THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

BOOK FOUR: THE BOOK of SCIENCE

CHAPTER FIFTY

José's searching through the Governor's mansion for Elena resembled less the methodical pursuit of an absconded sweetheart by a much-decorated military officer, more the depradations of a thief, a desperate thief, engendering outrage, embarrassment but no success. It was now quarter past the hour. He had crossed the great floor twice, responding with only a nod or mumbled greeting when he encountered General Bravo, surrounded by ladies of society like an old fox by silly hens. "Here is my protégé," Bravo declared. The ladies squealed.

"I do so love a man in uniform," cackled one.

"What are the sublevados like?" another asked. "My parents told terrible tales when I was younger."

"They were probably the truth," Bravo allowed, "for the sublevados are more savage than any beast of the jungles of Quintana Roo. But even a puma or a snake is not without a certain beauty, being fashioned by the Creator to kill in order to eat and survive and, so, to continue the line. These rebels, on the other hand, are degenerated reflections of ourselves. Useless! And tubercular, besides."

"Most also show effects of alcoholism," José contributed, having first noted that General Huerta was not in sight. The ladies made expressions of disgust, affording Bravo a chance to guide José away.

"I am indebted to you for your timely arrival," said Bravo. "Perhaps you will be pleased to know one of your old acquaintances has come with me, all the way from the territory."

José smiled. Was it Dr. Rosario? Andujar?

"Here he is," the General said, stepping aside to let the chicle agent, Edwin Wilson, make his appearance. José shook his hand as the North Americans do, hiding his irritation and his impatience to return to the hunt.

The Yankee's eyes were glowing, and not only from Governor Molina's champagne. "I'm not myself tonight," he confessed, "I've been promoted. Just a year ago I was in Chicago, in the middle of winter. You cannot comprehend how uncomfortable that is; especially when one has no job, no money. I had not even the prospect of employment, let alone the sort that would wash me up on such hospitable shores as these. So I went to Wrigley's. And now I have a position, and soon the opportunity to meet my second President. I saw Teddy in Milwaukee two years ago," he added by way of explanation, but General Bravo remained puzzled.

"Teddy?"

"Mr. Roosevelt. President of the United States, that's what they call him. I, of course, was merely one among the crowd."

"And he does not have them arrested?"

"Who?" asked Wilson. "Why?"

Ignacio Bravo shook his head. "Perhaps I am not altogether comfortable with your customs, although I have been to Texas. Your President is a brave man, hero of San Juan. Why should he let his subjects call him Teddy? That is a name without respect. It is an alias... what you would call a nick-name? Yes. That the ruler of so large and prosperous a nation should be so called is without dignity. Familiarity is mortal enemy to respect. Your President... Teddy... he will some day realize that, when people begin believing he's no better than themselves, the end is near."

"But that is exactly the President's argument. We have a democracy. No citizen is better than another," the little chicle agent proudly declaimed, "not even the President!"

Bravo smiled. "Even democrats have their aristocracies among them. This was true in Greek times and in our own. And when an aristocracy weakens, as the Athenians and Romans did, the whole of civilization collapses. The United States would not be so united, nor so stately without its Carnegies, its Guggenheims, its aristocracy of industry like Mr. Ford or Mr. J. P. Morgan... as opposed to Henry Morgan, the British pirate."

"Well there will always be some more fortunate than others. It would be foolish to deny that. But under our laws, they are so because they possess exceptional talents. In the eyes of America, all men are equal."

"Then," said the General, "I am happy to remain Mexican. We are barbarians, perhaps, in your eyes and those of the Europeans but, in thirty years of Don Porfirio's regime, we have made progress towards civilization. The French, meanwhile, claim that American have gone from barbarism to decadence without even a slight interval of civilization between the two. Now as you know, we Mexicans do not trust all things French... each nation and race has its own area of expertise and, since the first Napoleon, decadence is theirs. But enough disputing... the President is here, ours, that is. And look - there's O'Reilly... I mean Mendez. What misfortune it must be to live under the shadow of a famous man in democratic states! That's why kings were invented."

Now Bravo sighed. "Would that Diaz had a son to lead us as the father has done. His brother's boy is clever... Felix... but of course that's not the same. Don Porfirio will not be with us forever. Let us pay our respects while we still may."

But the attention of his Captain remained elsewhere, upon the absent Señorita Villareal.

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