THE INSURGENCE
of CHAN
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN |
In the
moment of catastrophe, it had been Señora Macias who
had resolved the situation, having José escorted upstairs with the incident
explained away as being resultant from too much bad shellfish. Then she had
Elena taken under her wing, removing the girl from the protection of a
still-enraged Fidel Montez-Betancourt... his rings
waving as his fingers spoke blasphemies... and bringing her to her own
chambers, providing the señorita with one of her own
gowns so that she could return before the striking of
José Macias,
emerging from his room with forty minutes remaining to the nineteenth century,
viewed the celebration from the balcony. The giddy feeling in his head had
disappeared with the torrent of the vomited liquor and a new and almost
frightful calm rested on his nerves like a suit of light, yet impenetrable armour.
After
attending to his toiletries, he had carefully wiped the specks of vomit from
the glittering mask and replaced it in his pocket.
The
incident had cooled José's ardor for the Caballeros as surely as a pail of
water turns a briskly burning blaze to hissing steam and soot. These were
boys... his older brother not excluded... rich boys playing with the trappings
of a chivalrous past while, all around, the future was taking shape. In the
brief moments of his recovery between the passing of the old and the birth of
the new, José had voided the dissolution of his first nineteen years as
effectively as he'd passed the Caballeros' uisghe.
He had decided to take his place by resigning his commission in the Civil Guard
and entering the regular Army.
Mexican
military service, at that time, was compulsory, but a nation does not profit by
subjecting its future leaders to four or even two years of dismal routine at
the very time they must be honing their talents by apprenticeship in the new
and difficult arts of technology and commerce. Especially... as had been true
for over thirty years... when there was no war to otherwise occupy these
talents. Himself a General, President Diaz knew well the predilection of young,
idle military officers to let their thoughts drift towards conspiracies against
the regime. After all, he owed his own fortune to these very circumstances.
So -
means of evading this onerous and dangerous conscription were instituted. Some
hired substitutes, an indian
or poor ladino who, for a small sum, would perform this military duty, and
gladly, for the government's ration, a uniform and a few pesos to satisfy the
requisite wants of young men. But, among the upper classes, the expectation was
that the young monte would join the Guardia. This
course was rich with advantages.
In the
first place, this Guard was liberal with its promotions. A recruit... being, of
course of the right family or having the right connections... would become an
officer in no time, receiving the privilege of an officer's uniform to wear in
the parades and functions which constituted the duty of the Guard. Its monthly
mobilizations and week long yearly "retreats" were excuses for
parties, even for drunken revels which Yucatecans, of
course, asserted to have taken place only in other, more barbaric Mexican
states.
For an
officer of the Guard... which every Caballero either was or had been... to join
the regular army could be proof only of a monumental, if somewhat admirable
stupidity. Nonetheless, the decision gave the new initiate unearthly calm as he
rejoined the throng still buzzing over Canton's announcement, although the
Governor had departed... making his way to yet another function a few doors
down the Paseo. Acknowledging his father warmly, and
receiving the accolades and smirks of his new brothers with a bare nod, José
confronted Elena Villareal and steered her away from
Fidel Montez-Betancourt with such assurance that this
stoical enemy of all Caballerismo could do no more
than stand, glowering, to plot his revenge.
"I
thought I would not see you again," she said. "Now you are
well?"
"Perfectly,"
said José. "A fish touched by the Devil himself would not make me miss
this moment.... and I only can offer apologies for the unsightly manner of our
introduction."
"Why?"
asked Elena, with a malicious sparkle in her blue eyes. "I thought that
was the customary way by which the young men of
An hour
previously, the forthrightness of this proposition would have flustered José,
but in recognition of the new century and its new ideals he merely smiled,
gathered her up and the musicians lifted their instruments to begin the next
waltz. "Are all the ladies of New York City like you?" he whispered
into her ear as he fastened the calaver over his head
and they crossed the floor and the great clock of don Antonio's ballroom tolled
the last half-hour of the old century.
Esteban
Chan could not help but cast covetous glances at the dancers from a doorway.
"Psst," Silvestro
whispered, tossing Esteban half a sandwich as he passed, bearing a tray of
dirty dishes. Esteban dropped it with a stricken look.
"Are
you crazy?" he asked. "We've almost seen it through and now you're
taking such a chance! What if the cook sees you? Or the mad
one?"
He
nodded towards the patron's skull-masked, eclipse-birthed son, leading Elena
away towards his father's library.
"He
won't see anyone," Silvestro leered, putting his
tray down upon a table and breaking off a piece of cake with its thick green
and white frosting. "Nor will the cook... I saw him sneak out the back
door not ten minutes ago with the woman who brought eggs around here this
afternoon. Probably they've gone to the stables. That's where I'd go," he
mused, placing the patron's cake in his mouth and backing off into the kitchen.
Silvestro had been right. Nobody was watching the
unimportant Mayan servants.
Esteban
turned his face to the wall and slid the meat out from between the slices of
gnawed bread. What little meat was available at Idznacab
was either pig or fowl or sometimes a rabbit or brown, ratlike
agouti, knocked down by a hunter's lucky shot. Beef was only for the high
feasts and the days of imponderable fortune when one of the exhausted field
oxen died and, after the patron's dogs, the mayordomo
and the household servants had taken their fill; a foot, some neckbones or entrails or a slab of fat might turn up at the
tienda de raya.
Keeping
his face turned to the wall as he walked to the kitchen, Esteban chewed slowly,
so that no one might detect his crime by following the movement of his jaw.
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