1857-1919
My grandfather, another el Coronel Frade.
Clete saw in his mind's eye el Coronel Alejandro Frade's pistol. His father had given it to him as a Christmas present reflecting his heritage. It was a Colt.44-40 single-action, often fired, most of the blue gone, a working gun, not a decoration. On one of its well-worn grips, inlaid in silver, was the crest of the Husares de Pueyrred¢n, on the other the Frade family crest.
To judge by the gun, my grandfather was apparently a real soldier.
El Coronel-why do I think of him that way, rather than "Dad"?-told me his father died the rear before Dad came to New Orleans and married my mother.
Did some monk bring my father down here when his father died, to show him where his grandfather had been moved? What the hell is that "moved" business, anyway? Moved from where, and why?
Sorry, Grandpa, Grandma, I'm an Episcopalian, and I don't know what kind of a prayer I'm supposed to offer for the repose of your souls. If I knew what to say, I would.
I've been down here long enough.
Curiosity got to him before he reached the next level, however, and instead of climbing higher, he stepped off the ladder and moved around the chamber, looking for one casket in particular. He didn't find it on that level, although he came across a surprising number of people whose names were non-Spanish-sounding. Even some Germans, which he found disturbing, but mostly English. Mawson. Miller. Evans.
He found the casket he was looking for on the next level.
JORGE GUILLERMO FRADE
1850-1915
Uncle Willy's in there. Horse breeder, swordsman of national disrepute, and collector of dirty pictures. Maybe I do have some of your genes in me, Uncle Willy. God knows, I like horses, whiskey, and wild, wild, women, and I looked at every one of your dirty pictures the night I found them.
The discovery of Uncle Willy's casket somehow pleased him, and when he realized that, he was uncomfortable. He returned to the ladder and climbed up-ward again.
In the chamber immediately below ground level, where there was enough light from above to see more clearly, an ornately carved casket caught his eye- angels blowing trumpets; a hooded woman carrying a limp body, presumably to heaven-and he stepped off the ladder and looked for the nameplate on it.
MARIA ELENA PUEYRREDON DE FRADE
1812-1858
Jesus Christ, Pueyrred¢n's daughter! My what? My great-grandmother? This is the reason I got that saber salute from the Capit n of the Husares de Pueyrred¢n at the Edificio
Libertador yesterday. Down here, that's like being related to George Washington.
He touched the limp body the hooded woman was carrying, tenderly, al-most reverently, then climbed back on the ladder.
Why do I suspect that Colonel Graham knows more about my family tree than I do ? He's a clever sonofabitch, and damned well knows that nobody's go-ing to easily throw Pueyrred¢n's great-great-grandson out of Argentina.
When he put his head through the hole in the upper-chamber floor, he could see out of the tomb. Specifically, he found himself looking farther than decency allowed up the marvelously formed, silk-stocking-clad legs of a young woman in a black dress.
He had two thoughts, the first of them not very relevant:
There seems to be plenty of silk stockings down here. I wonder why there's such a shortage of them in the States? Women are painting their legs in the States, including a line down the back of the leg, so it looks like they're wearing stockings.
His second thought, since he had recognized the legs, was more to the point.
Jesus, Dorotea! I forgot all about her. Somebody must have told her where I was, and she came to personally deliver Part Two of the Dear John letter she started on the phone last night.
Christ, I'm going to miss her!
He came out of the hole. Dorotea had been waiting for him. He gave her a wait-a-second signal and turned to the monk to thank him for the tour of the family tomb.
And suddenly, on seeing the embroidered cloth-covered table, it was as if his brain, which had been out of gear, suddenly dropped into high.
They're going to put el Coronel's casket on that table. That's what he meant when he said they had moved my grandfather. He was here, for God only knows how long, until today, or yesterday. The casket of the last one to die goes on dis-play in front of the altar for however long it takes for the next family member to croak.