The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(45)
Carlota smoothed a lock of hair, brushing it behind her ear. “We must have love for one another, sir.”
Her voice was as muted as the colors of the moth on the wall, but nevertheless it reached Isidro’s ear, for they were seated next to each other. “What?” he asked, looking surprised.
“And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love,” she said, louder, more forceful.
“I don’t see how love has any bearing in this discussion.”
“Christ instructed us to love one another. If the macehuales lack faith, perhaps you lack love.”
Isidro scoffed. She thought to explain herself better, but her father threw Carlota a look that clearly indicated she should mind her mouth. Montgomery, sitting across from her, was smirking, and Eduardo seemed surprised. Had she said something awful? She didn’t think so. Yet Isidro’s voice had turned icy.
“You simply cannot understand our situation. It might be best for us to get those Chinese workers people keep talking about. I’ve thought it an extravagant expense, but if my uncle is going to throw money to the wind at least they won’t be biting me. Or else we can stick with the Indians. Love or not,” Isidro concluded mordantly.
“I think a few of them would like to take a bite out of us,” Eduardo said. “Some of the stories my father tells about the uprising of ’47 would make any man’s blood run cold.”
The moth burst into flight and collided with one of the candles. It lay singed upon the tablecloth, by her hand. Carlota stretched her finger to touch its wing, but La Pinta came silently from behind her and brushed the insect away, then circled the table and refilled her father’s glass.
“It was the execution of Manuel Antonio Ay which started the revolt,” Montgomery pointed out, wiping his mouth and tossing his napkin carelessly by his plate.
“Yes? And?” Eduardo replied tersely. “Are you implying that somehow that made it fair for them to murder all those women and children in Tepich?”
“War is seldom fair for any party involved.”
“You forget Mr. Laughton is English,” Isidro said. “What is fair is what is best for the crown.”
“Good point. I am curious, Mr. Laughton, being a citizen of the British crown as you are, do you favor the creation of an independent Mayan state? Of course ‘independent’ is not quite the right word, since I’m sure the British would oversee it in one way or another.”
“Surely we are not going to launch into a needless dialogue on politics,” her father said. As if in response, Montgomery reached into his jacket’s pocket and took out a cigarette and a tiny matchbox.
It was the custom that when a man smoked he must offer his cigarettes to the others around him, but Montgomery made no such gesture even though it might give offense. Yet the others did not notice this, or perhaps they ignored him.
“You think politics is needless?” Isidro asked.
“I am a scientist. The study of Nature compels me. I proceed not heeding anything but the question I am pursuing. The research is the important part,” her father said proudly. “The actual medical research. The cures—”
“Oh, yes. For blindness,” Isidro said dismissively.
Though Carlota did not really like Isidro, she derived a little pleasure in seeing how neatly he cut off her father. No one ever spoke back to him at Yaxaktun. He was godlike. Yet in the company of other men he now didn’t seem as great and massive as he always did. His treatment of Cachito dismayed her. It was cruel of the doctor to force them into this performance, to demand that they be merry even though Cachito must be writhing in pain.
He’s a bad father, she told herself.
Almost immediately she felt guilty for having such an uncharitable thought. Again she sensed there was a crack inside her flesh, steadily growing, and she recalled how Montgomery had told her all things must change. She looked in his direction wondering what he was thinking, but his face was a sardonic mask.
Montgomery had lit a match and was pressing it against the tip of his cigarette, his eyes flickering up to look at her as he blew the match out.
Her hands fluttered against the smooth satin of her dress, sliding down her stomach until she caught them in her lap.
“Well, I think Dr. Moreau’s research is interesting, even if the applications might not be practical yet,” Eduardo said. “After all, as he’s explained, if it were not for his work in the biological sciences his daughter wouldn’t be whole and healthy and dining here with us. I think that would be a shame. You are a vision of loveliness, Miss Moreau.”
She smiled at that, glad that someone seemed to be pleased with her presence at the table. Isidro certainly didn’t look too thrilled to converse with her. Across from her, Montgomery leaned back on his chair and smirked for the quickest of seconds.
“Thank you,” she said, blushing.
“Really, we shouldn’t be talking about workers and their issues,” Eduardo said. “It’s a bore, and Miss Moreau shouldn’t think us boring.”
“Just like that he’ll have us talking about horses for the rest of the evening,” Isidro said with a roll of his eyes.
The conversation went on, the phrases spoken were airy and easy, and nothing of substance was touched upon. After dinner Isidro declared he was tired and would retire to his room. Carlota’s father sat on a bench in the courtyard, and Montgomery stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Eduardo and Carlota walked together around the courtyard.