7th August, morning - Rejoindre mon camarade

Manuela had arose early when the sky was still dark, having awakened so many times through the night that she finally gave up on sleeping. On entering the kitchen with her candle, she found a man slumped over the table. Holy Mother, had the soldiers broken in already? No, of course not. She would have heard. Creeping closer, she saw that it was their own prisoner - or lodger - Paol. Why on earth was he asleep in the kitchen? Was he drunk? Was he dead? No, he was breathing. She let out a sigh and suddenly felt all the weariness that had eluded her through the night. Perhaps she should try going back to sleep. No, it was no use. She was awake now. She might as well make some coffee. Should she wake the Frenchman and tell him to go back to bed? He would probably wake up anyway as soon as she started moving about the kitchen. She spoke his name quietly.

"Paol. Paol, wake up."

Someone was speaking his name. And there was light close by, fire. Fire! With a muffled, inarticulate cry he jerked sideways, away from the light. But the hot, sharp pain he felt in his arm was just from the movement, and the flame was nothing but a candle.

A candle? Someone was there! Who was there? Soldiers? Christ--

But it was only Manuela. Relief washed over him and with an involuntary groan, he let his head drop back on the table. The house was freezing cold, and his head ached as if he'd knocked it against something.

"Paol!  It's me, Manuela!  I'm sorry!"  He looked awful. He must be feeling worse.  Maybe he had come downstairs to get help.  "Is your fever worse?  You feel sick?  Should I go and fetch a surgeon, a doctor?  Or Don Augustin's French captain?"

"No," he mumbled, raising his head, "No, please. Stay. I'm sorry."

She understood "no", but that was all. "You're sick? Fever?"

"Well...yes, but--but I'll be alright. Tomorrow, surgeon, I promise. Mañana, si?"

"Surgeon tomorrow?" She looked toward the window, which was still shuttered of course. "It's nearly morning now. I was just going to build the fire and make - are you cold?" It looked like he was shivering. "You're cold! Oh, your fever! You should go back upstairs to bed!"

He stared at her helplessly, wishing there was some way to make her not worry. The best he could do was to try to make her understand why he was being a stubborn idiot. "I'm staying here. Here," he pointed to the floor, "The soldiers are coming and I have to guard the house. Casa."

Soldiers and the house. He must want to stay downstairs so he wouldn't miss his soldier friends if they came marching through. But no one would be able to sleep through that. Still, there was no way to explain it to him. So instead she repeated, "Are you cold?"

He hugged his good arm across his chest, trying unsuccessfully to suppress another shiver. "What?"

He was certainly cold. "I'll start the fire. Wait, I'll get you a blanket first." There was one in the next room, the one that her uncle liked to cover his legs with on chilly evenings. She hurried to get it and was back in a moment, shaking it out and holding it open for him. "There, wrap yourself in that."

He pulled the blanket around his shoulders, holding it closed with the folds up around his chin and ears. It didn't stop the shivering, but it seemed to help. His eyes kept trying to drift shut and he blinked them open. "Thanks," he told her with a sleepy smile.

She nodded, returning the smile but with a worried look.  Then she turned to the task of rebuilding the fire and boiling some water for coffee.  Fortunately there was still some water in the big pitcher so she didn't have to go out to the fountain in the dark.

With the pot sitting over the fire, there was nothing left to do but wait.  She took an orange and was about to cut it up when she saw that strange knife, still there where she had put it away days earlier.  His knife, or one of the soldiers.  She chose a different knife for cutting up the fruit, but she brought the other to the table and set it in front of him.  "Is this your knife?"

He stared stupidly at the knife for a moment, then up at her. Was she giving it back? But why would she do that? An armed soldier in the house would be the last thing she wanted. "It's my knife, yes," he answered, a trace of uncertainty in his voice.

"You said you would protect us, so..." She trailed off in uncertainty. But she did trust him. Maybe not that English speaking fellow upstairs, but she trusted Paol, and if something went badly, she wanted the man she trusted to be armed.

She sat down and began cutting the peel off of the orange.

He brushed his thumb along the familiar hilt. He felt almost dazed. She believed him. She trusted him to protect her, at least enough that she gave him his knife back. The knowledge brought with it a certain warmth, like a swallow of brandy, but with it too came a sobering measure of fear.

But he was not going to fail. Not this time. If it took everything he had left, he would make good on what he'd told her.

"I promise,"  he said simply.

She gave him a little smile, and then cut the orange into slices before rising to tend to the pot of water, which by now was beginning to boil. "Eat that orange," she said, pointing at it. "I'll make some coffee. Do you want coffee? Or..." What else should one give to a person suffering feverish chills? "Some wine? Do you want some wine? Maybe both. You should have some wine first."

Adjusting the blanket around his shoulders, he reached out and took a piece of orange, all the while watching her move about the kitchen, at once glowing and shadowy.

"Ah... si?" It seemed the safest answer. He wasn't sure he wanted anything just then, other than sleep, and now that Manuela was there he wasn't even certain about that.

She poured a small cup of wine and set it in front of him. Then she got back to work preparing the coffee, frequently glancing at him over her shoulder. She stopped to open the window shutters and saw with both anxiety and relief that it was beginning to grow lighter.

"Will you leave today when the soldiers come? Say goodbye?"

"What? No. No, I'm staying here -- aqui -- to protect you, to protect the casa. And -- and tomorrow -- mañana -- an officer, a good, bueno officer will come here, to the casa, to stay, and he will protect you better than me."

He was so desperate for it to work, that it hadn't even occurred to him that Leveque might be dead, or might not be amenable to the arrangement.

Her eyes widened in alarm. "An officer coming here?" She immediately thought of Tibodo and his unwelcome advances on poor Maria.

What was he thinking? He had no business talking like that when he had no ability to properly explain what he meant!

"A good officer, honorable," he tried to assure her, "For protection."

She looked doubtful but she did not say anything. It was true that an officer's presence would provide more protection than that of a simple soldier.

She poured coffee into two small cups and set one in front of Paol. "It's hot," she said as an unnecessary warning, then sat down across from him.

"Thanks." Just the warmth from the cup felt good as he curled his hand around it. He glanced across the table at Manuela, then back down at his coffee.

"I know you were just joking the other day, about staying," he said after a moment. "I keep thinking about it, though. I mean, I know it wouldn't....And you'd never...But," he paused, trying to collect his thoughts, "I guess what I'm tryin' to say is I'll miss you."

She could not follow his long rambling sentences.  She could barely catch a word, in fact.  He was trying to say something serious, thoughtful. She shrugged and shook her head, smiling faintly.  "I don't understand.  But it will be all right."  On impulse she reached across the table and touched his free hand, then quickly withdrew to cradle her own cup of coffee, feeling a little embarrassed.  "I keep thinking you're like my cousin Pablito," she said, laughing a little.  "I think I'll miss you when you're gone.  But I'll be glad when Pablito comes back, and my uncle Miguel, and Consuelo and Maria Luz.  Do you have family at home?  Mama and papa?"