"Go on."
"Thompsons, I think," Rodriguez said, professionally. "There was too much fire for pistols. I was hit..."-he pointed to his head and the bandage- "... the bullet must have hit the window post first, or just grazed me."
"Or hit your head and bounced off. My father always said you were the most hardheaded man he had ever known," Clete joked.
"The doctor told me the bullet dug a trench as deep as a fingernail. There was a lot of blood. They probably thought I was dead..."
"You were lucky," Clete said.
"... and the car ran off the road and hit a tree. And when I came to"-he broke into chest-heaving sobs again-"el Coronel was in heaven with the an-gels, and your blessed mother and my sister."
Clete was surprised at the emotion that came over him. He hugged the older man tightly and only after a long moment found his voice.
"Enrico, mi amigo," he heard himself saying, "in the Bible it is written that there is no greater love than he who lays down his life for another. You did that. You failed neither my father nor me."
I sounded like an Argentine when I said that. I never said anything so corny on Guadalcanal, and Enrico is not the first weeping man I've tried to talk out of feeling responsible for someone else's death. But that came out naturally. What is that, my Argentine genes?
"And in the Bible it says, 'an eye for an eye,' mi Teniente," Rodriguez said.
"I wish you'd stop calling me that," Clete said.
"Whatever you wish, Se¤or Cletus."
"How about 'Clete'?"
> "Whatever you wish, Se¤or Clete."
He simply doesn't understand what I'm asking. That he regard me as a friend, as I regard him. Not as an officer, not, for Christ's sake, as el Patron. To hell with it. That can wait.
"Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can get you?"
"I wish to pray at the casket of el Coronel," Enrico said. "To beg his for-giveness."
"He has nothing to forgive you for," Clete said.
"And to go with him to his grave."
"I'll arrange for that."
"They tell me it will not be possible," Enrico said.
You will pray at his casket, Enrico, and go with my father to his grave if I have to carry you on my back.
"I'll arrange for it," Clete said firmly.
"Gracias, Se¤or Clete. Is it fine?"
"Is what fine?"
"Where your father lies in honor. Is it fine and dignified?"
"I don't know. I came here from the plane. That's next."
"Se¤or Clete, you must go to your father and pray at his casket!"
"Just as soon as I leave here," Clete said.
He put out his hand to Enrico, and then, instead, wrapped his arm around his shoulders.