THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The discussion which was taking place in Bravo's office was of a far more sober nature. For Governor Canton, it represented a final defeat. He had supported the campaign from the beginning, consented to the critical change of command at Ichmul and opened his treasury to intervene when it bogged down at Dzonotchel. For his efforts, he had been double-crossed in the capital. President Diaz, throwing his support behind the territorialists, had ensured that the Governor would leave office humiliated... forever remembered as the man who had forfeited the whole eastern half of Yucatan.

And now, the struggle done and the hour of his retirement at hand, Francisco Canton regarded that other, whose influence in don Porfirio's decision glimmered only obscurely, a dim but heavy star. Colonel Huerta was a simple study, a creature of don Porfirio's Secretary of War and the ambitious sometime Governor of Nuevo Leon, Bernardo Reyes... whose hunger for the Vice Presidency (and the prospect of elevation, should the iron constitution of Diaz begin to fail) raised flags of warning to the Cientificos, red as the carnation in his buttonhole. Blanquet was no better. But Bravo... now here was mystery. The campaign over, a General of his capabilities and reputation should have been itching to return to Mexico City. Was he embarrassed at being relieved of his command, did he smell money somewhere in the wastes of Quintana Roo?

All of them, Canton resigned himself by thinking, were but pieces on the great chess board of Mexico, moved around by Porfirio Diaz, to be crowned or sacrificed as the occasion warranted. And then he checked himself... it could not be no chess board, not here... in this corner of the Republic the rules played by were those of the indian ball court... clouded, suspicious, tangible only in that defeat was punished by a brutal, bloody sacrifice.

The Governor's spies... those who had ventured out into the monte, and off the Peto road, bore witness of the flimsiness of Bravo's hold upon Quintana Roo... at least those who had returned did so.

"Reports have been received," Canton began deliberately, "that commercial travelers are being ambushed with growing frequency?" Although a statement, it was posed as a question.

Bravo did not take offense at the remark. In fact, the Governor noted, he had appeared to grow more confident, even serene, since the conclusion of the campaign. Where was the deference that one of many Mexicans generals owed to a political chief? Was it absent because of Bravo's own transition from soldier to Governor, or Canton's own decline?

Bravo sighed. "It is to be expected, Governor. It is a long way back to Peto, longer still to Merida. And, after all, even the southern and southeastern parts of what remains of Yucatan are also unsafe. These rebels... whom we have both been chasing... are not soldiers, they are bandits, always have been. You and I know this and, moreover, so does don Porfirio. Can a policeman be placed at every street corner in Merida?"

"I am aware of the difficulties," Canton said, "but there is still concern about what has been done. The monte has been permitted to grow back towards the road..." he held his hand up, "I have commissioned measurements, which shall be provided to you. If, as I have heard, the sublevados have been weakened by disease, and by their tendency to fight among themselves, than we must give our thanks to God for what fortune we have had in establishing an island of security amid this hostile place. And even God may turn his face from those who exhibit laxity in the performance of their duties."

Bravo nodded courteously, declining to attack or even to defend himself. It was if he were Governor, and I the petitioner, Canton realized, and held his tongue at the recognition that the comparison was very nearly true. The provisional Constitution for Quintana Roo gave the military commander sole authority in the eyes of the Republic, while the Governor's own influence had waned as rapidly as the influence and territory of Yucatan.

Molina, on the other hand, was a nationalist - worse, a damned internationalist.

"You see," the General said, slowing down his voice as if speaking to an indian, "my courses of action are limited by the men and the materials at my disposal. If President Diaz desires the railroad to the sea be finished quickly, I am obliged to direct the energies of those at my command to have this task accomplished. To complete the railroad, and to continue to maintain the road in the condition we both grew accustomed to during the campaign would require more hands, twice the men we now possess." There was a gleam in Bravo's eye that the Governor of Yucatan recognized, and hated for its insolence.

"Twice the number?" Canton's irritation could not be concealed. "The territory was meant to take its place as a useful part of the Republic, not... not a prison colony," he sputtered.

"A curious opinion," Bravo said, "since you were among the most enthusiastic supporters of that plan in the first place. I myself was hesitant, but I don't mind admitting that you were right." He smiled. "So now what is the difference between five thousand convict laborers and ten?"

Governor Canton bit back the answer he wanted to give which was, of course, that men of commerce and ambition shied away from prison colonies, and looked down on those who maintained them. "It is more difficult to control ten thousand men than five."

Bravo shook his head. "Control is not at issue. When a man works from sunup to sundown, his only thoughts are of food and rest. And if he is given just enough to eat to dull the pain of hunger, but not enough to think upon, his only desire is sleep. Then morning comes again. No Governor, control will never be a problem. I have had too much experience at that. And if something should occur at one of the villages by way of neglect or... let us admit that incompetence sometimes occurs, even here, I have Colonel Huerta. He has his methods of establishing control, and they work."

Canton nodded. He was well aware of the Colonel's methods. "And to think the man is practically all Huichol!" he heard himself musing, as his thoughts wandered to ways in which Bravo could be separated from his right hand.

"Some indians are among the most famous indian-killers in the Republic," Bravo chuckled. "Why the Colonel boasts that he hasn't returned to his village in over twenty years. The people there would have him shot on sight! When one does what is required of him, he must prepare himself to stand alone."

"Solitude doesn't seem to have affected you for the worse," offered Canton.

"No," Bravo recalled, hearkening back to his last meeting with the governor who, as he leaned forward, suddenly appeared pitiful and old. His power has vanished, Bravo realized, he is humbled and the years that have been gathering in wait gather to strike out at him. This is what happens to chocolateros who relinquish command, he determined, resolving that, whoever may rule in Merida or even in Mexico City he, Bravo, would not be dislodged.

"If the decision were mine," he said, staring down Canton, "I should allow the monte to envelop every wretched meter of that wretched road, the weeds to strangle every hoofprint that has passed from here to Peto and the lizards and the buzzards to reclaim this cursed territory for their own. Because, Governor, in my way I am as much a territorialist as yourself. Quintana Roo, as it exists, will be as useless as a part of Mexico as it has been to the Yucatan. Those rich men from Chihuahua and other places in the north to whom don Porfirio has granted latifundias... let them come to their estates, even Terrazas, let them all come here!

"They will not ever succeed in making, here, the grand estates as they have in Zacatecas, Puebla or Chihuahua... not even the henequen fields of Yucatan could be planted here. The monte is a mortal enemy of progress, Governor, and it would remain so even if every indian was butchered and a hurricane should sweep all the English from the continent. This territory, Governor, is a hurricane, and we are at his eye." For emphasis, Bravo brought a single finger down on his desk. "Its terrible, destroying winds are the kilometers without end of hostile monte, incessant heat, fever, rains that melt a man's resolve like sugar candy, insects beyond count. Why should such wealth as is found here... and it is considerable, despite many formidable obstacles... pass through Merida, rather than to the sea and to the world beyond? All we have sustained is twilight, now I choose what is called progress, and I shall select what is to its advantage and what is not."

Canton sat back, his surprise and his anger evident, but Bravo merely favored him with a smile that softened half of his face.

"We, too, are all Cientificos here... never forget this, Governor. Is it unreasonable that the science of this monte differs somewhat from what is appreciated in the cities? Don Porfirio understands. Like ourselves, he is a man of the century past... sated with memories, holding on to a way of life that disappears before the engines of the future, just as the unhappy indians who preceded us here had to be yanked from the soil of their backwardness like the weeds they are. If we are wise, however, we anticipate the future. We prepare our surroundings, so that those who come later will be able to build on them, not tear them down as useless things, obstructive of progress and civilization which, I maintain, are not one and the same... rather, the former is the result of rational applications of the latter. I shall begin to make of Santa Cruz a living explication of this, don Francisco. Such as whom I permit to enter will depart thinking the Territory no poor, bedraggled vassal of Merida or, even worse, Belize but, in fact, a European city... looking neither to the west nor north but to the east, to the source of our Classical traditions."

"A noble dream," Canton finally found opportunity to comment.

"Dream?" General Bravo retorted. "I do not labor for the cause of dreams! It will become a reality, Governor... my veritable city-state such that the Greeks achieved, briefly, before succumbing to the petty quarrels of their leaders."

"If," Canton advised, "the Republic permits. I do not think that the President thought to establish a Greek polis, or even a chicle trading camp, when it spent half a million pesos and extracted a like amount from the state of Yucatan, to its disadvantage and my personal regret. It was to establish a breadbasket, serving a varied and orderly array of interests... plantations, cattle-ranches, even industries. Why, even as you scurry about with your Periclean tasks, a Spartan challenge rises from the south. As you know, General Vega has also proposed construction of a railroad, one which would pass from Santa Cruz to Payo Obispo. He is a flexible man, the canal was his proposal but when don Porfirio made it clear that a railroad was to be constructed, well, Vega stood ready with a railroad. And he is not without his influence in the capital."

Governor Canton now wagged a finger sternly, as if to discipline a rebellious boy instead of a General older than himself. "Should you draw comparison to the Classic era, General, you must also consider the end to which its commanders came. Pericles... ostracized by his ungrateful subjects. Caesar... murdered by ambitious subordinates. As for myself, I soon will be a private citizen, another object of that rather bewildered veneration that befalls officials who survive their terms without murder or disgrace. I am, therefore, free to speak my mind for perhaps the first time in half a century... and what is on my mind, now, is that you, General, must take care to guard your back. Even at our age, and for all of the glories we have fixed our eye upon before us, it is still possible to be surprised."

"I have absolutely no intent of ignoring your kind advice, Governor. The situation preys on my mind by day and through the night. General Vega's designs upon the territory are essentially my own, to be its master. I will not be deceived by temporary advantages... after all, it was not my statue that was raised in Merida on the occasion of the surrender of the sublevados, nor yours, it was that of President Diaz."

"Is that how you measure success, General, by the erection of images in stone or metal?"

"Why not?" Bravo answered with his half-smile. "A statue is the embodiment of a lifetime of accomplishment, a memorial from a grateful public for a career of selfless service. More than a resting place for wreathes on the occasional holiday, and for birds during the rest of the year, a statue testifies to a man's achievements among those of mankind. Even the ancient Indians knew this. Statues are not offered to those who merely get by in this world, and are blown hither and thither like leaves, they are reserved for those who have imposed their will upon the elements. I look forward to my statue here in Santa Cruz... yes, rejected the false modesty of the sophisticates... I see it here, keeping watch over the city and its growth in the years, the centuries after I pass. A sentinel of Santa Cruz del Bravo, why yes!

"There's an old indian I keep about who told me how even the savages specifically fashioned statues as places for the spirits of honored dead to dwell. It's heresy, of course, but let us pose the matter from a Christian perspective... that effigies of the Saints are the windows of paradise, through which the faithful may measure and observe the neverending struggle between Godly order and demonic chaos, and appreciate and take strength from heroes who upheld the former. Do we not carve statues of our San Pedro, San Juan and... especially in this place... San Sebastien?" Suddenly the General leaned forward and slapped his palms upon the table. "My God," he declared, "I'm as doctrine-drunk as a Jesuit! Well, we'll be judged in Heaven by God... as on earth by those who follow... and that time has not arrived, for either of us. So," he changed the subject, "what am I to look forward to upon your leaving office? Certainly they've measured you for your own statue on that fine Paseo de Montejo?"

Governor Canton's lip had been slowly curling at the egotism of the territorial commander, now it entirely fell open. He had hardly even thought to consider how he'd be judged by history... badly, he'd assumed, if only for allowing the territory to be snatched out from under his nose by Porfirio Diaz. Let the dead be buried by the living was his code and he satisfied himself, if at all, with the understand that most of those parts of Yucatan he felt for had known peace and some prosperity.

"I have already declared my intent to retire. My successor, presumably, shall be Molina... he has made his pact with don Porfirio, and shall bear the responsibility for it. Perhaps..." he began, but thought the better of it.

Bravo fingered his moustaches. "I am not familiar with that man, except that he seems to have enemies in Merida who are outnumbered by his defenders in the capital."

"Olegario Molina comes from a large family of Campecheños," the Governor sighed. "He has been a teacher, an attorney, President of the Literary Institute of Yucatan and a Deputy to Congress."

"Not a centavo in the lot," derided the General. "He is not, I'll venture, the son of some street-sweeper or barber; you don't go into such professions when you are. Is he someone's second son?"

"His family owns property throughout the Republic," Canton allowed, "a few acres here, a few there. So, while they are not so wealthy as the Terrazas clan, neither are they among the first to be blamed when something goes wrong in any one state. Some of them import American machinery and provisions through Progreso and they are the largest... let us be honest, General, the only... the sole suppliers of certain equipment without which the henequen trade could not continue to function. Whenever some Yankee from International Harvester has a toothache, I can count on some Molina banging at my door for pliers. In consequence they are respected, if not beloved. And Olegario, of course, does not take responsibility for all his family's actions. He is that remarkable thing, General, a liberal whose treatment of the peons of his holdings is perhaps the worst on the peninsula."

"What an extraordinary fellow," Bravo replied. "I like the man already, provided he keeps his nose out of my affairs."

"Unlikely," Canton grimaced. "He won't do you in himself, he has a brother from Oaxaca, now in the capital, a Senator, to wield the cudgel. Perhaps you've met him."

"Most assuredly," Bravo responded. "I have been introduced to a good many senators in my career, though I have also had great difficulty distinguishing one from the other... even the living ones from the dead. Were it possible for women to bear litters like dogs, or lay eggs like pheasants, I'd swear that Senator all come from a common brood. At least they all have a common father."

"Bitter words," the Governor said, "but probably true. And it may be you will prosper, Molina is not ungenerous where it is in his interest to be so. His is liberalism of the degenerate type, so his ambitions necessitate a cultivation of potential alliances."

"Well, will he continue to supply the funds I require for pacification?"

"Funds?" the Governor asked, almost smiling, despite himself. "Molina will make all attempts to cultivate your goodwill but, when it comes to money, I suspect the Territory will be seen a problem of the capital. Those certain people of Merida who preferred to rid themselves of the expense of maintaining the East forfeited, at the same time, such claims as they might have found expedient should your most worthy aspirations come to fruition. They placed no stock in tomorrow. And, to take their part, what could they expect from their funds... the maintenance of traveling actors?"

Bravo now affected an air of wounded dignity. "Why Governor," he said, "would you deny the soldiers of this most difficult part of the Republic such little culture as Sr. Martinez and his company provide?"

"Or," Canton continued, "planting expensive fruit trees."

"Scurvy is a serious matter," Bravo muttered dolefully. "Ask my doctor here, if you desire, he'll substantiate that."

"I am certain he will." Governor Canton, nodding as he spoke, snapped his fingers at a persistent fly. "Very well, General, I bear no regrets in leaving you to the mercies of Olegario Molina, or he to yours. As for General Vega, I fear his case will turn out badly, which is unfortunate... for his is a nature more close to my own than is yours. Vega is a man of rigid moral principles and, in this wasteland, that can be a liability."

"Principles will not kill or... should I say... pacify the sublevados," Bravo said as the corners of night began to fold up Santa Cruz del Bravo. Business concluded, it was time for the festivities to commence, for the territory was a place of hard work and little amusement, and those who held it on behalf of civilization had long waited for release.

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