He must know, for instance, about the Brujeria, the
negro magic brought through Haiti from the depths of Africa. Everyone
in Cuba caught rumors, hints, of ceremonials of abject horror. But of
that Daniel could never be brought to speak. Lee could even visualize
him taking part, in a cold perverse curiosity, in the dances about
smothered fires.
He thought there was a glimmer of day at the windows, but it was only a
flash across his staring eyeballs. From the plaza below came a low
sibilant conversation. It went on and on, until Lee, in an
irrepressible indignation, went out on the balcony and, in a voice like
the clapping of a broken iron bell, cursed the talkers into silence.
Christ, it was hot!
Savina was sitting up. "Isn't it tomorrow night, or the one after
that?" she asked. "This room is like a vault that I have been in a
thousand thousand years. I can't tell you how it affects me; it seems
as though I must stay here forever, that if I tried to get away I'd be
forced back. And I dreamed that everything I owned had been turned
blue--my nightgowns and nail files and travelling clock and the
oranges. You wouldn't believe how depressing a blue orange could be. We
will forget it as soon as possible, Lee. Do you remember how nice the
room was at the Inglaterra? I wish you'd feel my head: isn't it hotter
than usual?"
"Why shouldn't it be?" he asked impolitely.
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