squeeze it.' I gave him a couple of seconds to get ready. 'Shoot when you want to.'
Another couple of seconds crawled by, then the rifle banged.
Both Raimundo and I looked towards the target. He had hit the bull dead centre.
'Good shot,' I said. 'That's the way. Now keep on shooting.' With that telescopic sight, unless you had Parkinson's disease, you couldn't fail to hit a bull, but with his next ten shots he only hit the bull twice.
I kept him at it : reloading for him, handing the rifle back without looking at him.
Raimundo sat on one of the benches and smoked. After the first shot, he didn't bother to look at the target, but he sat there and I knew his presence was keeping Timoteo shooting.
After an hour, and after he had scored ten bulls out of sixty shots, I said, 'Okay . . . break it off.' I turned to Raimundo.
'Take him for a walk. I want him back in an hour,' and I walked out and headed towards the bungalow.
Lucy was busy scraping the paint off the front door. She paused in
her work and looked inquiringly up at me.
'He's taking time off,' I said. 'How are you getting on? I have an hour. I'll give a hand.'
'It's all right. I like doing it.' She stood up. 'Do you want a beer?'
'It's too early.' I moved to one of our crummy sling chairs on the verandah and sat down. She joined me.
'I didn't hear any shooting.'
'He's using the silencer. He's shooting . . . not bad.'
'But how is he?'
'He's okay. He's shooting. That's all we need worry about.'
'Is that man with him?'
'Raimundo? Oh. sure. He's sitting in on the session. He's the oil that makes the goon function.'
'Oh, Jay! Haven't you any heart? Can't you see this boy is frightened to death?' She wrung her hands. 'Can't you see this awful man is terrifying him into shooting?'
I rubbed the back of my neck while I restrained my impatience.
'I couldn't talk him into shooting. You couldn't mother him into shooting. Okay, Raimundo is scaring him into shooting. He's got to shoot. I'm being paid fifty thousand dollars to get him to shoot so . . .'
She got up abruptly and went into the bungalow.
So we were going to start this all over again, I thought. I sat there for five minutes, feeling the ache in my jaw, then I got up, kicked the chair away and walked into the living-room.
She was sitting on a stool, facing the empty fireplace, her clenched fists against her face.
'Lucy, will you please try to be helpful,' I said. 'It's tough enough to have this nut in my hair without you going neurotic on me. This is important to us ! I'm trying to earn . . .'
'Oh, stop it !' Her voice was shrill and her eyes a little wild. 'I'm not neurotic! You're just mad about money ! Can't you see . . .?'
'Lucy ! My bark stopped her dead. An Army voice when it is pitched right can stop a clock. 'What's with it between you and this goon? Are you falling for him? Have you fallen for him?'
Her face crimson, her eyes shocked, she stared at me.
'What are you saying?'
'I'm asking you. What's all this protective stuff with this creep? What's he mean to you?'
'He's a human being! He's frightened ! I'm sorry for him. That's what he means to me!'
'Well, okay . . . just stay sorry for him, but nothing else. asked you, Lucy, to keep out of this. Please stop throwing spanners in the works ! I have enough to handle without you getting protective.'
'Money means everything to you, doesn't it?'
'We're not talking about money ! We're talking about this goon !'
'To von, it's the same thing.'
'I'm being paid to teach him to shoot. That's what I'm trying to do!'
'He doesn't want to shoot . . . he told me.'
I held on to the explosion that was building up in me.
What he told you and what he is going to do are two different things. Will von please leave this to me?'
'Why don't you find out why he doesn't want to shoot? Why don't you start treating him like a human being? Why do you let a thug dictate to you and to him?' She jumped to her feet. 'I can tell you! All you think about is the money you will make!'
'Is that something to be ashamed of?'
'I think it is.'
