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

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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

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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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of her mountain, and how the only human who had been able to withf stand her magic power, having escaped, had died stark, raving mad in the house of Pedro Alamos. And yet she, Dolores Manello, must face this terrible woman and not be afraid. She found her rosary, and kneeling, began to pray. At first the words stumbled and came slowly, but when she thought of Juan, her lover, Juan, who was to be her husband, Juan, dearer, to her than anyone else on earth, in the power of the terrible Malinche, her panic was quieted by a strong, calm courage, and she seemed to get strength from the words she uttered. When she finally arose from her knees, her eyes were clear, her head was high, and she walked with a firm gait. Keeping her rosary in her hand, she went up the slope of the mountain. She came to the cliff, towering darkly upward, and she hesitated,-but for a second only. The thought of Iuan spurred her onward and she began to climb. She did not pause, but with the easy, natural movements of a primitive woman went steadily upward. Her heart fluttered a bit as she neared the cave, but when she had pulled herself upon its edge her fear disappeared. The thought of Juan was uppermost in her mind. She must save him. Mother Mary, protect him, she prayed silently. Then she started down a dark, sloping passage. She kept close to the rough stone wall, feeling her way, for she could see nothing. The blackness was suffocating. A lurking terribleness seemed to prevade it. Dolores crept steadily onward, her love for Juan overcoming all personal fear, and giving her a courage which she had never known before. Down, down, down, the twisting passage went, always down. Startled bats flutttered by, brushing her with their wings. She did not notice them. The rough wall scratched her hands but she did not feel it. The great hope that she would find Juan led her on, and with every step she took her courage grew. Finally, far down the passage she saw a dim light. She advanced more cautiously, and turning a sudden corner, stood at the door of a great room. Its walls of stone were hung with rich silks and old tapestries picturf ing the sufferings of damned souls in hell. The soft light which suffused it seemed to come from a large, brilliant stone in the ceiling. The floor was covered with thick, heavy rugs. At one side of the room lay a pool Thirteen