CHAPTER XVI. After they reached the highway, and had trotted briskly on for a mile, Alessandro suddenly put out his hand, and, taking Baba by the rain, began turning him round and round in the road. "'We will not go any farther in the road,' he said, but I must conceal our tracks here. We will go backwards for a few paces.' The obedient Baba backed slowly, half dancing, as if he understood the trick. The Indian pony, too, curvetted awkwardly. Then by a sudden bound under Alessandro's skillful guidance, leaped over a rock to the right, and stood waiting for their orders. Baba followed, and Capitan, and there was no trail to show where they had left the road. After trotting the pony round and round again in ever-widening circles, cantering off in one direction after another, then backing over the tracks for a few moments, Ramona d'Aussili following, though much bewildered as to what it all meant, Alessandro said, I think now they will never discover where we left the road. They will ride along, seeing our tracks plain, and then they will be so sure that we would have kept straight on that they will not notice for a time, and when they do, they will never be able to see where the trail ended. And now my Majella has a very hard ride before her. Will she be afraid? Afraid, laughed Ramona, afraid, on Baba and with you? But it was indeed a hard ride. Alessandro had decided to hide for the day in a canyon he knew, from which a narrow trail led direct to Temecula, a trail which was known to none but Indians. Once in this canyon they would be safe from all possible pursuit. Alessandro did not in the least share Ramona's confidence that no effort would be made to overtake them. To his mind it appeared certain that the senor would never accept the situation without making an attempt to recover at least the horse and the dog. She can say, if she chooses, that I have stolen one of her horses, he thought to himself bitterly, and everybody would believe her, nobody would believe us, if we said it was the senorita's own horse. The head of the canyon was only a couple of miles from the road, but it was in a nearly impenetrable thicket of chaparral where young oaks had grown up so high that their tops made, as it were, a second stratum of thicket. Alessandro had never ridden through it, he had come up on foot once from the other side, and, forcing his way through the tangle, had found, to his surprise, that he was near the highway. It was from this canyon that he had brought the ferns, which it had so delighted Ramona to arrange for the decoration of the chapel. The place was filled with them growing almost in tropical luxurience, but this was a mile or so farther down, and to reach that spot from above Alessandro had had to let himself down a sheer wall of stone. The canyon at its head was little more than a rift in the rocks, and the stream which had its rise in it was only a trickling spring at the beginning. It was this precious water, as well as the inaccessibility of the spot, which had decided Alessandro to gain the place at all hazards and costs. But a wall of granite would not have seemed a much more insuperable obstacle than did this wall of chaparral, along which they rode, vainly searching for a break in it. It appeared to Alessandro to have thickened and knit even since the last spring. At last they made their way down a small side canyon, a sort of wing to the main canyon, a very few rods down this, and they were as hidden from view from above as if the earth had swallowed them. The first red tints of the dawn were coming. From the eastern horizon to the zenith the whole sky was like a dappled crimson fleece. Oh, what a lovely place, exclaimed Ramona. I am sure this was not a hard ride at all, Alessandro. Is this where we are to stay? Alessandro turned a compassionate look upon her. How little does the wood-dove know of rough places, he said. This is only the beginning, hardly is it even the beginning. Fastening his pony to a bush, he reconnoitered the place, disappearing from sight the moment he entered the chaparral in any direction. Returning at last with a grave face, he said. Will Magello let me leave her here for a little time? There is a way, but I can find it only on foot. I will not be gone long. I know it is near. Tears came into Ramona's eyes. The only thing she dreaded was the losing sight of Alessandro. He gazed at her anxiously. I must go, Magello, he said with emphasis. We are in danger here. Go, go, Alessandro, she cried. But oh, do not belong. As he disappeared in the thicket, the tough boughs crackling and snapping before him, it seemed to Ramona that she was again alone in the world. Appetan, too, bounded after Alessandro and did not return at her call. All was still. Ramona laid her head on Baba's neck. The moment seemed ours. At last, just as the yellow light streamed across the sky and the crimson fleeces turned in one second to gold, she heard Alessandro's steps. The next moment saw his face. It was a glow with joy. I have found the trail, he exclaimed, but we must climb up again out of this, and it is too light. I like it not. With fear and trembling they urged their horses up and out into the open again and galloped a half-mile farther west, still keeping as close to the chaparral thicket as possible. Here Alessandro, who led the way, suddenly turned into the very thicket itself, no apparent opening. But the boughs parted and closed, and his head appeared above them. Still the little pony was trotting bravely along. Baba snorted with displeasure as he plunged into the same bristling pathway. The thicket, thorny branches smote Ramona's cheeks. What was worse, they caught the net swung on Baba's sides. Presently these were held fast, and Baba began to rear and kick. Here was a real difficulty. Alessandro dismounted, cut the strings, and put both the packages securely on the back of his own pony. I will walk, he said. It was only a little way longer I would have ridden. I shall lead Baba where it is narrow. Narrow indeed.  A path it seemed to her only a hands-breath wide, a stony, crumbling path, on the side of a precipice, down which the stones rolled and rolled and rolled, echoing far out of sight as they passed, at each step the beast took, the stones rolled and fell. Only the yucca plants, with their sharp bayonet leaves, had made shift to keep foothold on this precipice. Of these there were thousands, and their tall flower stalks, fifteen, twenty feet high, yet thick with the shining smooth seed-cups, glistened like satin shallises in the sun. Below, hundreds of feet below, lay the canyon bottom, a solid bed of chaparral, looking soft and even as a bed of moss. Giant sycamore trees lifted their heads, at intervals above this, and far out in the plain glistened the loops of the river whose sources, unknown to the world, seen of but few human eyes, were to be waters of comfort to these fugitives this day. Alessandro was cheered. The trail was child's play to him. At the first tread of Baba's dainty steps on the rolling stones he saw that the horse was as sure-footed as an Indian pony. In a few short hours now they would be all at rest. He knew where, under a sycamore clump, there was running water, clear as crystal and cold, almost colder than one could drink, and green grass too, plenty for two days feed for the horses, or even three, and all of California might be searched over in vain for them once they were down this trail.  He had forgotten that her riding had hitherto been only on the smooth ways of the valley and the plain. There she was so fearless that he had had no misgivings about her nerves here. But she had dropped the reins, was clutching Baba's mane with both hands, and sitting unsteadily in her saddle. She had been too proud to cry out, but she was nearly beside herself with fright. Alessandro halted so suddenly that Baba, whose nose was nearly on his shoulder, came to so sharp a stop that Ramona uttered a cry. She thought he had lost his footing. Alessandro looked at her in dismay. To dismount on that perilous trail was impossible. Moreover, to walk there would take more nerve than to ride. Yet she looked as if she could not much longer keep her seat.  But it is safe. I can run in it. I ran all this way with the ferns on my back I brought for you. Oh, did you, gasped Ramona, diverted for the moment from her contemplation of the abyss, and more reassured by that change of her thoughts than she could have been by anything else? Did you? It is frightful, Alessandro. I never heard of such a trail. I feel as if I were on a rope in the air. If I could get down and go on my hands and knees I think I would like it better. Could I? I would not dare have you get off. Not here, Majella, answered Alessandro sorrowfully. It is dreadful to me to see you suffer so. I will go very slowly. Indeed it is safe. We all came up here, the whole band, for the sheep-sharing, old Fernando on his horse all the way. Really! said Ramona, taking comfort at each word. I will try not to be so silly. Is it far, dearest Alessandro? Not much more as steep as this, dear, nor so narrow, but it will be an hour yet before we stop. But the worst was over for Ramona now, and long before they reached the bottom of the precipice she was ready to laugh at her fears. Only as she looked back at the zig-zag lines of the path over which she had come, little more than a brown thread they seemed, flung along the rock, she shuddered. Down in the bottom of the canyon it was still the dusky gloaming when they arrived. They came late to this very spot, only at high noon did the sun fairly shine in. As Ramona looked around her she uttered an exclamation of delight which satisfied Alessandro. Yes, he said, when I came here for the ferns I wished to myself many times that you could see it. There is not in all this country so beautiful a place. This is our first home, my Magella, he added, in a tone almost solemn, and throwing his arms around her he drew her to his breast with the first feeling of joy he had experienced. I wish we could live here always, cried Ramona. Would Magella be content, said Alessandro? Very, she answered. He sighed. There would not be land enough to live here, he said. If there were I too would like to stay here till I died, Magella, and never see the face of a white man again. See the instinct of the hunted and wounded animal to seek hiding was striving in Alessandro's blood. But there would be no food, we could not live here. Ramona's exclamation had set Alessandro to thinking, however. Would Magella be content to stay here three days now? He asked. There is grass enough for the horses for that time. We should be very safe here, and I fear very much we should not be safe on any road. I think, Magella, the Senora will send men after Baba. Baba, cried Ramona aghast at the idea, my own horse? She would not dare to call it stealing a horse, to take my own Baba. But even as she spoke her heart misgave her. The Senora would dare anything, would misrepresent anything, only too well Ramona knew what the very mention of the phrase horse-stealing meant all through the country. She looked pitiously at Alessandro. She read her thoughts. Yes, that is it, Magella, he said. If she sent men after Baba, there is no knowing what they might do. It would not do any good for you to say he was yours. They would not believe you, and they might take me too, if the Senora had told them to, and put me into Ventura jail. She's just wicked enough to do it, cried Ramona. Let us not stir out of this spot, Alessandro, not for a week. Couldn't we stay a week? At that time she would have given over looking for us. I am afraid not a week, there is not feed for the horses, and I do not know what we could eat. I have my gun, but there is not much, now, to kill. But I have brought meat and bread, Alessandro, said Ramona earnestly, and we could eat very little each day and make it last.  Every other thought was for the time being driven out of her mind by the terror of being pursued. Pursuit of her, she knew, would not be in the Senora's plan, but the reclaiming of Baba and Kapitan, that was another thing. The more Ramona thought of it, the more it seemed to her a form of vengeance which would be likely to commend itself to the Senora's mind. Felipe might possibly prevent it. It was he who had given Baba to her. He would feel that it would be shameful to recall or deny the gift, only in Felipe Leigh Ramona's hope. If she had thought to tell Alessandro that in her farewell note to Felipe, she had said that she supposed they were going to father Salvi or Dara, it would have saved both her and Alessandro much disquietude. Alessandro would have known that men pursuing them, on that supposition, would have gone straight down the river road to the sea and struck northward along the coast. But it did not occur to Ramona to mention this. In fact, she hardly recollected it after the first day Alessandro had explained to her his plan, which was to go by way of Temecula to San Diego, to be married there by Father Gasparra, the priest of that parish, and then go to the village or pueblo of San Pasqual, about fifteen miles northwest of San Diego. A cousin of Alessandro's was the headman of this village and had many times begged him to come there to live, but Alessandro had steadily refused, believing it to be his duty to remain at Temecula with his father. San Pasqual was a regularly established pueblo, founded by a number of the Indian neophytes of the San Luis Ray Mission at the time of the breaking up of that mission. It was established by a decree of the Governor of California and the lands of the San Pasqual Valley given to it. A paper recording this establishment and gift, signed by the Governor's own hand, was given to the Indian who was the first Alcalde of the pueblo. He was Chief Pablo's brother. At his death the authority passed into the hands of his son, Ysidro, the cousin of whom Alessandro had spoken. Ysidro has that paper still, Alessandro said, and he thinks it will keep them in their village. Perhaps it will, but the Americans are beginning to come in at the head of the valley, and I do not believe, Majella, there is any safety anywhere. Still, for a few years we can perhaps stay there. There are nearly two hundred Indians in the valley. It is much better than Temecula, and Ysidro's people are much better off than ours were. They have splendid herds of cattle and horses and large wheat fields. Ysidro's house stands under a great fig tree. They say it is the largest fig tree in the country. But Alessandro, cried Ramona, why do you think it is not safe here if Ysidro has the paper? I thought a paper made it all right. I don't know, replied Alessandro. Perhaps it may be, but I have got the feeling now that nothing will be of any use against the Americans. I don't believe they will mind the paper. They didn't mind the papers the Senora had for all that land of hers they took away, said Ramona thoughtfully. But Felipe said that was because Pio Pico was a bad man and gave away lands he had no right to give away. That's just it, said Alessandro. Can't they say that same thing about any Governor, especially if he has given lands to us? If the Senora couldn't keep hers, with Senora Felipe to help her, and he knows all about the law and can speak the American language, what chance is there for us? We can't take care of ourselves any better than the wild beast can, my Magella. Oh, why, why did you come with me? Why did I let you? After such words as these, Alessandro would throw himself on the ground, and for a few moments not even Ramona's voice would make him look up. It was strange that the gentle girl, unused to hardship, or to the thought of danger, did not find herself terrified by these fierce glooms and apprehensions of her lover. But she was appalled by nothing, saved from the only thing in life she had dreaded, sure that Alessandro lived, and that he would not leave her, she had no fears. This was partly from her inexperience, from her utter inability to conceive of the things Alessandro's imagination painted in colors only too true. But it was also largely due to the inalienable loyalty and quenchless courage of her soul, qualities in her nature never yet tested, qualities of which she hardly knew so much as the name, but which were to bear her steadfast and buoyant through many sorrowful years. Before nightfall of this, their first day in the wilderness, Alessandro had prepared for Ramona a bed of finely broken twigs of the Manzanita and Sianothis, both of which grew in abundance all through the canyon. Above these he spread layers of glossy ferns, five and six feet long. When it was done it was a couch no queen need have scorned. As Ramona seated herself on it she exclaimed, Now I shall see how it feels to lie and look up at the stars at night. Do you recollect, Alessandro, the night you put Felipe's bed on the veranda when you told me how beautiful it was to lie at night out of doors and look up at the stars? Indeed did Alessandro remember that night, the first moment he had ever dared to dream of the senorita Ramona as his own. Yes, I remember it, my Micella, he answered slowly, and in a moment more added, That was the day Juan Conn had told me that your mother was of my people, and that was the first night I dared in my thoughts to say that perhaps you might someday love me. But where are you going to sleep, Alessandro, said Ramona, seeing that he spread no more boughs? You have made yourself no bed. Alessandro laughed. I need no bed, he said. We think it is on our mother's lap we lie when we lie on the ground. It is not hard, Micella, it is soft, and rests one better than beds. But tonight I shall not sleep, I will sit by this tree and watch. Why, what are you afraid of? asked Ramona. It may grow so cold that I must make a fire for Micella, he answered. It sometimes gets very cold before morning in these canyons, so I shall feel safer to watch tonight. This he said, not to alarm Ramona. His real reason for watching was that he had seen on the edge of the stream tracks which gave him uneasiness. They were faint and evidently old, but they looked like the tracks of a mountain lion. As soon as it was dark enough to prevent the curl of smoke from being seen from below he would light a fire and keep it blazing all night and watch, gun in hand, lest the beast return. But you will be dead, Alessandro, if you do not sleep. You are not strong, said Ramona anxiously. I am strong now, Micella, answered Alessandro. And indeed he did already look like a renewed man, spite of all his fatigue and anxiety. I am no longer weak, and tomorrow I will sleep and you shall watch. Will you lie on the fern bed then, asked Ramona gleefully? I would like the ground better, said honest Alessandro. Ramona looked disappointed. That is very strange, she said. It is not so soft, this bed of boughs, that one need fear to be made tender by lying on it. She continued throwing herself down. But oh, how sweet, how sweet it smells! Yes, there is spice wood in it, he answered. I put it in at the head, from a jealous pillow. Ramona was very tired, and she was happy. All night long she slept like a child. She did not hear Alessandro's steps, she did not hear the crackling of the fire he lighted. She did not hear the barking of Capitan, who, more than once, spite of all Alessandro could do to quiet him, made the canyon echo with sharp, quick notes of warning, as he heard the stealthy steps of wild creatures in the chaparral. Hour after hour she slept on, and hour after hour Alessandro sat, leaning against a huge sycamore trunk, and watched her. As the fitful firelight played over her face, he thought he had never seen it so beautiful. Its expression of calm repose insensibly soothed and strengthened him. She looked like a saint, he thought. Perhaps it was as a saint of help and guidance the virgin was sending her to him and his people. The darkness deepened, became blackness, only the red gleams from the fire broke it in swaying rifts, as the wind makes rifts in black storm clouds in the heavens. With the darkness the stillness also deepened. Nothing broke that, except an occasional motion of Baba or the pony, or an alert signal from Capitan, then all seemed stiller than ever. Pedro felt as if God himself were in the canyon. Countless times in his life before he had lain in lonely places under the sky and watched the night through, but he never felt like this. It was ecstasy, and yet it was pain. What was to come on the morrow, and the next morrow, and the next and the next, all through the coming years? What was to come to this beloved and loving woman who lay there sleeping, so confident, so trustful, guarded only by him, by him, Alessandro, the exile, fugitive, homeless man? Before the dawn, wood doves began their calling. The canyon was full of them. No two notes quite alike it seemed to Alessandro's sharpened sense. Pair after pair he fancied that he recognized, speaking and replying as did the pair whose voices had so comforted him the night he watched under the geranium hedge by the Moreno Chapel. Love, hear, love, hear! They comforted him still more now.  It was dawn and past dawn on the plains before it was yet morning twilight in the canyon. But the birds in the upper boughs of the sycamores caught the tokens of the coming day and began to twidder in the dusk. Their notes fell on Ramona's sleeping ear like the familiar sound of the linets in the veranda thatch at home, and waked her instantly. Sitting up bewildered and looking about her, she exclaimed, Oh, is it morning already and so dark? The birds can see more sky than we. Sing, Alessandro, and she began the hymn. Singers at dawn, from the heavens above, people all regions, gladly we too sing. Never went up truer in vocation, from sweeter spot. Sing, not so loud, my Magelle, whispered Alessandro, as her voice went caroling like a lark's in the pure ether. There might be hunters near who would hear, and he joined in with low and muffled tones. As she dropped her voice at this caution, it seemed even sweeter than before. Come, O sinners, come, and we will sing tender hymns to our refuge. Ah, Magelle, there is no sinner here except me, said Alessandro. My Magelle is like one of the Virgin's own saints. And indeed he might have been forgiven the thought, as he gazed at Ramona. Sitting there in the shimmering light, her face thrown out into relief by the gray wall of fern-draped rock behind her.  Her eyes uplifted to the narrow belt of sky overhead, where filmy vapours were turning to gold, touched by a sun she could not see. Hush, my love, she breathed rather than said. That would be a sin if you really thought it. O beautiful Queen, Princess of Heaven! She continued, repeating the first lines of the song, and then, sinking on her knees, reached out one hand for Alessandro's, and glided, almost without a break in the melodious sound, into a low recitative of the morning prayers. Her rosary was a fine chased gold beads with an ivory crucifix, a rare and precious relic of the mission's olden times. It had belonged to Father Perry himself, was given by him to Father Salviardera, and by Father Salviardera to the blessed child Ramona at her confirmation. A warmer token of his love and trust he could not have bestowed upon her. And to Ramona's religious and affectionate heart it had always seemed a bond and an assurance, not only of Father Salviardera's love but of the love and protection of the now sainted Perry. As she pronounced the last words of her trusting prayer, and slipped the last of the golden beads along on its string, a thread of sunlight shot into the canyon through a deep narrow gap in its rocky eastern crest. Shot in for a second, no more.  Only a flash and it was gone. To both Ramona and Alessandro it came like an omen, like a message straight from the Virgin. Could she choose better messenger, she the compassionate one, the loving woman in heaven, mother of the Christ to whom they prayed through her, mother for whose sake he would regard their least cry, could she choose better messenger or swifter than the sunbeam to say that she heard and would help them in these sore straits? Perhaps there were not, in the whole great world, at that moment to be found two souls who were experiencing so vivid a happiness as thrilled the veins of these two friendless ones, on their knees, alone in the wilderness, gazing half awestricken at the shining rosary. CHAPTER 17 Before the end of their second day in the cannon, the place had become to Ramona, so like a friendly home, that she dreaded to leave its shelter. Nothing is stronger proof of the original intent of nature to do more for man than the civilization and its arrogance will long permit her to do, than the quick and sure way in which she reclaims his affection, when by weariness, idle chance, or disaster he is returned, for an interval, to her arms. As soon he rejects the miserable subterfuges of what he had called habits, sheds the still more miserable pretenses of superiority, make shifts of adornment, and chains of custom, whom the God's love, die young, has been too long carelessly said. It is not true in the sense in which men use the words, whom the God's love, dwell with nature, if they are ever lured away, returned to her before they are old.  Whom the God's love, live young, forever. With the insight of a lover added to the instinct of the Indian, Alessandro saw how hour by hour there grew in Ramona's eyes the wanted look of one at home, how she watched the shadows and knew what they meant. If we lived here the walls would be sundials for us, would they not, she said, in a tone of pleasure. I see that Yon Tal Yacca has gone in shadow sooner than it did yesterday. And what mullies of things grow here, Alessandro? I did not know there were so many. Have they all names? The nuns taught us some names, but they were hard and I forgot them. We might name them ourselves if we lived here. They would be our relations. And for one year I should lie and look up at the sky, my Alessandro, and do nothing else. It hardly seems as if it would be a sin to do nothing for a year if one gaze steadily at the sky all the while. And now I know what it is I have always seen in your face, Alessandro. It is the look from the sky. One must be always serious, and not unhappy, but never too glad, I think, when he lives with nothing between him and the sky, and the saints can see him every minute. And I cannot believe that it is but two days I have lived in the air, Alessandro. This seems to be the first home I have ever had. Is it because I am Indian, Alessandro, that it gives me such joy?  His silence was more than silent, it was taciturn. Yet she always felt herself answered. A monosyllable of Alessandro's, nail-look, told what other men took long sentences to say and said less eloquently. After long thinking over this she explained, You speak as the trees speak, and like the rock yonder and the flowers, without saying anything. This delighted Alessandro's very heart. And you, Mahiya, he exclaimed, When you say that, you speak in the language of our people, you are as we are. And Ramona, in her turn, was made happy by his words, happier than she would have been made by any other praise or fondness. Alessandro found himself regaining all his strength, as if by a miracle. The gaunt look had left his face. Almost it seemed that its contour was already fuller. There is a beautiful old Gaelic legend of a fairy who wooed a prince, came again and again to him, and herself invisible to all but the prince, hovered in the air, sang loving songs to draw him away from the crowd of his indignant nobles, who heard her voice and summoned magicians to rout her by all spells and enchantments at their command. Finally they succeeded in silencing her and driving her off. But as she vanished from the prince's sight she threw him an apple, a magic golden apple. As having tasted this he refused all other food. Day after day, night after night, he ate only this golden apple. And yet morning after morning, evening after evening, there lay the golden fruit, still whole and shining, as if he had had not fed upon it. And when the fairy came the next time the prince leapt into her magic boat, sailed away with her and never was seen in his kingdom again. It was only an allegory, this legend, a beautiful allegory and true of love and lovers. The food on which Alessandro was, hour by hour, now growing strong, was as magic and invisible as Prince Conla's apple, and just as strength-giving. Malessandro, how is it you look so well so soon? I've heard Ramona, studying his countenance with loving care. I thought that night you would die. Now you look nearly strong as ever.  It is the blessed air. It has cured you, as it cured Felipe of the fever. If the air could keep me well, I had not been ill, Mahia, replied Alessandro. I had been under no roof except the toolshed till I saw you. It is not the air. And he looked at her with a gaze that set the rest. At twilight of the third day when Ramona saw Alessandro leading up Baba, saddled ready for the journey, the tears filled her eyes. At noon Alessandro had said to her, tonight, Mahia, we must go. There is not grass enough for another day. We must go while the horses are strong. I dare not lead them any farther down the cannon to graze, for there is a ranch only a few miles lower. Today I found one of the man's cows feeding near Baba. Ramona made no remonstrance. The necessity was too evident, but the look on her face gave Alessandro a new pain. He too felt as if exiled afresh and leaving the spot. And now as he led the horses slowly up and saw Ramona sitting in a dejected attitude beside the nets in which were again carefully packed their small stores, his heart ached anew. Again the sense of his homeless and destitute condition settled like an unbearable burden on his soul. Wither and to what was he leading his Mahia? But once in the saddle Ramona recovered cheerfulness. Baba was in such gay heart she could not be wholly sad. The horse seemed fairly rollicking with satisfaction at being once more on the move.  He had found the cannon doll, spite of its refreshing shade and cool water. He longed for sheep. He did not understand this inactivity. The puzzled look on his face had made Ramona laugh more than once as he would come and stand before her, wagging his tail and fixing his eyes intently on her. On her face as if he said in so many words, what in the world are you about in this cannon and do not you ever intend to return home? Or if you will stay here, why not keep sheep? Do not see that I have nothing to do. We must ride on night Mahia said Alessandro and lose no time. It is a long way to the place where we shall stay tomorrow. Is it a cannon? Asked Ramona, hopefully. No, he replied, not a cannon, but there are beautiful oak trees. It is where we get our acorns for the winter. It is on the top of a high hill. Will it be safe there? she asked. I think so, he replied. Though not so safe as here, there's no such place as this in all the country. And then where shall we go next? she asked. That is very near Temecula, he said. We must go into Temecula, dear Mahia. I must go to Mr. Heartsells. He is friendly. He will give me money for my father's violin. If we're not for that, I would never go near the place again. I would like to see it, Alessandro, she said gently. Oh no, no Mahia, he cried. You would not. It is terrible. The houses all unroofed. All but my father's and Jose's. They were shingled roofs. They will be just the same. All the rest are only walls. Antonio's mother threw hers down. I don't know how the old woman ever had the strength. They said she was like a fury. She said nobody should ever live in those walls again. And she took a pole and made a great hole in one side. And then she ran Antonio's wagon against it with all her might till it fell in. No Mahia, it will be dreadful. Wouldn't you like to go into the graveyard again, Alessandro? She said timidly. The saints forbid, he said solemnly. I think it would make me a murderer to stand in that graveyard.  Oh, do not speak of it, he added, after a moment in silence. It takes the strength all out of my blood again, Mahia. It feels as if I should die. And the word Temecula was not mentioned between them again until dusk the next day, when, as they were riding slowly along between low, wooded hills, they suddenly came to an opening, a green, marshy place, with a little thread of trickling water at which their horses stopped and drank thirstily. And Ramona, looking ahead, saw lights twinkling in the distance. Lights, Alessandro, lights, she exclaimed, pointing to them. Yes, Mahia, he replied, it is Temecula. And springing off his pony, he came to her side and putting both his hands on hers said, I've been thinking for a long way back, Carita. What is to be done here? I do not know. What does Mahia think? Will be wise. If men have been sent out to pursue us, they may be at heart cells. His store is the place where everybody stops, everybody goes. I dare not have you go there, Mahia. Yet I must go. The only way I can get any money is from Mr. Heart Cell. I must wait somewhere while you go, said Ramona, her heart beating as she gazed ahead into the blackness of the great plain. It looked vast as the sea. That is the only safe thing, Alessandro. I think so too, he said, but oh, I'm afraid for you and will not you be afraid? Yes, she replied, I am afraid, but it's not so dangerous as the other. If anything were to happen to me and I could not come back to you, Mahia, if you give Baba his reins, he will take you safe home. He and Capitan. Ramona shrieked aloud. She had not thought of this possibility. Alessandro had thought of everything. What could happen, she cried. I mean if the men were there and if they took me for stealing the horse, he said. But you would not have the horse with you, she said. How could they take you? That might make any difference, replied Alessandro. They might take me to make me tell where the horse was. Oh, Alessandro, saw up Ramona, what shall we do? Then in another second, gathering her courage, she exclaimed, Alessandro, I know what I will do. I will stay in the graveyard. No one will come there. Shall I not be safest there? Holy virgin, would mind my health, stay there, exclaimed Alessandro. Why not, she said. It is not the dead that will harm us. They would all help us if they could. I have no fear. I will wait there while you go, and if you do not come in an hour, I will come to Mr. Hartzell's after you. If there are men of the señores there, they will know me, they will not dare to touch me. They will know that Felipe would punish them. I will not be afraid. And if they are ordered to take Bapa, they can have him. We can walk when the pony is tired. Her confidence was contagious. My wood dove has in her breast the heart of the lion, said Alessandro fondly. We will do as she says, she is wise. And he turned their horse's heads in the direction of the graveyard. It was surrounded by a low adobe wall with one small gate of wooden pailing. As they reached it, Alessandro exclaimed, the thieves have taken this gate. What could they have wanted with that, said Ramona. To burn, he said doggedly. It was wood, but it was very little. They might have left the grave safe from wild beasts and cattle. As they entered the enclosure, a dark figure rose from one of the graves. Ramona started. Fear nothing, whispered Alessandro. It must be one of our people. I am glad. Now you will not be alone. It is Carmena. I am sure. That was the corner where they buried Jose. I will speak to her. And leaving Ramona at the gate, he went slowly on, saying in a low voice in the Luiseno language, Carmena, is that you? Have no fear, it is I, Alessandro. It was Carmena. The poor creature, nearly crazed with grief, was spending her days by her baby's grave in Pachanga and her nights by her husbands in Temecula. She did not come to Temecula by day for the Americans were there and she feared them. After a short talk with her, Alessandro returned, leading her along. Bringing her to Ramona's side, he laid her feverish hand in Ramona's and said, Mahia, I have told her all. She cannot speak a word of Spanish, but she is very glad, she says, that you have come with me and she will stay close by your side till I come back. Ramona's tender heart ached with desire to comfort the girl, but all she could do was to press her hand in silence. Even in the darkness, she could see the hollow, mournful eyes and the wasted cheek. Words are less needful to sorrow and then to joy. Carmena felt in every fiber how Ramona was pitying her. Presently, she made a gentle motion as if to draw her from the saddle. Ramona bent down and looked inquiringly into her face. Again she drew her gently with one hand and with the other pointed to the corner from which she had come. Ramona understood. She wants to show me her husband's grave, she thought. She does not like to be away from it. I will go with her. Dismounting and taking Baba's bridle over her arm, she bowed her head assentingly and still keeping firm hold of Carmena's hand, followed her. The graves were thick and irregularly placed, each mound marked by a small wooden cross. Carmena led with a swift step of one who knew each inch of the way by heart. More than once Ramona stumbled and nearly fell and Baba was impatient and restive at the strange inequalities under his feet. When they reached the corner, Ramona saw the fresh-piled earth of the new grave. Uttering a wailing cry, Carmena, drawing Ramona to the edge of it, pointing down with her right hand, then laid both hands on her heart and gazed at Ramona piteously. Ramona burst into weeping and again clasping Carmena's hand, laid it on her own breast to show her sympathy. Carmena did not weep. She was long past that and she felt for the moment lifted out of herself by the sweet, sudden sympathy of the stranger. This girl like herself yet so different, so wonderful, so beautiful. Carmena was sure she must be. Had the saints sent her from heaven to Alessandro? What did it mean? Carmena's bosom was heaving with the things she longed to say and ask, but all she could do was to press Ramona's hand again and again and occasionally lay her soft cheek upon it. Now, was it not the saints that put it into my head to come to the graveyard, thought Ramona? What a comfort to this poor heartbroken thing to see Alessandro, and she keeps me from all fear. Holy Virgin, but I had died of terror here all alone. Not that the dead would harm me, but simply from the vast, silent plain and the gloom. Soon Carmena made signs to Ramona that they would return to the gate. Consider it unthoughtful, she remembered that Alessandro would expect to find them there. But it was a long and weary watch they had waiting for Alessandro to come. After leaving them and tethering his pony, he had struck off at a quick run for heart cells, which was perhaps an eighth of a mile from the graveyard. His own old home lay a little to the right. As he drew near, he saw a light in its windows. He stopped as if shot. A light in our house, he exclaimed, and he clenched his hands. Those cursed robbers have gone into it to live already. His blood seemed turning to fire. Ramona would not have recognized the face of her Alessandro now.  Involuntarily, he felt for his knife. It was gone. His gun he had left inside the graveyard, leaning against the wall. Ah, in the graveyard. Yes, and there also was Ramona waiting for him. Thoughts of vengeance fled. The world held now, but one work, one hope, one passion for him. But he would at least see who were these dwellers in this father's house. A fierce desire to see their faces burned within him. Why should he thus torture himself? Why indeed? But he must. He would see the new home life already begun on the grave of his. Stealthily, creeping under the window, from which the light shone, he listened. He heard children's voices, a woman's voice, at intervals the voice of a man, gruff and surly, various household sounds also. It was evidently the supper hour. Cautiously raising himself till his ears were on a level with the lowest panes in the window, he looked in. A table was sat in the middle of the floor and there were sitting at it a man, woman and two children. The youngest, little more than a baby, sat in its high chair, drumming with a spoon on the table, impatient for its supper. The room was in great confusion. Beds made on the floor, open boxes half unpacked, saddles and harness thrown down in the corners. Evidently, there were newcomers into the house. The window was open by an inch. It had warped and would not shut down. Bitterly, Alessandro recollected how he had put off from day to day the planing of that window to make it shut tight. Now, thanks to the crack, he could hear all that was said. The woman looked weary and worn. Her face was a sensitive one and her voice kindly, but the man had the countenance of a brute, of a human brute. Why do we malign the so-called brute creation, making their names a unit of comparison for base traits which never one of them possessed? It seems as if I never should get to write in this world, said the woman. Alessandro understood enough English to gather the meaning of what she said. He listened eagerly. When will the next wagon get here? I don't know, growled her husband. There's been a slide in that cursed cannon and blocked the road. They won't be here for several days yet. Ain't you got stuff enough round now? If you'd clear up what's here now, then it would be time enough to grumble because you hadn't got everything. But John, she replied, I can't clear up till the bureau comes to put the things away in and the bedstead. I can't seem to do anything. You can grumble, I take notice, he answered. That's about all you women are good for anyhow. There was a first-rate, raw-hide bedstead in here. If Rothsaker hadn't been such a fool's to let those dogs of Indians carry off all their truck, we might have had that. The woman looked at him reproachfully but did not speak for a moment. Then her cheeks flushed and, seeming unable to repress the speech, she exclaimed, well, I'm thankful enough he did let the poor things take their furniture. I never have slept a wink and that bedstead, I know. If it had been left there, it's bad enough to take their houses this way.  He was half drunk. His worst and most dangerous state. She glanced at him half timorously, half indignantly and turning to the children began feeding the baby. At that second the other child looked up and catching sight of the outline of Alessandro's head cried out, there's a man there, there at the window. Alessandro threw himself flat on the ground and held his breath. Had he imperiled all, brought danger on himself and Ramona by yielding to this mad impulse to look once more inside the walls of his home.  We'll have to shoot two or three of them yet before we're rid of them. And he took his gun down from the pegs above the fireplace and went to the door with it in his hand. Oh, don't fire, father, don't, cried the woman.  Don't fire. And she pulled him back by the sleeve. Shaking her off with another oath, he stepped across the threshold and stood listening and peering into the darkness. Alessandro's heart beat like a hammer in his breast. Except for the thought of Ramona, he would have sprung on the man, seized his gun, and killed him. I don't believe it was anybody after all, father, persisted the woman, but it's always seen things. I don't believe there was anybody there. Come in, suppers getting all cold. Well, I'll just fire to let him know there's powder in shot round here, said the fiend. If it hits any on him, Roman round, he won't know what hurt him. And leveling his gun at random with his drunken, unsteady hand, he fired. The bullet whistled away harmlessly into the empty darkness. Harkening a few moments and hearing no cry, he hiccuped, missed that time, and went into his supper. Alessandro did not dare to stir for a long time. How he cursed his own falling, having brought himself into this plight. What needless pain of waiting he was inflicting on the faithful one, watching for him in that desolate and fearful place of graves. At last he ventured, sliding along on his belly, a few inches at a time till several rods from the house, he dared at last to spring to his feet and bound away at full speed for heart cells. Heart cells was one of those mongrel establishments to be seen nowhere except in Southern California. Half shop, half farm, half tavern, it gathered up to itself all the threads of the life of the whole region. Indians, ranchmen, travelers of all sorts, traded at heart cells, drank at heart cells, slept at heart cells. It was the only place of its kind within a radius of 20 miles, and it was the least bad place of its kind within a much wider radius. Heart cell was by no means a bad fellow when he was sober, but as that condition was not so frequent as it should have been, he sometimes came near being a very bad fellow indeed. At such times, everybody was afraid of him, wife, children, travelers, ranchmen and all. It was only a question of time and occasion, they said. Heart cells kill in somebody sooner or later. And it looked as if the time were drawing nearer, fast. But out of his cups, heart cell was kindly and fairly truthful, entertaining, too, to a degree which held many a wayfarer chained to his chair till small hours of the morning, listening to his landlord's talk, how he had drifted from Alsace to San Diego County. He could hardly have told in minute to tell himself, there had been so many stages and phases of the strange journey, but he had come to his last halt now. Here in this Temecula, he would lay his bones. He liked the country, he liked the wildlife, and for a wonder, he liked the Indians. Many a good word he spoke for them to travelers who believed no good of the race and evidently listened with polite incredulity when he would say, as he often did, I've never lost a dollar off these Indians yet. They do all their trading with me. There's some of them I trust as high as $100. If they can't pay this year, they'll pay next. And if they die, their relations will pay their debts for them a little at a time till they've got it all paid off. They'll pay in wheat or bring a steer, maybe, or baskets or mats the women make. But they'll pay. They're honester in the general run of Mexicans about paying. I mean Mexicans that aren't as poor as they are. Hartzell's dwelling house was a long, low Adobe building with still lower flanking additions in which were bedrooms for travelers, the kitchen and storerooms. The shop was a separate building of rough planks, a story and a half high, the loft of which was one great dormitory well provided with beds on the floor but with no other article of bedroom furniture. They who slept in this loft had no fastidious standards of personal luxury. These two buildings with some half dozen outhouses of one sort or another stood in an enclosure surrounded by a low white picket fence which gave to the place a certain home-like look despite of the neglected condition of the ground which was bare sound or sparsely tufted with weeds and wild grass. A few plants parched and straggling stood in pots and tin cans around the door of the dwelling house. One hardly knew whether they made the place look less desolate or more so but they were token of a woman's hand and of a nature which craved something more than the unredeemed wilderness around her afforded. A dull and lurid light streamed out from the wide open door of the store. Alessandro drew cautiously near. The place was full of men and he heard loud laughing and talking. He dare not go in. Stealing around to the rear, he leapt the fence and went to the other house and opened the kitchen door. Here he was not afraid. Mrs. Hartzell had never any but Indian servants in her employ. The kitchen was lighted only by one dim candle. On the stove were sputtering and hissing all the pots and frying pans it would hold. Much cooking was evidently going on for the men who were noisily rollicking in the other house. Seating himself by the fire, Alessandro waited. In a few moments, Mrs. Hartzell came hurrying back to her work. It was no uncommon experience to find an Indian quietly sitting by her fire. In the dim light she did not recognize Alessandro, but mistook him as he sat bowed over, his head in his hands. For old Ramon, who was the sort of recognized hanger on the place, earning his living there by odd jobs with fetching and carrying and anything else he could do. Run Ramon, she said, and bring me more wood. This cottonwood is so dry. It burns out like rotten punk. I'm off my feet tonight with all these men to cook for. Then, turning to the table, she began cutting her bread and did not see how tall and unlike Ramon was the man who silently rose and went out to do her bidding. When a few moments later, Alessandro re-entered, bringing a huge armful of wood, which it would have cost poor old Ramon three journeys at least to bring and throwing it down on the hearth, he said. Would that be enough, Mrs. Hartzell? She gave a scream of surprise and dropped her knife. Why, who? She began. Then, seeing his face, her own, lighting up a pleasure, she continued, Alessandro, is it you? Why, I took you in the dark for old Ramon. I thought you were in Pachanga. In Pachanga? Then as yet, no one had come from the senora Moreno's to Hartzell's in search of him and the senorita Ramona. Alessandro's heart felt almost light in his bosom. From the one immediate danger he had dreaded, they were safe, but no trace of emotion showed on his face and he did not raise his eyes as he replied. I have been in Pachanga. My father is dead. I have buried him there. Oh, Alessandro, did he die? He cried the kindly woman, coming closer to Alessandro and laying her hand on his shoulder. I heard he was sick. She paused. She did not know what to say. She had suffered so at the time of the ejectment of the Indians and it had made her ill. For two days she had kept her door shut and her windows close-curtained. That she need not see the terrible sights. She was not a woman of many words. She was a Mexican, but there were those who said that some Indian blood ran in her veins. This was not improbable and it seemed more than ever improbable now. And she stood still by Alessandro's side, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes fixed in distress on his face. How he had altered, how well she recollected his life figure, his alert motion, his superb being, his handsome face, when she last saw him in the spring. You were way all summer, Alessandro. She said at last, turning back to her work. Yes, he said, at the Signora Morenos. So I heard, she said. That is a fine, great place, is it not? Is her son grown a fine man? He was a lad when I saw him. He went through here with a drove of sheep once.  Poor fellow, I don't wonder he does not want to speak, thought Mrs. Hartzall. I'll just let him alone. And she spoke no more for some moments. Alessandro sat still by the fire. A strange apathy seemed to have seized him. At last he said wearily, I must be going now. I wanted to see Mr. Hartzall a minute, but he seems to be busy in the store. Yes, she said, a lot of San Francisco men, they belong to the company that's coming in here in the valley. They've been here two days. Oh Alessandro, she continued, but thinking herself, Jim's got your violin here. Jose brought it. Yes, I know it, answered Alessandro. Jose told me, and that was one thing I stopped for. All run and get it, she exclaimed. No, said Alessandro, in the slow husky voice. I don't want it. I thought Mr. Hartzall might buy it. I want some money. It was not mine, it was my father's. It is a great deal, better than mine. My father said it would bring a great deal of money. It is very old. Indeed it is, she replied. One of those men in there was looking at it last night. He was astonished at it, and he would not believe Jim when he told him about its having come from the mission. Does he play? Will he buy it? cried Alessandro. I don't know. I'll call Jim, she said. And running out, she looked in at the other door saying, Jim, Jim. Alas, Jim was in no condition to reply. At her first glance in this face, her countenance hardened into an expression of disgust and defiance. Returning to the kitchen, she said scornfully, disdaining all disguises. Jim's drunk.  Wait till morning. Till morning. A grown escape from Alessandro, in spite of himself. I can't, he cried.  Why? Before, exclaimed Mrs. Hartzell, much astonished. For one brief second Alessandro revolved in his mind the idea of confiding everything to her. Only for a second, however. No, the fewer knew his secret and Ramona's, the better. I must be in San Diego tomorrow, he said. Got work there, she said. Yes, that is in San Pasquale, he said. And I ought to have been there three days ago. Mrs. Hartzell mused. Jim can't do anything tonight, she said, that's certain. You might see the man yourself and ask him if he'd buy it. Alessandro shook his head. An invincible repugnance withheld him. He could not face one of these Americans who were coming into his valley. Mrs. Hartzell understood. I'll tell you, Alessandro, said the kindly woman. I'll give you what money you need tonight, and then, if you say so, Jim will sell the violin tomorrow. If the man wants it, then you can pay me back out of that. And when you're along this way again, you can have the rest. Jim will make a good, a trade for you, as he can. He's a real good friend to all of you, Alessandro, when he's himself. I know it, Mrs. Hartzell. I trust Mr. Hartzell more than any other man in this country, said Alessandro. He's about the only white man I do trust. Mrs. Hartzell was fumbling in a deep pocket in her under-petty coat, gold piece after gold piece she drew out. Hmm, got more than I thought I had, she said. I've kept all that's been paid in here today, for I knew Jim would be drunk before night. Alessandro's eyes fastened on the gold, how he longed for an abundance of those little shining pieces for his maheya. He sighed as Mrs. Hartzell counted them out on the table. One, two, three, four, bright $5 pieces. That is as much as I dare take, said Alessandro, when she put down the fourth. Will you trust me for so much? He added, sadly. You know I have nothing left now, Mrs. Hartzell. I'm only a beggar, till I get some work to do. The tears came into Mrs. Hartzell's eyes. It's a shame, she said, a shame, Alessandro. Jim and I haven't thought of anything else since it happened. Jim says, they'll never prosper, never. Trust you, yes indeed, Jim and I trust you or your father, the last day of our lives. I'm glad he is dead, said Alessandro, as he nodded the gold into his handkerchief and put it into his bosom. But he was murdered, Mrs. Hartzell, murdered, just as much as if they had fired a bullet into him. That's true, she exclaimed vehemently. I say so too, and so was Jose. That's just what I said at the time, that bullets would not be half so inhuman. The words had hardly left her lips when the door from the dining room burst open and a dozen men, headed by the drunken Jim, came stumbling, laughing, reeling into the kitchen. Where's supper? Give us our supper. What are you about with your Indian here? I'll teach you how to cook ham. Stammered Jim, making a lurch towards the stove. The men behind caught him and saved him. I, in the group with scorn, Mrs. Hartzell, who had not a cowardly nerve in her body, said, gentlemen, if you will take your seats at the table, I will bring in your supper immediately. It is already. One or two of the sober ones, shamed by her tone, led the rest back into the dining room, where, seating themselves, they began to pound the table and swing the chairs, swearing and singing, rivaled songs.  You better go, there's no knowing what they'll do next. Are you not afraid, he said, in a low tone? No, she said. I'm used to it. I can always manage Jim. And Ramone's round somewhere, he and the bullpups. If worse comes to worse, I can call the dogs.  And these are the men that have stolen our lands and killed my father and Jose and Carmina's baby, thought Alessandro, as he ran swiftly back towards the graveyard. And Father Savviedera says, God is good. It must be the saints no longer pray to him for us. But Alessandro's heart was too full of other thoughts now to dwell long on past wrongs, however bitter. The president called him too loudly, put new his hand in his bosom and feeling the soft, not a tankerchief, he thought, $20. It is not much, but it will buy food for many days, for my Mahia and for Baba. End of chapter 17. Chapter 18 of Ramona. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Ramona by Helen Hunt Jackson. Chapter 18. Except for the reassuring help of Carmina's presence by her side, Ramona would never have had courage to remain during this long hour in the graveyard. As it was, she twice resolved to bear the suspense no longer and made a movement to go. The chance of Alessandro's encountering at heart cells, the men sending pursuit of him and of Baba, loomed in her thoughts into a more and more frightful danger each moment she reflected upon it. It was the most unfortunate suggestion of Alessandro to have made. Her excited fancy went on and on, picturing the possible scenes which might be going on almost within stone's throw of where she was sitting, helpless in the midnight darkness. Alessandro seized, tied, treated as a thief and she, Ramona, not there to vindicate him, to terrify the men into letting him go. She could not bear it. She would ride boldly to heart cells door, but when she made a motion as if she would go and said in the soft Spanish of which Carmina knew no word, but which yet somehow conveyed Ramona's meaning, I must go. It is too long. I cannot wait here. Carmina had clasped her hand tighter and said in the send Luiseno tongue of which Ramona knew no word, but which yet somehow conveyed Carmina's meaning. Oh, beloved lady, you must not go. Waiting is the only safe thing Alessandro said to wait here. He will come. The word Alessandro was plain. Yes, Alessandro had said wait. Carmina was right. She would obey, but it was a fearful ordeal. It was strange how Ramona who felt herself preternaturally brave, afraid of nothing, so long as Alessandro was by her side, became timorous and retching the instant he was lost to her sight. When she first heard his steps coming, she quivered with terror, lest they might not be his. The next second she knew and with a glad cry, Alessandro, Alessandro, she bound to chew him, dropping Baba's reins. Sighing gently, Carmina picked up the reins and stood still, holding the horse, while the lovers clasped each other with breathless words. How she loves Alessandro, thought the widowed Carmina. Will they leave him alive to stay with her? It is better not to love. But there was no bitter envy in her mind for the two who were thus blessed while she was desolate. All of Pablo's people had great affection for Alessandro. They had looked forward to his being over them in his father's place. They knew his goodness and were proud of his superiority to themselves. Mahiya, you tremble, said Alessandro, as he threw his arms around her. You have feared, yet you were not alone. He glanced at Carmina's motionless figure standing by Baba. No, not alone, dear Alessandro. But it was so long, replied Ramona, and I feared the men had taken you as you feared. Was there anyone there? No, no one has heard anything. All was well. They thought I had just come from Baconga, he answered. Except for Carmina, I should have written after you half an hour ago, continued Ramona. But she told me to wait.  I do not know. Was it not a strange thing, replied Ramona. She spoke in your tongue, but I thought I understood her. Ask her if she did not say that I must not go, that it was safer to wait, that you had said so, and you would soon come. Alessandro repeated the words to Carmina. Did you say that, he asked? Yes, answered Carmina. You see then, she's understood the Luiseno words. He said delightedly, she is one of us. Yes, said Carmina gravely, she is one of us. Then taking Ramona's hand in both of her own, for a while, she repeated, in a tone as of dire prophecy, one of us Alessandro, one of us. And she gazed after their retreating forms, almost immediately swallowed and lost in the darkness. She repeated the words again to herself, one of us, one of us. Sorrow came to me, she rides to meet it. And she crept back to her husband's grave and threw herself down to watch till the dawn. The road which Alessandro would naturally have taken would carry them directly by heart-sills again. But wishing to avoid all risk of meeting or being seen by any of the men on the place, he struck well, out to the north, to make a wide circuit around it. This brought them past the place where Antonio's house had stood. Here Alessandro halted and putting his hand on Baba's reign, walked the horses close to the pile of ruined walls. This was Antonio's house, Mahia, he whispered. I wish every house in the valley had been pulled down like this. Old Juana was right. The Americans are living in my father's house, Mahia. He went on, his whisper growing thick with rage. That was what kept me so long. I was looking in at the window, at them, eating their supper. I thought I should go mad, Mahia. If I had had my gun, I should have shot them all dead. And almost inarticulate gasp was Ramona's first reply to this. Living in your house, she said, you saw them. Yes, he said. The man and his wife and two little children, and the man came out with his gun on the doorstep and fired it. They thought they heard something moving and it might be an Indian, so he fired. That was what kept me so long. Just at this moment, Baba tripped over some small object on the ground, a few steps farther and he tripped again. There is something caught round his foot, Alessandro, said Ramona. It keeps moving. Alessandro jumped off his horse and, kneeling down, exclaimed, it's a stake, and Alaria fastened to it. Holy Virgin, what? The rest of his ejaculation was inaudible. The next Ramona knew he had run swiftly on, a rod or two. Baba had followed in Kapitan and the pony, and there stood a splendid black horse, as big as Baba, and Alessandro, talking under his breath to him, and clapping both his hands over the horse's nose to stop him, as often as he began winning. And it seemed hardly a second more before he had to saddle off the poor little Indian pony and striking it sharply on its sides, had turned it free, had saddled the black horse and, leaping on his back, said, with almost a sob in his voice, my Mahaya, it is Benito, my own Benito. Now the saints indeed have helped us.  A jackrabbit had pulled it up. Now, my Mahaya, we will gallop, faster, faster. I will not breathe easy till we are out of this cursed valley. When we are at once in the Santa Margarita Canon, I know a trail they will never find. Like the wind galloped Benito, Alessandro, half lying on his back, stroking his forehead, whispering to him, the horse snorting with joy, which were gladder of the two, horse or man, could not be said. And neck by neck with Benito came Baba, how the ground flew away under their feet. This was companionship indeed, worthy of Baba's best powers. Not in all the California herds could be found two suburban horses than Benito and Baba. A wild, almost reckless joy took possession of Alessandro. Ramona was half terrified as she heard him still talking, talking to Benito. For an hour they did not draw rain. Both Benito and Alessandro knew every inch of the ground. Then just as they had descended into the deepest part of the Canon, Alessandro suddenly rained sharply to the left and began climbing the precipitous wall. Can you follow, dearest Mahiya, he cried. Do you suppose Benito can do anything that Baba cannot? She retorted, pressing on closely. But Baba did not like it. Except for the stimulus of Benito ahead, he would have given Ramona trouble. There is only a little rough like this, dear, called Alessandro, as he leapt a fallen tree and halted to see how Baba took it. Good, he cried, as Baba jumped it like a deer. Good Mahiya, we have got the two best horses in the country. You'll see they are alike when daylight comes. I have often wondered they were so much alike. They would go together splendidly. After a few rods of this steep climbing, they came out on the top of the Canon south wall in a dense oak forest, comparatively free from underbrush.  We'll be near there before daylight. Already the keen salt air of the ocean smote their faces. Ramona drank it in with delight. I taste salt in the air, Alessandro, she cried. Yes, it's the sea, he said. This Canon leads straight to the sea. I wish we could go by the shore, Mahiya. It is beautiful there. When it is still, the waves come as gently to the land as if they were in play. And you can ride along with your horses' feet in the water and the green cliffs almost over your head. And the air off the water is like wine in one's head. Cannot we go there, she said longingly. Would it not be safe? I dare not, he answered regretfully. Not now, Mahiya. For on the shore away, at all times, there are people going and coming. Some other time, Alessandro, we can come. After we are married and there is no danger, she asked. Yes, Mahiya, he replied. But as he spoke the words, he thought, will the time ever come when there will be no danger? The shore of the Pacific Ocean for many miles north of San Diego is a succession of rounding promontories, walling the mouths of cannons, down many of which small streams make to the sea. These cannons are green and rich at bottom and filled with trees, chiefly oak. Beginning as little more than rifts in the ground, they deepen and widen to let their mouths, they have a beautiful crescent of shining beach from an eighth to a quarter of a mile long. The one which Alessandro hoped to reach before morning was not a dozen miles from the old town of San Diego and commanded a fine view of the outer harbor. When he was last in it, he had found it a nearly impenetrable thicket of young oak trees. Here he believed they could hide safely all day and after nightfall ride into San Diego, be married at the priest's house and push on to Pan Pasquale that same night. All day in that cannon, Mejia can look at the sea, he thought. But I would not tell her now, for it may be the trees have been cut down and we cannot be so close to the shore. It was near sunrise when they reached the place. The trees had not been cut down. Their tops, seen from above, looked like a solid bed of moss filling in the cannon bottom. The sky and the sea were both red. As Ramona looked down into the soft green pathway, it seemed leading out to the wide and sparkling sea. She thought Alessandro had brought her into a fairy land. What a beautiful world, she cried. And riding up so close to Benito that she could lay her hand on Alessandro's, she said solemnly, do you not think we ought to be very happy Alessandro in such a beautiful world as this? Do you think we might sing our sunrise hymn here? Alessandro glanced around. They were alone on the breezy open. It was not yet full dawn. Great masses of crimson vapor were floating upward from the hills behind San Diego. The light was still burning in the lighthouse on the promontory walling the inner harbor. But in a few moments more, it would be day. No, Mahia, not here, he said. We must not stay. As soon as the sun rises, a man or a horse may be seen on this upper coastline as far as I can reach. We must be among the trees with all the speed we can make. It was like a house with a high thick roof of oak tree tops, the shelter they found. No sun penetrated it. A tiny trickle of water still remained and some grass along its rims was still green, spite of the long drought. A scanty meal for Baba and Benito, but they ate it with relish in each other's company. They like each other those two, said Ramona laughing as she watched them. They will be friends. I, said Alessandro, also smiling. Horses are friends like men can hate each other like men too. Benito would never see Antonio's mare, the little yellow one, that he did not let fly his heels at her. And she was as afraid outside of him as a cat is at a dog. Many a time I have laughed to see it. Know you the priest at San Diego, asked Ramona. Not well, replied Alessandro. He came seldom to Temecula when I was there, but he was a friend of Indians. I know he came with the men from San Diego at the time when there was fighting and the whites were in great terror. And they said except for father, Gasparra's words, there would not have been a white man left alive in Pala. My father had sent all his people away before that fight began. He knew it was coming, but he would have nothing to do with it. He said the Indians were all crazy. It was no use. They would only be killed themselves. That is the worst thing, my Mahayya.  The white men think we are all the same. Father Gasparra has never been to Pala, I heard since that time. There goes there now, the San Juan Capistrano priest. He is a bad man. He takes money from the starving poor. A priest, ejaculated Ramona, horror-stricken. I, a priest, replied Alessandro. They are not all good, not like father Saviaderra. Oh, if we could but have gone to father Saviaderra, exclaimed Ramona involuntarily. Alessandro looked distressed. It would have been much more danger, Mahayya, he said. And I had no knowledge of work I could do there. His look made Ramona remorseless once. How cruel to lay one featherweight of additional burden on this loving man. Oh, this is much better, really, she said. I did not mean what I said. It is only because I have always loved father Saviaderra, so. And the senora will tell him what is not true. Can we not send him a letter, Alessandro? There is a Santa Inez Indian, I know, replied Alessandro, who comes down with nets to sell, sometimes to Temecula. I know not if he goes to San Diego. If I could speak with him, he would go up from Santa Inez to Santa Barbara for me, I'm sure. For once he lay in my father's house, sick for many weeks, and I nursed him. And since then, he is always begging me to take a net from him whenever he comes. It is not two days from Santa Inez to Santa Barbara. I wish it were the olden time now, Alessandro, sighed Ramona, when the men like father Saviaderra had all the country, then there would be work for all at the missions. The senora says the missions were like palaces and that there were thousands of Indians in every one of them, thousands and thousands, all working so happy and peaceful. The senora does not know all that happened at the missions, replied Alessandro. My father says that at some of them were dreadful things when bad men had power. Never any such things at San Luis Ray. Father Piri was like a father to all his Indians. My father says that they would, all of them, lie down in a fire for him if he had commanded it. And when he went away to leave the country, when his heart was broken and the mission all ruined, he had to fly by night, Mahia, just as you and I have done. For if the Indians had known it, they would have risen up to keep him. There was a ship here in San Diego Harbor to sail from Mexico, and the father made up his line to go in it, and it was over the same road we have come by Mahia, that he rode, and by night. And my father was the only one he trusted to know it. My father came with him. They took the swiftest horses and they rode all night, and my father carried in front of him on the horse a box of the sacred things of the altar, very heavy. And many a time my father has told me the story how they got to San Diego at daybreak, and the father was rode out to the ship in a little boat. And not much more than on board was he. My father is standing like one dead on the shore, watching. He loved him so. When low, he heard a great crying and shouting and trampling of horses feet, and there came galloping down to the water's edge, 300 of the Indians from San Luis Ray, who had found out that the father had gone to San Diego to take ship, and they had ridden all night on his track to fetch him back. And when my father pointed to the ship and told them he was already on board, they set up a cry fit to bring the very sky down. And some of them flung themselves into the sea and swam out to the ship and cried and begged to be taken on board and go with him. And father Perry stood on the deck, blessing them in saying farewell with the tears running on his face. And one of the Indians, how they never knew, made shift to climb up on the chains and rope and got into the ship itself. And they let him stay and he sailed away with the father. And my father said he was all his life sorry that he himself had not thought to do the same thing.  He was so unhappy at the father's going. Was it here in this very harbor, asked Ramona, in breathless interest, pointing out towards the blue water of which they could see a broad belt framed by their leafy foreground arch of oak tops. I just there he sailed. As that ship goes now, he exclaimed, as a white sailed schooner sailed swiftly by going out to sea. But the ship lay at first inside the bar. You cannot see the inside harbor from here. It is the most beautiful water I've ever seen, Mahia. The two highlands come out like two arms to hold it and keep it safe as if they loved it. But Alessandro continued Ramona, were there really bad men at the other missions? Surely not the Franciscan fathers. Perhaps not the fathers themselves, but the men under them. It was too much power, Mahia. When my father has told me how it was, it is seemed to me I should not have liked to be as he was. It is not right that one man should have so much power. There was one at the San Gabriel Mission. He was an Indian. He had been sent over the rest and when a whole band of them ran away one time and went back into the mountains, he went after them and he brought back a piece of each man's ear. The pieces were strung on a string and he laughed and said that was to know them by again by their clipped ears. An old woman, a Gabriele Lano, who came over to Temecula told me she saw that. She lived at the mission herself. The Indians did not at all want to come to the missions. Some of them prefer to stay in the woods and live as they always have lived. And I think they had a right to do that if they preferred Mahia.  But do not think they had the right. It is the command to preach the gospel to every creature, replied the pious Ramona. That is what father Salvia Deire said was the reason the Franciscans came here. I think they ought to have made the Indians listen. But that was dreadful about the ears, Alessandro. Do you believe it? The old woman laughed when she told it, he answered. She said it was a joke, so I think it was true. I know I would have killed the man who tried to crop my ears that way. Did you ever tell that to father Salvia Deire? Asked Ramona. No, Mahia. It would not be polite, said Alessandro. Well, I don't believe it, replied Ramona, in a relieved tone. I don't believe any Franciscan ever could have permitted such things. The great red light in the lighthouse tower had again blazed out and had been some time burning before Alessandro thought it prudent to resume their journey. The road in which they must go into old San Diego, where their father Gaspar lived, was the public road from San Diego to San Luis Ray and they were almost sure to meet travelers on it. But their fleet horses bore them so well that it was not late when they reached the town. Father Gaspar's house was at the end of a long, low-Adobe building which had served no mean purpose in the old Presidio days, but was now fallen into decay and all its rooms except those occupied by the father had been long uninhabited. On the opposite side of the way in a neglected, weedy open stood his chapel, a poverty-stricken little place, its walls imperfectly whitewashed, decorated by a few coarse pictures and by broken sconces of looking glass, rescued in their dilapidated condition from the mission buildings, now gone utterly to ruin. In these had been put handle holders of common tin in which a few cheap candles dimly lighted the room. Everything about it was in unison with the atmosphere of the place, the most profoundly melancholy in all Southern California. Here was a spot where that grand old Franciscan, padre Junipero Cera, began his work, full of the devout and ardent purpose to reclaim the wilderness and its peoples to his country and his church. On this very beach he went up and down for those first terrible weeks, nursing the sick, praying with the dying and burying the dead from the pestilent, stricken Mexican ships lying in the harbor. Here he baptized his first Indian converts and founded his first mission. And the only traces now remaining of his heroic labors and hard-won successes were a pile of crumbling ruins, a few old olive trees and palms. In less than another century, even these would be gone, returned into the keeping of that mother, the earth, who puts no headstones at the sacredest of her graves. Father Gaspata had been for many years at San Diego, although not a Franciscan, having indeed no special love for the order. He had been from the first deeply impressed by the holy associations of the place. He had a nature at once fiery and poetic. There were but three things he could have been, a soldier, a poet or a priest. Circumstances had made him a priest and the fire and the poetry, which would have wielded the sword or kindled the verse. Had he found himself set either to fight or to sing, had all gathered into added force in his priestly vocation. The look of a soldier he had never quite lost, neither the look nor the tread, and his flashing dark eyes, heavy black hair and beard and quick elastic step seemed sometimes strangely out of harmony with his priest's gown. And it was a sensitive soul of the poet in him, which had made him withdraw within himself more and more, year after year, as he found himself comparatively powerless to do anything for the hundreds of Indians that he would feign to have seen gathered once more as of old into the keeping of the church. He had made frequent visits to them in their shifting refuges, following up family after family, band after band that he knew. He had written bootless letters after letter to the government officials of one sort and another at Washington. He had made equally bootless efforts to win some justice, some protection for them, from officials near a home. He'd endeavored to stir the church itself to greater efficiency in their behalf. Finally, weary, disheartened and indignant with that intense suppressed indignation which the poetic temperament alone can feel, he had ceased, had said, it is of no use, I will speak no word, I am done, I can bear no more. And settling down into the routine of his parochial duties to the little Mexican and Irish congregation of his charge in San Diego, he had abandoned all effort to do more for the Indians, then visit their chief settlements once or twice a year to administer the sacraments. When fresh outrages were brought to his notice, he paced his room, plucked fiercely at his black beard with ejaculations. It is to be feared savoring more of the camp than the altar, but he made no effort to do anything. Lighting his pipe, he would sit down on the old bench in his tile-paved veranda and smoke by the hour, gazing out on the placid water of the deserted harbor, brooding, ever brooding, over the wrongs he could not redress. A few paces off from his door stood the just begun walls of a fine brick church, which had happened to dream in pride of his heart to see building and full of worshipers. This too had failed. With San Diego's repeatedly vanishing hopes and dreams of prosperity, had gone this hope and dream of Father Gasparas. It looked now as if it would be indeed a waste of money to build a costly church on this site. Sentiment however sacred and loving towards the dead must yield to the demands of the living. To build a church on the ground where Father Junipero, first trod and labored, would be a work to which no Catholic could be indifferent. But there were other and more pressing claims to be met first. This was right. Yet the side of these silent walls, only a few feet high, was the sore one to Father Gasparas, a daily cross, which he did not find grow lighter as he paced up and down his veranda. Year in and year out in the balmy winter and cool summer of that magic climate. Mahia, the chapel is lighted, but that is good, exclaimed Alessandro as they rode into the silent plaza. Father Gasparas must be there. And jumping off his horse he peered in at the uncurtain window. A marriage, Mahia, a marriage. He cried hastily returning, this too is good fortune. We need not to wait long. With the sacristan whispered to Father Gasparas that an Indian couple had just come in. Wishing to be married, the father frowned. His supper was waiting. He had been out all day over at the old mission, all aboard churn, where he had not found things to his mind. The Indian man and wife whom he had hired to take care of the few acres the church had owned there had been neglecting the church lands and trees to look after their own. The father was faxed, tired and hungry, and the expression with which he regarded Alessandro and Ramona as they came towards him was one of the least prepossessing of which his dark face was capable. Ramona, who had never knelt to any priest, saved the gentle father Saviadeira, and who had supposed that all priests must look at least friendly, was shocked at the sight of the impatient visage confronting her. But as his first glance fell on Ramona, Father Gasparas's expression changed. What is all this, he thought, and as quick as he thought it, he exclaimed in a severe tone looking at Ramona, Woman, are you an Indian? Yes, Father, answered Ramona gently. My mother was an Indian. Ah, half-breed, thought Father Gasparas. It is strange how sometimes one of the types will conquer and sometimes another. But this is no common creature, and it was with a new look, of interest and sympathy, on his face, that he proceeded with the ceremony. The other couple, a middle-aged Irishman, with his more than middle-aged bride, standing quietly by and looking on with a vague sort of wonder in their ugly, impassive faces, as if it struck them oddly that Indians should marry. The Book of the Marriage Records was kept in Father Gasparas' own rooms, locked up and hidden even from his old housekeeper. He had had bitter reason to take this precaution. It had been for more than one man's interest to cut leaves out of this old record, which dated back to 1769, and had many pages written full in the hand of Father Junipero himself. As they came out of the chapel, Father Gasparas leading the way, the Irish couple shambling along, shame-facedly, apart from each other. Alessandro, still holding Ramona's hand in his, said, "'Will you ride, dear?' "'It is but a step.' "'No thanks, dear Alessandro. "'I would rather walk,' she replied. "'And Alessandro, slipping the bridles "'of the two horses over his left arm, "'they walked on.' Father Gasparas heard the question and answer, and was still more puzzled. "'He speaks as a gentleman speaks to a lady,' he mused. "'What does it mean? "'Who are they?' "'Father Gasparas was a well-born man, "'and in his home in Spain had been used to associations "'far superior to any which he had known "'in his Californian life. "'A gentle curiosity of tone and speech, "'such as that with which Alessandro had addressed Ramona, "'was not often heard in his parish. "'When they entered his house, "'he again regarded them both attentively.  "'There was nothing distinctive to the father's eye "'in her figure or face. "'In the dim light of the one candle, "'Father Gasparas allowed himself no luxuries. "'The exquisite coloring of her skin "'and the deep blue of her eyes were not to be seen.' "'Alessandro's tall figure and dignified bearing "'were not uncommon. "'The father had seen many as fine-looking Indian men. "'But his voice was remarkable, "'and he spoke better Spanish "'than was want to be heard from Indians.' "'Where are you from?' said the father, "'as he held his pen poised in hand, "'ready to write their names in the old, raw hidebound book.' "'Temecula, father,' replied Alessandro. "'Father Gasparas dropped his pen. "'The village the Americans drove out the other day,' he cried. "'Yes, father.' "'Father Gasparas, sprang from his chair, "'took refuge from his excitement, as usual, "'in pacing the floor. "'Go, go! "'I'm done with you. "'It's all over.' "'He said fiercely to the Irish bride and groom "'who had given him their names and their fee, "'but were still hanging about, irresolute, "'not knowing if all were ended or not. "'A burning shame. "'The most stasturly thing I have seen yet in this land, "'for saken of God,' cried the father. "'I saw the particulars of it "'in the San Diego paper yesterday.' "'Then, coming to a halt in front of Alessandro,' "'he exclaimed, "'The paper said that the Indians "'were compelled to pay all cost of the suit, "'that the sheriff took their cattle to do it. "'Was that true?' "'Yes, father,' replied Alessandro. "'The father strode up and down again, "'plucking at his beard. "'What are you going to do?' he said. "'Where have you all gone? "'There were two hundred in your village "'the last time I was there.' "'Some have gone over into Bacchanga,' replied Alessandro. "'Some to San Pasquale, "'and the rest to San Bernardino. "'Body of Jesus, ma'am. "'But you take it with philosophy,' stormed Father Gasparra. Alessandro did not understand the word philosophy, but he knew what the father meant. "'Yes, father,' he said doggedly. "'It is now twenty-one days ago. "'I was not so at first. "'There is nothing to be done.' Ramona held tight to Alessandro's hand. "'She was afraid of this fierce black-bearded priest "'who dashed back and forth, "'pouring out angry invictives. "'The United States government will suffer for it,' he continued. "'It is the government of thieves and robbers. "'God will punish them. "'You will see. "'They will be visited with a curse, "'a curse in their borders. "'Their sons and their daughters shall be desolate. "'But why do I prat in these vain words? "'My son, tell me your names again.' "'And he seated himself once more at the table "'where the ancient marriage record lay open. "'After writing Alessandro's name, he turned to Ramona. "'And the woman,' he said. "'Alessandro looked at Ramona.  "'It was new to her. "'She had never seen it written, "'as it lingered on her lips, the father, "'to whom also it was a new word, misunderstood it. "'Took it to be in two syllables, and so wrote it. "'The last step was taken in the disappearance of Ramona. "'How should anyone, searching in after years, "'find any trace of Ramona or Tegna, "'in the woman married under the name of Mahaya, fail?' "'No, no. "'Put up your money, son,' said father Gasparra, "'as Alessandro began to undo the knots "'of the handkerchief in which his gold was tied. "'Put up your money. "'I'll take no money from a Tamekeva Indian. "'I would the church had money to give you.' "'Where are you going now?' "'To San Pasquale, father.' "'Ah, San Pasquale. "'The headman there has the old Pueblo paper,' said father Gasparra. "'He was showing it to me the other day. "'That will, it may be, save you there. "'But do not trust to it, son.  "'Trust to nothing.' "'Alessandro looked anxiously in the father's face. "'How is that father?' he said. "'I do not know.' "'Well, their rules be thick as the crabs here "'on the beach,' replied father Gasparra. "'And faith, they appear to me to be backwards "'in motion also, like the crabs. "'But the lawyers understand. "'When you have picked out your land and have the money, "'come to me, and I will go with you "'and see that you are not cheated in the buying "'so far as I can tell. "'But I myself am at my wit's ends, with their devices.' "'Farewell, son, farewell, daughter,' he said, rising from his chair. Hunger was again getting the better of sympathy in father Gasparra, and as he sat down to his long-deferred supper, the Indian couple faded from his mind. But after supper was over, as he sat smoking his pipe on the veranda, they returned again and lingered in his thoughts. Lingered strangely, it seemed to him. He could not shake off the impression that there was something unusual about the woman. I shall hear of them again some day, he thought, and he thought rightly. End of chapter 18.


I think the word patience itself is a very sort of passive thing, you know, if you look at Subur, it's a very active thing. I would probably translate it more as perseverance rather than patience because I feel patience in English is a very passive thing. It's like, I'll just wait for this time to be over and then I'll be okay. You know, it's not like that. Subur is supposed to be where no matter what situation I'm in, I've got that strength to continue and do what is required from Allah, what Allah requires from me. I'll have that strength within me and that's Subur. Whereas we sort of, oh, just wait it out and things will get better and I'll get over it. That's not what Subur is. So I think it's that concept of perseverance, just pushing myself and knowing that God's given me those tools to be able to handle it and to be able to then move forward and grow from it. And it's again, looking at the positive rather than the negative. The sad thing is, I think the way Shaitan works, he constantly makes us look at the negatives. So even when something is very positive, for example, we've been given the opportunity to go to Fuziara. You know, we'll go for Fuziara, we'll say I'm going for Fuziara for ten days. Now, when it gets to the seventh, eighth day, I'm already starting to feel negative. It's like, oh, I've got to go back and next week at this time I'm going to be back in London. I was always meant to go for ten days. I was never, I'd never gone there to stay there. You see, and then what I do is because I'm feeling very negative, the last few days are wasted to a certain extent. And then I come back and then I go through what people have referred to as the post-Syara blues. Again, you know, I'm supposed to come back spiritually uplifted and you know, ready for this world and bring it back into my world and everything. But what Shaitan has done is he's made the positive experience of Zyara into a negative thing because all I'm doing is feeling sorry for myself. Oh, I'm not back there now. I wish I was there. Is it just that or the fact that separation is a part of our existence? Yearning. And they are purpose and the reality of that. It pushes you to emulate those personalities, not to sort of feel sorry for yourself. They never, you know, you never see them feeling sorry for themselves. It's like none of the Ahlulbe ever felt sorry for themselves. Yes, they felt sad because they were humans. Of course, they felt sad, but they never felt sorry for themselves. Whereas we're constantly feeling sorry for, oh, you know, it's not fair. I was in Zyara. You know, just the difference. It's like, yes, you will feel sad because of the yearning of being separated from the, you know, from them. But look at the fact that you were there. And what did I get from it? And, you know, how am I going to bring it back to my life? What am I going to do with that opportunity that God gave me? How am I going to grow from it? So constantly be looking for the growth and the positiveness rather than the negativity. Keep the Zen. Yes. Thank you.


Nowadays, Mao Beifeng has become a stable of North society, with everyone from school kids to senior citizens owning at least one. For a long time, battery life is the bane of smartphone owners everywhere. And high power consumption of electronic components in Mao Beifeng is the root of the problem. If you look at the size of the first generation of Mao Beifeng, it's beyond the imagination of teenagers. It was really expensive, and the talking time was only 30 minutes. So no doubt Mao Beifeng has changed the world, and their impact on our society is profound and broad. The ages in which man has lived are named for the materials he used. And each of the materials represent high technology of his day. You will assume that the advancement of Mao Beifeng at a fast pace, and a natural question is what is the future of mobile device technology? The future of Mao Beifeng will definitely be thin, light, smart, fast, and flexible. The question is what kind of electronic materials can meet these constraints? The basic function units of the hardware for digital information are transistors, which have been evolving from a vacuum tube to an integrated circuit. Now scientists have demonstrated atomically thin transistors with high efficiency and low participation. Here is an example of atomically thin materials called graphene, which can be easily exfoliated from graphite using scotch tapes. And the transistors made from graphene show interesting properties and sometimes extraordinary electronic properties. For example, the graphene quantum dose transistors can process digital signals through the gate voltage at very high speed. Its dimension is so small, and the power dissipation is extremely low. Importantly, it's transparent and flexible. So electrons in graphene can move very fast. If you assume the speed of electrons in silicon transistors is equal to the speed of a person walking, then the electrons in graphene fly like missiles. Electrons in graphene show quantum phenomena. And this creates new concepts of electronic devices. For example, for photo-detection, for energy half-stream storage, the qubits and the graphene nano-raben controlled by the gate voltage underneath are ideal for quantum computation. The power consumption of electronic components can be largely reduced if superconductor wire is used. This is the world's smallest carbon nanotubes we discovered in our lab at HKUST. They are superconductors, and the size of one million of such carbon nanotubes is equivalent to that of one human hair. So the size of a transistor in modern CPU is already in a dozen nanometers. The number of transistors in a CPU such as a small platform has increased from 2,000 about 40 years ago to 1.3 million nowadays. Further increasing the number of transistors is a big challenge to scientists. The current largest R&D project supported by the European Commission is called Graphene Flagships, targeting on the application of graphene and other 2D-related materials. The present engineering materials and technologies are insufficient for future development. Smart materials, matter materials with design properties and atomic thin 2D crystals are all tomorrow's engineering materials. Most objects in our daily life are not planar but bendable or affordable like documents or textiles. So the super flexible electronic devices are amazing and will revolutionize the lives of common generations. So we believe the 2D materials we are currently studying will have a great potential for technological applications, not only in flexible electronic devices but also in biological chemical detection, energy storage like solar cells and batteries and extractor. So this ends my talk and thank you very much for your attention. Thank you.


We know we have challenges, but we know we have massive opportunities to get it right. Here at the World Water Forum we try to put together the leadership of the large corporations, particularly in the food and beverage industry. The purpose of that is really to look at what are these companies doing to put sustainability in place. We heard from both the leadership of Coca-Cola and Nestle that yes, they're making progress with water stewardship and putting sustainability in water issues throughout their value chain. And it's really important to actually then, we were testing with them, what are the boundaries of that today? Where is this all going, going forward in the future? Because of course they have just started with making new commitments, but of course they need to also be hold accountable to actually deliver on those commitments in the years to come. We will give back to the nature amount of water that's equal to the water we use in our products and in production. Our previous commitments in 2020 were making excellent progress towards that goal and we want to be the first multinational company who can claim that globally. We are water neutral. So we saw a really interesting debate between the different leaderships of different organizations about both water stewardship and sustainability going forward. It was interesting also that we not only had those corporations but also some of the partners that they're working with, like the World Wildlife Fund for Nature. We talked about water stewardship, which is a new approach for many companies to really incorporate water efficiency, water reuse, water recycling and replenishing the environment throughout their value chain.