelle laughed. While they had been talking the sky had grown wild and stormy to the south; the mourners had left the slope of the hill. Sleepy vultures, high overhead, deployed down-wind. ‘About eight-thirty then, I might go to the
cine
for an hour.’
    â€˜
Bueno
. I will see you this night then, in the place where you know. Remember, I still do not believe you are leaving tomorrow.’ He held out his hand which M. Laruelle grasped firmly, loving him. ‘Try and come tonight, if not, please understand I am always interested in your health.’
    â€˜
Hasta la vista
.’
    â€˜
Hasta la vista
.’
    â€”
Alone, standing beside the highway down which he had driven four years before on the last mile of that long, insane, beautiful journey from Los Angeles, M. Laruelle also