As he came closer, he could see that the doors of the hangar where the Beechcraft stagger-wing used to be kept were open, and he could just make out the nose of a third Piper Cub.
Why not? The stagger-wing's on the bottom of Samboromb¢n Bay.
Even if somehow I get that C-45, could I land it on this strip? Why not? I have all the room I need to make a slow, low-level approach. And I brought the stagger-wing in and out of here without any trouble, so why not a C-45? The problem will not be taking off, but the landing roll coming in. If I land long here, I'll run out of runway. You can't stop a C-45 as easily as you can a stagger-wing.
His attention on the landing strip, he drove without paying much attention through the cedar windbreak and found himself on the cobblestone drive inside.
Suddenly he became aware that there were people lining both sides of the road, men, women, and children. Many of the gauchos-Clete thought of them as cowpokes-held the reins of horses in their hands, and all of them had re-moved their hats and were holding them in their hands.
Christ, it's a reception committee. Paying homage to the new Patron. The Patron is dead; long live the Patron!
And they knew I was coming. I didn't see anybody as we came in here, but somebody damned sure saw us, and called here and let them know we were coming.
What the hell am I supposed to do, wave at them?
Made uneasy by the unabashed humility, he raised his left hand and waved it somewhat stiffly as he fixed his eyes straight ahead and drove to the house.
The household staff, half a dozen maids, three women in cook's aprons, and a middle-aged woman he recognized as the housekeeper-What the hell is her name?-were lined up on the steps of the shaded verandah behind three priests. Two of them were in-whatever the hell they call that skirt-like cos-tume-and one wore a black business suit-I recognize the old priest and the young one from Se¤ora Pellano's funeral, but who's the one in the suit? Anto-nio, his father's butler, stood beside the priests. What the hell did Antonio do? Get up at four in the morning to get down here before me? Or drive down here last night after I finally went to bed?
One of the maids ran down to the car and pulled open Clete's door.
"Thank you," he said, and stepped out.
The older priest, apparently taking advantage of his seniority, walked up to Clete.
"God bless you, my son," he said.
Clete offered his hand. It was ignored as the priest made the sign of the cross.
"Good to see you, Father," Clete said, and nodded to the younger priest, who also responded by making the sign of the cross.
The priest in the business suit, who looked to be in his forties, walked up to Clete and offered his hand. He was a bespectacled, slim, fair-skinned man who had lost most of his light-brown hair. Clete's immediate impression of him-his well-cut black suit didn't come off a rack in a cheap clothing store; there were gold cuff links on his shirt; and something about him suggested, if not arro-gance, then unusual self-confidence-was that he was anything but a simple parish priest.
"I'm Father Welner, Mr. Frade," he said in only slightly accented British English. "On those-too rare, I am afraid-occasions when your father felt it necessary to seek absolution, I was his confessor."
"How do you do?"
"There wasn't the opportunity, the time, for us to talk in Buenos Aires. Per-haps we can find time here."
"I'd like that," Clete said.
I know who this guy is. The only lowly priest in that squad of bishops and monsignors at the church. What does he want to talk about?
"Fathers Denilo and Pordido would like your approval of
the arrangements for the requiem mass for your father tomorrow," Welner said.
"I'm sure whatever they've laid on will be fine," Clete said.
" 'Laid on' ? Set up? Arranged?"
"Yes."
"I think Father Denilo would be grateful if you were to review what he's laid on," Welner said.
"I would be honored, Father Denilo," Clete said, switching to Spanish and smiling at the older priest. "If you and Father Pordido would take a coffee, or a glass of wine, with me while you tell me of the arrangements you have made for the mass."
The old priest beamed.