Blood and Oranges by James Goldsborough (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📕

The room was stuffy, unhealthy, and he crossed to open a window, standing there a while looking out into the blackness, thinking what to do. Not a light anywhere. Critters asleep, except maybe coyotes on the prowl. He couldn’t have said how long he stood there or why. The descent into frailty would only get worse, Doc Summers said. Eddie hated seeing her like this. She would go on having attacks until decrepitude was all that people remembered of her, not the woman she’d been.

She slipped down in bed, and he propped her up again, so she could see the crucifix. Carry her down or get Tin Lizzie out first? The ride to the hospital past one o’clock on a dark dirt road would not be easy. He’d done it before but never at night. He was vaguely aware he was wasting time, not consciously aware, but aware somewhere. That’s what she always said about him: Eddie had six thoughts at once, all contradictory, not at all like Willie, his twin, focused on just one thing: Jesus. She’d always loved Willie more, everyone knew that, loved him almost as much as she loved Jesus.

For twins who shared the same egg, same sex, same genes, how could they be so different? That’s what everyone said.

Strange that she couldn’t talk. Eva was always talking. No panic, no fear, no pain, though he couldn’t be sure of that. Frustration, yes, but also a kind of acceptance as though she’d passed through the pain stage or maybe just didn’t give a damn anymore and wanted the whole thing over. He stood watching her, fighting against what he seemed to be doing. Doc Summers said to make sure she stayed awake if it was the heart. But was she? He’d have to call him before they left for the hospital. He would not be happy. First had to find the number.

Doc was waiting in the parking lot when they arrived. He looked in the car, felt for a pulse and shook his head. “You didn’t tell me it was anything like this, Eddie.” His hard voice cut through the cold night. “Your mother is dead. You didn’t let her lie down, did you? Lying down’s the worst thing for a heart attack. Get in there and get someone out here with a gurney. I’ll take care of Eva. Why the hell did you let her stay out there anyway?”

Doc had known his mother forever, delivered her children. He knew she would never leave the ranch—unless it was this way.

The hospital sign said emergency, but he didn’t see any lights and no one was coming out. He rang and rang again. Damn people were probably asleep. Why was he at the hospital anyway if she was dead? The morgue was the place, but wasn’t the morgue part of the hospital? He looked back to Doc Summers, who’d laid his mother out in the seat. It had taken too long to phone him. Couldn’t find the number at first. They hadn’t had a phone out at the ranch that long. He hadn’t said much, just that Eva had another attack and it looked different from the others. He was bringing her down.

Back up the hill close to four o’clock. Total silence. They’d been five in this huge house, six counting Maria. And now only him. Sleep impossible. Coffee, then saddle up and head into the hills, wear himself out, mind and body. Find Celestino. Get through the day. Through the week. Tesoro without Eva. Strange feeling, not sadness, more like emptiness. Go back to town to wire Willie in his sordid little church in San Francisco. Telling his sister in Monterey would be easy. Lola never was close to Eva. Willie would cry. Since returning from his church mission in China he’d been down to the rancho a few times—brought little Calvin down to meet his granny. Over sherry and a game of chess, Willie put on his preacher’s smile and told his brother not to worry about Mamá. As children they’d spoken Spanish. He blessed her, prayed for her.

Eddie sipped his coffee, felt the hot blackness jet into his bloodstream and waited for some hint of the sun coming up over the Gabilans. He felt queer in the silence, his mind jumping from Mamá to Doc Summers to the aqueduct, which despite everything still lingered. A snort from the stables broke the silence. Horse having a bad dream. He didn’t like riding in the dark. Fall out there in the hills and he’d be joining Mamá sooner than intended. Arrangements to be made, everything up to him. Of course.

He supposed they’d blame him, just like Doc Summers had. Maybe he’d been slow, but who’s to say? Who’s to know? And wasn’t it better like this? Wasn’t that the point? Wouldn’t she say so herself? Better to go fast than sink into total senescence and orneriness. Eva Cullel Herzog Mull, dueña of Tesoro, the largest rancho in Monterey County, the woman with enough gold cups to fill the den, best damn horsewoman in Monterey County, maybe the state. She’d have beaten the men, too, if they’d have let her. He’d make damn sure he didn’t go like that when his time came.

How could anyone reproach him with anything, anyway? He’d been there with her—theonly one. The others had gone off to make their lives. Now it was his turn.

♦ ♦ ♦

The will was read the day after the funeral and couldn’t have been simpler: Tesoro, the huge Salinas rancho that had been in the family since Grandpa Otto Herzog of Monterey married Isabel Concepción Cullel, daughter of Admiral Jose Maria Cullel, of Barcelona, in the days when California still belonged to Mexico, was left to the Mull twins, Eddie and Willie. Eddie had no problem with that. Despite their differences, the twins had always been close. How could they not be? Lola got the deed to the house in