THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

CHAPTER SIX

"Yes," declared Silvestro Kaak as he and Esteban Chan made their way back through the monte, "these Christians have the right idea. What remains for us at the estanción Macias... work without end, hunger when the gods, in their contempt, withhold the rain and don Armando's lash? Not to mention the depravities of his second son, who has returned from such place as they send such people... be careful that he does not learn of your marital intentions! And only an occasional festival and Paco Pozo's aguardiente in return."

Esteban sighed. The only trades to which people that would not tend the green gold were admitted were those of porters and traveling vendors, and these were passed from father to son. All that Esteban had received from his ancestors were their debts.

"Life with the Cruzob wouldn't be half bad. They have plenty of meat, that's a fact," Silvestro said, tripping over branch and cursing in the dzulob tongue. "The rifle is your bride and in the end is either victory of death. Here, death is almost welcome."

"Foolishness," replied Esteban. "Our shotguns barely prick the skins of turkeys, let alone the armies of the dzulob." But the words hung bitter in his mouth, and Esteban knew them for the false bravado that they were. With his prospective bride and their children to consider, he trusted in the patience of the people, measured through the generations, that would someday drive the "ghosts" out of Yucatan.

"Still," said Silvestro, thinking of a rifle of his own, "you do admit the Christians have their virtues. Why do we break our backs by day to have the mayordomo open them each morning? Does don Armando believe that blood will cure the weariness we feel, or fertilize the henequen? I'm no curandero, but the thought seems misplaced." He kicked at a stump they had passed as if it were the sinister and smiling mayordomo.

"Curandero?" came a weak voice from between the travelers. It was Mariano, whom the two had agreed to escort to his hut. The aguardiente had reached from his lips all the way down to his feet, and it was the destiny of Silvestro and Esteban to offer him a shoulder.

At the dzonot, Silvestro halted. The invitation of Miguel Chankik had settled in his soul. "What is the future for me here?" he asked. "You will have your wife and children soon. The man who has family will put up with anything in the hope that they may raise their station. But me... you know what sort of future awaits should I marry!"

The curandero answered with a growl that was born in lechery but ended in a whooping skein of coughing and vomiting during which came up much aguardiente, corn and turkey.

Looking away with disgust, Silvestro nodded. "This Chankik is not so bad a sort, after all."

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