Chapter 10

Siesta time seemed to take forever to come that day, as far as Victoria was concerned. The morning had dragged on, lunch was drawing out and the patrons were many, noisy and demanding; or that was at least how it felt to her.

Her customers, as for them, had quickly noticed that the landlady had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed; and if it had escaped the attention of some less observant customers, her altercation with Don Diego opened their eyes. But what had most surprised the "public" of their impromptu little scene was not to hear señorita Escalante raise her voice and fly off the handle: her rather... volcanic temperament, to put it politely, was quite well-known around.

No, what stunned the witnesses of this heated exchange was Don Diego's behavior: first, he was not used to stand up to anyone who raised their voice even the slightest bit, but especially to some regulars – more perceptive than others – it was very surprising to see him clash with señorita Escalante of all people. Indeed, and without him being aware of it, some patrons had taken good notice on the one hand of his regular attendance to the tavern – for a man who didn't indulge much in... 'manly' drinks, so to speak – and on the other hand of the slightly too intent and lingering gazes he turned on the landlady when she was not looking at him.

Yes, to these ones, the short but bitter rant about Zorro he let out during his heated discussion with Victoria really made sense. But after all, they thought, why meddle in others' affairs of the heart? Anyway, the poor guy had zero chance, so they totally understood that he wouldn't tell his ladylove anything about these feelings...

Now that the show was over, they stuck their nose back some into their plates, the others into their glasses, surprised however that de la Vega had dared to stand up to someone, and to throw señorita Escalante against the ropes of the metaphorical boxing ring.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Siesta time, finally!

Victoria let out a sigh of relief once her last customer walked out and her tavern was therefore empty.

She felt drained, really, and some kind of constant buzz remained in her mind: she absolutely needed some quiet and some rest.

Dragging her feet, she shuffled to the stairs and slowly climbed it, motivated however by the prospect of a well-deserved nap. Once in her room she took off her apron, didn't bother to hang it on the hook behind her door but carelessly threw it over a chair next to her bed, and she slumped onto the mattress.

She was tired. She was sleepy. She thought she would fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but that was not the case. The scene with Don Diego kept coming back to the front of her mind. His bitterness, his unusually hard and curt words, and above all his tone, as cold and cutting as ice. His anger. His concern for Felipe.

And her own words. Her own harshness and reproaches toward Diego. Her accusations of laziness and idleness. And Felipe... At some point during the quarrel she totally lost sight of his fatherly concern, anguish and suffering for Felipe. Yes, how could she accuse him of having spent a quiet night when he was acutely and sorely aware that his son was in jail? Of course he too had not slept a wink either!

She was very tired herself, yes, and she'd like to sleep, here and now, right away, but the thought of Don Diego was preventing her from it. Or rather, her own guilty conscience was. This was however not her fault that Felipe was in jail! She was in dire need of sleep, and Don Diego dared ask her to give up her siesta to read whatever he told her to: the nerve of this man!

Well, all right, she was going to sleep first, but afterwards if there was still some time left before getting back to work, then she'd read those damn papers...

Two more minutes had flown by, and she still wasn't asleep... Felipe's testimony was there, in the pocket of her apron, within reach... But really, she was too sleepy. Three minutes... she'd just have to reach out to the chair and dig into the pocket...

The church bell rang the quarter of the hour, and she still wasn't sleeping.

Oh, all right Don Diego, you win!

A little annoyed, she sat up with some difficulty on the edge of the mattress and grabbed her apron. Delving her hand into her pocket she pulled out the pages Felipe had frantically scribbled in his jerky writing, perhaps flustered by the situation and the issue at stake. Leaning back against her pillow, she began to read.

Surprised, she found that the account began very abruptly, but after all, she thought, Felipe had probably chosen to go straight to the point, to get directly to the heart of the matter: it was a testimony for an investigation, not a personal letter or a sappy romance novel. Facts, nothing but facts, Don Diego probably told him.

She brought her attention back to Felipe's story, perusing the first paragraph once again and going on reading:

The horse reared up and its rider did her best to stay in the saddle; she held fast and tugged hard at the reins, trying to control her mount. But it was not enough and her horse reared even more. This time, the animal fell over on its right side with its rider still in the saddle, her mouth wide open, probably screaming.

I feared for her and immediately dismounted to get to her side, assess her condition and offer my assistance.

She was clenching her teeth and her face was contorted, clear indications that she was obviously in pain. Luckily the horse got up, releasing her left leg which was previously trapped between its flank and the ground, and it hobbled several paces away from us, allowing me to crouch down right at its mistress's side.

I cannot say whether or not she moaned but she was furrowing her brows, screwing up her eyes and breathing heavily, both through her mouth and her dilated nostrils. I feared she had broken a few ribs in the fall, but a quick examination helped me identify the source of her pain: she had fallen onto her shoulder and under the impact and the angle of collision, it dislocated.

Signing, I tried to make her understand that I would help her, that she shouldn't move, shouldn't try to get up. I also tried to make her understand that I could neither hear nor speak, but I think she didn't understand any my signs; her mind was probably too fogged by pain for that, or maybe she was dizzy and dazed from the impact on the ground, because I noticed a trickle of blood running from her forehead down her temple, and a bump was forming just above it: Her head must have hit the ground a bit hard when she fell. Luckily there was no stone right there, just some grits that scratched the side of her face.

The woman seemed to finally understand that I wanted to assess her condition and check her injuries. She let me get closer. Her left leg that had been briefly crushed by the horse's weight did not seem to have suffered from it, and the victim did not appear to have any broken ribs – for what little I could judge –as she was taking deep breaths, something she otherwise couldn't have done without feeling some very sharp pain.

I can only suppose that she first fell on her upper body, with her shoulder and her head being the first parts to hit the ground, taking all the blow of the impact. It therefore let me hope that the blow to her forehead, the scratches to her face and the dislocation were the only injuries she suffered from; nothing life-threatening, I thought.

However, it was essential to reset her shoulder, first to alleviate her current pain, and then because in the case of such a wound, time plays against recovery: the longer the head of the humerus remains dislodged, the more ligaments, tendons and the whole joint may keep some aftereffects, leading to frequent relapses while performing seemingly harmless gestures.

I therefore tried to make her understand that I was going to lift her upper body up and sit behind her to try to reset her shoulder back in its socket, but once again she seemed not to understand my signs. Moreover, she seemed more and more restless and agitated, out of pain and confusion I guess.

But as I was trying to calm her down and to make myself understood, I saw the scorpion creep up on us.

What? Victoria exclaimed inwardly. A scorpion? He hadn't written about it yet! She then resumed reading.

…I saw the scorpion creep up on us. Before I had time to react, probably excited by all the previous agitation the scorpion attacked the woman by stinging her right thigh through her clothing. Her face contorted even more for a few seconds.

Afterwards she looked at her leg, incredulously at first, then she seemed to understand what had just happened. For my part I tried to keep a cool head and to act quickly: I took my knife, hiked the victim's skirt and petticoat to clear the sting, signing to her that the venom had to be drained out. But whether she did not understand or she panicked, in any case she began to writhe and asked me not to do it – at least according to what I think I read on her lips.

But I knew that the more she moved and thrashed about, the more quickly the venom would spread in her body, and I had to get it out. I suspect she doesn't know the first thing about snake bites or scorpion stings nor how to treat them. Pressed for time and having to act fast, so I decided to do without her cooperation, thinking that I could and would later explain to her the need for this procedure.

I pressed on her knee with mine to trap it and prevent it from moving, and with one hand I pinned her thigh to the ground while I was holding the knife in the other. But the woman writhed even more and, probably frightened by the knife, she asked me to let go of it, but I had to force the venom out and I didn't have time to explain it to her through signs: time was of the essence. So I increased my grip on her leg by pressing on it with all my strength: it was absolutely necessary to prevent it from moving while I was cutting through the skin and flesh, for fear that the blade might slip, miss the sting, and also hurt her elsewhere. And I also had to make a clean and quick cut.

I tried not to panic and sharply incised the area of the sting, from a few inches above it, running right on it, and going on down to a few inches below. Then I pressed the edges of the cut to make it bleed and evacuate as much poison as possible.

The woman had stopped struggling, she simply stared at the wound, looking aghast, and said nothing. But I did not worry, thinking that once she'd been brought to the pueblo's doctor, the latter would explain everything to her.

Now that she was calmer, I had to take care of her shoulder. Again I attempted to sign to her, to let her know I was going to reset the bone back in place and that she had to trust me, but realising I was going to touch her arm and her shoulder that ached greatly, she cringed and I think she tried to tell me not to touch it. With her other hand she motioned me to move back. She seemed to be terribly dreading the pain that she was already imagining just by thinking someone would touch her arm.

But then again I knew I had to reset the head of the bone in its socket as soon as possible. Again she panicked and probably shouted, and perhaps also spoke to me, but I was no longer looking at her face. She struggled and didn't let me move to sit behind her, so to reduce the dislocation I had to remain in front of her, pinning her to the ground with my upper body and holding both her shoulders down with my left arm, my fingers palpating the articulation to feel the position of the bone, while with my right hand I gripped her arm just above the elbow, and with a jerk I set the shoulder back in place.

In doing so, I felt some air blow at the side of my face, which makes me think she shrieked loudly. But when I looked back at her I saw that, probably due to the combined effects of the pain she was experiencing and the blow to the head she had received when she fell – and maybe also of the amount of venom that had already spread in her body – she had lost consciousness.

And that's when I felt something poking in my back and turned around: I then saw Sergeant Mendoza point his sword at me. I got up and tried to make him understand the urgent need to bring this woman to the pueblo as soon as possible, and to have a doctor tend to her. It took me a whole minute to realise what the soldiers believed had happened, as I was a very long way from even thinking about such a thing. And when I did realise, I attempted to explain myself, but try as I might it was to no avail: none of them understood my signs. Telling myself that, once back in the pueblo, the misunderstanding would clear up quickly, and especially once the woman regained consciousness, I let the soldiers tie my hands and take me back to the village, though it pained me to be treated like a criminal, especially by people I knew well. And who, I thought – mistakenly, apparently – knew me well too.

On this bitter note, Felipe ended his deposition, leaving Victoria much to think about.