Gods of Jade and Shadow - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,97

left hand and stepped back from him, nodding.

Tierra Blanca had all the conveniences one could ever desire. A barbershop, a spa, a pool, and a multitude of shops that offered fur wraps, perfumes and colognes, pipes, glassworks, clothes, magazines, for the enjoyment of the well-to-do and their hangers-on. Fabulous amounts of money could be spent on authentic Japanese kimonos and French silks, tweed jackets and embroidered blouses. The idea was that the guest should never want for anything, should never have to leave the premises, that the world would come to Tierra Blanca.

Martín had not been exposed to this level of luxury and palatial tastes, and found himself stiffly uncomfortable as he waited for Casiopea to walk out of the clothing store she’d gone into. He was relieved when she came out, bearing a couple of bags.

“Let me help you,” he said, stretching out a hand.

Casiopea, instead, froze and looked at him warily. “What are you doing?”

“Are you headed back to your room?”

“I’m going to the hairdresser,” she said. “What does it matter to you?”

“I want a word with you. Please.”

She did not seem too happy with the idea, but she nodded, and they scooted to the side of the store’s front door.

“What now?” she asked.

“I have a telegram for you, all right? Read it,” he said, holding it up.

Casiopea took the piece of paper and unfolded it. The missive was from her mother. Casiopea frowned.

“You put her up to this?” she asked when she was done reading.

“No. I telegrammed Grandfather to let him know how I’m doing, and she decided to also send a message. She’s worried about you. As far as she knows, you ran off with a man and Grandfather sent me to find you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel guilty?”

The telegram had been a spontaneous occurrence, like he’d told Casiopea, but Martín had thought it might benefit him. He shrugged, but knew it had had the required effect. Casiopea looked rattled.

“If you felt guilty, you’d have listened to me in Mexico City.”

“Right. I’m sorry, I don’t want to keep talking to you.”

“Relax. I just passed the telegram on to you. Did you want me to toss it away instead?” he asked.

Casiopea twisted the handles of the bags she was carrying. She was quiet.

“Vucub-Kamé wanted to talk to you in Mexico City, yes, and maybe you could have saved me a trip if you’d spoken to him back then. But you’ve got another chance now,” Martín said and raised a hand. “Now wait before you start saying you don’t want to hear anything else, because I’m telling you this for the sake of both of us, all right?”

“As if you’d do anything for my sake,” she countered.

“Both of us, I said. If you don’t want to believe in my goodwill, believe in my selfishness. Look, these gods don’t care a lick about us. I’m trying to keep my head in its place. Will you listen to what I’ve got to tell you?”

Casiopea hesitated, nodding uncertainly. Martín took his cousin’s arm and directed her down the hallway. He didn’t want to keep standing next to the shops, speaking in the shadow of the mannequins. The casino had tennis courts, beautiful gardens, and if you walked down a series of steps toward the beach, an excellent view of the ocean. Martín guided her to the gardens, following a row of palm trees. No cacti in sight, a profusion of flowers and lush greenness greeted them instead: it was meant to make patrons forget about the relentless desert awaiting not far beyond the rows of manicured trees.

“Zavala is going to propose a contest tonight. Vucub-Kamé will want to meet with you later and make another offer, a bit of a deal,” he said. He had wondered how to speak to her this second time around and decided to be direct, no half-truths or tricks. Or the bare minimum to achieve his purpose.

“What offer?” Casiopea asked.

“I don’t know the terms, they wouldn’t say, but Vucub-Kamé will be generous to you. He…it would be best if you take Vucub-Kamé’s offer, because the other option, that first one, is no good.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a road, all right? The Black Road, it runs through Xibalba. They’ll have us walk it.”

“You and I?”

“Yes. A contest.”

They stood by a stone fountain, water spilling from the mouth of a stone frog resting at its top. It made him think of home, their courtyard there, the parrot in its cage. All he wanted was to go