THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

That very evening Miguel Chankik appeared at the offices of the General, bringing with him a country girl of perhaps sixteen years. Partially veiled by a shawl, she wore the embroidered huipile of Maya villages and was shoeless, her thick ankles nearly black with dust. "Idiot!" Bravo roared. "I asked Juliano to bring me a woman, one of the respectable sorts. His pews overflow with them! Don't you understand that my men and my sons might get the wrong idea?" he smirked. Then he slapped his hat against his knee. "Well, one takes what's at hand in this wretched place. Can you sew?" he asked, "and brew up a pot of Mexican coffee, hot and strong? Does she speak any Spanish?"

"A few words," said Chankik.

"Well," said Bravo, "let's see what you mean by that." He raised the hat and shook it. "What's this?" he asked. He pointed to his table upon which a bowl of oranges reposed. "What is this... and those?"

The girl turned her face away, pressing it against Chankik's shoulder.

"You see," Bravo explained, "all the time she might save me I would lose back as a language teacher. I am not a teacher. I'm the military commander here! Practically a Governor," and he scratched at his moustache, and picked up a tin of coffee.

"This is coffee," he said. "And you make it with three scoops, not one. If your generals had used three scoops as we are in the custom of doing," he told Chankik, "perhaps they would not have lost the war. Cafe... understand? What is the word you use for that? No, never mind, I'm sure that it is one of those ridiculous Mayan tongue-twisters. Talk of the Devil! Come, say it with me now... cafe."

Chankik prodded the girl and, in a soft voice, she replied "cafe".

"Good," said the General. "Maalob!" he repeated, smirking. "Now was that so hard? Only stop sticking your tongue out, it is considered rude. Are you thirsty? Do you want water? Agua? Can you say water?"

"Agua," she whispered and buried her face in the shoulder of the medicine man.

"Well at least you know the words for yes and no, doesn't she?" he asked. "Ehe y ma? Was this one hit on the head?"

"Si," the girl responded. "No." Bravo's frown began to lift.

"So she does know Spanish... at least a few words of it. Well, maybe that will do as long as it's yes and no. I doubt any other out here would know any more. What is her name?"

"Consuela Kaan," Chankik replied. The girl turned at the sound of her name.

"Very well," said Bravo. "Here Consuela. This is a broom... broo-oom. And what you do with a broom is that you sweep. "Sweep," he repeated, beating at the floor and raising a cloud of dust and chicken droppings."

A Lieutenant coughed, then rapped upon the wall for attention. He held a folded paper. "This just came in from Peto. It's for you," he said, staring from the doorway.

"Give it here," said the General, nodding towards his desk. When the lieutenant lingered, he raised the broom and the Mexican backed away, saluting. He passed the broom to Consuela. "Swee... eep!" he ordered.

She began to strike at the floor, tentatively at first as if expecting a complaint or blow, then with more confidence. "Excellent," the general declared. "Muy maalob. It seems that I am not so poor a teacher as I had imagined. I will take her on a trial basis for her keep, and if she learns quickly a peso besides. You may leave," he motioned. "We have a night of learning before us."

When Chankik had gone, Bravo opened the message from Peto, which proved to be of little importance. Then he pointed to a hen that had crept into the room during the lessons. "The only chicken I can stand," he said, "is in the pot. Chicken!" he repeated, pointing to the bird. "Out!" he said, gesturing in the direction of the door.

Consuela stared him a moment, chewing at her lips in what seemed to be deep concentration. Then she raised the broom and slapped it down before the face of the startled hen, which scurried through Bravo's door as though pursued by all the foxes and the weasels of the monte.

"Muy maalob," said the general and again Consuela probed his eyes. Bravo felt his scalp begin to tingle, a knot gathered at his throat and a hot flush across his neck. He took one step forward and a roaring welled up in his ears; he put a hand upon the table and felt it slip away as he fell, overturning the table and its hot coffee. Then, even the pain of the scalding liquid faded.

Dreams came and went, wonderful or terrible in their aspect. He saw himself walking through the monte as if still on the campaign, but without men, alone. A cavern loomed, overgrown, warm and moss shrouded, held up by columns of dead trees – its earth mottled with corpses or, rather, parts of bodies. Yet something still rustled within. The smell of it! The odor!

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