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Updated: May 7, 2025
But Venancio, standing by with his tins of lard and his dirty string rags ready, protested: "All right, if anybody lays a hand on Demetrio, I won't be responsible." "Nonsense! Rot! What kind of doctor do you think you are? You're no doctor at all. I'll wager you've already forgotten why you ever joined us," said Quail. "Well, I remember why you joined us, Quail," Venancio replied angrily.
This second work had a remarkable success, and the managers arranged for the composition of another opera, which was "Demetrio," which, like the others was most favorably received. Gluck now had offers from Turin, so that the next two years were spent between that city and Milan, for which cities he wrote five or six operas.
Women! Christ, they're all right for a while, granted! Though even that's going pretty far. Demetrio, you should see the scars they've given me ... all over my body, not to speak of my soul! To hell with women. They're the devil, that's what they are! You may have noticed I steer clear of them. You know why. And don't think I don't know what I'm talking about.
Day after day, Luis Cervantes remained humble and silent. "By God, I actually believe you're in love," Demetrio said jokingly one morning after the daily treatment. He had begun to like this tenderfoot. From then on, Demetrio began gradually to show an increasing interest in Cervantes' comfort.
When, after many hours of climbing, he gazed back, huge flames shot up from the depths of the canyon by the river. It was his house, blazing.... Everything was still swathed in shadows as Demetrio Macias began his descent to the bottom of the ravine.
"Of course, we can't tell how strong they are," said Demetrio as his glance traveled over their faces in scrutiny. "Do you remember Medina? Out there at Hostotipaquillo, he only had a half a dozen men with knives that they sharpened on a grindstone. Well, he held back the soldiers and the police, didn't he? And he beat them, too."
It might be well, meanwhile, if some simple commemorative stone were placed on the spot where he lies buried. Had he succumbed at his natal Macchia, this would have been done; but death overtook him in the alien parish of San Demetrio, and his remains were mingled with those of its poorest citizens.
But Solis' story proved so charming, so convincing, that before long he found himself repeating it as gospel truth. "Natera is a genius!" Luis Cervantes said when they had returned to the hotel. "But Captain Solis is a nobody ... a timeserver." Demetrio Macias was too elated to listen to him. "I'm a colonel, my lad! And you're my secretary!"
Soldiers and their friends, companions and veterans of other campaigns, began to enter in groups of twos and threes. Demetrio, growing excited, began to narrate in detail his most notable feats of arms. "What the hell is that noise?" he asked in surprise as he heard string and brass instruments tuning up in the patio.
Demetrio's brisk, imperious tones of order brought them abruptly to a halt. They dismounted by the side of a hill, protected by thick huizache trees. Without unsaddling their horses, each began to search for stones to serve as pillows. At midnight Demetrio Macias ordered the march to be resumed.
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