Chapter Twenty

From outside, the restaurant was an unpromising lump of badly plastered and crumbling adobe, but it was nicer on the inside, with tiled floors, fresh paint, and some warped and fading prints of famous paintings. The place was dim and smoky, with most of the light coming from flickering wall sconces, and oil lamps on the mismatched tables. Chairs wobbled on the uneven floor, and dishes, glasses and silverware seemed to have come from any source the proprietor could find. Although it was all clean, nothing matched anything else. The patrons were as mismatched as the décor, with most in casual, if not outright dirty, workaday garb while others were dressed in the finery of decades past, out for a celebratory meal.

Amalia and Donovan found a place to sit, and a teenage girl in a faded dress and clean apron approached their table. She announced the evening's menu, which was dictated by what was available that day. With the offerings limited, they made up their minds on the spot and ordered a carafe of the strong local wine for good measure. As they sipped their first glasses, Donovan tried to keep his conversation directed toward questions he had about the workings of the market and their plans for the rest of their stay in town, but by the time their entrees arrived and they were pouring their second glasses of wine, he was feeling bolder, although not so bold as to ask any direct questions about her and Carina. He cast about for the nearest safe topic. "Tell me about Magda. How did a sweet old lady like Mother Reyes end up with someone as mean as her for a grandchild?"

"No one really knows. Back when my parents were growing up, they would've probably given her a pill for it." Amalia wrapped a bit of quail in a scrap of tortilla. "She got all her notions about life from her grandmother's photo albums and whatever things had been saved in closets and jewelry boxes. She wants to be rich."

"That's silly. No one is rich. No one who is honest, at least."

"That doesn't matter to her, and it doesn't help that her parents and grandparents were better off than a lot of their neighbors. It gave her notions. Like all sensible people, her family pretends to be poor, but Magda prefers to show off."

"Where did Mother Reyes get the money to support these ideas of hers?"

"I'm afraid it wasn't all good. Her husband ran a bank in town. It went under during the bank runs that followed the mortgage loan collapse, but some say he worked out a deal with his parent bank, which was one of the big multinationals." She shrugged and turned back to her meal. "It would explain a lot, since he seemed to be doing better after the crash than before. He died peacefully in his sleep a few years ago."

"Lucky guy."

"Yes, he was lucky, but his daughter wasn't. Regina was my best friend, and her husband had a ranch. Regina wasn’t one for country life, so they lived in town and only used the ranch for vacations. They got word one night that their foreman had armed the ranch hands and declared the property his own. They rode out with the loyal hand who had come to warn them and that jackass shot them in the desert just a little ways east of town."

"And no one did anything about it?"

"What could anyone do? Things were still pretty chaotic at the time. As you can see, it’s better now. Unlike some people, the citizens of Macrina organized themselves, once they realized they could no longer count on the government."

Donovan considered this, moving some of the food around on his plate with his fork. "I guess that was just a lie they told us in the Guard, that ordinary citizens can’t be counted on to work together for the common good. That’s how they justify going after hoarders, you know."

“I know. But how do they think the United States came together in the first place, if not by average people? Short-sighted federal policies have ruptured our country, but we’ve found a way to manage, just like the pioneers. Maybe someday we’ll even be able to get regular gasoline deliveries again.” At the skeptical look in Donovan’s eyes, she added, “Why not? We couldn’t get coffee and chocolate for several years, but the Macrina market has those now.”

Donovan's eyebrows went up. "You’re kidding. Chocolate?"

"Sometimes. If you can pay for it, of course."

"Do you think they have any here?" Before she could answer, Donovan waved the waitress over. "Do you have anything chocolate?"

"We have butter cake with chocolate icing. But there's only one piece left. We've got plenty of apple pie--"

"No, we want chocolate. Bring the cake."

The girl left and Amalia stared. "That's going to be very expensive.”

"Nothing is too good for the woman who saved my life."

Amalia pursed her lips. "It was all Carina's doing. I'd just as soon have shot you, or don't you remember?"

"I remember lots of things."

Amalia sat back in her chair and folded her arms. She pretended great interest in the doings of the diners around her until the waitress brought the cake, set it in front of her and hurried away. Amalia stared at the dessert as if uncertain what to do next.

Donovan had never seen her flustered. "Go on. Don't tell me I've wasted my money."

"Only if you have some, too." She pushed the plate toward the center of the table and waited until he had picked up his fork before tucking into the dessert. "This was a splendid idea," she admitted. "Don't tell Carina, but I do get tired of honey and apples all the time."

"One wouldn't know it."

"There's no point complaining or wishing for things."

"You're right there's no point in complaining, there's no reason to go on living if you're not wishing for something."

Amalia started to shake her head, but when she looked at Donovan again her lips twisted into a wistful smile. "You have no idea how much time I spent wishing," she said. "Until I realized that it only got me into trouble. A person can't take. . . well, there's just no use in. . ."

"I know," Donovan said. He reached across the table to take her hand, but she pulled away. "So," he said, as if nothing had happened, "We were talking before about Magda. I wonder, do you think she'll let me in to see Mother Reyes if I come to town alone? You’ll want me to pick up the ration book, right?"

Amalia pushed the empty dessert plate to one side. "I honestly don't know what Magda will do. When Carina and I talked about having you come to town for us, we thought she would have run off again by now or that Mother Reyes would've been able to answer her own door. This puts things in a different light."

"Maybe I should bring some chocolate with me, wear fancy clothes and pretend to be rich."

"Yes," Amalia said, "She can probably be bribed."

"Give her an old necklace, a pair of earrings…"

"A silk scarf and some bangles…"

"And lots of lipstick!"

Amalia suppressed a giggle. "You’re obviously resourceful. You'll figure out a way."

The waitress brought them their check, and after puzzling over it for a moment, Donovan laid a few coins on the table. Then he stood up and pulled back Amalia’s chair for her, took her arm and led her out the door. "Yes," he said, "I will figure out a way. Trust me."

As they left the restaurant, the chivalrous hand on Amalia’s elbow somehow came to be clasping hers, something they both pretended not to notice as they walked the dark, narrow street back to camp, and as Amalia climbed into her bedroll to sleep, she noted that the earlier haze had vanished and the stars in the clear night sky seemed especially bright and promising.

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