THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

He awoke, thrashing, to find that it was morning. The sunlight through an open window brought him pain and he shaded his eyes with one hand as he sat up. As he did, Consuela brought a tin cup of coffee and Bravo sniffed at the liquid. It was thick and strong, as he desired. He sat up, still blinking, from the cot he had set up in a small room behind his office, for he distrusted hamacas and all who slept in them. The coffee was not too hot and he drank it whole to the grounds, pulled on his boots and opened the door to his office. Dr. Rosario snored in the General's chair, the table had been righted and hosted a bottle and two dirty glasses. Bravo motioned with the tin cup for more coffee and shook him awake.

Rosario started up, coughing, and surrendered his place with profuse apologies, rising to guide the general to his seat. Bravo shook him off, angrily. "What was this all about?"

"Well you're back to the usual. I don't rightly know... I had to glean a lot of it from the girl and though I've learned a bit of the language, it mostly concerns bullet wounds and disease. Where did you get her anyway? This isn't bad," he said as he accepted a cup of Consuela's coffee.

"You've been here..." Bravo wondered.

"All night," said Rosario. He sprinkled a bit of the liquor into his cup. "She tells me, from what I can gather, of course, that you overturned the table and dropped to your hands and knees, that you crawled about in such fashion for a time and called out what she thought to be commands, though she did not understand... and, this is an interesting point, she doesn't think that they were Spanish words. But of course it only is the judgment of an indian. Anyway, she helped you back to bed and you went to sleep, and that's all."

"Crawling," Bravo muttered. "Not Spanish. There might have been some words of the French, I was dreaming... it was so many years ago." He fell silent. The possibility that he had been crawling on his knees like a dog... in front of an indian... was so repugnant that he could not even meet Dr. Rosario's eyes. And if...

Rosario appeared to read his mind, glancing at Consuela Kaan, who stood almost at attention, waiting for orders. "She found the old man at the church, who came to me. She locked the door... I don't think anybody else saw unless they peeked through a window. So we're safe on that score. As for what happened, there are two possibilities. The more likely is that you experienced a temporary fever of the brain which occurs," and he stopped, seeking out a term that would not offend the General, who was sensitive about his age, "in, ah, the course of human experience. Especially in the hot latitudes."

"And the second?" Bravo had recovered his composure, directing the question in the form of a command. The doctor hesitated, for this answer was more complicated, still.

"In the history of medicine," he said, "there are incidents which can be described as peculiar to those who bear great responsibilities, such as the command of men. Why this should be remains of a mysterious nature, however, the existence of such occasions dates back to the Roman Empire. Julius Caesar, you may know, suffered from occasional fugues of the memory, so also did Napoleon. In neither instance, I might add, were these men prevented from the discharge of their responsibilities at the cessation of their fit... it may even be argued that there may be a link between the illness and their unusual abilities. Again this may be conjecture, but at the time I examined you, you were in a profound sleep. There was no fever, no evidence of injury..."

"I am not altogether so ignorant as you think," Bravo interrupted. He opened and closed his fists. "You obviously refer to epilepsy."

"Only as a possibility, sir, one among many."

"If you are to employ history against me," the general declared, "you'll bear in mind that Caesar was killed by his subordinates and Napoleon ultimately vanquished in the field and died upon a wretched isle. Failures - the lot of them! - however Colonel Huerta may think of them as geniuses. I do not consider the example flattering."

"I meant no insult..."

"Enough!" Bravo leaned forward grimly. "If even a rumor reaches my ears, if there is so much as a suspicion that I am not fit for my command, I shall know at once, Doctor, from where it has originated." Another evil thought assailed him at the sight of the second glass. "Did that old sacristan..."

"He did accompany me here," Rosario said. "And when I finished with my examination, he gave you a look-over. But I told him that nothing... nothing leaves this place, and I told him also to make it clear to her," he gestured towards Consuela. "He found her, I guess he knows how to make her keep her mouth shut, but with indians..." and he opened his hands, relieved that there was someone else to divide the blame if the word escaped.

"Then that's it! Stop gawking and return to your duties," Bravo ordered. "And you," he added, waving at Consuela, "coffee... broom... sweep!" He escorted the doctor to the door, and took the tin cup with him, borrowing a finger of Rosario's aguardiente although he normally opposed the consumption of spirits during the daytime and had punished men for violation. "What a devil's language these people possess - good is evil, dreams are werebeasts and as I...

"If there should be another incident," the doctor advised, "I would suggest a..."

"There will be no further incidents," Bravo cut him off and the doctor nodded, backing out.

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