Читать книгу Demon Dancer - Alexander Valdez - Страница 9

Chapter 4

The Wedding and Him

With these new occurrences and the dead little girl, my father felt able to make assumptions of his own.

“First, I have to tell you a story of something that I witnessed firsthand back in Mexico forty years ago,” Dad said. He began to tell a tale that I thought was a stretch for a sober and sensible man. According to my father, he was about my age when he and his buddies went out to the country club one Saturday night. They would peer through the windows and pretend they were part of the festivities.

“That night’s dance was a celebration for the newlywed couple who graced the dance floor,” he said. “This country club dance hall sat atop a hill off to the side of the golf course, a bit remote, but still, it lit up like a mansion on the hill every Saturday night. As we hid in the bushes, a carriage pulled up, delivering a man that was completely dressed in black, dressed in a long black coat with tails that softly brushed the ground as he proceeded up the walkway to the hall entrance.

“If I ever wanted to look like somebody when I grew up, I was watching him now. He wore a beautiful black silk fedora, and he had the most perfect mustache and Vandyke beard any man would want. He approached the entrance and walked right into the midst of the crowd. We noticed how all the ladies seemed awestruck when he walked past them. The men couldn’t help but admire him with an envy that was obvious but kept in check.”

“Who was this fine caballero?”

“Nobody knew him, or at least had not made any advances or greetings of recognition. He was at this party, and he was the main attraction. It didn’t take long for him to select someone that caught his eye. It just so happened he fancied the newlywed bride, who was the most beautiful woman in the ballroom.”

My father was getting fidgety as he told the story. I knew it was dinnertime, and we would have to continue the tale after dinner. I just hoped I could coax him into it before his favorite mini-nap time. He would dent the old recliner after a meal with his portly frame, and all bets were off till after he got his snore on.

The next morning, as I rode off with my chums, I started telling them about my dad’s experience and the tale he was telling me. I had everybody’s attention as we all pedaled off together in a squadron formation. When we got to our brick pit diggings, we stopped and discussed what kind of adventure was scheduled for the day. We caught our breaths after our race to the pits, and I finished giving them the rest of my story. All my friends were now intent on getting more information. I assured them all that later in the evening, I would pester my pop for more details.

This tale opened a new can of worms for the crew. We looked across the river and through the tamarack trees at the old dance hall that has been a part of all our lives since we were able to start roaming the streets. We then toyed with the idea of returning to where we had found the corpse. Curiosity was really burning in our jeans but decided we would need to be careful, lest we ran into the hoodlums from the next barrio. The dance hall building now loomed before us in the distance. Well, for now, that’s another story.

Starting off toward the riverbed, we set our bikes down and ran down the bank and across the sandy bed to climb the other bank. We never had the occasion to go near the building because it had windows that were not friendly to prying eyes. They were seven feet off the ground and whitewashed over. There were no doorways or columns or anything that you could hide in or around. So it held no value to us, and as a result, we never bothered with it.

The reason the windows were intact and not busted out was simple. The owners, in their infinite wisdom, had all the rocks picked up and removed from around the perimeter of the building. That didn’t occur to any of us geniuses until I had a dream one night in my later teens. Go figure.