Leon Uris - A God In Ruins

“Is that true?”

“No,” Sean said.

“My church .. . my church telling me to spend my entire life with a lie. My priest, my uncle saying murder it.”

Quinn walked out without looking back.

A sense of urgency, a need for clear thinking, enveloped Quinn as he sped back to Boulder. The idea of fatherhood swelled up in him like Billy Bigelow in Carousel: my little boy .. . my little girl.. .. This kid will know love. This precious little life will not be wasted by human haggling over commas and semicolons. “No nightmares for you, honey.”

He arrived at the apartment knowing what he must do.

Whatever, however, she would carry the baby to term. Whatever, however! The door was unlocked. He flung it open.

“Greer!”

He saw her cap and sunglasses on the table. “Where the hell are you?” He flung open closet doors, tried the bathroom. Empty. A faint sniffle caught his ear. She was curled up against the wall beneath a long worktable.

“Baby, come out of there, come on.”

She crawled out, fell into him, and became hysterical.

“I had it taken care of!” she screamed.

All one could hear was painful breathing and a sudden return to calm.

“The minute I had it done, I realized what I’d done. I love you, man. I can’t leave you! To hell with New York, Quinn. I’ll stay. Marry me and we’ll make another baby!”

He provided comfort and shelter and soft, sad smiles. Their time had passed. And every night as he held her he felt her pain growing smaller and smaller and then the urge to be Greer again, fly away Greer, took over.

And she left.

TROUBLESOME MESA, 1973

It had been a long time since Carlos Martinez had come home. On the last occasion, they’d had his graduation from the University of Texas and he took night school in law. He had been taken by a prestigious law firm in Houston which handled masses of Mexican business.

Although very much of a junior partner, Carlos quickly established he would earn his salt. He spent much of his time in legal work below the border and often in many places in South America and the Caribbean.

Carlos wore the best. In a short time he knew he would be driving the best, sailing the best, and perhaps even flying the best. He was clever and brilliant and forceful, a rare combination for one so young.

Coming back to the ranch was a mixed blessing. His father and mother, Pedro and Consuelo, had reduced their workloads and enjoyed the comforts of coming age.

Juan, the youngest of his brothers, was the rancher. Under the watch and direction of his father, Juan evolved to take over as foreman.

The Martinez family was a twenty-five-percent partner in the ranch, so the generations were doing their proper thing. At least one son in the Martinez family would remain.

The O’Gonnells? Quinn was gone, out of contact with everyone except Reynaldo Maldonado and his daughter, Rita. A permanent pall of dusk had fallen over Dan and Siobhan. Fiesta!

The entire valley, including Mormons, came for the spice and feast. Carlos devoured the female attention as well as the awe of the ranchers’ boys. “See who I am!” his manner said. “I will drive a Corvette next year! You didn’t think Carlos would be so great, did you?”

The valley girls seemed rather heavy and frumpy to him. Their best clothing was drab. Ranch girls were for ranch boys, who were not so particular.

It was all a great victory for Carlos, the return of the triumphant son!

And then he saw Rita Maldonado and her father wending their way through the crowd to him.

“Jesus,” he whispered to himself.

How old would she be now? Seventeen. Reynaldo had never painted or sculpted a woman as beautiful as his daughter. She was Aphrodite with dark hair and just enough of her mother’s Nordic genes to refine her features.

“Carlos,” she cried, throwing her arms about him.

“You’ve grown up.”

That included an observation of her bosom and everything else. They remained standing and looking at one another until people around them became uncomfortable.

They rode their horses on the familiar trails they had ridden as children and young people. Only now Quinn was missing. Quinn’s absence hovered over the homecoming and dampened their joy.

They dipped their feet in an icy stream near big boulders a thousand feet above the ranch.

“It’s not the same without Quinn here, is it?” she said.

Carlos shook his head. “I saw him a few times when I was in San Diego on business. He didn’t talk much about why he left Troublesome.” “I don’t know, either,” Rita said. “He had this girl, her name was Greer, whom he loved very much. When she went away to New York on an internship, he moaned on Mal’s shoulder almost every night. Then she came back, and after a year they broke up and Quinn left. Neither his mother nor father will speak about him. I know he doesn’t write to them. Some kind of Catholic thing, I think.”

“It’s not the same,” Carlos repeated. “See, even though I was the older, it was Quinn who protected me in the school yard and taught me so much.”

“And you taught him, too, Carlos. Anyhow, we exchange letters every month. I would write him more often, but I don’t want him to owe me letters. You know what I mean.”

“Funny, he’s always been a sort of hero to me,” Carlos said. “I think I’ve come to learn his lessons by practicing law now. So much of law is rotten and lies and cheating. I realized, only recently, that Quinn was never that way. If he promised you something, it was done.”

Carlos stared at Rita, hard, found a large sitting rock, and put on his boots. He was numb from the sight of her. When she had stepped into the water, she had held up her wide, twirling skirt and showed her magnificent legs, and her scooped blouse showed her magnificent bosom. Rita came to him pensively.

“I suppose we’ve both lost him,” Carlos said.

“What do you mean, Carlos?”

“I remember the day you and Mal moved into your house. The day after that you were in love with Quinn. What were you? Six or seven?”

“Did I show it that much?”

“I saw it. The three of us were together a lot.”

“Well, Quinn Patrick O’Connell has never had eyes for me. I am still

his baby sister. I cried alone a lot when he fell in love with that

Greer woman. And when they broke up, I can’t say that I was unhappy. I sent him photographs to indicate I wasn’t a little girl anymore, but he didn’t seem to notice. I suppose he must have a hundred women in San Diego.”

Carlos said nothing, which said everything.

“I was a fool, Carlos. No more. I want to get into things.” “What things?”

She put her arms around his neck and drew her lips to his and pressed her body against his as a punctuation mark. Carlos held her at arm’s length in amazement. She kissed him again, but he spun away.

“Is this your way of getting even with him?” Carlos asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered.

“What do you know?” Carlos asked.

“I know that for the last three years you have had a yearning for me. And I sent you photographs because I wanted you to yearn for me. When I knew you were coming to Troublesome, I also knew that the time had come for me to enter the society of womanhood. I know,” she went on haltingly, “how gentle you are and that I trust you and I want you to be gentle with me.”

They flung themselves at each other and held on and rocked .. .

“So unfair to Quinn,” Carlos cried.

“No! He made his choice. It is not unfair to Quinn. You can’t feel guilty for a man who has spurned you as a woman. Guilty of what? Discovering my lover was you all this time?”

Their bursting forth let loose torrents of restraint, a restraint of younger years. Rita and Carlos were as wild as the giant boulders and icy stream and needled ground. During the week of his stay, they went off each day, mesmerized.