CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ricardo Mellado was a short distance away from the mountain cave when suddenly he saw a large gray wolf trotting toward the entrance. He froze for a single instant, then moved as he had never moved in his life. He raced toward the mouth of the cave and burst through the entrance.
"Sister!"
In the dim light he saw the huge, gray shape leaping toward Graciela. Instinctively, he reached for his pistol and fired. The wolf let out a yelp of pain and turned toward Ricardo. He felt the sharp fangs of the wounded beast tearing at his clothing and smelled the animal's fetid breath. The wolf was stronger than he had expected, heavily muscled and powerful. Ricardo tried to fight free, but it was impossible.
He felt himself begin to lose consciousness. He was dimly aware of Graciela coming toward him and he yelled, "Get away!"
Then he saw Graciela's hand raised above bis head, and as it started to descend toward him, he glimpsed a huge rock in it and thought: She's going to kill me.
An instant later the rock swept past him and smashed into the wolf's skull. There was a last savage gasp and the animal lay still on the ground. Ricardo was huddled on the floor, fighting for breath. Graciela knelt at his side.
"Are you all right?" Her voice was trembling with concern.
He managed to nod. He heard a whimpering sound behind him and turned to see the cubs huddled in a corner. He lay there, gathering his strength. Then he rose with difficulty.
They staggered out into the clean mountain air, shaken. Ricardo stood there, taking deep, lung-filling breaths until his head cleared. The physical and emotional shock of their close brush with death had taken a severe toll on both of them.
"Let's get away from this place. They may come looking for us here."
Graciela shuddered at the reminder of how much danger they were still in.
They traveled along the steep mountain path for the next hour, and when they finally reached a small stream, Ricardo said, "Let's stop here."
With no bandages or antiseptic, they cleaned the scratches as best they could, bathing them in the clean, cold spring water. Ricardo's arm was so stiff, he had trouble moving it. To his surprise, Graciela said, "Let me do it."
He was even more surprised by the gentleness with which she performed the task.
Then, without warning, Graciela began to tremble violently in the aftermath of shock.
"It's all right," Ricardo said. "It's all over."
She could not stop shaking.
He took her in his arms and said soothingly, "Shh. It's dead. There's nothing more to fear."
He was holding her closely, and he could feel her thighs pressing against his body, and her soft lips were on his, and she was holding him close, whispering things he could not understand.
It was as though he had known Graciela always. And yet he knew nothing about her. Except that she's God's miracle, he thought.
Graciela was also thinking of God. Thank You, God, for this joy. Thank You for finally letting me feel what love is.
She was experiencing emotions for which she had no words, beyond anything she had ever imagined.
Ricardo was watching her, and her beauty still took his breath away. She belongs to me now, he thought. She doesn't have to go back to a convent. We'll get married and have beautiful children - strong sons.
"I love you," he said. "I'll never let you go, Graciela."
"Ricardo - "
"Darling, I want to marry you. Will you marry me?"
And without even thinking, Graciela said, "Yes. Oh, yes."
And she was in his arms again, and she thought: This is what I wanted and thought I would never have.
Ricardo was saying, "We'll live in France for a while, where we'll be safe. This fight will be over soon, and we'll return to Spain."
She knew that she would go anywhere with this man, and that if there was danger, she wanted to share it with him.
They talked of so many things. Ricardo told her of how he had first become involved with Jaime Miro, and of the broken engagement, and of his father's displeasure. But when Ricardo waited for Graciela to speak about her past, she was silent.
She looked at him and thought: I can't tell him. He'll hate me. "Hold me," Graciela begged.
They slept and woke up at dawn to watch the sun creep over the ridge of the mountain, bathing the hills in a warm red glow.
Ricardo said, "We'll be safer biding out here today. We'll start traveling when it gets dark."
They ate from the sack of food that the gypsies had given them, and planned their future.
"There are wonderful opportunities here in Spain," Ricardo said. "Or there will be when we have peace. I have dozens of ideas. We'll own our own business. We'll buy a beautiful home and raise handsome sons."
"And beautiful daughters."
"And beautiful daughters." He smiled. "I never knew I could be so happy."
"Nor I, Ricardo."
"We'll be in Logrono in two days and meet the others," Ricardo said. He took her hand. "We'll tell them you won't be returning to the convent."
"I wonder if they'll understand." Then she laughed. "I don't really care. God understands. I loved my life in the convent," she said softly, "but - " She leaned over and kissed him.
Ricardo said, "I have so much to make up to you."
She was puzzled. "I don't understand."
"Those years you were in the convent, shut away from the world. Tell me, darling - does it bother you that you've lost all those years?"
How could she make him see? "Ricardo - I didn't lose anything. Have I really missed so much?"
He thought about it, not knowing where to begin. He realized that events he thought of as important would not really have mattered to the nuns in their isolation. Wars, like the Arab-Israeli war? The Berlin Wall? Assassinations of political leaders such as the American President John Kennedy and his brother, Robert Kennedy? And of Martin Luther King, Jr., the great black leader of the nonviolence movement for black equality? Famines? Floods? Earthquakes? Strikes and demonstrations protesting man's inhumanity to man?