Best Served Cold
1 - Peru

Best Served Cold

Chapter 1: Peru

A/N: This story takes place four years after "A Friend Indeed".

The return ride from the Callao warehouses was pleasant enough. But as soon as Mateo Camarena turned into the stableyard he sensed that something was wrong. The space was deserted. No one tended a horse. No one forked out hay. A wagon stood half unloaded. A full bucket of water stood midway between the well and the stalls.

He dismounted and made his way into the hacienda and up the stairs. At the top he came to an abrupt halt. A few paces down the hall a dozen servants, some of them weeping, were clustered at the doorway to his uncle's bedroom. And now he could hear the soft drone of the priest intoning the prayers of the last rites. He approached the steward. "What has happened?"

"His heart again. He was stricken mid-morning, very suddenly," replied the old servant slowly, shaking his head and lowering his eyes. "It is very bad. He…he…the doctor is not hopeful." A pause. "But he has been calling for you."

Mateo quietly slipped into the room and crossed to the bed. He looked down at the face of the man of middle years who had cared for him since childhood. That face was pale now, and lined, and the eyes dull. The breathing was uneven". "Tio," he said softly. "I am here."

"Ah, Mateo! My good Mateo!" came the reply, hardly more than a whisper. "I am glad you have returned." His right hand slid across the coverlet with effort. Mateo reached out and took it in his own. "Every time I look at you I see my beloved sister's face." A ragged breath. "You have been like a true son to me these many years. I am happy that I can leave the estate and the business in your capable hands."

"Do not talk like that, I beg you!"

"Between the two of us I was always the realist." The older man smiled and began a chuckle that rapidly turned into a cough. Once he recovered his breath, he continued. "At the moment there is little pain. But this is the worst attack I have had so far, and I know I have only a little time left. Do you know where my will is?"

"Por favor, do not ask me such things!" exclaimed Mateo, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

"If I am to leave all in order, I must ask you such things, as you well know". He swallowed. "Many many people depend on us for their livelihood. I do not wish my passing to cause difficulty for anyone." He slowly took another deep breath and continued, as though he were quizzing a schoolboy: "Now, do you know where the will is?"

"Sí, I remember. But you must not trouble yourself. I will make sure everything proceeds in order. You must know that all the servants and the workmen trust and respect you and —"

Suddenly the pale face changed. The dull eyes sparked with anger and the lines in the face tightened. "Respect!" the man spat. "What do I know of respect?! I knew the truth and they all laughed at me!"

Oh no, not again! I should never have used that word, thought the younger man.

The doctor glanced at Mateo, puzzled at the sudden change in his patient's demeanor.

"I saw him. I tell you, I saw his face," rasped the sick man, clenching his fists. "I knew the truth and no one would believe me."

"Tio, calm yourself, I beg you."

"He won the prize that should have been mine, and then he left. He never gave me a rematch." He became more agitated and began to toss his head from side to side. "I saw his face and then he left. I knew the truth and they all laughed at me."

"My son, your thoughts should be on your immortal soul," offered the priest, trying to sooth the dying man.

Suddenly the grip on Mateo's hand tightened with surprising ferocity. "You must punish him, Mateo! You must make him pay for the mockery I suffered."

"Sí, Tio. I will do that," said the young man in an even, almost dismissive voice.

"Swear! You must swear! Swear to me on your mother's grave that you will do it!"

Seeing that his uncle would not be comforted until he did, Mateo declared: "I swear on my mother's grave that I will make the man pay for what he did."

"His name! Do you remember his name?"

"Of course I do, Tio. You have told it to me many times. Now rest, por favor."

The invalid sunk back into his pillows, all the anger draining away. "Yes," he hissed in a whisper. "you will make him pay." A deep breath, let out in a long sigh. Another slow breath. "You will…make…him… paaa…". And he was gone.

Hours later, after the initial arrangements had been made, Mateo and the doctor sat under a twilight sky sharing a bottle of brandy. The garden, spreading out from the north side of the house, offered a lovely view of the Rio Rimac and of the older part of the city on the opposite bank.

"Mateo, you have done everything you could for him. I know that this was hard, but you cannot be surprised. He had been experiencing the pain in his chest for over a year. You know that his father, your grandfather, also had a bad heart and died at much the same age."

The young man stared down into the amber liquid in his glass. "Sí, I know. But I would liked to have had more warning."

"We would all like to have more warning of death," replied his companion, sipping the excellent liquid. "Still, there is one thing I do not understand. What disturbed him so much at the very end, what he said about 'respect' and knowing 'the truth'? What was that all about?"

Mateo stared across the river at the ancient skyline for a few moments, considering exactly what he should say. The doctor and his uncle had been fairly well acquainted, but not necessarily close. Even in the grave — perhaps especially in the grave — a man was entitled to some secrets. He began casually: "Some years ago, on his way here, my uncle stopped briefly to visit someone in Alta California. Apparently something happened there that caused my uncle great embarrassment, and I'm afraid that he could never let go of it. In fact, the older he became, the stronger his resentment grew."

"But I never saw such a feeling in him," observed the doctor.

"You would not have. With taking over after my father's death and then caring for my mother during her illness, he of necessity kept this feeling well hidden. Except every so often someone would say something that brought it to the surface like an erupting volcano. Much to my regret I did it today with the word 'respect'."

"But why would that simple word upset him so?"

"I really have no idea," replied Mateo, wishing to bring this subject to an end. "I'm afraid I don't know many of the details," he lied.

"But if I heard correctly, you know the name of this man?"

"I do. And if I ever happen to journey to Alta California I intend to look him up. It is someone named 'De la Vega'. "