Читать книгу The Discovery of Chocolate: A Novel онлайн | страница 29

As we emerged from the plantation I was filled not only with the impending loss of love but also with trepidation and the fear of punishment.

Ignacia tried to be reassuring as she paddled away from our brief moment of joy, as if she had felt guilty for our last conversation. Perhaps together we could bring peace, she argued. If we encouraged other soldiers to do as we had done, then there was no reason why we could not create a true and lasting settlement and live a life of happiness together.

But I could feel that we were returning to the world of aggression and despair as surely as the tides must ebb and flow. And, as we emerged from the narrow creek of the plantation and sailed once more onto the great lake, we noticed distant fires flaring up on the horizon. The waters were filled with people fleeing the city in low canoes. We could hear the unmistakable sounds of warfare in the distance: orders given, swords striking, women screaming.

‘You see,’ Ignacia told me, as if she had expected everything. ‘Men and violence. It will never end. You love this more than life.’

‘It’s not true. I am not as other men,’ I argued.

‘You look at this and tell me it’s not true? You have no choice but to be a man. It cannot be otherwise.’

She steered the boat towards the causeway.

‘Keep your head low.’

Silently she manoeuvred the boat tight against the side of the causeway so that we were hidden under its lip, lost in its dark shadow. Ignacia tied up and motioned me to follow her through the gate. A whole street had been destroyed and I could see our soldiers fleeing with idols from the temples they had desecrated.

‘Go now,’ she said, ‘back to your people, as I must return to mine.’

Pedro leapt ahead down the street.

‘Stop, Pedro, stop,’ I called. He waited at the corner, but was impatient for me to join him. It was now dangerous for all three of us, and if we were seen together we could be attacked by any side.

I told Ignacia that I could not live without hope of seeing her again.

‘Quien bien ama tarde olvida. He who loves well is slow to forget …’ Ignacia said and kissed me.