She got off the bed. “I’ll show you. Stand in front of the lamp; I want to look into the street.”
Unwillingly, because she had told him to do something, and he felt that no woman should tell him to do anything, he moved so that his back completely shadowed the lamp.
He watched her cautiously pull aside the curtain and glance into the dark square. Then she turned her head and nodded. “They’ve gone,” she said; “now I’ll show you.”
She went over to a battered chest of drawers and pulled out a black, cotton dress. She threw it on the bed. A brassiere and a pair of knickers followed. She went on her hands and knees and hunted the chest of drawers. The boy, standing watching, could only see her broad hips as her head disappeared out of sight. He shifted his eyes uneasily.
At last she found what she was looking for and she climbed to her feet, in her hand she held a pair of shoes.
She nodded at the clothes. “Get into them,” she said, “you’re about my size. Then we’ll go out together. It’ll be easy.”
The boy couldn’t believe his ears. He stood glaring at her. The rage boiled up in his guts.
“Do hurry,” she urged. “Can’t you see it’s the only way out for you?”
“You asking me to put those things on?”
Therese could hear the cold hate in his voice. For a moment he scared her, then she forced a little laugh. “Now don’t get mad,” she said, “these soldiers ain’t looking for a girl. You’ll be able to get away easily. Can’t you see that?”
The boy knew she was right. But the thought of putting those things on struck at his little manhood. He told himself that he’d rather be found and killed than put them on. But when Therese started pulling off his coat, he just stood frozen and let her.
“Come on,” she said impatiently, “don’t stand there like a dummy. Help yourself. Get your pants off, don’t mind me. I’ve seen all you’ve got, an’ it don’t worry me any.”
As if in some repulsive nightmare, the boy stripped. He stood on the coconut matting, thin, a little dirty, and shuddering.
Therese looked him over with a kindly, mocking smile. “You ain’t much of a picture, are you?” she said, lightly. “I guess you want buildin’ up.”
The boy told himself that when all this was over he’d come back and kill her. Right now he couldn’t do anything. He had just to suffer his humiliation.
Therese pushed him on to the bed and tossed the knickers in his lap. “Get ’em on,” she said, “then I’ll fix your front up.”
The feel of the silk against his bony thighs broke the last shred of his self-control. He sat there, his fists on his knees, and his eyes wild, swearing softly through his full lips. Even Therese was shocked at the things he said.
“If you don’t shut that foul little trap of yours,” she snapped at last, “I’ll toss you out of here as you are.”
The boy stopped swearing and looked at her. She felt a little shiver run through her as she met his vicious hating look. She knew then that he was bad—that he would always be bad. But he had shot de Babar, and that was enough for her to help him.
She put the brassiere on him and padded it out with two small towels. He stood there, looking horrible. Therese felt an insane urge to laugh at him, but she knew he would do something to her if she did. Her hands snatched the dress from the bed and pulled it roughly over his head; then she stepped back to see the effect. She thought he looked like a lost soul out of hell.
“Try those shoes on,” she said.
He stooped awkwardly and fitted his feet into the high-heel shoes. Although they fitted him, he couldn’t walk in them. She had to hunt again under the chest of drawers and find him a pair of sandals. A big, wide brim hat completed the picture. In the dark he’d pass anywhere. She nodded her approval. “You’ll do,” she said. “You don’t have to worry your head no more.”
She wrapped his suit in a gaily coloured shawl and made a bundle of it. “Now,” she said, “we’ll get goin’. Where are you headin’ for?”
All the time she had been putting his things together the boy had just stood and watched her. All the time she had been supervising his dressing, he had said nothing. When at last he did speak, his voice was so harsh and brittle that it quite startled her. “You ain’t coming with me,” he said. “I’m goin’ alone.”
She shrugged, suddenly feeling tired of him. She had risked a lot, and she knew every second he stayed with her the risk increased.
“Then go,” she said. “I guess you’re big enough to take care of yourself.”
He shuffled to the door, hating her for putting him in this position. He no longer had any confidence in himself. To be dressed like this took from him his sense of manhood. Somehow the clothes made him feel helpless, and the thought of the darkness outside terrified him.
Therese watched him go. He had no word of thanks for her. He didn’t even look at her again. With his hand on the rail to guide him he edged carefully down the wooden stairs, his knees shaking as the sandals threatened to pitch him forward.
The moon hid behind cloud and he could see nothing. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he had to wait until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Then, when he could just make out the roof-tops against the sky, he moved slowly away from the house.
He had not gone far before he ran into a group of soldiers who had been watching him approach. They had been out in the darkness a long time and they could see, whereas he was still nearly blind.
It was only when they crowded round him that he realized that he was trapped. He stood very still, terror completely paralysing him.
In the darkness, the soldiers took him for some unprotected girl, and, anxious to relieve their boredom, began to quarrel amongst themselves. He had to stand helpless, while they drew lots for him.
It would have been unfortunate if he had been a girl. But when they discovered his identity there was a long pause of terror while they persuaded the soldier who had dragged him away from the rest of them not to kill him immediately with his bayonet. They pointed out, reasonably enough, that there was at least one subtle thing to do to him before they finally finished with him.
THE MAGNIFICENT OPPORTUNITY
The Mexican General, Cortez, and two officers of his staff sat at a big table covered with maps and papers. The two officers sat very still and upright, their eyes fixed in a blank stare at the map which the General was examining. They had already reached a decision, and the tight tenseness of their muscles indicated their impatience for the General to speak.
The sentry, posted at the open door, watched the little group at the table with bored eyes. Those three had been sitting round the table for four hours whispering together, and now for the past half-hour they hadn’t even spoken. A fine way to win a revolution, the sentry thought, and spat contemptuously into the courtyard.
Holtz, the younger of the staff officers, shifted suddenly in his chair. His companion, Mendetta, looked at him with a scowl, moving his head warningly, but Holtz’s movement had already distracted the General, who pushed back his chair and stood up.
The sentry pulled his long, slack body away from the doorway, and his eyes looked a little less bored. Perhaps something was going to happen at last, he thought hopefully.
Cortez walked away from the table and paced the length of the room. His big fleshy face was heavy with thought. He said abruptly, “The situation is bad.”
The two officers relaxed a trifle. They had arrived at that decision more than a half an hour ago.
Holtz said: “Your Excellency is right. It is very bad.”
The General looked at him sourly. “How bad?” he demanded, coming back to the table. “Show me here.” He put a thick finger on the map. “How bad?”
