Polytechnic High School - Caerulea Yearbook (Long Beach, CA)

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and now Carmen. Bah! If I were she, I wouldn't have him: Oh how glad I am, my juan, that you are not like Miguel And I, my Dolores, that you are not like Carmenll' They gazed fondly at each other, and the moon smiled down upon them. They had now reached Malinche Mountain and 1, YV5rfV en'Qi . X jjllijjjlllldgg ullll r iii is IKM, .M i. qi!-fig ai. ' N I l ii I 5 W1 illll ii Illllllj I X H min lu' Ili ilu 'wil l nillliilll I .L huh fir, .ij y EN- , gm0iiw fif,,' ,1, 'l Q amwiijigguj. iiqmlllllllilgliijf WM f-mini? if if l .ii 1 1'-'inf A' ll? jjjllw' Flagflflilii-f.i 'liliilvllllip 1 iw... ,3'HQ,iI,. wus- '.Q'5g 'f- 3 1 were following the silver road around its base, when suddenly there floated out upon the evening air the tinkling of a guitar, and a beautiful full, soprano voice began to sing a melody of betwitching sweetness. juan and Dolores stopped, thrilled by the beauty of the voice,-but even as they listened cold fear clutched their hearts. La Malincheli' whispered juan, horrorfstricken. La Malinche! Dolores shuddered. How many times she had heard her grandmother tell of this terrible enchantress who had lured men to her cave by her wonderful voice and great beauty, only to murder them slowly when they were within her grasp. juan, let us flee! Come juan! Quick! Quick! But juan did not move. He only shivered convulsively. A strange desire gripped his whole being. He struggled to run to the voice, to clasp the singer in his arms. He struggled against the thought, for he knew to yield to its promptings meant death. Dolores was screaming, pleading with him, but her voice sounded small and far away. Dolores? Yet he must think of Dolores,--he must not go. No, he must not go. njuanito mio, ah come to me, O my love. The voice was very distinct. Every fibre of his being responded. He started toward it,--and stopped. Conflicting emotions struggled with' in him. A soulffilling desire that bade him fly to La Malinche raged against his better judgment, and slowly, very slowly, but with great vivid' ness he could see his better judgment yielding to this accursed longing. No! No! It must not be! He must not go! Ah Dios! He fell upon his knees and tried to pray, but his brain was whirling with images of La Malinche and he could not think. He tried to scream but only a muffled gurgle broke from his lips. A great longing vexed his bosom, and with a convulsion that threw him to the ground, his better judgment wrenched Efeven

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gig MALINEFIE E' PQINESL Y SMITH 5 '5' s fibrils? 55 4554 2,i fi ll 1 yllU!hllll lllllllm mulmumuuuuuunu BY AM ' I J I , ll - I 'x 'V' 1. yi . 5 Q :-.an Sepia' '1 ,rf ,ia -2 - unvf- ' 'WZQET-if-V 'LE -1 Pri mask RIS----4' I X -- Q ,,f..i-:ggi .. .. 1 1 f N I -1:14-f1x:gg.s-il1 :'LLJlv 3 NfxfxfxfxfxiX7vvxfv v V V v HE moon rose softy over the grim ridge of Malinche Mountain and sailed into the southern sky. ln the dim light the giant cactus stood like ghostly guardians, keeping watch over the sleeping world. The drowsy birds called softly to their mates, and a whispering breeze stirred the heavy night air, awaken' ing with its caressing touch the strange, romantic beings with whose stories the legends of the country abound. A narrow band of road skirted the foot of the mountain and ran oil into the night like a silvery path to fairyland. Iuan and Dolores strolled slowly down the road, lured on by the spell of the magic night. Dolores' curly, black head rested on Iuan's shoulder, and Juan, his arm around her waist, was content. They talked in low, dreamy tones. 'fluanito mio, the priest will call the banns for us next Sunday. 'LSL and are you glad, little dove? For answer she looked up at him fondly, and the dimples played around her dark red mouth as he kissed it. They wandered slowly on in silence, then: Qld Soledad gave me a lovefcharm today, my Dolores. It will make you love me always. Do you think a lovefcharm is necessary, my Juan? she questioned teasingly. Why no, of course not, little dove. Then why did you take it, C foolish one? Why, Dolores, you know it is not good to anger a medicinefwomanf' he replied. No-, you are right, my juan. They had crossed the bridge of loose stones over a tiny, gurgling river and, enveloped in the sweet dreams of love, allowed the road to lead them where it would. ujuanito mio, Carmen has a noviof' L'Ah-Carmen? And who is it? Cnly Miguel-and, she added, giving Juan an impulsive hug, 'Lhe is so Hckle, you know. First it was Anita, then lvlaria Rosa, then Marena, Ten

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itself free of his tortured body, leaving him to the mercy of the Voice. My love, it sang, why dost thou tarry? I await thy coming with outstretched arms. I starve because of thy absence. Oh, come to me or I die! Juan rose from the ground as in a dream, his arms extended, his black eyes burning with a fierce love, and started toward the cave of the enchantress. Dolores ran to him,--clung to him, plead with him, tried vainly to hold him back from the fatal snare, but Juan, roughly seizing her by the wrists, threw her from him. She recovered herself, slightly dazed, and again ran to him. With a fierce blow he struck her down. Then he ran wildly, crazily, up the steep slope of the mountain, with frantic haste climbed the side of a small cliff and disappeared into a dark cave about threefquarters of the way up. Dolores, stunned, lay huddled on the ground. Her senses came back but slowly, vaguely. She was laboriously trying to piece together her scattered thoughts. Where was she? Her head throbbed dully. What had happened? The road, the mountain,-everything seemed familiar, but where had she seen it before? She raised her head and looked with apathetic eyes at the thick, white dust in the road. A giant cactus, sheer' ing nakedly toward the sky, caught her attention. Her eyes straggled to the bottom of it. There,-ah-there,-what was that lying in the road? With a queer, hazy smile upon her face, she crawled toward it. She picked it up.-It was Iuan's sombrero. Juan? Ah, yes. Everything came back to her with a rush. She had been walking with Juan, and then,-and -then-La Malinche! Involuntarily she covered her eyes, as if to shut out the terrible scene she had witnessed so short a time ago. Juan,-her Juan was in La Malinche's cave. The thought made her suddenly alert. Something must be done,-and she must do it! A shiver of fear passed over her. She must go to the cave and save him. No, no, she was afraid, she couldn't! She would go back to the village and ask the padre to help her. But Iuan would be dead by that time. No, there was nothing else to do. She must go to the cave herself and save Juan. A cold fear clutched her, and her heart sickened as she remembered some of the awful tales about La Malinche: how powerful and cruelly coldfblooded she was, how she gloated over her shrieking victims down in the depths Twelve